The island town was called Havenport, and it was exactly the kind of place pirates should avoid.
It was a trading hub, busy with merchants and sailors from a dozen different countries. There were guards on every corner, laws against "maritime banditry" posted on every wall, and a general atmosphere of "we will absolutely arrest you if you cause trouble."
Roger loved it immediately.
"We should probably lay low," Hiro said nervously as they approached the harbor. "If anyone recognizes us as pirates—"
"Nonsense!" Roger declared, standing at the bow with his captain's coat billowing dramatically. "Pirates don't hide! Pirates announce themselves!"
"Roger-sama, with all due respect, that's a terrible idea."
"All my ideas are terrible. That's what makes them fun."
The crew exchanged worried glances, but no one argued. They had learned, over the past day, that arguing with Roger was like arguing with the weather. You could complain all you wanted, but it wasn't going to change anything.
They docked at the harbor without incident. The harbormaster gave them a suspicious look but accepted their docking fee without comment. Apparently, their ship didn't look pirate-y enough to warrant concern—which was fair, because it was basically a glorified fishing vessel with a badly-drawn skull flag.
"Alright," Roger said, gathering the crew on the deck. "Here's the plan. We split up, gather supplies and information, and meet back here in four hours. Anyone who gets arrested, we'll break you out later. Questions?"
"What if YOU get arrested, Roger-sama?"
"Then you break ME out. Any other questions?"
Silence.
"Great! Let's go cause some chaos!"
Roger wandered through Havenport with Ace at his hip and a grin on his face.
The town was fascinating. It was a blend of cultures and influences that he didn't fully understand—Eastern aesthetics mixed with what looked like Western technology, ninja villages trading alongside civilian merchants, samurai walking past farmers without a second glance.
It was a world in transition, Roger realized. The old systems were still in place, but something was shifting. He could feel it in the air, see it in the way people talked and moved.
And some of that shift was because of him.
He passed a group of young men huddled around a poster, talking excitedly.
"—says the Pirate King escaped from Konoha itself!"
"I heard he fought off fifty ANBU with his bare hands!"
"No way, my cousin said he has a devil fruit that lets him control fire!"
Roger snorted quietly. The rumors had gotten completely out of control. In the span of a few weeks, he had apparently gone from "weird guy who gave a speech" to "legendary warrior with supernatural powers."
He briefly considered correcting them, then decided it was funnier to let the legend grow.
As he walked, he noticed something odd.
The sword at his hip was warm.
Not hot—not like it was dangerous or anything. Just... warm. Like it was alive.
Roger glanced down at Ace.
"You okay there, buddy?"
The sword didn't respond. Obviously. It was a sword.
But the warmth intensified slightly, and Roger could have sworn he felt something like... approval?
"Great," Roger muttered. "My sword is sentient. Because this situation wasn't weird enough already."
He kept walking, trying to ignore the fact that his weapon seemed to have opinions.
The information-gathering went better than expected.
By the time Roger returned to the ship, he had learned several important things:
First, the Grand Line was real, and there were people who had actually SEEN it. Not entered it, mind you—the Calm Belt was apparently as deadly as Roger had described—but seen it from a distance. Fishermen who had strayed too far, merchants whose ships had been blown off course. They all told the same story: a line on the horizon where the sea changed, where the weather became impossible, where monsters lurked beneath the waves.
Second, there was a way in. Somewhere to the south, there was supposed to be a "gate"—a passage through the Calm Belt that allowed ships to enter the Grand Line without being eaten by Sea Kings. Nobody knew exactly where it was, but everyone agreed it existed.
Third, Roger was famous. Like, REALLY famous. His speech had spread across the continent, mutating and evolving with each retelling. There were now at least a dozen different versions of what he had said, some of them bearing almost no resemblance to the original. But the core message—treasure, freedom, dreams—had survived intact.
"So," Roger said, addressing the crew in the ship's cabin, "we have a destination. The southern gate. We just need to find it."
"That's easier said than done," Sora pointed out. "The southern seas are huge. It could take months to search."
"Then we'll search for months."
