After parting ways with Jabba, Kyle found and purchased a small, uniquely shaped boat from a local shipwright. The vessel's design was peculiar; its hull was long and narrow, painted entirely in a stark, matte black. A single black sail was fixed at the stern, and its only seat was a high-backed chair that looked more like a throne. Kyle thought it had a certain dramatic flair, a style that perfectly suited his current state of mind—a lost soul, recently unemployed and adrift in the world. He settled into the throne-like seat, allowing the small craft to drift along with the ocean current.
The sea was an endless blue cage, but it was also the freest battlefield in the world.
Transitioning from the massive, bustling deck of the Oro Jackson to this solitary boat, which could hold only a single person, was a drastic change. Yet, the immense sense of disparity didn't make Kyle uncomfortable. On the contrary, the profound quiet allowed his heart, still in turmoil from all the goodbyes, to gradually settle. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and resting his long naginata across his lap.
Kyle closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift and organize. He had always been one to plan before acting, and now was the time to take stock of what he had and map out his future. Over the years, following Roger through countless battles across the Grand Line, Kyle had grown from a wild young man into one of the most formidable pirates on the sea. His strength was now on a completely different level.
First, he considered his physical combat skills.
For decades, Kyle hadn't trained by mindlessly lifting weights like some of his crewmates, who ended up as hulking masses of muscle. His method was more refined. Using the power of his Wave-Wave Fruit, he had learned to generate weak bio-electric currents, constantly stimulating every cell, muscle fiber, and nerve in his body. This internal tempering had long ago pushed his physical abilities to their absolute peak. To get any stronger, he would need to shatter his natural limits and achieve a level of power that was almost inhuman, something he wasn't even sure was possible. "My physical strength is fine as it is," he muttered to himself. "It's more than enough."
Next, he thought about his Devil Fruit ability. This was his greatest asset and the true source of his future potential. "To control all 'waves' in the world..." Kyle's fingertips gently traced the cold, sharp edge of his naginata's blade. "Sound waves, light waves, electromagnetic waves, shockwaves... even the waves of gravity itself."
Countless ideas for new techniques and applications of his power surfaced in his mind. "I wonder what it will be like after it awakens," Kyle mused, a slight smile unconsciously forming on his lips. The thought of transforming everything around him into a medium for his waves—making the very earth ripple like the ocean or the air vibrate like a plucked string—was the kind of power that bordered on godhood.
Finally, there was Haki. As a veteran commander of the Roger Pirates, mastering the three types of Haki was simply a standard requirement. Having spent years in the presence of two of the world's greatest Haki users, Roger and Rayleigh, his own Haki had long since been honed to perfection. He had a complete understanding of its advanced applications, whether it was the flowing power Oden called Ryuo or Roger's technique of coating his attacks with the overwhelming force of his Conqueror's Haki.
And yet, he knew the World Government likely underestimated him. It was an embarrassing thought, but life on the Oro Jackson had been almost too comfortable. The warriors on that ship were all monsters in their own right. There was Roger, who would always shout, "I won't let my crew get hurt!" before charging to the front lines to unleash his devastating "God Avoidance" attack. There was Jabba, who would swing his twin axes in a whirlwind of destruction. Later, Kozuki Oden joined them, a man who seemed capable of punching a hole in the sky.
Against such overwhelming strength, Kyle's role was often to support them, to control the battlefield and clear out weaker enemies with large-scale area-of-effect attacks. He rarely had the chance to truly unleash his full power in a desperate, one-on-one fight. Most of the time, he could be found sunbathing on the deck, sipping orange juice, or quietly researching new ways to use his Devil Fruit.
At this thought, Kyle pulled a somewhat crumpled wanted poster from his bag.
[DEAD OR ALIVE]
[IRON KYLE]
[BOUNTY: 2,100,000,000 BERRIES]
The photo showed him leaning against the railing of the Oro Jackson, captured in the middle of a lazy yawn, looking half-asleep.
"Two point one billion..." Kyle looked at the number and pouted. "The World Government really doesn't think much of me. But," he considered, "factoring in how often I was slacking off, I guess this price is fair."
He casually tossed the wanted poster into the air, letting the sea breeze catch it and carry it away until it sank into the deep blue depths, disappearing forever.
His aimless drifting continued for several more days. One afternoon, the familiar squawk of a News Coo echoed from the sky above. Kyle flicked his finger, sending a Berry flying with perfect precision into the bird's collection pouch. In exchange, the latest newspaper dropped neatly into his lap.
The front-page headline, in big, bold letters, announced the official disbandment of the Roger Pirates. The article used dramatic, exaggerated language to describe the disappearance of these "devils," speculating that they were secretly plotting some even greater conspiracy. Every sentence was filled with a mixture of fear and gloating.
Kyle scoffed at the ridiculous report and flipped directly to the back pages. There, a small, inconspicuous piece of news caught his eye.
"Marine Hero Vice Admiral Garp once again refused a promotion to the rank of Admiral. It is reported that his son, Monkey D. Dragon, has left the Marines. He is said to hold dangerous ideologies, and his current whereabouts are unknown..."
"Dragon, huh..." Kyle's eyes flickered with recognition. He remembered the intense young man he had met once, long ago, on God Valley—a man whose eyes burned with a righteous fire. It seemed the flames of a future revolution were already being quietly kindled.
He continued to scan the paper, which was filled with the usual news of pirates burning, killing, and plundering across the seas. The world remained as chaotic as ever.
"Sigh, what a troublesome era."
Kyle sighed, crumpled the newspaper into a ball, and casually waved his hand. The paper ball flew in a neat arc, and just as it was about to hit the water, an invisible shockwave shattered it into the finest powder, which scattered harmlessly in the wind.
He stretched his arms, stood up from his throne, and walked to the bow of the boat, staring out at the horizon.
"Roger's illness... the hope is slim, but I have to try," he murmured to himself. "There are always miracles to be found on this ocean, hidden in corners no one has ever thought to look."
This quest wasn't just for Roger. It was also a way to give himself a reason to move forward, a purpose for his own aimless journey. For Kyle, his true voyage had only just begun.
"This new era," he said with a soft laugh that dissipated into the endless sea breeze, "had better not be too boring."
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