Taking Flight

When Shirakawa woke up again, it was already afternoon. There wasn't even a single island around—the ship had drifted into some unknown region.

Aside from the navigator and a few crew members on duty, almost no one was standing.

"For a pirate crew like this to produce a Pirate King, it really comes down to absolute strength," Shirakawa muttered with a wry smile, shaking his head.

"You little brat, your skills aren't much, but your drinking capacity isn't bad at all," a navigator said, spotting him awake and cursing with a grin.

"I'm not sure either. Maybe it's because of my ability—it lets me recover my condition quickly."

"By the way, we still don't know what your Devil Fruit ability is. Every time you use it, a giant sword appears in the sky. That's really cool." The speaker's voice carried a hint of envy. He was probably thinking, If I had such a cool ability, I wouldn't still be single.

"I don't know. I've even forgotten when I ate the Devil Fruit."

"Fair enough. After all, you don't even remember your past."

With that, the navigator left to keep an eye on the weather. After all, this was the New World—not a place to be careless.

Bored and with Rayleigh still unconscious, Shirakawa decided to familiarize himself with his abilities. He pulled out a dagger, intending to cut his own hand to see if the wound would heal. But after gesturing at his hand for a long time, he ultimately couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Forget it. I'll check when I actually get hurt." He put the dagger away, refusing to admit he was scared.

"Right, the King of Silver also has a flying ability, doesn't he?" Shirakawa recalled the King of Silver's powers in his mind. "Seriously, inheriting the ability without the memories—I have to figure it all out myself," he grumbled.

Still, he earnestly considered how to fly. He tried jumping hard, but aside from leaping higher than normal, his hang time was maybe a second. He repeated the attempt several times, but none achieved the result he wanted—or rather, he never actually flew.

"Hey, Shirakawa, what are you doing? You keep thumping and thumping—I'm trying to sleep!"

"Sorry, Shanks. I'll move somewhere else." Shirakawa realized he'd woken Shanks up, smiled apologetically, and relocated to an empty spot.

"I'm going to fly today, no matter what." Shirakawa was dead set on it. No one could change his mind.

As time ticked by, Shirakawa was already jumping until he was gasping for breath, drenched in sweat, his legs feeling almost numb.

"How is this possible? Didn't I inherit the flying ability?" he wailed inwardly.

"That's not going to work, you know." A voice suddenly sounded beside him.

Shirakawa turned to see a man with sunglasses and a ponytail sitting next to him. He had no idea how long the man had been there.

Scopper Gaban. Shirakawa had some impression of him because Shanks had emphasized his introduction. The third-in-command of the Roger Pirates, a man as renowned as Silvers Rayleigh, and an old friend of Captain Roger—they'd supposedly known each other even before the Roger Pirates were founded.

"I don't know what you're training, but training blindly like this won't get you anywhere."

"Then what should I do?" Gaban's strength was formidable. Getting his guidance would be immensely beneficial for Shirakawa.

"Who knows?" Gaban laughed heartily, stood up, and walked away, as if he'd only come to tease him.

Hearing Gaban's words and watching his retreating back, Shirakawa would have kicked him hard in the rear if he weren't outmatched.

"But no matter what you do, you have to ask your heart: is this really the right way to do it?"

"Ask my heart... huh?" Gaban left, leaving Shirakawa standing alone, sinking into deep thought.

At some point, Shirakawa suddenly felt the sounds around him fade away—the crashing waves, the cries of seagulls, the footsteps and chatter of the other crew members—all gone. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat, slowly growing louder in his ears.

"Thump, thump, thump"—it seemed random, yet as if it were trying to convey some message to him.

Then, in a flash, silver light burst through Shirakawa's mind. Everything clicked, connecting into one.

"So that's how it is. I understand."

With that, Shirakawa entered the state of the King of Silver, his body draped in silver light, and the Sword of Damocles appeared high in the sky.

Noticing this from nearby, Gaban smiled faintly, as if very satisfied with Shirakawa's performance.

"It's that Shirakawa guy causing trouble again?"

The awake members of the Roger Pirates all saw the giant sword. Though they had already seen it twice, they still had to be amazed when the moment called for it.

Just as they looked up to admire the giant sword, a figure suddenly flew over their heads.

"Th-th-that's Shirakawa?"

Someone stammered, asking the companion beside them while pointing at the figure.

"Pr-probably?"

They had seen people who could fly before, but aside from Golden Lion's Doss-Doss Fruit, almost all of them were Zoan-Type bird users, plus one Marine with the Glint-Glint Fruit.

Their own ship had never had anyone who could fly. Even the Captain could only stay airborne for a long time, nowhere near as freely mobile as Shirakawa.

"So it's flying. No wonder he was jumping like crazy. But what does jumping have to do with flying?"

Seeing Shirakawa fly, Gaban was a bit surprised too, but he really couldn't figure out why Shirakawa had been jumping earlier. Had someone told him that jumping would let him fly? It wasn't like he was practicing Geppo.

"Well, this is good. It fills the gap in the crew's capabilities."

Gaban muttered to himself. It was a well-known weakness that the Roger Pirates lacked the ability to fight in the air for extended periods.

"I'll have to tell Rayleigh to train him well."

Though the gap was filled, the new piece was like blank paper—pierceable with a single poke. Whether he ran into that Pineapple Head on Whitebeard's ship or that Lewd Monkey Face in the Marines, he'd be taken out in an instant.

"Whoa-woah-woah!"

Shirakawa, flying for the first time, let out a comfortable yell. For some reason, he suddenly loved this feeling—free, unrestrained, as if his entire mind and body had relaxed.

But Shirakawa's yelling woke everyone else up too.

"Shut up, you brat."

A bottle flew from somewhere, heading straight for Shirakawa. He raised his defense, but it shattered instantly.

Before his shocked eyes, the bottle hit him square in the forehead.

"Ah!"

Shirakawa screamed, fell, and crashed heavily onto the deck. The Sword of Damocles in the sky vanished.

"Is he dead?"

"Probably not?"

"Go check."

"Phew, not dead. Just passed out."