"We don't have supplies for months."
"Then we'll resupply along the way."
"Roger-sama, I appreciate your optimism, but—"
"Optimism is all we have!" Roger interrupted, grinning. "If we started thinking about how impossible this is, we'd never get anywhere. So we don't think about it. We just DO it."
Hiro was nodding enthusiastically. The rest of the crew looked less convinced but willing to follow along.
"Besides," Roger added, "I have a feeling we're going to be okay."
He touched Ace's handle, feeling the warmth pulse gently.
He didn't know why he had that feeling. He just did.
They set sail the next morning, heading south.
The first few days were uneventful. Good weather, calm seas, steady winds. Roger spent most of his time practicing with Ace, working through the techniques from the scroll he had found.
He was getting better. Not GOOD, mind you—he was still a complete amateur compared to any real swordsman. But he could hold the blade without feeling like an idiot, execute basic strikes without falling over, and occasionally pull off something that almost looked competent.
The crew watched him practice with a mix of admiration and confusion.
"Roger-sama," Hiro asked one afternoon, "where did you learn to fight?"
"I didn't," Roger admitted. "I found this sword and a scroll of techniques about two weeks ago. Everything I know, I learned from that."
"Two weeks?!" Hiro's jaw dropped. "But you look so... confident!"
"Confidence is ninety percent of everything. The other ten percent is not dying."
"That's... I'm not sure that's true."
"It's worked so far."
Roger returned to his practice, and Hiro wandered away, muttering something about "crazy old men" under his breath.
Roger grinned. He wasn't that old. Probably. He actually had no idea how old Roger's body was supposed to be.
As he swung Ace through another kata, he felt the sword pulse with warmth again.
This time, it was accompanied by something else.
An image.
Roger froze mid-swing.
The image was faint, like a half-remembered dream. He saw a vast ocean, far larger than anything in the normal world. He saw islands dotting the water like jewels. He saw a ship—a magnificent ship, far grander than anything they had now—sailing toward a distant light.
And he saw... himself?
No. Not himself. The REAL Gol D. Roger. The Pirate King from the manga. Standing at the bow of the Oro Jackson, laughing at the horizon.
The image faded as quickly as it had appeared.
Roger stood there, breathing hard, trying to process what he had just seen.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
Ace pulsed again, and this time Roger felt something he could only describe as... affection? Like a loyal dog happy to see its master.
"You're showing me memories," Roger realized slowly. "The original Roger's memories. You remember him."
The sword pulsed in what might have been confirmation.
Roger stared at the blade for a long moment.
"Okay," he said finally. "Okay. That's... that's actually really helpful. And also really creepy. But mostly helpful."
He sheathed the sword carefully.
"We'll talk more later. For now, I need to process this."
Ace seemed to accept that, the warmth fading to a gentle hum.
Roger walked to the bow of the ship and stared at the ocean, his mind racing.
The sword was showing him the original Roger's memories. That meant there was actual KNOWLEDGE locked away in there—knowledge about the Grand Line, about the journey, about everything the Pirate King had experienced.
If Roger could access that knowledge...
"One step at a time," he told himself. "One step at a time."
But he was grinning.
On the fourth day, they encountered their first real obstacle.
It started with the weather.
One moment, the sky was clear and blue. The next, black clouds were rolling in from the horizon, moving faster than any natural storm should move.
"EVERYONE TO STATIONS!" Hiro shouted. "STORM INCOMING!"
The crew scrambled, pulling in sails and securing cargo. Roger grabbed a rope and helped where he could, which was mostly "holding things and trying not to fall overboard."
The storm hit like a hammer.
Rain lashed the deck, driven sideways by winds that howled like living things. Waves rose up like mountains, threatening to swallow the ship whole. Lightning split the sky, illuminating a scene of pure chaos.
"WE'RE GOING TO SINK!" someone screamed.
"NO WE'RE NOT!" Roger shouted back, though he wasn't sure he believed it.
He held onto the mast with one hand and Ace's handle with the other, feeling the sword pulse with something that might have been excitement.
