Chapter 6: Call It a Draw, Ozz!

After the battle.

In an unnamed sea of the New World, aboard the slightly scuffed Oro Jackson.

The sky after the rain was unusually clear and crisp. As soon as the weather turned, Roger was already rallying everyone for another round of partying.

The reason? …Pick one at random.

Alright—how about celebrating their narrow escape from Garp yet again?

"PARTY TIME!!!"

"WOOOOOOO!!!!!"

With the captain raising his drink and bellowing at the top of his lungs, the rest of the crew erupted in laughter and cheers, the deck filled with a raucous and boisterous energy.

BANG—!

In the midst of this wild atmosphere, the sound of a door slamming open barely turned heads. No one noticed the red-haired brat stomping in, teeth clenched, eyes scanning the deck with a seething glare—and a massive bump swelling on the back of his head.

His straw hat had been knocked askew by the lump, making him look more than a little ridiculous. The crewmates nearby caught sight of him and burst out laughing.

"Did your head take a hit in that sea battle, Shanks?"

Roger, already several swigs into his drink, noticed him—this promising brat of the new era whom he'd taken quite a liking to. Roger walked up, tousled his hair, and asked with a grin.

Shanks didn't answer. "Where's Ozz?"

He clearly didn't want to talk about the bump, awkwardly changing the subject.

Right after waking up, he'd cornered Buggy to ask what the hell had happened to his head—and Buggy, the weasel, wasted no time throwing Ozz under the bus to save his own skin.

Now, Shanks liked to think of himself as an easygoing guy. But getting blindsided by your crewmate—knocked clean out with a sneak attack and left with a goose egg like that? That kind of thing bruises the ego.

Everyone knew: Shanks valued two things above all—his crew and his pride.

Nine years at sea, and this was the first time someone had made him lose face like this.

So yeah—Young Shanks, used to smooth sailing, was pissed.

He wanted to prove himself. Or at the very least—settle the score.

Weaving through the celebration, Shanks stalked the deck, scanning for any sign of Ozz.

Finally, he spotted him—right in the middle of a group of big guys.

Ozz was eating roasted meat.

And not just nibbling—he was going at it like a machine, tearing through giant ribs and chugging drinks like there was no tomorrow. Honestly? In another world, this guy would've crushed it as a mukbang streamer.

"Oh? Shanks, why're you glaring at me? You want some of this barbecue?"

"What's with the knife? The meat's already carved up. Plenty on the bone, too."

"What? A man-to-man duel? I'm starving, can it wait? You wouldn't want an unfair fight, right?"

"I'm stuffed, man. Let me digest a bit."

"...Hold on. Okay, digestion's done, but I ate too much. Gotta take a dump. Wanna come with?"

"You done yet? You're seriously waiting outside while I crap? You really want this duel, huh?"

"Alright then! Behold—my poop-soaked mop!"

Shanks knew all too well about Ozz's freakish strength and absurd level of Observation Haki. Faced with a weapon tainted with… extra effects, he wisely chose to retreat—for now.

It wasn't that he was afraid of a real fight, even if he lost. Worst case, he'd get a few bandages and some rest.

But a poop mop? That was just too much.

Still, from that moment on, Shanks didn't let Ozz out of his sight, following him around relentlessly. The pressure was starting to get to Ozz.

Screw it. He's just a kid. If it's a fight he wants, I'll give him one.

Ozz shook his head, then walked into the storage room and came back with a plain longsword. He tossed it to the still-pouting Shanks, who fumbled to catch it.

Then Ozz crooked a finger at him with a cocky, crooked smile that screamed come get me.

"You bastard!"

Shanks lit up—because he could tell, Ozz was finally taking him seriously. He gripped his sword with one hand and got ready to strike. Seeing Ozz standing there without moving, Shanks decided not to wait.

"You gonna use that gun on your back? I'm not giving you the chance to shoot!"

He had to admit, Ozz's marksmanship was terrifying—but up close? That was his domain.

With a burst of speed, Shanks lunged forward, slashing at Ozz with full force.

Taught by both Rayleigh and Roger, his swordsmanship was formidable.

But… they'd had the same teachers—and that meant Ozz knew how to counter him.

Whoosh—

Whoosh—

Whoosh—

Ozz didn't even draw a weapon at first. Eyes closed, he simply weaved and shifted—tilting his head, turning his body, tucking in his torso—dodging every single strike with casual precision.

"You bastard, Ozz! Are you just gonna dodge forever?!"

Shanks was fuming now, feeling like he was being toyed with.

"…Since you want me to use a weapon, fine."

Ozz opened his eyes, a little annoyed—he'd been hoping to get in more Observation Haki practice. But oh well. He reached into his coat and pulled out a little knife he'd borrowed off Buggy.

"Sorry, this is the smallest one I've got."

"Are you kidding me?!"

As it turned out, the difference between someone with Haki and someone without was massive—even for Shanks.

At just nine years old, all he could do was throw everything he had into his swordplay. But every strike was met by Ozz with playful ease, the tiny knife deflecting blow after blow with laughable precision.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Strike after strike, blocked like it was nothing.

Even with all his power behind each swing, Shanks couldn't so much as budge Ozz, who countered his full-on assault with raw physical strength that defied logic. Eventually, Shanks had no choice but to retreat again and again.

"Shanks is getting totally shut down by Ozz…"

A crowd had gathered to watch—including Roger, Rayleigh, and Jabba. Watching the clash, Rayleigh shook his head with a chuckle.

To them, it looked like a couple of rookies flailing at each other. But Ozz—combining monstrous strength and precognitive Observation—was clearly one step ahead.

And those kinds of natural-born monsters? In their experience, they were almost always destined for greatness.

"With brats like these around," Roger bellowed with a booming laugh, "the future's bound to be a hell of a ride!"

Aside from the three of them, most of the crew was just enjoying the show—after all, they were pirates. And pirates loved a good brawl.

Ozz's mentor, Bitam, even set up a betting pool on the outcome:

Ozz: 1 to 1

Shanks: 10 to 1

Draw: 5 to 1

Roger got so into it, he even brought out one of his treasures to place a bet.