In the early morning, Kyle struggled to sit up on the beach, and everything in his vision was blurry and shadowy. On the shore, two energetic monsters had already begun their morning workout.
Roger and Gaban were locked in a loud, intense clash—one swinging his sword, the other brandishing an axe—engaged in a vigorous but entirely meaningless confrontation.
The crashing of metal, their thunderous shouts, and the unrestrained shockwaves precisely shattered Kyle's already fragile nerves.
"Good morning, Kyle! Sleep well?" Roger called out between swings, still finding time to grin at him.
"Screw you..." Kyle groaned, clutching his head like it was about to burst into a pot of mashed beans.
"Haha, young folks have such poor recovery." Gaban blocked Roger's sword with his axe and still had the breath to shake his head and comment casually.
A wisp of mellow coffee aroma drifted over—the only salvation in this madness.
Rayleigh was calmly seated beside the extinguished campfire, leisurely brewing coffee in a small pot, as if the chaotic noise didn't concern him in the slightest.
"Want a cup?" he asked, offering Kyle a wooden mug.
Kyle crawled over like a pardoned prisoner. The warm liquid slid down his throat, finally clearing away some of the fuzz in his brain.
"By the way," Kyle glanced at the worn-out wreck they'd left on the shore, "we seriously need to talk about our transport situation. If we put Mr. Gaban back in that thing, I suspect it'll choose to sink itself in protest. You guys might survive—but I'm definitely getting sent to the sea floor."
Rayleigh took a sip of coffee, glanced at the ship, and nodded in agreement. "It's fulfilled its duty."
"Hey, hey! How could you say that!" Roger and Gaban's morning sparring had ended at some point. Now standing beside the boat, Roger patted its side with visible sorrow. "It was our first companion at sea! How can we abandon it so easily!"
The boat let out a long, unbearable creak under Roger's iron grip, as if groaning in pain.
"That's right!" Gaban bellowed in agreement. "A ship's value lies in the dreams it carries, not in the weight of its planks!"
Kyle looked at the two hot-blooded idiots like they were completely delusional.
"You two..." He pointed at the cracks at the bottom of the ship, half-sealed with seaweed and mud, then at the mast that looked ready to snap at any moment. "Its soul is probably already halfway to the next world. And you, Mr. Gaban—with your physique and two axes that weigh at least a hundred kilos—are you really sure it won't split in half the moment we set foot on it?"
"Kuhahaha! Don't worry, it's a piece of cake!" Roger waved dismissively, looking proud. "A real pirate can cross the sea on a plank of wood! This kind of hardship is perfect for training our survival skills!"
"I don't want to train that skill!" Kyle's desperate roar echoed across the beach.
In the end, with an overwhelming vote of 2 to 1 (Rayleigh abstained), Kyle's protests were ruthlessly overruled. The group reached a consensus: temporarily use the deathtrap of a ship, and save up to buy a proper one as soon as possible.
And so, under Kyle's tragic gaze, Roger and Gaban cheerfully loaded the supplies—mainly barrels of wine and dried meat—onto the creaking boat. With every added item, the hull sank slightly deeper, groaning as if on the verge of collapse.
When it was Kyle's turn to board, he stood beside the boat, took a deep breath, and his expression turned solemn, as if stepping toward death.
He reached out and gently patted the weather-beaten hull, whispering like bidding farewell to an old comrade: "Old friend, I know you've done your best. If… if we really must sink, please go down slowly—give me time to grab a plank, at least..."
"Kyle! Quit dawdling! Time to set sail!" Roger's voice came from the bow.
Kyle clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and stepped onto the deck. The wooden plank beneath him let out a sharp screech, and the entire boat tilted violently to one side, nearly throwing him into the sea.
"See?! I told you!" Kyle turned pale and clutched the side of the boat for dear life.
"Relax, it's just saying hello!" Roger grinned. The boat wobbled as it left the beach and drifted into the vast blue sea.
And with the start of the journey, disaster struck.
"Bang!"
There was a dull thud below deck. A moment later, a thin column of water shot up through a gap in the boards, forming a miniature fountain that landed squarely on Kyle's head.
"Ahh—the boat's leaking! That's exactly where Roger busted the floor while moving the wine barrel earlier!" Kyle shouted, soaked and furious.
"Oh, small issue." Roger glanced at the leak, grabbed a cork from a nearby empty wine barrel, ran over, and stomped it hard into the hole.
"Boom!"
The cork was stomped in tightly, and the little fountain vanished instantly.
"See? Problem solved," Roger clapped his hands with an I'm-so-smart look on his face.
Kyle's eye twitched. Was he serious? How was that any different from slapping a Band-Aid on an aorta? Before he could finish complaining, Rayleigh's calm voice rang out:
"Roger, the sail won't go up."
Everyone turned to look.
Rayleigh was pulling on the rope to raise the sail, except the other end of the rope was hanging loose. The frayed hemp had snapped in half the moment it was tugged. With a loud crash, the massive sail fell like a net, draping squarely over Gaban, who was standing beneath the mast.
"Oooooh!" Gaban groaned from under the canvas.
"Gaban-san! Duct tape!" Kyle shouted.
The canvas bulged for a moment, then a thick arm punched out, giving a shaky thumbs-up.
"I'm good! This canvas… It's tough stuff! Real quality!"
"Kuhahaha! Gaban, just hold the sail up for us!" Roger said, laughing like it was nothing.
And so, for the rest of the journey, Gaban served as a living mast, using his massive frame and arms to hold the sail at just the right angle to catch the wind.
Kyle was too tired to even complain. His soul had already gone numb.
"Hmm?" Rayleigh, steering at the helm, suddenly let out a quiet sound.
Kyle's heart skipped a beat, overcome by a terrible sense of foreboding. He turned his head slowly—almost unwillingly—and saw Rayleigh raising one hand.
The rudder—the steering system of the ship—was now just a splintered stick in the Vice captain's hand.
"..."
"..."
"..."
An eerie silence settled over the ship, broken only by the whispering wind and the sound of waves. Kyle's jaw slowly dropped. He stood frozen, completely petrified.
"Oh my," Rayleigh said, looking at the broken tiller in his hand with a troubled expression.
"This is… a bit of a problem."
"Kuhahahaha!" Roger's explosive laughter shattered the stillness. "Interesting! Even the rudder's gone! This trip just keeps getting better!"
His eyes gleamed as he turned to Gaban. "Gaban! Lend me your axe!"
Gaban's face lit up at once—he instantly understood. "Great idea! If we stick the axe blade into the sea, we can steer the ship!"
"Exactly!" The two clapped like they had just solved something big.
Kyle screamed in despair. "Are you guys seriously going to dismantle the ship to use it as spare parts?!"
But no one paid any attention to his breakdown.
Gaban quickly handed Roger a battle axe, and Roger, eyes gleaming with excitement, dashed to the stern. He plunged the axe blade into the sea and began sweeping it side to side like he was rowing a giant canoe.
Under his improvised control, the ship began twisting and turning in a bizarre S-shaped path across the waves.
Kyle gave up. Completely. He collapsed on the deck, letting the cold seawater splash across his face.
"Yo-hohoho, Yo-hohoho! Sing with me, lads!" Roger cheered, swinging the axe like a paddle.
"Going to deliver Binks' Sake! Following the sea breeze! Riding on the waves!" Gaban and Rayleigh also joined in, humming the lively, heroic tune as it floated across the sea.
Kyle silently covered his face. This wasn't just a pirate ship. He had clearly been committed to a pirate-themed asylum.