Chapter 28: Ten Years
Ten years changed many things.
The Oro Jackson was no longer a new ship. Her adam wood hull bore scars from a hundred battles—cannonball marks, claw gouges from sea kings, the faded burns of fire attacks. But she sailed as true as the day Tom launched her, her lines still graceful, her speed still unmatched.
The crew had grown. What had begun as four had become thirty—sailors, fighters, dreamers drawn from every corner of the Grand Line. There was Sanber, the blue fishman who could hold his breath for an hour and break steel with his bare hands. Yui, the quiet man with hair like fire, who spoke only when he had something worth saying. Dorringer, the tiny winged creature who stole food with impunity and somehow never got caught. Max, the bearded philosopher who debated Spencer for hours about currency and power. Galan, the armored warrior who trained in handstands at dawn.
They were a strange collection. But they were family.
Kyle leaned against the stern rail, watching the chaos unfold. Nozdon and Sanber were arm‑wrestling, the deck groaning under their combined weight. Miller was shouting bets. Jabba was refereeing, which meant he was also drinking and occasionally cheering.
Roger stood at the bow, as he always did, watching the horizon. His hair was longer now, his face more weathered, but his laugh was the same. It hadn't changed in ten years.
Rayleigh was nearby, a book in hand, pretending to read while actually watching the arm‑wrestling match. His bounty had climbed to 1.1 billion, but he didn't seem to care. He never had.
Kyle's own bounty had crossed a billion this year. He remembered the first one—1.5 million, a child's face, a name the Marines had made up. Now his posters read "Iron Kyle," 1,000,000,000 Berries. He kept the first poster folded in his pocket, a reminder of how far he'd come.
A news bird landed on the rail, and the crew swarmed. Roger grabbed the stack of wanted posters, grinning.
"Kuhahaha! 1.5 billion! Finally!"
He held up his poster for everyone to see. Rayleigh's was 1.1 billion. Jabba's was 980 million.
And Kyle's.
"One billion," Miller said, whistling. "Our little monster's all grown up."
Kyle took the poster. His face stared back—older, sharper, the golden eyes steady. The number beneath was satisfying, but it was just a number.
Nozdon clapped him on the back. "You're a legend, Kyle!"
"He's been a legend," Jabba said, grinning. "Took them long enough to catch up."
The crew cheered. Someone produced a barrel of rum. Roger was already planning a banquet.
Kyle folded the poster and tucked it into his shirt, beside the old one. He watched his crew—his family—laughing, drinking, celebrating. He thought about the boy who'd washed up on a deserted island, terrified and alone. He thought about the pirates he'd killed, the slaves he'd freed, the battles he'd survived.
Ten years.
He'd learned to control his fruit until he could feel the vibration of a ship ten miles away. He'd learned Observation Haki until he could sense a man's intention before he moved. Armament Haki until his fists could match Jabba's axes. He'd fought Marines, pirates, bounty hunters, sea kings. He'd bled. He'd almost died more times than he could count.
But he'd never been alone.
Rayleigh appeared beside him, two cups in hand. He passed one to Kyle. Juice, still. Some things never changed.
"Ten years," Rayleigh said.
"Ten years," Kyle agreed.
"You're not celebrating."
Kyle looked at the crew, at Roger already arm‑wrestling with Sanber, at Jabba laughing, at Spencer explaining monetary theory to a confused Dorringer.
"I'm celebrating in my own way," Kyle said.
Rayleigh smiled. "Thinking about where you started?"
"Thinking about where we're going." Kyle looked at the horizon. The Grand Line stretched on, endless, full of islands he'd only heard about in stories. "Roger's going to find it, isn't he? The end."
Rayleigh was quiet for a moment. "He's going to try."
"He'll do it." Kyle's voice was certain. "And we'll be there."
They stood in comfortable silence, watching the sun begin to set. The crew was already lighting lanterns, setting up the feast. Roger's laugh echoed across the water.
Kyle touched the folded posters in his shirt. One million, five hundred thousand. One billion. The numbers didn't matter. What mattered was the ship, the crew, the sea.
He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
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End of Chapter 28
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