As the construction of the underground bunker progressed smoothly under the hands of Aramaki and Laffitte, Jack spent most of his time training and watching over Club.
During their daily routines, he continued encouraging Club to speak the truth to his father before they set sail.
Jack didn't want one of his future crewmates to leave the island with regret in his heart, especially knowing what was destined to happen to Ohara in the future.
Deep down, Jack hoped that Club would at least have one final moment with Clover, a proper goodbye before the inevitable came.
"You have to tell your father, Club," Jack said during one of their sparring sessions. The three of them—Jack, Club, and B—were training in a clearing near the forest.
"We don't know when we'll return, or if we ever will. Nothing in this world is certain, not even tomorrow."
Club gritted his teeth as he parried one of Jack's strikes. "I know, Captain. I really do. It's just… harder than I thought it would be."
He coated the butt of his rifle with Haki, swinging it like a makeshift club to deflect Jack's blade. Sparks flew each time steel and Haki collided, echoing through the quiet forest.
B, who was circling them while holding his eight knives, joined the conversation.
"You should be thankful that you still have someone to say goodbye to," B said as he spun rapidly, slashing in wide arcs that created a spiral of sharp air currents. "Some of us don't even have that luxury."
Jack sidestepped B's spinning form with ease, sending a powerful kick straight into B's torso.
The impact pushed B backward several meters, though he managed to land on his feet. "He's right," Jack added as he swung his sword again, his tone steady.
"I lost my parents before I even understood what the word 'family' meant. You, on the other hand, still have a chance to speak to your father in person. That's not something to take lightly."
Jack followed his words with a flying slash, a crescent of compressed air that tore through the ground between B and Club, forcing both of them to leap aside.
The two landed on opposite ends of the clearing, panting slightly but still standing firm.
Their spar continued, their conversation blending naturally with the rhythm of their attacks. Each clash of weapons carried both physical strain and emotional weight.
Jack pushed them hard, not out of malice, but because he wanted them to understand the importance of resolve—not just in battle, but in life.
Hours passed as the sky shifted from bright orange to the deep purple of dusk. Sweat covered their bodies, and the once grassy clearing was now littered with small craters and cuts from their training.
Finally, Jack lowered his sword, signaling the end of their spar.
Club dropped to one knee, breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat from his face. He looked toward the horizon where the sun was slowly sinking. The words of both Jack and B echoed in his head.
"You're right," Club finally said, his voice quieter than before but filled with new determination. "I'll tell him tonight. He deserves to hear it from me, not from anyone else. And I want to spend the rest of my time here with him before I leave."
Jack gave him a small nod of approval. "Good. That's the right choice. Don't waste the time you still have."
B stretched his arms and smirked slightly. "Finally, some progress. I was getting tired of hearing you dodge that topic every day."
Club chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Guess I just needed a good beating to think straight."
The three of them shared a rare moment of laughter before gathering their weapons and heading back toward the camp.
Behind them, the faint sounds of construction could still be heard underground, where Aramaki and Laffitte continued building the hidden refuge that might one day save the knowledge of Ohara.
As the last traces of sunlight disappeared behind the trees, Club made up his mind completely.
That night, he would face his father—not as a hesitant boy, but as a man ready to chase his own dream across the seas.
---------------
Club made his way toward the Great Tree of Knowledge, the heart of Ohara's wisdom, where countless scholars were quietly reading and taking notes under the warm light filtering through the canopy.
The familiar scent of old paper and ink filled the air, blending with the faint creak of wooden floors and the sound of pages being turned.
It was a typical scene—dozens of researchers engrossed in their work, exchanging murmurs as they uncovered fragments of forgotten history.
Club's eyes scanned the room until he found the table his father usually occupied. There, surrounded by stacks of thick books and scattered notes, sat Professor Clover, reading intently while scribbling something down with his quill.
For a brief moment, Club hesitated, taking in the image of his father immersed in study, a sight he had seen countless times before but now felt strangely heavier, knowing what he was about to say.
"Father, can we talk?" Club finally said, his tone steady yet filled with emotion.
Clover paused, setting down his pen before lifting his gaze toward his son. The seriousness on the Club's face immediately caught his attention.
It wasn't a casual request, nor something that could be postponed for later. The expression on his son's wore carried determination—something Clover had rarely seen before.
"Alright," Clover replied softly, closing the book in front of him. "Let's go to my office."
As the two left the main hall, several nearby scholars exchanged brief glances, each wearing faint, knowing smiles. They could already guess what that conversation might be about, though none of them said a word.
Inside the office, the atmosphere shifted into one of quiet gravity. Both father and son sat facing each other across a small table, with sunlight pouring through the window, casting long shadows on the walls lined with books.
"Father," Club began, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "Before I say what I need to say, I want to thank you—for everything you've done for me. I know you've given up so much of your own dreams just to raise me, to make sure I had a future, and I'll never forget that. I'll always be grateful for your sacrifices."
Clover listened in silence, his expression calm at first. He nodded slightly as Club spoke, but as the words went on, his brows furrowed.
There was a weight behind his son's gratitude, something that made him uneasy. After a few moments, he could no longer stay quiet.
"Are you planning to leave with Jack and his crew?" Clover interrupted bluntly, his tone direct but not unkind.
Club froze. His eyes widened in surprise—he hadn't even mentioned Jack yet. "How did you—" he began, but Clover was already shaking his head with a faint, knowing smile.
"I'm not senile yet, you foolish son of mine," Clover said with a small chuckle.
"I've seen that look in your eyes for a while now—the same look I once had when I dreamed of exploring the world beyond these shores. You can't hide that from me." His tone softened.
