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Chapter 18: Two Years
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 02:39:35 +0000 UTCTwo years was enough time for a boy to shed his naivety (not really), and enough for a rickety little boat that could fall apart at any moment to evolve into a... well, at least a mid-sized sailing ship that didn't look like it would sink in the next second.
This one was "generously donated" to them by some dim-witted pirate crew. At the moment, the deck was... complete chaos.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!"
A short, stocky man with a Viking-style beard was pouring an entire barrel of rum down his throat. His name was Millet Pine, and his weapon was a massive spike-covered iron hammer.
His opponent was Gaban, and empty barrels in front of them had already piled up into a small mountain.
"Burp... Millet, you're done for - your face is all pale!" Gaban set down his barrel and patted his belly without changing expression.
"Bullshit! This is... an excited flush!" Millet Pine stubbornly retorted, though his swaying body betrayed him.
Not far away under the mast, a man with an X-shaped scar on his forehead and a cigar permanently stuck in his mouth was cleaning his pistol.
This was Colonel Mugren, a companion they'd gotten to know through fighting at a Marine base island six months ago. He watched the two drinking contestants and snorted contemptuously through his nose.
"Honestly, two drunks."
"Colonel Mugren, isn't it good to enjoy youthful vitality?" came a gentle voice.
A swordsman named Spencer, his red hair meticulously tied back and wearing a noble's formal attire, held a glass of red wine and leaned elegantly against the rail, as if the surrounding commotion had nothing to do with him.
He'd originally been a merchant ship guard before being "recruited" along with his ship by Roger's "personal charm."
"Hmph." Mugren didn't respond further, only glancing toward the crow's nest. He was still holding a grudge about Gaban getting him drunk two days ago and making him embarrass himself.
Up in the crow's nest, a chubby old man held his beloved long-barreled sniper rifle - not for lookout duty, but to shout down below: "Hey! You bastards keep it down! You scared away the seagull in my scope!"
This was their sniper, Petermoo.
Kyle sat on the massive figurehead, feeling mentally exhausted.
Two years - he'd gotten used to this daily routine. He looked at these oddly-shaped guys on deck: the big lug Nozdon with his pointy head that reminded him of someone from his past life, the taciturn but skilled swordsman Isaac Jr., Bankuro, who was always tinkering with strange machinery, and Blumarine, who kept the navigation log...
Roger's pirate crew had grown from the initial four-person "amateur operation" to its current scale of over a dozen people, finally taking shape.
These people were just a few lines of text in his past life's memories, some vague silhouettes.
But now they were living, breathing companions with distinct personalities.
Kyle still remembered how, to invite the aloof Colonel Mugren aboard, Roger played "Russian roulette" with him for three days and nights; to convince the nobleman Spencer, Rayleigh talked with him through the night about everything from history and politics to poetry; to get the alcohol-obsessed Millet Pine to nod yes, Gaban drank his way through an entire town's worth of taverns with him.
Each companion's joining was accompanied by some ridiculous story, while he himself - Kyle, who aspired to become the "Big Boss" - played the role of... adhesive?
For instance, he remembered to add a lemon slice to Spencer's red wine - it was the man's habit; he could chat with Bankuro about mechanical transmission topics, even though he only knew the basics; and he was the only one who could get Mugren to listen to a complete sentence before starting to curse.
His "face" might not yet be at the level where he could get the Fleet Admiral to deploy warships, but on this ship, it already had quite the appearance of "currency."
"Yo, Kyle, spacing out again?"
Rayleigh had somehow sat down beside him, offering a cup of warm black tea.
"No," Kyle accepted the teacup and took a sip, "just thinking about what kind of monsters we've gathered on this ship."
"Gu ha ha ha! The best kind of monsters, of course!" Roger's voice came from behind. He rushed to the bow like a gust of wind, planted one foot on the rail, and spread his arms as if to embrace the entire ocean.
"Boys! That island ahead looks interesting! Let's go throw a party!"
"Ohhhhhh!"
Well, the tradition of partying anywhere and everywhere had definitely been passed down.
The deck instantly erupted in thunderous cheers. Millet and Gaban put down their barrels, Colonel Mugren holstered his pistol, and Petermoo leaped down from the crow's nest, nearly punching a hole in the deck.
Everyone's face wore the same expression - genuine excitement and anticipation from the heart.
"Captain, the charts show that's an unmarked summer island - there could be unknown dangers," Spencer dutifully reminded.
"Doesn't that make it even more interesting!" Roger turned back with a grin showing all his white teeth, his smile as brilliant as the sun.
"That's right! Adventure! Adventure!" Nozdon waved arms thicker than Kyle's entire body, his roar like thunder.
Watching this scene of demons dancing wildly, Kyle helplessly held his forehead as warmth quietly flowed through his chest.
He'd once thought Roger's crew's strength lay in the three core members - Roger, Rayleigh, and Gaban - but now he understood that every person on this ship was indispensable. It was these characters with different personalities and chaotic quirks coming together that formed this legendary group that would shock the world.
There was no rigid hierarchy here, no scheming. The captain would change course on a whim because something seemed "interesting," and crew members would bet everything on boring competitions. They'd cheer for a companion's victory and quietly offer a drink when someone felt down.
Freedom, ease, brotherhood.
Kyle looked back to see Roger waving vigorously at him, sunlight shining on him with that same infectious boldness and freedom as that night two years ago.
He grumbled, "Coming, coming, what's the rush?" but his steps were light as he followed.
Yeah, even though it was mentally exhausting, even though none of these guys were reliable...
It was damn fun!
"Hey! You guys, quiet down!"
"Yes! Little Kyle!"
"Wait! I was the third one on the ship - call me senpai!"
"Yes! Little Kyle-senpai!"
"You idiots!"
"Hahahahahaha!"
