West Blue, 133rd Main Branch Port
Rear Admiral Gern's exclusive black Marine warship emitted a low rumble, as Marine soldiers on deck busily made final preparations for departure.
Rear Admiral Gern stood by the gangplank, his gaze sweeping over the 133rd Branch officers and soldiers who had come to see him off.
Asahi, cigar in his mouth, hands in his pockets, wore a knowing smile.
“Are you just leaving like this?” Asahi exhaled a smoke ring. “There are still many ‘suspects’ in West Blue waiting for your special enforcement authority to deal with.”
Rear Admiral Gern chuckled, patting Asahi's shoulder: “I’ll leave the rest to you. I’ll come back next time I have a chance.
And Tesoro…”
“He was personally promoted to the headquarters by Rear Admiral Gern for his outstanding performance.” Asahi rolled his eyes.
“I say, your operations are so skilled it’s frightening.”
Tesoro stood not far away, his brand new Marine uniform making him look a bit uncomfortable.
“Sir, everything is ready!” At this moment, the Sergeant walked over quickly, saluting and reporting.
Rear Admiral Gern nodded, taking one last look at the 133rd Main Branch port.
In the morning light, the lighthouse, etched with cracks he had left in his youth, still stood, as if silently bidding farewell.
“Depart, destination Marineford.”
…
Meanwhile, Grand Line, Twin Capes
The setting sun dyed the lighthouse blood-red, and the sea breeze, carrying a salty scent, swept across the cliff.
The Oro Jackson lay quietly anchored by the shore. The battle marks it had sustained in the New World had already been repaired in Water 7.
“This is it!” Roger stood at the bow, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“I heard the lighthouse keeper here is an incredible doctor!”
“Hey, Roger!” Rayleigh pushed up his glasses, smiling helplessly: “Are you sure you’re not just desperate for a doctor because your stomach hurts again?”
“This time it’s different!” Roger laughed heartily, patting his stomach.
“I specifically took a detour for the rumors about Crocus!”
The crew disembarked one after another, with Buggy and Shanks playfully rushing ahead.
However, when they pushed open the door of the lighthouse cottage, they were greeted by a tall, thin middle-aged man with frog-eye glasses and a stern expression.
“Trespassing without permission,” Crocus said coldly, “Is this the Roger Pirates’ etiquette?”
Roger didn’t mind the other party’s coldness at all. He strode forward, his smile bright: “Mr. Crocus! I’ve heard so much about you! I am Gol D. Roger, and I’d like to ask for your help!”
Crocus’s gaze lingered on Roger’s face for a few seconds, then swept over Rayleigh, Jabba, Bullet, and others behind him, finally sighing: “Come in.”
Inside the lighthouse
Under the dim light, Crocus’s brows furrowed tighter and tighter after examining Roger.
For a moment, the air in the room seemed to freeze. Rayleigh stood by, the look behind his lenses gradually becoming serious.
After a long while, Crocus withdrew his hand, his voice low: “Everyone else, please step outside.”
“Us out?”
Seeing everyone tense, Roger smiled and waved his hand: “It’s fine, the rest of you wait for me outside.”
After all, it was the Captain’s order, so the others left first.
Except for Rayleigh, he didn’t leave but leaned quietly by the door, his gaze dim beneath his glasses.
Soon, after only Roger, Rayleigh, and Crocus were left in the room, Crocus spoke directly and to the point:
“You have an incurable disease.” His voice was terribly calm. “With the current level of medical science, it cannot be cured.”
Rayleigh’s pupils suddenly contracted, his fingers unconsciously clenching.
Roger, however, only paused slightly, then laughed: “As expected… After all, lately, whether I’m fighting or not, my body feels uncomfortable without warning.”
Crocus stared at him: “Your body is deteriorating at an abnormal rate, especially your liver and kidneys.
Every intense battle, although it won’t affect you immediately, will subtly accelerate this process.” He paused.
