Their own choices

The day the Roger Pirates disbanded.

The sea breeze still billowed the sails of the Oro Jackson.

Only this time—

There was no new course, no new adventure.

Several days later, the ship stopped at a small island far from the main shipping lanes, surrounded by nothing but endless sea.

Waves crashed against the reefs, their sound strangely hollow.

On the pier.

Roger stood there.

Slung over his shoulder was an enormous backpack filled with medicine.

The ship's doctor, Crocus, had prepared it for him.

Roger's body had long since begun to fail. That incurable disease was devouring his life, little by little.

His lungs hurt as though they were on fire, and every breath brought a faint, stabbing pain.

Yet that familiar grin remained on his face, carefree, as though nothing had happened.

Roger glanced back at his companions aboard the ship.

On the deck.

The men who had once swept across the seas stood with their heads lowered, not one of them speaking.

Rayleigh gripped his sword's hilt, his knuckles paling slightly from the force.

Gaban had turned his back, as though he did not want anyone to see his expression.

Some of the crew already had reddened eyes. The whole ship was terribly quiet.

At the sight, Roger suddenly broke into a broad grin.

"Hey, hey."

He scratched his head.

"Don't look like that."

Roger waved a hand, his tone light.

"We agreed on this ages ago, didn't we?"

"When the ship reaches the end."

"We all go home."

No one answered.

The sea breeze swept across the deck, gently stirring the flag.

Roger turned away and walked deeper into the island, step by step, carrying that huge pack of medicine.

After a few steps, he paused, as though something had suddenly occurred to him.

But he