Chapter 75: A Path of His Own
The cloud sea of Skypiea stretched white and endless beneath the Oro Jackson. Gan Fall stood on a small platform of cloud, his winged mount shifting behind him. He bowed, a formal farewell.
"May the winds carry you safely, pirates of the Blue Sea."
Roger hoisted a sack of supplies over his shoulder, his grin as wide as ever. "We'll be back for that drink, Gan!"
Shanks tugged at Buggy's sleeve, whispering. "How do we get down? We can't just sail off a cloud."
Buggy's face was pale. "We're not jumping. We're not jumping."
Gan Fall smiled. He clapped his hands, and from beneath the cloud bank, a massive shape rose. It was an octopus, its body the size of a small island, its skin a pale pink. Its tentacles stretched toward the ship, curling around the hull with surprising gentleness.
"An octopus hot‑air balloon," Gan Fall explained. "It will carry you back to the Blue Sea."
Buggy made a strangled sound. Shanks's eyes went wide. "We're riding an octopus?"
The creature's head inflated, filling with hot air, and the Oro Jackson lifted from the cloud sea. The descent began slowly, the ship cradled in the giant's grip, the white world of Skypiea receding above them.
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The clouds parted, and the Blue Sea appeared far below, a dark blue sheet dotted with the white of waves. The crew leaned over the rail, watching the world open beneath them. The octopus moved steadily, its tentacles holding the ship secure.
Then the wind shifted.
A sudden gust tore through the passage, catching the octopus's inflated body. The creature shuddered, its grip loosening for a moment. The ship lurched, and men grabbed for the rails, for anything solid. Buggy wrapped his arms around the mast, his face white.
"We're going to fall!"
Roger laughed, his voice carrying over the wind. "Faster! Show us what you've got!"
The octopus, panicked, thrashed. The ship tilted, its deck sliding toward the vertical. Jabba fought the helm, trying to steady them. Rayleigh shouted orders. Shanks had grabbed Buggy, holding him against the mast.
Kyle moved.
He planted his feet on the deck, sending a low, steady vibration through the hull—not to fight the wind, but to calm the creature holding them. The pulse was soft, rhythmic, a heartbeat felt through the wood. The octopus's thrashing slowed. Its tentacles tightened again, steadying the ship.
The wind passed. The descent smoothed.
When the Oro Jackson touched the Blue Sea, the splash sent spray across the deck, and the crew let out a collective breath. The octopus released its grip, lingered a moment, then drifted back toward the sky.
Buggy collapsed on the deck. "I'm never complaining about sailing again."
Shanks helped him up, grinning. "You said that after the Knock Up Stream."
"This time I mean it."
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That night, the crew celebrated their return with the last of the Sky Island provisions. The food was strange—cloud vegetables, sky fish—but the rum was familiar, and the laughter was loud.
Kyle sat apart, his back against the mast, a cup of juice in his hand. He watched Bullet, who stood at the bow, facing the dark sea. The man had not joined the celebration. He had not spoken since they landed.
Roger noticed too. He walked to the bow, stood beside Bullet in silence.
"You're thinking about leaving," Roger said. It was not a question.
Bullet did not deny it. "I don't care about the final island. Or the treasure, or the history. I only care about being the strongest." He turned to face Roger. "I can't do that here."
Roger studied him. There was no anger in his face, no disappointment. "You want to find your own path."
"I want to surpass you. All of you." Bullet's voice was flat, certain. "That's the only thing that matters."
Roger was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed—not the loud laugh of the feast, but a softer, honest sound. "Good. Then go. Find your own way. Become what you need to become."
He clapped Bullet on the shoulder, the force of it almost staggering. "But I'll be at the end of this sea. When you're ready, come find me."
Bullet's jaw tightened. He nodded once, turned, and began preparing a small boat.
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The crew watched in silence as Bullet loaded supplies. No one tried to stop him. They understood, in the way sailors understand the sea, that some currents could not be fought.
Shanks stood at the rail, his hand on his sword hilt. Buggy hovered behind him, his face unreadable. When Bullet's boat was ready, he paused at the rail.
"One day," he said, looking at them all, "I'll be stronger than any of you."
Roger raised a bottle. "I'm counting on it."
Bullet dropped into the boat and cast off. He did not look back. The small sail caught the wind, and the boat moved away, a dark shape against the silver water.
Shanks let out a breath. Buggy was quiet.
Roger turned to the crew, his grin back in place. "We've still got a journey to finish. Let's not waste the night."
The laughter resumed, softer now, but real. Kyle watched the boat disappear over the horizon, then walked back to the mast and sat down. The juice was warm, the night was calm, and the sea was wide.
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End of Chapter 75