"I won't stop you from chasing that dream. In fact, I'd be proud if you did. Just promise me one thing—be safe. That's all I ask."
For a moment, Club couldn't respond. His throat tightened, and tears welled up in his eyes. Then, unable to hold it back any longer, he started to cry.
Seeing that, Clover also smiled gently, his own tears forming as he reached out to place a comforting hand on his son's shoulder.
That night, the two of them talked for hours. They cried, laughed, and shared stories until the candles burned low.
It wasn't just a farewell—it was a father and son reaffirming their bond, one that neither time nor distance could ever break.
Over the next two weeks, Club and Clover spent nearly every moment together.
They returned to their shared love of history, studying side by side in the library or walking beneath the great tree while discussing theories about the Void Century.
Every conversation felt meaningful now, every shared smile heavier with the knowledge that their time together was limited.
Meanwhile, Aramaki and Laffitte were putting the finishing touches on the underground bunker.
Following Laffitte's intricate plans, they designed a plant-based system that functioned as a natural elevator—capable of recognizing the people of Ohara and granting them access.
It was connected to hidden roots that extended beneath the scholars' homes, ensuring that even children could escape quickly in case of danger.
Laffitte meticulously accounted for every possible outcome, while Aramaki executed each step with precision, pushing his powers to their limit.
Finally, one bright afternoon, Laffitte and Aramaki emerged from the depths of the Great Forest. The construction was complete. They gathered Jack, B, Club, Clover, and a handful of trusted scholars to unveil the finished work.
Standing near the concealed entrance, Laffitte began explaining the system. "If the library ever catches fire or comes under attack," he said, pressing his hand on a wooden panel hidden within the roots, "you can activate this mechanism. The shelves containing the most important books will be safely lowered into the bunker beneath, protected from harm."
As he spoke, the scholars listened in awe. Laffitte continued detailing the structure—the emergency routes, the ventilation through living mangroves, and the light generated by the luminous sunflowers cultivated by Aramaki.
The interior of the bunker resembled a sunlit garden, with trees capable of producing fruit at remarkable speed, ensuring that food would never run out even in isolation.
It was more than just a shelter—it was a living sanctuary designed to protect not only the people of Ohara but also the knowledge they had devoted their lives to preserving.
Clover looked around at the team with a quiet, heartfelt expression. "You've done something truly remarkable," he said. "With this, even if the worst were to happen, our efforts won't be erased from history."
Jack simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "That's the goal," he replied. "To make sure that even if the world tries to burn the truth, it'll still have roots that can grow again."
--------------
As the construction of the underground bunker finally came to an end, the following morning marked the day of departure.
The Wicked Wench was once again prepared to set sail, her sails freshly repaired and her deck bustling with activity.
Jack and the rest of his crew were already making final preparations for their next journey, checking the ropes, securing the cargo, and ensuring that every tool and weapon was properly stored.
The calm sea breeze carried the faint scent of salt and wood as the ship slowly rocked against the harbor.
Club stood on the dock, facing the island that had been his home for as long as he could remember.
The familiar sight of the Great Tree of Knowledge stood tall in the distance, its leaves swaying gently as if waving him farewell.
Around him, scholars and residents of Ohara gathered by the port, smiling and waving, some shouting parting words, while others quietly wiped away tears.
The crew, who had spent a full year living among them, received countless farewells—each one sincere, each one filled with gratitude.
Jack, standing near the helm, gave a respectful nod toward the crowd. Aramaki raised his hand in thanks, while B and Laffitte returned the gestures with small but genuine smiles.
The bond between the crew and the people of Ohara had grown unexpectedly deep over the months; what had started as a temporary stay had become a memory none of them would forget.
Clover stood at the front of the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back, wearing a bittersweet smile.
His gaze never left his son. Club met his father's eyes from the ship's deck, and for a moment, the noise around them faded.
It was a silent exchange of understanding—words weren't needed anymore.
They had already said what mattered most, and now all that remained was the inevitable parting.
As the ropes were released and the sails caught the wind, the Wicked Wench began to move slowly away from the shore. The cheers and goodbyes from the island grew louder, echoing across the waves.
Some of the scholars were shouting words of encouragement, others simply waved their hands high until the figures aboard the ship became smaller and smaller in the distance.
The emotion in the air was heavy yet full of warmth—a mix of pride, sadness, and hope.
Clover raised his hand one final time, shouting, "Take care of each other! And make sure to write when you can!" His voice wavered slightly, but the smile on his face remained firm.
Club couldn't stop the tears that streamed down his cheeks. He waved back with both hands, shouting back, "I will! I promise, Father!" His voice cracked midway, but the determination in it was unmistakable.
Around him, B gave a small pat on his shoulder, while Jack simply smiled at the young man's emotional farewell.
As Ohara slowly faded from sight, replaced by the endless expanse of blue, Club stood quietly near the railing, watching the island until it disappeared beyond the horizon.
His heart was heavy with the weight of leaving home, but also light with the thrill of the unknown.
He knew this was the beginning of something new—a chapter that would shape who he was meant to become.
The sadness of parting blended with the excitement of adventure, creating a feeling he could barely describe.
Jack, standing beside him, glanced toward the horizon and said with a calm smile, "The sea's wide, and fate's waiting for us somewhere out there. Keep your eyes open, Club. Every wave has a story."
Club nodded silently, gripping the railing tightly as the Wicked Wench sailed forward, cutting through the waves under the bright morning sun.
Behind them lay Ohara, the island of scholars, now a part of their shared history. Ahead of them stretched the vast, unending sea—calling them toward a future yet to be written.