"YOU'RE ENJOYING THIS?!" Roger yelled at the blade.
Ace pulsed again, and Roger could have sworn he felt laughter.
"INSANE! MY SWORD IS INSANE!"
The storm raged on.
And then, suddenly, it stopped.
One moment they were in the heart of chaos. The next, they were floating in calm water under a clear sky.
Everyone stood frozen, dripping wet and gasping for breath.
"What..." Hiro panted, "what just happened?"
Roger looked around.
They were surrounded by fog. Thick, white fog that seemed to glow with its own inner light. Through the mist, he could see shapes—islands, maybe, or something else entirely.
"I think," Roger said slowly, "we're not in normal waters anymore."
Sora pointed off the starboard bow.
"Look."
Everyone turned.
Through the fog, a light was approaching. Not a ship's lantern—something bigger, brighter, moving with purpose.
As it got closer, Roger realized what he was seeing.
It was a fish.
A GIANT fish.
Easily the size of their ship, maybe bigger. It was glowing with bioluminescence, colors shifting across its scales like living aurora. And it was looking directly at them.
"Sea King," Roger breathed.
But it didn't attack.
Instead, the massive creature swam in a slow circle around their ship, examining them with eyes that held far more intelligence than any fish should possess.
Then it made a sound.
Not a roar or a screech. Something almost like... a song. Deep and resonant, vibrating through the water and the hull and Roger's very bones.
And Roger understood.
He didn't know HOW he understood. It wasn't like the fish was speaking words. But somehow, the meaning was clear.
Welcome back.
Roger's eyes widened.
"Did anyone else hear that?" he asked.
Blank stares.
"Hear what, Roger-sama?"
Roger looked at the Sea King, which was still circling them with what could only be described as patient expectation.
"I think..." Roger said slowly, "I think the sea is happy to see me."
"What?"
"I don't understand it either. But I think... I think the ocean REMEMBERS."
The Sea King sang again, and this time Roger saw more images.
The Oro Jackson sailing through impossible storms. The crew laughing in the face of danger. The original Roger standing at the helm, as comfortable on the sea as any fish.
And the ocean itself, welcoming them like old friends.
Welcome back, the song repeated. We have been waiting.
Roger felt tears prickling at his eyes.
"I'm not him," he whispered. "I'm not the real Roger."
The Sea King paused its circling.
You carry his spirit. His laughter. His freedom. That is enough.
"How is this possible? How can the sea be... alive like this?"
We have always been alive. We have always remembered. The one who laughed with us, who treated us as friends rather than obstacles—we remember him. And now you carry his light.
Roger was crying openly now, and he didn't care who saw.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted. "I don't know where I'm going. I don't have a plan."
You have a dream. That is all you need.
The Sea King rose up, breaking the surface of the water. Its massive eye—easily as big as Roger himself—fixed on him with ancient wisdom.
Follow the current. It will guide you to the gate. The Grand Line awaits, son of laughter.
And then it dove, disappearing into the depths, leaving only ripples and the fading echo of its song.
The fog began to clear.
Roger stood at the bow, tears streaming down his face, laughing helplessly.
"Roger-sama?" Hiro approached cautiously. "Are you... okay?"
"The sea," Roger managed between laughs. "The sea is on our side. The OCEAN is rooting for us."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I! But it's HAPPENING!"
He threw his arms wide, embracing the wind and the spray and the impossible reality of his situation.
"THANK YOU!" he shouted to the sea. "THANK YOU FOR BELIEVING IN ME!"
The waves seemed to swell in response, gently pushing the ship forward.
The crew exchanged bewildered glances.
"He's completely lost it," someone muttered.
"He was already crazy," Sora pointed out.
"Yes, but now he's EXTRA crazy."
Roger didn't care. He was too busy laughing, too busy feeling the warmth of Ace at his hip and the spray of the ocean on his face and the sheer, overwhelming JOY of being exactly where he was supposed to be.
The next few days were unlike anything Roger had ever experienced.
The sea was HELPING them.
