The sea was eerily calm. Even the waves were unnaturally small.
The Oro Jackson cut through that silent surface, and the sound of its prow parting the water felt unusually clear in the stillness.
By the time Bullet finished that day's gravity training, it was already eleven at night. He rinsed himself off with a cold shower and changed into a loose training shirt.
Climbing up from the lowest hold, he saw Roger standing alone at the bow.
The captain was not laughing loudly or belting out songs the way he usually did. He simply leaned against the figurehead, quietly staring into the darkness ahead.
He held a bottle of liquor, but took a sip only after a long time each time.
This kind of stillness was rare on Gol D. Roger.
Bullet had planned to head straight back to his hammock to rest.
But Roger seemed to sense him. The captain glanced back, then lifted a hand and waved him over.
Bullet walked up.
"Can't sleep?" Roger asked.
"Just finished training," Bullet replied. He came to stand beside Roger and looked out over the sea. "Thinking about our route, Captain?"
Roger chuckled, softer than usual.
"No. Silvers Rayleigh worries about routes."
"I'm thinking..."
He took a pull from the bottle, then wiped the foam from his mustache.
"Humans really are interesting creatures."
"Some go to sea for treasure. Some for fame. Some for freedom. Some to prove themselves."
"And you, Bullet. Why did you first come aboard my ship?"
The question came out of nowhere.
Bullet thought for a few seconds, then answered honestly.
"To become stronger."
"Your ship lets me meet the strongest opponents and receive the best guidance."
"Very straightforward," Roger nodded, not offended.
"And now?"
"Is it still just about becoming stronger?"
This time, Bullet was quiet for longer.
He thought of the noise and warmth of that banquet night, of Shanks calling him "friend," of Rayleigh's serious lessons, of the mugs and smiles the crew had offered him.
"Becoming stronger is still my main goal," he said at last.
"But... there are now things on this ship worth staying for."
Roger turned his head to look at him. Starlight fell across his sharp features. In the eyes of the man who would one day be Pirate King, something deep flickered there, not his usual carefree bravado but the clarity of someone who had weathered countless storms.
"You know, Bullet," Roger said slowly, "I have met a lot of people."
"Geniuses, monsters, schemers, madmen..."
"But you belong to the most special kind."
"Special?"
"You have everything needed to become a top force. Talent, will, a clear goal, and that drive to devour everything in your way," Roger said.
"But you are missing one thing."
"Or maybe you just refuse to admit you have it."
Bullet frowned.
"What thing?"
"Bonds."
Roger turned around, leaned his back against the rail, and looked up at the stars.
"True powerhouses are never people who stand alone at the summit."
"Whitebeard has his sons. I have a ship full of comrades."
"And those who will stir up storms in the New World in the future will all have companions as well."
"Bonds make you weak," Bullet said.
"If you have people you want to protect, you develop weaknesses."
"And they make you strong," Roger countered, his tone gentle but firm.
"To protect someone important, people can explode with strength beyond their limits."
"To live up to the trust of their comrades, people keep pushing past their own ceilings."
He finished the last mouthful in the bottle and casually tossed it into the sea.
The empty bottle floated for a while on the surface, then slowly sank into the depths.
"You set yourself a goal of challenging Whitebeard within three years," Roger went on.
"Bold, but very difficult."
"Edward Newgate is not just one man. Behind him stands the entire Whitebeard Pirates."
"Even if you one day gain the strength to challenge him, you will still have to face all those division captains blocking your way."
Bullet's gaze hardened.
"I will defeat them all."
"I believe you can," Roger said with a laugh.
"But why defeat everyone alone?"
"Why not... have comrades of your own?"
The question stunned Bullet.
Comrades of his own?
He had never considered it.
Devouring evolution destined him to a lonely path.
Always hunting for stronger "food," always devouring, always evolving.
Comrades would only be a burden... or potential targets for devouring.
"The road I walk is not suited for comrades," Bullet said in the end.
"Is that really true?"
Roger looked straight at him, as if his gaze could pierce through flesh and bone.
"Or are you just afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of having something... and then losing it," Roger said quietly.
"Afraid that bonds that grow too deep will become shackles."
"Afraid that one day, the person you have to devour will be someone you once cared about."
Bullet said nothing.
Because Roger had struck a part of the truth.
Devouring evolution was his core ability, and his fate.
"I will tell you a story," Roger suddenly said.
He reached into his coat and took something out, closing his fingers around it.
In the starlight, Bullet saw it clearly. It was a silver coin.
An old coin whose edges were worn, its surface engraved with letters so weathered they could no longer be read.
"I got this a long time ago, when I had just started sailing," Roger said, gently rubbing the coin between his fingers.
"From a dying old pirate."
"He told me this silver coin had witnessed countless voyages, had sent off countless comrades..."
"And had welcomed countless new beginnings."