At dawn, the harbor of Jaya Island was wrapped in a pale, misty light.
Bullet stood at the easternmost berth of the pier, in front of a single-masted speedboat roughly fifteen meters long. The hull had been painted a deep gray, so dark that in the dim morning glow it almost blended into the sea itself.
He had bought this ship with the cut of the treasure he had taken from Carl's hoard.
It was not luxurious, but it was sturdy enough, fast enough, and most importantly, inconspicuous.
He had spent some time modifying it.
The keel was reinforced, extra storage compartments were added, and a special coating had been applied along the bottom of the hull to reduce drag.
His gear was already sorted and stowed.
A waterproof backpack held the essentials: several changes of clothes, the training outfit Rayleigh had given him, the chef's special jerky and bottles of liquor, and the medical kit he had brought down from the Oro Jackson.
For weapons, he chose a simple steel blade.
It was not a famed sword, but it was sharp enough. Swordsmanship was not his main way of fighting, yet out on the sea, you always needed a handy blade for all kinds of tasks.
Then there were the important things.
The new-world sea chart Roger had given him, along with a specially made Log Pose, were carefully wrapped in oiled cloth and placed in the inner pocket close to his chest.
The rubbing that contained clues related to the Poneglyphs and the notes attached to it were sealed separately in a waterproof iron box.
The sketch of Anna Oliventa that Rayleigh had gifted him was carefully pressed between the pages of a blank journal.
Buggy's treasure map, dubious as it seemed, still went into his pack as well.
And then there was that pure black flag, folded as neatly as a ceremonial banner and placed at the very bottom of the storage compartment.
He had not yet decided what to paint on it.
Maybe a black dragon, maybe a vortex that devoured everything, maybe something else entirely.
He would decide when the time came.
Last of all, he took out the silver coin from inside his clothes.
In the faint light of dawn, the emblem of the Roger Pirates engraved upon it gave off a soft, muted gleam.
He rubbed his thumb over the carved lines, feeling the memories that clung to that small piece of metal.
Then, with deliberate care, he hung it around his neck and let it rest against his skin.
Bullet turned and walked toward the deeper part of the harbor.
His footsteps were light, yet in the stillness of the break of day, every step sounded clear and distinct.
On his way, he ran into a few drunken pirates staggering along the pier.
The moment they saw Bullet's towering, muscular frame, they instinctively stepped aside and made way for him.
Even if they did not know who he was, they could feel that inhuman pressure rolling off him.
Before long, he reached the far end of the junk market.
The slave stall was still there.
There were more people crammed inside the iron cages than yesterday. Clearly, the owner had brought in fresh "stock."
The one-armed brute was squatting beside the stall, gnawing on dry bread while counting his money.
Hearing footsteps, he lifted his head.
When he saw that it was Bullet, his expression changed.
"You... what are you doing back here?"
He warily backed away, his hand drifting toward the knife at his waist.
Bullet did not answer. He only looked at the iron cages.
Sensing movement, the people locked inside raised their heads one after another.
Their eyes were still empty and lifeless, yet among the younger ones there was a faint, fragile glimmer left.
It was the instinct to survive, the last shred of yearning for freedom.
"These people..."
Bullet finally spoke.
"How much?"
The one-armed man froze for a moment, then his lips curled into a greedy grin.
"What, you thinking of buying?"
"Name your price."
"All of them?"
The one-armed man's eyes flickered as he calculated.
"These are all good stock.
Men who can work, women who can serve."
"All together... five million berries."
It was clearly daylight robbery.
But Bullet did not haggle.
He took a money pouch from his backpack and tossed it over.
The one-armed man caught it, opened it, and his eyes went wide.
There was more than five million in there, at least seven.
"The extra..."
Bullet said,
"buys you one thing."
"What thing?"
The one-armed man asked, wariness creeping back into his voice.
"Give me the keys, then leave Jaya Island.
Never come back."
The one-armed man's face flickered through several expressions.
He looked at the heavy pouch in his hand, then at Bullet's crimson slit-pupiled eyes, and in the end, he yielded.
He pulled out a ring of keys and tossed it over, then grabbed the money pouch and ran without looking back.
He did not even bother to pack up the rest of his goods on the stall.
Bullet used the keys to unlock every iron cage.
The clatter of chains falling to the ground rang sharp and crisp in the morning air.
The people inside the cages stared at him in a daze, unable to believe that they were truly free.
"You are free now."
Bullet said calmly,
"If you want to go home, there are merchant ships at the harbor."
"If you want revenge..."
He pointed in the direction where the one-armed man had fled.
"That man left just now, and he is carrying a lot of money.
You should be able to figure out the rest."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Behind him came muffled sobs, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.
Some of them had gone after the man, clearly choosing revenge.
Bullet did not look back.
This was all he could do.
In the end, everyone had to walk their own path.
Just like he did.
By the time he returned to the speedboat, the sky was already growing bright.
There was one more person on the pier.
Shanks.
The red-haired boy stood beside the speedboat with a cloth bag in his hand.
When he saw Bullet coming back, he grinned, but the smile was a little strained.
"Knew you would try to sneak off on your own."
Shanks said,
"Good thing I got up early."
Bullet walked over.
"Do you need something?"
"This is for you."
Shanks handed the cloth bag to him.