Chapter 7: Ozz’s American-Style Fishing Technique

"Throw the match? C'mon, old man, that's not my style."

Ozz's eyes narrowed with disdain. He was the guy who planned to one-up Red-Hair himself—only by crushing Shanks could he stand tall in the new era.

He was going to be the undefeated man. For life.

Maybe it was the fire in Ozz's eyes, but Betam clicked his tongue in defeat, clearly at a loss for how to persuade him.

After a pause, he leaned in and muttered, "I'll split the take with you. Fifty-fifty."

"Master, your eye for talent is uncanny." Ozz's smirk was impossible to hide.

It wasn't a lack of backbone, really—it's just that interning didn't pay. Bills were piling up. Sometimes, you had no choice but to chase the smell of cash.

"Shanks!" Ozz turned, face alight with challenge. "Let's settle this. One move. Winner takes all."

"Huh?" Shanks, panting and clearly frustrated from being toyed with, gritted his teeth. "Fine by me!"

Around them, the crew burst into cheers.

"Finally! A real showdown!"

"Get him, Shanks! Don't lose face out there!"

"Go, Ozz! Stay sharp—don't fumble at the finish!"

The air buzzed with excitement. Cheers echoed across the deck.

Seeing the stage set, Ozz dropped his smirk and clenched his fist tight. Across from him, Shanks had shed all traces of playfulness too.

Ozz's half-lidded eyes gleamed faintly—an eerie flicker of red threading through them like a warning spark.

"Wait… that glow…?"

Jabba was the first to speak, a bead of sweat sliding down his brow. His jaw dropped, as if he'd seen the impossible.

Beside him, Rayleigh's pupils contracted. His face turned grim as he studied Ozz. "Not yet. He's just brushing against the threshold. That level of Observation Haki is beyond a kid his age."

Even Roger was stunned, the corners of his usual smile twitching slightly. "Looks like the next generation's king… just met his match. Hahahaha!"

Meanwhile, Ozz was completely unaware that these legendary pirates were dissecting his potential. He was just focused, eyes locked on Shanks' blade, trying to trace the arc of his swing—

He was trying to predict it.

Then, with everything he had, Shanks lunged and let loose a full-power slash.

Ozz watched the blade's path flash past his cheek, missing him by inches.

In that blurred instant—

He saw it.

The trajectory of the strike before it landed.

"Solid hit, Shanks. But… too bad."

Ozz held his breath and launched forward, striking the split-second of lag after Shanks' swing.

His clenched fist rocketed into Shanks' gut with a dull thud so fierce it rattled the air.

"Urghhh—!"

Shanks doubled over, bile rising in his throat. He'd been completely outmuscled.

Thud.

The red-haired boy staggered, eyes rolling back. He teetered, about to collapse.

"Ah…"

Seeing Shanks about to black out, Ozz let out a dramatic sigh.

Then, raising his fist to the sky, he put on the most ridiculously fake performance anyone had ever seen.

"Ahhh! My fist! The recoil! It hurts—so bad—it's too much—ugh!" He flopped backwards, sticking his tongue out theatrically.

Ozz peeked out of one eye to check the crowd, then resolutely closed them both and fell like a board. Just in time, too—he and Shanks hit the deck at the exact same moment, arms spread like fallen warriors.

A beat of silence.

"...The hell was that?" Betam couldn't hold it in. He nearly snorted a booger from laughing too hard.

You call that acting?! Could you try a little harder, you drama queen?!

Still, Betam had no choice but to salvage the moment. Clearing his throat, he declared, "Looks like it's… a draw! Sorry, folks!"

"HUHHHHH?!" ×N

At that moment, Buggy walked out from the ship's cabin, having just stashed away some hidden savings.

He blinked at the sight: Betam getting mobbed by the crew, Shanks out cold, and Ozz lying on the deck nonchalantly picking his nose.

He was completely baffled.

…

"C'mon, Shanks, take it easy. Rest is part of training too, y'know?"

Ozz spoke in a calm tone, watching Shanks do squats with a barbell on his shoulders.

"Shut it, bastard! Don't talk like a coach when you've still got steel weights strapped to your back!" Shanks snapped, his patience fraying. Even someone as easy-going as him could only take so much of Ozz.

"Ah…hahaha…"

Ozz had no comeback. He just offered a sheepish grin—and kept doing one-handed pushups with a literal ton strapped to his back.

"You guys are insane!" Buggy exploded from the side. "Can't you be normal for one day?!"

All he could manage were bicep curls with baby dumbbells, while monsters like these were training like demons.

Shanks, fueled by frustration, trained harder. And Ozz—while keeping up with the physical grind—somehow managed to steal little bits of everyone's technique in the process.

Even Buggy, the king of slacking, found himself pulled into the tempo, forced to keep up. He grumbled about it constantly.

The days that followed were monotonous, but productive.

Ozz's few daily joys? Reading the paper, fighting, training… and fishing.

Problem was, he wanted to master everything, so fishing time was rare.

But that wasn't a problem for the genius known as Ozz.

"Hey, you caught anything yet?" Buggy leaned on the rail beside him, watching Ozz sit perfectly still, eyes shut, fishing pole resting on his knee. "Training time's almost up."

Ozz, who had been expanding the range of his Observation Haki, slowly opened his eyes. That faint red gleam faded.

"Relax. Since when have I not caught something before training?"

"But Shanks already—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

With a sigh, Ozz reached for the pistol at his waist.

Ever heard of… American-style fishing?

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A few crisp gunshots echoed over the waves. Moments later, several fish floated belly-up to the surface, trailing faint wisps of smoke.

Ozz flicked his fishing line, hooked them expertly, and slung them into the basket. Then, without missing a beat, he picked it up and started walking.

"Let's go, Buggy."

"W-Wait up!"

…

"That guy's gotten stronger again, hasn't he?"

"Yeah. Freak of nature. Reminds me of someone…"

"You mean… Ledfeld?"

"Well… kinda. But honestly, I was thinking Whitebeard."

On deck, the crew watched a small figure sparring with none other than Silvers Rayleigh—the Dark King himself.

Conversations rippled across the crowd. And in the front row, two small figures stood side-by-side.

"There's no way to beat Ozz, is there?" Buggy muttered.

"Don't be like that, Buggy. We'll get stronger too," Shanks replied, a trace of calm returning to his tone. Maybe he'd lost too many times to stay mad—his easygoing nature was returning.

"What the hell are you saying? You think if we get stronger, Ozz won't?" Buggy looked more depressed than ever.

Having Shanks around was already hard enough—everyone compared them, and Buggy always came up short.

Now with Ozz thrown into the mix? It was hopeless.

"Come on, cheer up. Look—it's starting! Ozz vs. the Vice-Captain!"