Year 1497 of the Sea Calendar.
For months, Rhett had scoured the seas for Pure Gold and that damned anglerfish. Each dead end darkened his mood further.
Today was no different—he'd just obliterated another pirate crew, interrogating them about sightings of the glowing fish when Roger's Den Den Mushi rang.
"Kyahaaha! Rhett, come back. We're heading to the final island," Roger's voice crackled through the snail.
"That fucking fish still hasn't shown its face. Go without me."
Rhett clenched his fist, thinking of Roger's deteriorating condition. Where the hell are you hiding?
"Kyahaaha! This voyage needs you, Rhett. As captain of the Roger Pirates, I'm asking you to return."
"You bastard—since when do you 'ask'? Shouldn't it be an order? Don't you know what shape you're in?!" Rhett roared at the snail.
No hesitation from the other end.
"Come home, Rhett!"
Roger knew. Of course he knew Rhett was searching for a cure.
But the captain also knew this—Rhett was crew. The final voyage wouldn't be complete without him. It wouldn't be fair.
The Oro Jackson sailed toward destiny.
In the original tale, Buggy and Shanks never made it ashore. Buggy had collapsed with fever.
Suddenly, Rhett gripped the railing. His Observation Haki exploded outward like a tidal wave.
Ahead, the sea twisted under some invisible force. Even sound died there.
Roger stood on the figurehead, straw hat snapping in the gale. His grin widened. "This is it! I can hear—"
A blue-white lightning bolt struck.
Rhett's knees hit the deck. Blood spots bloomed across his vision. A high-pitched whine shredded his eardrums.
"Rhett-nii?!" Shanks' voice sounded muffled, distant.
Buggy had collapsed earlier by the mainmast, curled into a shivering ball, skin flushed crimson.
Crocus tore open Buggy's sleeve but found nothing wrong. Both boys burned with fever.
Buggy's constitution made sense—but what fever could drop Rhett? Damn you, Oda.
Rhett forced his head up. The final island shimmered into view.
"Like hell!" Rhett launched himself skyward with Moon Walk, charging madly toward land.
Every meter closer drained him further. Vision blurred. The whine became a drill in his skull.
Gale-force winds shoved him back.
"Mist God Style: Heaven's Cleaver!"
His black blade carved a crimson arc through the air. Rhett rode the shockwave, Haki flaring like a dying star.
"Not even the gods will stop me today! MOVE!"
His foot touched soil—and every ounce of strength left him.
Rhett bit his tongue. Blood filled his mouth. He crawled forward, fingers digging into dirt.
"Damn...it..."
"Rhett!"
"RHE—"
Silence.
The Oro Jackson floated peacefully offshore.
Below decks, Rhett's eyes snapped open. Sweat soaked his sheets. Wooden ceiling. Swaying lantern.
"Ooo?" Laboon's call came from the corner.
Brook ground bitter herbs nearby. "Ah, Mr. Rhett! You've been unconscious three days."
Rhett tried to sit up. His fingers trembled violently. This weakness—like someone had siphoned his very marrow.
"Brook...why didn't you go? This chance won't come again." His voice was sandpaper.
Now that the island's pull had faded, his strength returned—slowly, painfully.
Brook's hands stilled. "Yohohoho! Didn't you say I'd find wonderful nakama? There's no hurry. Your health matters more. Though, are you two really alright?"
Next door, a crash. Shanks' roar: "Stop being so fucking stubborn!"
"You swore you'd be Pirate King! Go catch up to the captain!" Buggy's scream cracked. "Don't play hero now!"
Rhett yanked out his IV. Stumbled through the door.
Sunlight blinded him—Shanks and Buggy grappled on the floor. Brook fluttered around them. Laboon held Buggy gently—the boy swayed, fever still raging.
Under Rhett's training, both boys had grown far stronger than in the original tale.
Everyone froze.
"Rhett-nii!" Shanks grinned through Buggy's handprint on his face. "This idiot—"
"Shut up!" Buggy weakly kicked his shin. "You started—"
"Enough." Rhett's whisper cut deeper than any shout. Both boys stilled.
He turned to Brook. "When did they leave?"
The skeleton scratched his afro. "Yesterday at dawn. After three days waiting...they went ashore. Said they'd tell you everything. Though, Mr. Rhett, your condition was...terrifying."
Strange. Did the island choose who could step foot? They wake right after the crew departs.
"Why am I so weak? What did Crocus say?"
"Because you nearly died." Brook handed Laboon's bowl of bitter medicine to Rhett. "When we found you ashore, you were hemorrhaging."
Bony fingers plucked violin strings. "Blood mist ran wild, painting the entire bay red, yohohoho..."
Laboon nuzzled Rhett's hand.
"I stayed with Laboon. Shanks refused to leave too." Brook tilted his skull. "Even though he was fine."
Shanks turned away.
Buggy leapt up. "He swore we'd uncover the world's secrets together! Now he won't go? Liar! You—"
"We promised!" Shanks punched the deck. "Why...why split up now?!"
Rhett gazed at the horizon. Unnatural white fog swirled there. Even his Haki sensed nothing—as if the world had been severed.
"Oi." Rhett pulled both boys close, one hand on each head.
He took a shaky breath. "Listen."
Two pairs of wide eyes looked up.
"When you..." Rhett swallowed. "When you find your own crews...come back together."
Buggy's face was snot and tears. "But Captain Roger—"
"His voyage was his own."
Rhett released them, turning toward his cabin. "You're young. You'll have your own crews someday. Return then—as free pirates. As honorable men."
He wasn't sure who needed to hear this more—them or himself.
Rhett met Buggy's gaze. "Treasure's fine. But never harm civilians. The strong raise blades against stronger foes. The weak? They prey on weaker ones. Understand? You're strong, Buggy. Believe it."
He knew the original Buggy—no saint, though later reduced to comic relief. A mediocre genius among true monsters. Always overshadowed. When such a man finally finds someone weaker...of course he'd lash out. Rhett couldn't blame him. Homegrown heroes were like that.
"Brook, why don't you go up there? It's a rare opportunity." His voice came out horrifically hoarse.
As the obsession with reaching the final island faded, his stamina gradually returned—slowly, but enough to spare him further suffering.