Clubs led them through the winding paths of Ohara until the massive silhouette of the Tree of Knowledge loomed over them. Its enormous trunk and sprawling canopy dominated the island, and beneath it, dozens of scholars bustled with quiet energy.
Tables overflowed with scrolls, ink, and worn books; voices debated in hushed but intense tones. It was a sanctuary of learning, unlike anywhere Jack or his crew had seen before.
At the main table sat a man with an odd, bushy hairstyle, his hair color nearly identical to Clubs'. The resemblance was undeniable. The man looked up from his work as Clubs approached, his eyes immediately locking onto the bandages wrapped around his son's torso.
"What happened to you?" the man demanded, rising from his seat. His voice carried the weight of authority. This was Clou D. Clover, the head of Ohara's scholars. His eyes flicked to the faint stains of blood on the wrappings, his concern barely masked.
"I had too much fun fighting, that's all," Clubs said with a crooked grin. He then gestured toward Jack and the others. "Anyway—this is Sparrow D. Jack. He knows Dragon."
The words made Clover's gaze snap toward Jack. His eyes widened slightly, as though he were seeing not just Jack but the shadow of someone else long gone. For an instant, he looked almost haunted, before shaking it off as a trick of the mind.
"Members of the D. Clan are always welcome here," Clover said warmly, offering a scholar's enthusiasm rather than a warrior's caution. But Jack's eyes narrowed at the man's tone. Jack didn't know this Clover, and warmth from strangers was something he had learned to distrust.
"Do you want to exchange knowledge?" Jack asked suddenly, cutting straight through Clover's greeting. The bluntness of the question made several scholars glance up from their papers.
Clover raised an eyebrow. "What kind of knowledge?"
Jack's expression hardened. "Knowledge about the ones who created the Poneglyphs… and the family who can read them completely."
The words landed like thunder. All across the hall, pens stilled, parchment rustled, and every scholar froze mid-thought. Dozens of eyes turned toward Jack, wide with shock.
"How would you even know that?" Clover asked, his voice tense now, wary.
Jack's hand brushed against his holster. "It was written in the journal my mother left behind," he replied smoothly. It was a lie, but it sounded convincing enough.
Before Clover could respond, Jack drew his pistol in a blur and fired. The shot cracked through the air, echoing against the shelves. A man at one of the side tables collapsed instantly, the back of his head painted red across the parchment he had been pretending to study.
The hall erupted in gasps and shouts. Scholars stumbled back in fear, Clover's eyes going wide, while Clubs' hand shot to his weapon, his instincts flaring. Jack, however, remained calm, lowering his pistol as if nothing unusual had happened.
"You've got a spy among you," Jack said coldly. "You really should be more careful about who you let sit in your halls."
He strode toward the body, ignoring the horrified murmurs of the scholars. Kneeling, he patted the corpse down with methodical precision until his hand pulled free a small, snail-like recording device from the dead man's coat. He tossed it lightly in his hand before clicking it on.
A tinny replay of their conversations filled the room—whispers of names, fragments of discussions about history and forbidden knowledge—all recorded to be sent to the World Government.
Even Club, usually collected, stiffened in shock. "How—how long was he here…?"
Clover's face went pale, anger and dread mixing as Jack crushed the device under his boot, silencing it forever.
"The World Government doesn't like it when people poke too deep into history," Jack said flatly. "And they're always watching. Always listening."
Clover wasted no time. His hand shot up, waving to the other scholars. "Clear this mess. Now!" He turned back to Jack, gesturing sharply. "You and your crew—come with me. We'll talk somewhere more secure."
Jack nodded once, signaling his crew to follow. Laffitte stayed behind at Jack's command, dragging the corpse away with an unsettling grin, while Clubs followed him, determined to ensure the body was disposed of in a place no one would ever find it.
The remaining scholars scrambled, scrubbing blood from the floors, their faces pale with fear.
Meanwhile, Clover led Jack, B, and Aramaki deeper into the Tree of Knowledge, toward a locked chamber known only to the most trusted of scholars.
"What's the information that you wanted to share?" Clover then asked, his tone calm but also carrying a certain weight, which made Jack smile slightly as he leaned back in his chair.
"Terms first," Jack replied plainly. "I want Laffitte—the one I left behind to clean up the mess—to be taught how to translate and read the ancient language. Second, you will permit Clubs to join us if they accept my invitation to sail as part of my crew. Those are the only conditions."
Hearing this, Clover's brows furrowed, not because he disagreed, but because he found Jack's so-called conditions puzzling.
"That is what you call terms? Those are not really terms at all," Clover answered, shaking his head lightly. "Everyone is free to pursue knowledge of history here. Even without such conditions, if your companion truly wishes to learn how to read the ancient language, no scholar in Ohara would refuse him. As for the second matter, Clubs already knows how to read the ancient language. And even if he did not, I would never prevent my son from choosing his own path in life. If he wished to go with you, that would be his decision, not mine."
Jack nodded, satisfied with the reply. "Oh, good then. If that is the case, here's the information."
But Clover lifted his hand, stopping him before he could continue.
"Are you certain you would provide this information freely?" Clover asked carefully, wanting to confirm Jack's seriousness.
"Yes," Jack said without hesitation. "Those are my terms, simple as they are. No matter the current conditions, if my terms are met, I will uphold my end of the bargain. That's how I work. Alright?"
Clover paused, studying Jack's expression, and for a brief second, he felt something almost like admiration for the young man before him.
"What an honorable man," Clover then said quietly, almost to himself.
Jack gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Hahaha, you'll change your mind about that soon enough. Anyway, the information. The ones who crafted the Poneglyphs were a clan known as the Kozuki. They are native to the Land of Wano, a secretive country isolated from the rest of the world. The Kozuki not only created the stone texts, but also passed down the ability to read the language."
Clover's eyes widened slightly at the name, his scholar's instinct immediately latching onto it. "The Land of Wano…" he muttered. "I have read about that place in a Poneglyph before, though only in vague terms. But nowhere did it mention this 'Kozuki Clan.' That part is new to me."
Jack only shrugged, as if the detail was not of great importance to him personally. "That's the exchange. Are you satisfied with it?"
Clover, however, could not contain his excitement. His eyes shone brightly, and he repeatedly thanked Jack, each word genuine and full of appreciation for the new piece of history revealed to him.
Meanwhile, B and Aramaki remained silent in the corner, watching without comment. Neither of them had any interest in the subject of history or languages. To them, Clover's enthusiasm over such a small detail seemed excessive, but they had no reason to interfere. They simply stood by and let the exchange conclude in peace.