“At the current rate of deterioration, you have at most two years left.”
“Two years?!”
A brief silence fell in the room.
“Doctor.” At this moment, Rayleigh’s throat moved, his voice hoarse: “Is there no other way?”
Crocus shook his head in silence, “If I treat him, I can at most maintain it for another two or three years, and make sure he doesn’t suffer as much when it flares up.”
“Hahaha!” Roger suddenly burst into laughter, interrupting Crocus.
“So that means five more years? That’s enough!”
Rayleigh abruptly turned to look at him: “Roger! You…”
“Rayleigh,” Roger’s smile remained bright, but his eyes gleamed with unprecedented determination.
“Didn’t we decide long ago? We’re going to turn this world upside down!”
Crocus squinted slightly: “You knew already?”
Roger rubbed the back of his head, a hint of cunning in his smile: “Ah, I started feeling something was off about half a year ago.”
“But…” He stood up, his gaze as sharp as a knife, “Before I die, there’s one thing I absolutely must do.”
“So, Mr. Crocus,” Roger looked up, his eyes shining with unprecedented seriousness,
“Please become my ship’s doctor.”
“You want me to join you?” Crocus paused his action of wiping his glasses.
Outside the window, Buggy and Shanks’s bickering could be heard, and the sound of waves crashing against the Rocks was clear.
“Do you know why I guard this lighthouse?” Crocus didn’t answer directly, but walked to the bookshelf and took down a yellowed nautical logbook.
Rayleigh keenly noticed the gilded “B. R.” on the logbook’s flyleaf.
“Rumbar Pirates?” Rayleigh pushed up his glasses.
Roger suddenly stood up, a corner of his straw hat lifted by the sea breeze: “You’re waiting for them to return?”
“Laboon is waiting for their promise.” Crocus’s fingers traced a yellowed photograph on the page.
In the photo, a younger him stood among a group of smiling pirates, and little Laboon was also among them.
“So.” Crocus’s lenses flashed with a cold light.
“I’m waiting for someone who can find their whereabouts for me—even if it’s just their bones.”
He pushed the logbook towards Roger, “Take me to sea, and I’ll be your ship’s doctor.
And the condition is that you have to help me find the Rumbar Pirates.”
“No problem!” Roger laughed loudly, his laughter making the lighthouse glass hum.
“They must have gone to the New World already, and we’re just about to go back to the New World!”
After speaking, he grabbed the logbook and stuffed it into his embrace, “So, it’s settled!”
Rayleigh watched his Captain’s hopping figure rush out of the house, sighing helplessly: “Please don’t mind him, he’s always like this…”
“When he has an attack, the pain is unbearable for ordinary people… He shouldn’t have such good energy, sigh!”
Crocus took out a syringe and began to prepare the medicine, his tone terribly calm.
“Starting today, he needs three injections of painkillers daily.”
…
“What?! This old man is coming on board?!” Buggy yelled, grabbing Shanks’s collar, “We’re not a nursing home!”
Shanks was about to retort when he was suddenly enveloped in a shadow.
Crocus looked down at the two boys, the syringe in his hand glinting coldly: “First, hand over the rum you’re hiding.”
“Why should we?!”
“The patient needs to abstain from alcohol.”
“Patient? Is Roger really sick?” Jabba paused his axe-wiping motion.
Bullet’s expression was subtle, as if he had already guessed something.
For a moment, all the crew members simultaneously looked towards Roger, who was holding the Log Pose and shouting excitedly.
“Why are you looking at me?! Let’s have a feast! Welcome Crocus!” Roger suddenly jumped onto a barrel and shouted.
“Welcome our pirate crew’s new ship’s doctor!”
The next dawn, the Oro Jackson slowly sailed away from Twin Capes.
Crocus stood at the stern, watching the gradually receding lighthouse.
A giant island whale leaped out of the water, emitting a long cry.
“Laboon, wait for me to return.
I will find them.”