Chapter 9: Ozz of the Black Rifle

Sea Circle Calendar, Year 1493.

"Why the hell is this guy Oden wearing a diaper?"

It was a bright, clear day, the breeze gentle and warm.

The Roger Pirates had just restocked at a nearby island.

Ozz returned with a stack of supplies and a freshly printed newspaper. Shanks and Buggy were hunched over it together when a headline caught Roger's eye.

It was about the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates—a new name quickly rising through the ranks of notoriety on the Grand Line:

Samurai Kozuki Oden.

"A samurai from Wano, huh? He looks pretty cool!"

"He looks ridiculous."

Ozz scoffed, hauling a barrel of liquor taller than he was and plopping it down in front of Roger. "Walking around in that loincloth like some kind of pervert. What, he planning to take a leak wherever he pleases?"

He crossed his arms and declared with all the self-confidence of a ten-year-old with a grudge against fashion, "Now this—this black military uniform—is peak badassery. Am I right, Barrett?"

That's right—Barrett had joined the crew just a month ago.

And the battle he'd fought with Captain Roger? Ozz had watched the whole thing from the sidelines.

Was it evenly matched?

Not even close.

As for those rumors floating around about "fifteen-year-old Barrett going toe-to-toe with Rayleigh at his peak,"

Ozz had this to say:

Do I look like an idiot to you?

Please. Even fifteen-year-old Roger, Whitebeard, or Rocks himself couldn't dream of matching Rayleigh in his prime.

You think full mastery of all three Haki types, Supreme-grade swordsmanship, and Conqueror's Haki infusion are just party tricks?

No, the real culprit here was Buggy's big mouth—again. The way he talked, you'd think Barrett and Rayleigh had some epic rivalry.

Still, Ozz didn't mind it too much.

After all, he himself had taken a direct, Haki-infused kick from Vice-Captain Rayleigh and lived to tell the tale.

Let Buggy hype him up someday.

Something like:

"Ozz? That guy? He was my crewmate on the Roger Pirates. Faced down Rayleigh when he was nine—matched him blow for blow!"

Sure, Barrett wasn't at the level of the world's top fighters yet, but the guy was undeniably a monster in close combat.

Shortly after joining the crew, he and Ozz had sparred.

And to Barrett's surprise, the kid wasn't a pushover.

His Observation Haki was sharp—uncannily sharp. His raw strength was enough to make even Barrett take a half-step back. And his hand-to-hand technique? Clean, precise, dangerous.

At just ten years old, Ozz had managed to hold his own against a fifteen-year-old who was built like a damn tank. Barrett wasn't arrogant enough to say he'd lose, but he also knew it wouldn't be a walk in the park.

Barrett didn't believe in friends. But he did respect strength.

So when Ozz asked him that question, Barrett didn't ignore him. He just gave a curt nod.

As a soldier, he had to admit—nothing beats a sharp military uniform.

"Diaper? Bwahahahaha!!"

Roger erupted with laughter at Ozz's description, the bottle in his hand rattling as the liquor sloshed inside.

Crocus, their ship's doctor, wasn't nearly as amused. He marched over and yanked the bottle from Roger's hand.

"That's enough! Your body can't handle alcohol anymore!"

He scowled. "You wanna keel over before we even finish the journey, Captain?"

Roger's face fell, his expression going from confused to comically pitiful in the span of a second.

"Aw, c'mon, Crocus… just a little sip won't kill me."

But unfortunately for him, being captain didn't earn you much credit in front of a doctor. He could only watch, devastated, as Crocus disappeared with his precious drink.

Roger sagged a little, clearly disheartened—but then, salvation arrived.

Ozz had somehow snuck up beside him without a sound. From under his coat, he slipped a full bottle into Roger's hands with the discretion of a seasoned smuggler.

Their eyes met.

Roger: You're a good kid, Ozz.

Ozz: No need for words, Captain.

Of course, their little exchange didn't escape the attention of those with strong Observation Haki. But none of the nearby crewmates said a word.

"It's fine," someone muttered. "Roger's not the kind of man who goes down easy."

And indeed, the moment he had his drink back, Roger looked like a new man—vibrant, energetic, brimming with life. He stood tall and roared to the whole crew:

"Alright, boys—set course back for the New World!!!"

"YEAHHHHH!!!"