Not in obvious ways, necessarily. But the winds always seemed to blow in the right direction. The currents gently guided them south. When storms approached, they always seemed to veer away at the last moment.
And occasionally, in the depths, Roger could see shapes moving—Sea Kings, watching, waiting, protecting.
The crew noticed too.
"This isn't normal," Sora said on the fifth day, staring at the water with suspicious eyes. "I've been sailing for years. The sea is never this... cooperative."
"Maybe we're just lucky," Hiro suggested.
"Nobody is THIS lucky."
Roger smiled but said nothing.
He had tried to explain what had happened—the Sea King's song, the ocean's welcome—but the words hadn't come out right. It sounded crazy even to him, and he was the one who had experienced it.
So he just let the crew wonder and focused on what mattered: getting to the Grand Line.
During the quiet moments, he practiced with Ace.
The sword was definitely sentient. There was no denying it anymore. It responded to his moods, shared memories when he asked (and sometimes when he didn't), and occasionally seemed to offer suggestions about his technique.
The suggestions came as feelings rather than words—a gentle pull toward a different stance, a warm pulse when he did something right, a cold shock when he was about to make a mistake.
It was like having a teacher who couldn't speak but could somehow communicate everything important through emotion alone.
"You were with him through everything, weren't you?" Roger asked one evening, sitting alone on the deck with the sword across his lap. "The original Roger. The whole journey."
Warmth. Affection. Memory.
Images flashed through Roger's mind. Battles fought and won. Islands discovered and explored. Friends made and lost. The final journey to Laugh Tale, where the greatest treasure in the world awaited.
And at the end, the execution platform. The speech. The smile of a man who had no regrets.
"Did you miss him?"
A feeling of loss. Of waiting. Of hope deferred.
"And now you think I'm... what? His replacement?"
Not replacement. Continuation. The dream, passed on.
Roger was quiet for a long moment.
"I'm not like him," he said finally. "I'm not a warrior. I'm not a conqueror. I was just some guy who watched anime and worked in a convenience store."
Amusement from the sword.
And yet here you are. Sailing toward the Grand Line. Inspiring pirates across the world. Making the sea itself laugh with joy.
"That's... the universe being weird. It's not me."
The universe chose you for a reason. Whether you believe you deserve it or not, you are here. You are carrying his will. You are making people dream again.
"But I don't know what I'm doing!"
Neither did he, at first. Nobody knows what they're doing. They just do it anyway.
Roger stared at the sword.
"When did you get so philosophical?"
I had a long time to think while waiting for you.
Roger laughed despite himself.
"Fair point."
He resheathed Ace and lay back on the deck, staring at the stars.
"Okay," he said to the sky. "Okay. I'll keep going. I'll find the Grand Line. I'll find One Piece—if it exists. And I'll laugh the whole way there."
The stars seemed to twinkle in approval.
The sea hummed beneath the ship, gentle and welcoming.
And somewhere in the depths, massive shapes moved in patterns that might have been joy.
On the seventh day, they saw it.
The gate.
It appeared on the horizon just as the sun was setting—a massive stone archway rising out of the sea, carved with symbols that looked impossibly old. The water around it was calm, perfectly still, reflecting the darkening sky like a mirror.
"That's it," Roger breathed. "That's the entrance to the Grand Line."
The crew gathered at the bow, staring in wonder.
"It's real," Hiro whispered. "It's actually real."
"Of course it's real!" Roger grinned. "I told you it was real!"
"You also said you made it up," Sora pointed out.
"Details!"
They sailed closer, and the archway grew larger and larger until it dominated the entire horizon. The symbols carved into the stone seemed to glow faintly in the dying light—ancient writing that Roger couldn't read but somehow understood.
Beyond this gate lies the sea of adventure. Only those with dreams may enter. Only those with courage may survive.
"Well," Roger said, "we've got dreams. And if we don't have courage, we'll fake it."
"That's reassuring," someone muttered.
Roger turned to face the crew.
These people had followed him—some for a week, some for just days. They had left their old lives behind, stolen a ship, and sailed into the unknown based on nothing but a speech and a dream.
