Chapter 19: Sorry, I Don’t Have Any Smaller Underwear

"Huh?"

Ozz blinked in confusion.

He had just arrived at the stern, where Shanks had dramatically unsheathed his sword, eyes gleaming with excitement as if he were about to challenge the world.

"Come on, Ozz! Let's fight!!"

"…Why?"

Ozz raised an eyebrow, utterly nonplussed. He hadn't done anything—hadn't even spoken to the guy—and yet here was Shanks, full of energy and raring to go, like some overenthusiastic puppy with a sword.

"I need to test myself! After watching you fight these past few days, I realized how far behind I am!" Shanks declared, eyes burning with passion. "So I've been training! Now I want to see where I stand!"

"You sure about this?" Ozz gave him a look that was part caution, part sympathy. "Because last time I knocked you out with a stick."

"Don't care! I've gotten stronger!"

Ozz sighed and looked to the side, hoping for support. "Buggy, help me out here."

But Buggy—who was sunbathing with a towel over his face and a drink in hand—just lazily waved a hand. "You started this, you deal with it."

"I didn't start anything!"

Before he could argue further, Shanks charged.

———

Clang!

Blades clashed, and the impact rattled through the deck. Shanks was fast, and his moves were sharper than before. Ozz noted the improvement—not bad for just a few days.

But still.

Ozz side-stepped with ease, deflecting the incoming blow with the flat of his blade, and then countered with a flick that nearly knocked the sword from Shanks' hands.

"You're still too stiff," Ozz said, tone calm, like a teacher grading a paper. "You're trying too hard to copy what you saw from Rayleigh, but you don't understand the flow yet."

Shanks gritted his teeth and kept going, refusing to back down.

Five minutes in, and he was already panting.

Ten minutes later, he was flat on his back, staring at the sky.

"Damn it…" Shanks muttered, chest rising and falling with each breath.

Ozz squatted beside him and poked his forehead with the tip of his scabbard. "You've got spirit. I'll give you that. But if you want to fight seriously, you need to stop trying to be someone else. Find your own rhythm."

Shanks looked up at him, frustrated but thoughtful.

"…Thanks."

Then came Buggy's voice from the side. "Hey, Ozz! You done bullying kids yet? The old man's calling everyone."

Ozz turned. "What for?"

"No idea. But I heard something about uniforms."

"…Uniforms?"

———

Ten minutes later, the three of them were lined up in front of Rayleigh, who stood at the center of the deck holding up a set of neatly folded clothes.

"Starting today," Rayleigh said, "you three will be wearing these whenever you're out on missions or representing the crew."

He tossed the clothes at them.

Ozz caught his set. It was a black, sleeveless jumpsuit with gold trim, snug in all the wrong places. He held it up, stared at it, then slowly looked up at Rayleigh.

"…Are you serious?"

Rayleigh nodded. "Very."

"…You call this a uniform?"

"It's standard issue for interns."

Shanks and Buggy were already trying theirs on. Shanks didn't look too bad in his—lean build, confident posture. Buggy, however, looked like a sausage casing about to burst.

Ozz sighed.

Then came the killer line.

"Sorry," Rayleigh said with a smirk. "I don't have any smaller underwear."

"…Huh?"

Ozz looked down at the suspiciously tight briefs folded under the jumpsuit. Then back up at Rayleigh.

"I am not wearing this."

Rayleigh shrugged. "You don't have a choice. Roger's orders."

"Roger's a madman."

"Accurate."

"Can I at least modify it?"

"Nope."

"Great."

Shanks laughed as he admired himself in the mirror-like surface of a barrel. "Come on, Ozz, it doesn't look that bad."

"You look like a knockoff superhero."

"Thank you!"

"That wasn't a compliment."

Buggy was still struggling with the zipper. "I can't breathe. My ribs. I think my organs are rearranging."

"Fashion is pain," Rayleigh said, completely unfazed.

Ozz finally gave in with a long, suffering sigh. "Fine. But if anyone laughs, I'm setting them on fire."

Shanks grinned. "No promises!"

———

And so, the three most chaotic interns in the history of piracy marched out onto the deck in matching ridiculous uniforms.

Roger took one look at them, clapped his hands, and burst into laughter so loud it echoed across the sea.

"Oh, you kids look amazing!"

Ozz deadpanned. "I hope a sea king eats me."

Whitebeard, who happened to be visiting, snorted into his drink. "You call those interns? They look like they escaped from a circus!"

"Hey!" Buggy snapped, trying to suck in his stomach. "We're official now!"

"You look like a stuffed lobster."

The rest of the crew were trying very hard not to laugh. Only Oden gave them a thumbs-up. "You three look… unique!"

Shanks beamed. "Thanks!"

Ozz sighed again, pulling the waistband of his too-tight pants. "I repeat: I do not have any smaller underwear. Blame Rayleigh."

Roger only laughed harder.

And thus, with unmatched dignity and the world's most questionable fashion sense, the journey continued.