By the time Bullet snapped back to his senses, the once chaotic battlefield had fallen into an eerie silence.
Dust filled the sky, blanketing the entire area, but he didn't even need to look—he already knew the battlefield had been completely swept clean.
Not just the battlefield—even the sea behind him held only a handful of Galzburg military warships still afloat. The vast majority of battleships and troop carriers had already been obliterated by the King Punch.
But none of that caught his attention. He simply stared blankly at the figure standing before him.
The next second, the Susanoo dispersed. Valthior turned to look at the prone Bullet, grinned broadly, and said:
"Kid, staying on the battlefield as expendable material has no future. On behalf of the Roger Pirates, I invite you to head out to the free seas. Come with me!"
Bullet's mind was still in a daze, and he didn't fully process Valthior's words.
But clearly, while Valthior spoke of "freedom," he had no intention of giving Bullet any real choice. He stepped forward, grabbed Bullet by the shoulder, stomped down, and dragged him straight toward the distant sea.
By the time the smoke of battle and the sand stirred up by the King Punch finally settled, the Oro Jackson had already leisurely sailed away from the area.
On deck, Roger and the others were curiously gathered around, observing Bullet.
Meanwhile, Bullet remained on guard, pressing himself as close to the railing as possible to give himself a sense of security.
"So this is the guy you went all that way to bring back? Doesn't look all that impressive," Roger said, stroking his chin.
Rayleigh, standing nearby, asked with curiosity, "Hey, how old are you?"
After a brief silence, Bullet finally replied, "In two months… I'll be eleven."
Even though Valthior had mentioned it before, hearing Bullet confirm it himself left the Roger Pirates visibly shocked.
Gaban glanced at Buggy and Shanks, who were clinging to his legs on either side, then looked back at Bullet and blurted out:
"This is eleven!? I'd believe you if you said he was twenty-five!"
"What kind of early development is this!?" Rayleigh exclaimed.
Bullet seemed annoyed at having his age discussed. His expression darkened as he said:
"If you don't absorb as much energy from food as possible and make your body stronger, you won't survive on the battlefield."
As soon as he said that, the others fell silent for a moment.
Roger rubbed his nose and said, "Well… that makes some sense. Anyway—Douglas Bullet. I'm Gol D. Roger, a pirate, and the captain of the Roger Pirates. Since we met out here on the sea, it must be fate. As captain, I invite you to join the Roger Pirates as an apprentice… in charge of deck scrubbing. What do you say? Want to become our crewmate?"
Bullet looked at Roger, then at Valthior, who was watching him expectantly. After a moment, he asked:
"Is being a pirate… interesting?"
"Hard to say. We fight plenty out at sea too," Roger replied with a grin. "But I'm pretty sure it's a lot more interesting than being a child soldier in Galzburg. Out here, you meet all kinds of people beyond the battlefield—and you experience adventures most people couldn't even imagine."
As Bullet listened, the wariness in his eyes gradually eased. The numbness faded as well.
After a while, he nodded. "Alright. I'll take the deck-scrubbing job seriously."
"Hahaha! No need to be that serious. Everyone takes turns scrubbing the deck," Roger laughed, patting Bullet on the shoulder.
At that moment, Valthior stepped forward.
"Then welcome to the Roger Pirates. I'm Valthior, the ship's scholar and executive vice-captain. Since you're aboard, how about becoming my underling?"
"He's already on my ship, so he's obviously my underling. You've lost, Valthior!" Roger quickly cut in.
"That's not the same thing! We're all companions here—there's no such thing as underlings. Don't talk nonsense, Roger!" Valthior shot back.
That left Roger momentarily speechless. Then he turned to Bullet and said:
"Ahem—surely you've heard of me, right? I, Roger, am a big name on these seas—a standout among pirates. You can tell just from me being the captain. I'm very strong, you know. You can choose between me and Valthior as your boss—think it through carefully!"
Bullet didn't understand why he had to choose a "boss," but one thing was clear—both Valthior and Roger were far stronger than him.
His time in the military had already taught him that the strong hold authority. Following the orders of the strong was only natural.
So he didn't resist. He looked straight at Valthior and said:
"If I have to choose… I choose you."
Roger froze for a moment, then exploded in frustration.
"Why!? Why him? I'm the captain—and I'm stronger than him! Want to rethink that, kid!?"
Bullet looked at Roger and said calmly:
"Maybe you are stronger, and your position is higher. But… sorry. I feel like we're kind of the same."
"The same!?" Roger was baffled. "In what way are you the same as me!?"
But Bullet didn't answer him. Instead, he rubbed the medal in his hand and looked at Valthior.
"Among everyone on this ship… he's the only one who's different. He looks like a man who has everything. And I have nothing. So I choose him. I want to have everything too!!!"
Perhaps in a few years, after experiencing betrayal and everything that followed, Bullet's worldview would undergo a complete transformation. At that point, he would truly revere strength above all else, trust only himself, and judge everything through the lens of power.
But not now.
Right now, he hadn't gone through any of that. He was just a child soldier who had nothing—except for that single medal.
Compared to Roger's strength or status as captain, he wanted more to become someone like Valthior—a man who "had everything." Even if it was just a gut feeling, he made his choice.
"Hahahahaha! Do I really look like a man who has everything?" Valthior asked happily, clearly pleased, as he looked around at the others.
Roger, meanwhile, finally realized something.
So when this brat said "we're the same," he meant… lacking noble bearing? Or being poor?
Hey, I'm worth tens of billions of Berries, alright? …Even if all my money's in Valthior's family bank.
…Wait. Why does that sentence alone make me feel the gap between wealth and class?
Gaban looked at Valthior, then at the others, and suddenly came to a realization.
"I always felt like, even after all these years, you were somehow different from us. Now I get it. Just like Bullet said—you're a lord, Valthior. We're just commoners!"
"Terrifying, those Celestial Dragons," Rayleigh teased.
"Celestial Dragon!?" Bullet's head snapped toward Valthior. "You're one of the supreme World Nobles—the Celestial Dragons!?"
Valthior could tell—perhaps due to his past experiences, Bullet seemed to harbor an extreme longing and admiration for the noble class.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have described Celestial Dragons as "supreme."
Thinking this, Valthior casually waved his hand and said in a dismissive tone:
"Oh, it's nothing. Just a descendant of the creators, one of the bloodlines of the Twenty Kings—the heir of one of the Five Elder families of Mary Geoise. Not worth mentioning."
Bullet's eyes lit up.
In Galzburg, a nation locked in endless war, nobles held incredibly high status. They were respected, exempt from military service, and controlled the distribution of all spoils of war—they were natural rulers.
Having grown up there as the lowest of child soldiers, Bullet had always yearned for the life of nobility.
In the original timeline, it wasn't until he was betrayed, left alone, destroyed Galzburg, and personally witnessed those "high and mighty" nobles being crushed beneath him that these illusions were shattered.
"If I serve you… can I become a noble as well?" Bullet couldn't help but ask.
When speaking to the captain, Bullet had said "we're the same."
But when facing a Celestial Dragon, he instinctively switched to a respectful "you."
That made Roger roll his eyes in irritation.
...
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