They deserved better than uncertainty.
"Listen up!" Roger called out. "Beyond that gate is the Grand Line. The most dangerous sea in the world. There are storms that appear from nowhere, islands that defy logic, monsters that make Sea Kings look like goldfish."
The crew shifted nervously.
"But there's also adventure. Discovery. Freedom. The chance to find something nobody else has ever found, to BE something nobody else has ever been." Roger's grin widened. "Some of us might not make it. That's the truth. But the ones who do? They'll have stories to tell for the rest of their lives."
He drew Ace, the blade gleaming in the sunset light.
"I'm going through that gate. Anyone who wants to join me, stay. Anyone who wants to turn back, no shame in it. This is your choice."
Nobody moved.
Roger waited.
Still nobody moved.
"Well?" Hiro said, grinning back at him. "What are we waiting for?"
The crew cheered.
Roger laughed—that deep, joyful laugh that seemed to make the world brighter—and pointed Ace toward the gate.
"FULL SAIL AHEAD! THE GRAND LINE AWAITS!"
The ship surged forward, carried by wind and current and the will of the sea itself. The stone archway loomed above them, ancient and welcoming.
And as they passed through, as they crossed the threshold into the most dangerous sea in the world, Roger could have sworn he heard the ocean singing.
Welcome to the Grand Line, son of laughter.
Welcome to adventure.
Welcome home.
Back in the world they had left behind, things were changing.
In every country, on every coast, people were gathering. Ships were being built. Crews were being formed. The word "pirate" had gone from an insult to an aspiration.
In the Land of Water, Mei and her Mist Pirates had grown to three ships and nearly a hundred crew members. They had successfully raided a noble's treasury and distributed the wealth to poor fishing villages, earning them a reputation as heroes among the common folk.
In the Land of Lightning, Kazuma and his ronin had finally reached the coast. They had purchased a ship—legitimately, for once—and were preparing for their own journey to the Grand Line.
In the Land of Earth, Akane had finished her ship. It was beautiful—sleek and fast and built for adventure. She had named it "The Second Chance" and was currently recruiting a crew from other displaced refugees who had lost everything and had nothing left to lose.
And in Konoha, Naruto Uzumaki stared out his window at the night sky, dreaming of oceans he had never seen.
"One Piece," he whispered to himself. "The greatest treasure in the world."
He didn't know where Roger was. He didn't know how to find him. He didn't even know how to sail.
But he knew what he wanted.
And someday—someday soon—he was going to chase that dream.
In the Hokage's office, Sarutobi Hiruzen reviewed the latest intelligence reports.
Roger had disappeared. The last confirmed sighting was in a coastal town weeks ago. Since then, nothing.
"He's gone to the Grand Line," Hiruzen murmured. "He actually did it."
"Should we pursue, Lord Hokage?" his aide asked.
Hiruzen considered it.
Sending ninja into the Grand Line was possible, theoretically. But the stories about that place... the dangers... the creatures that lurked there...
"No," he said finally. "Let him go. If the Grand Line doesn't kill him, we'll deal with him later. And if it does... problem solved."
He set down the reports and reached for his pipe.
"Besides," he added quietly, "I'm curious to see what he finds."
In a small cabin on a ship passing through the gate to the Grand Line, Roger lay in his hammock and smiled at the ceiling.
One week. It had only been one week since he joined this crew, and already everything was different.
He had nakama now. Real nakama. People who believed in him, who followed him, who would sail into the unknown just because he said there was treasure at the end.
He had Ace, a sword that remembered and guided and supported.
He had the sea itself, welcoming him like a lost son returned home.
And ahead of him, waiting in the impossible waters of the Grand Line, was One Piece.
"I'm coming," Roger whispered to the darkness. "I don't know what you are, and I don't know if you're even real. But I'm coming."
Ace pulsed warmly at his hip.
The ship rocked gently on the waves.
And somewhere in the depths, ancient creatures sang songs of joy.
The son of laughter had returned.
And the adventure was just beginning.
END OF CHAPTER 5