Morning mist hung over Jaya's harbor, soft and thin.
On the deck of the Oro Jackson, the crew were busy preparing for the next leg of their journey.
Checking the hull, tightening ropes, topping up fresh water.
Bullet stood by the rail, watching it all.
He had already made his decision.
This ship, this voyage, had fulfilled its purpose.
Roger had taught him what freedom meant. Rayleigh had shown him how to grow stronger. Shanks had made him understand rivalry and friendship. Even Buggy… had shown him that there were things people clung to, even when they were weak.
But now it was time.
He had to chase his own path and make his own ambition real.
To devour everything and stand at the very top.
At breakfast, there was a strange tension in the air.
The head chef had gone all out: perfectly seared sea-beast steaks, salads made from fresh island fruit, and loaves of hot bread that filled the deck with the smell of wheat.
Yet the long table was missing some of its usual noise.
Rayleigh was the first to notice something was off.
He watched Bullet.
Bullet ate quietly, movements no different from usual, but something in the depths of his eyes was not the same.
Roger still tore into meat and downed his drink in great gulps.
But Bullet noticed the captain's gaze drift toward him now and then, carrying a kind of knowing acceptance.
Shanks sat opposite Bullet, gnawing on bread as he talked.
"Bullet sir, they say the next island has birds that can shoot lightning. You think we can catch one and keep it as a pet?"
"You can try," Bullet replied calmly.
"Heh, then when the time comes we can…"
Shanks stopped halfway through his sentence.
Because he saw Bullet set down his knife and fork.
The whole table went silent.
Every crew member froze and turned to look at Bullet.
A voiceless sense of foreboding spread through the air.
Bullet stood up.
He walked to the head of the table, facing Roger, then turned toward Rayleigh, then toward all the crew.
"Thank you all for looking after me during this time."
His voice was steady.
"But I am getting off this ship."
Dead silence.
Even the seagulls seemed to stop calling.
The first to break the quiet was Buggy.
The bread in his hand dropped onto his plate as his jaw fell open.
"G-getting off?"
"Where are you going?"
"To find my own path," Bullet answered.
Rayleigh slowly set down his cup.
He had long known this day would come, but when it finally arrived there was still a heavy pressure in his chest.
He looked at Bullet and remembered the tall, bristling youth from their first meeting, the figure straining against crushing gravity in training, the shock of the sea falling silent when his Conqueror's Haki awakened.
"Already decided?"
Rayleigh asked.
"I have," Bullet nodded.
"Thank you for your guidance, Mr Rayleigh."
"Without you, I could never have grown this much in such a short time."
Rayleigh fell silent.
He wanted to say something.
About the dangers ahead. About the price of devouring. About what it meant to be a true captain.
But in the end, he only nodded.
"Then go," he said.
"But remember what I told you."
"Power is meant to protect, not oppress."
"I remember."
Roger finally set down the meat in his hand.
He wiped his mouth, stood, and walked over to Bullet.
Their eyes met.
Bullet was fourteen. Roger forty-nine.
One was a monster just beginning to bare his fangs, the other a legend whose name already shook the seas.
Yet in that moment, there was something the same in their gaze.
The look of a king.
"Kid," Roger spoke, voice not loud, but every word clear.
"Do you know what I like most about you?"
Bullet waited.
"Not your talent."
"Not your strength."
"Not even your ambition."
Roger grinned.
"It is that you never make excuses."
"If you want to get stronger, you say you want to get stronger. If you want to fight, you go fight. Now you want to leave, so you say it plainly."
He clapped Bullet on the shoulder, this time with a gentle hand.
"I have known this day would come for a long time."
"From the first day you stepped on this ship, I knew this vessel would not hold a black dragon like you forever."
Roger turned and walked into the cabin, then soon came back carrying a rolled-up chart.
It was a map, but not a normal one.
The parchment was yellowed and worn at the edges, clearly many years old.
When he unfolded it, what lay across it were not ordinary routes but a number of places marked with special symbols.
"One of the most detailed maps of the New World," Roger said.
"I have marked twenty-seven special locations on it myself."
"Danger zones, hidden islands, strong men's territories, and a few secret routes even the Marines do not know about."
He pulled a log pose from inside his coat as well.
Not one pointing to a single island, but a blank, custom-made piece that could record multiple destinations.
"Take these."
Roger shoved both items into Bullet's hands.
"The map will help you find your way. The log pose will let you record your own journey."
"One day, when you have crossed the New World, you can mark your own 'treasures' on it."
Bullet accepted the map and the pointer.
They were heavy, and not only in the literal sense.
"Thank you," he said.
Those two words, he spoke with solemn weight.
Shanks finally snapped out of his shock.
He rushed forward.
"Bullet sir, you are really leaving?"
"Then in the future, we…"
"We will meet again," Bullet interrupted.
"In the future."
"But…"
"Shanks."
Bullet lowered his head slightly to meet the red-haired boy's gaze.
"You also have your own path to walk."
"My road is to devour everything. What is yours?"
Shanks froze.
He had never truly thought about it.
He had worked hard to get stronger because he did not want to be left too far behind by Bullet.
But his own path…
"I think…"
He hesitated.
"I think I want to be like Captain Roger."
"To sail free across the seas, to adventure with my crew, to see every sight I have never seen before."
"Then walk your road," Bullet said.