Flame of Revolution

"Glug glug glug... Hah!"

A swig of liquor slipped down his throat, and the red-nosed young man, draped in a black scarf, exhaled heavily as sorrow clouded his face.

"Captain Roger... Ah..."

He spoke in a hoarse voice, then added, groping for hope amidst despair:

"The Marine's gathered in Loguetown... That bastard Garp's ship left a few days ago... Maybe this is our chance, Shanks..."

Seated beside him was a young man with fiery red hair and a straw hat perched atop his head—Shanks. He said nothing, merely turned his head and scanned the tavern's patrons in silence.

Thud!

Buggy slammed his mug on the table and barked:

"You bastard, Shanks! Didn't you hear what I said? If Rayleigh and the others—"

But before he could finish, Shanks interrupted calmly:

"The vice-captain and the rest... They know what the captain wanted. They believe in his decision. We didn't come here to save him—We came to witness his farewell... a farewell worthy of him."

Buggy's eyes froze, stunned.

"But..."

"There's no but. I respect his choice too. No one in this world can arrest a man who was truly free... Captain Gol D. Roger chose his own fate!"

Buggy fell silent for a moment, then raised his drink and downed it to the last drop.

* * *

In the far corner of the tavern, Kevin sat quietly beneath his cloak, sipping his drink in silence.

The shadow clone he'd dispatched earlier had gone to the restroom, while the real him waited for one perso—who had yet to appear.

Noon turned to evening, yet the man cloaked like him never came.

A few notable guests passed through:

Hawk Eyes Mihawk, one of the future Seven Warlords, walked in asking for red wine.

Then came a burly man with a large cigar—Crocodile—who took a seat in the opposite corner and said nothing.

Just as Kevin had expected.

The man Vegapunk once described as a hater of war, didn't seem the type to indulge in drink.

Kevin lowered the edge of his cloak, donned a black mask, and slipped out of the tavern.

Meanwhile, his shadow clone staggered back to the temporary base—pretending to be drunk—and collapsed into bed.

* * *

As soon as Kevin stepped out of the tavern, he spotted a man walking past the door, cloaked in dark green.

And when a gentle breeze brushed the cloak aside, Kevin caught a glimpse of his face.

'What a coincidence.'

That man, known in this era as the Leader of the Freedom Fighters…

Monkey D. Dragon.

With steady, unhurried steps, Kevin began to follow his shadow.

The alleyways narrowed until they crossed the city's edge into open terrain.

Dragon stopped.

Then, in a cold voice, he said:

"You there—behind the mask. Are you with the World Government? Show yourself."

He turned to face Kevin and added:

"Didn't your handler tell you to report immediately if you saw me, instead of trailing like a fool?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Dragon's hand snapped forward with blinding speed.

Kevin instinctively assumed a defensive stance, crossing his arms to block the blow.

Wham!

The force of the strike blasted into him like a cannon, sending him skidding backward as his arms trembled from the shock.

'The difference in power... it's enormous."'

Kevin flexed his arms slightly to restore feeling, then spoke in a steady tone:

"I'm no lapdog of the Celestial Dragons or the CP. In truth... one day, my position will align with yours."

"Future? Position?"

Dragon frowned, voice sharp with suspicion:

"I'm not interested in riddles. And if you're not one of the government's spies... then let this meeting end here."

But Kevin gave a faint smile and replied calmly:

"Perhaps you should wait a little longer… because I have something you need right now."

"The Freedom Fighters… created by people who have nothing. I imagine they're in need of money and supplies, aren't they?"

Dragon paused mid-step, just as he was about to leave.

Then, after a short silence,

he murmured:

"Follow me."

* * *

More than ten minutes had passed when the two men descended into the basement of a shuttered grocery store.

Kevin scanned the surroundings with a discerning eye and said:

"So this is one of the routes you use to move weapons, huh? Loguetown's proximity to Reverse Mountain makes it a perfect point to smuggle supplies into the Grand Line—without having to pass through Marine or World Government checkpoints."

He turned to Dragon and added:

"But... aren't you afraid bringing me here could expose this shop?"

Dragon answered calmly, his voice unwavering:

"That's exactly why—you'll have to convince me now. And if you claim your stance aligns with mine... isn't it time you removed that mask?"

Kevin hesitated for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached up and pulled the mask from his face.

"I arrived in Loguetown this morning," he said, "and waited for you at the tavern for a long time, until I remembered... you're not fond of alcohol. You prefer tea."

Dragon studied his features carefully.

He was young—exceptionally young.

"You know a lot about me... Is this some kind of Devil Fruit ability?"

Kevin smiled faintly.

"You could say that."

Then he added:

"I have a supply of weapons and treasure in my possession. Not a massive amount—but enough to meet some of what you need at this stage."

As he finished speaking, various weapons began to appear before them.

Long swords from the world of Naruto, flintlock muskets native to this realm, even modern firearms from other worlds—each one materializing out of the air, solidifying from the realm of fiction into tangible reality.

Dragon's eyes narrowed. His hand clenched.

"An ability that creates things from nothing…?"

He pondered for a long moment.

No one knew better than him just how deep the void was that the so-called Freedom Fighters faced.

No money.

No weapons.

At times, not even enough food to go around.

The East Blue was his home.

He had many contacts there, and thanks to his father, the region remained relatively stable—a place where supplies could be smuggled quietly.

Even so, the results were nothing more than drops in the ocean.

But if this young man truly had the power to produce weapons...

Then the birth of the Freedom Fighters might take on an entirely new direction.

Kevin, however, broke his train of thought:

"Don't overestimate it. These things weren't created from nothing. And as for the treasure I mentioned... it's not here."

Dragon remained silent for a while, then finally spoke:

"Whatever the source—it's exactly what I need right now."

Kevin shook his head slowly.

"No. Money and weapons are necessary, yes. But they're not what you truly lack... are they?"

He met Dragon's gaze directly and said, with unwavering calm:

"The Freedom Fighters... are about giving the oppressed the courage to rise up and resist. But in this world, willpower alone doesn't win against strength, and noble ideals don't topple tyrants. The powerful... only fall by greater power."

"Your army is still too weak—too small to even register on the World Government's radar. That might seem like an advantage... but it's meaningless if you haven't decided what you truly intend to do."

"What is it we want...?"

Something flickered in Dragon's eyes, as if a buried memory had been struck at its root.

He was the son of Marine hero Garp.

Raised under strict military doctrine.

He understood exactly what strength meant in this world.

True power wasn't won by courage alone. Even the strongest-willed civilians had collapsed before the mere pulse of Conqueror's Haki.

And yet...

The things he had seen as a child—scenes etched into his soul—left him no room for indifference.

So...

He had to do something.

Even if...

He despised war.