Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every morning in Water 7 began with that rhythmic sound.
Ever since Tom's shipyard had taken on that world-shaking commission, it had become the loudest, busiest place in the entire city.
Hammer strikes, saws screaming through timber, and the deep shouts of shipwrights blended with the smell of salt air and fresh sawdust, creating a symphony for the birth of legend.
Months passed.
The keel of the Oro Jackson had long been laid. Its enormous ribs—like the chest of some ancient sea beast—now supported the indestructible body made from Adam Tree. Even in its unfinished state, the ship radiated an overwhelming presence as it rested in the dock.
Along a quiet canal in the city, Kyle stood with his eyes closed, one hand hovering above a discarded iron plate.
There was no visible wave, no audible vibration—yet the air itself warped slightly, heat silently gathering.
"Senpai… what are you doing?" Nozdon crouched beside him, a seagull perched on his pointy head. "Warming up the iron?"
"Shh. Don't interrupt me," Kyle muttered, sweat forming on his brow.
"Thermal Pulse: Scorching Breath."
A red glow flared beneath his palm.
The iron plate melted at its center, glowing white-hot, before a tightly focused heat beam pierced straight through it with a sharp hiss, leaving behind a perfectly smooth circular hole.
"W-Whoa! So cool!" Nozdon gaped, as the seagull fled in terror.
Kyle exhaled slowly.
Focusing infrared vibrations into a beam required far more precision than using wide-range shockwaves—but the power was worth it.
"Now even iron-clad warships won't last long against me," he muttered with satisfaction.
Elsewhere, in a roaring tavern—
"ORA ORA ORA!"
Miller Pine, shirtless and drenched in sweat, was locked in an arm-wrestling match with Gaban. Their muscles bulged, veins pulsing as the crowd went wild.
"Gaban, don't lose!"
"Break his arm, Miller!"
Rayleigh sat calmly in a corner, reading a newspaper.
A chair flew past his head and smashed into the wall—he didn't even blink, merely flicking sawdust off the page.
Spencer tried to discuss noble fashion with a local designer, but every sentence was drowned out by Gaban's battle roars.
Rayleigh's eyes suddenly paused on a small article.
Vice Admiral Garp rescues slaves from pirates…
The paper took full credit for the operation, conveniently omitting Roger's name. It also mentioned increased Marine patrols across the first half of the Grand Line.
Rayleigh smiled faintly.
Back at the shipyard, trouble arose.
A massive curved Adam-Tree plate refused to fit into place. It was too hard, too precisely shaped.
Tom frowned.
Kyle stepped forward.
"Let me try."
He placed his hand on the wood.
"Resonance Collapse… inverse form."
A subtle vibration spread through the Adam Tree—tuned to its natural frequency.
"Now!" Kyle shouted.
"DON!!"
Tom brought his hammer down.
The wood didn't crack—it slid perfectly into place, as if it had briefly turned flexible.
The entire shipyard went silent.
Tom stared, trembling.
"You… you little monster…!"
Then he grabbed Kyle and roared with laughter.
"Become my apprentice! DON!"
"I refuse! I'm a pirate!"
Roger yanked Kyle free, laughing.
"He's ours!"
From that day on, Kyle became the shipyard's secret weapon.
And then, one radiant day—
The Oro Jackson was complete.
She rested in the dock, glowing gold beneath the sun.
A living king of the seas.
Roger stood before her, eyes shining.
"Our partner is ready," he said softly.
Then he turned to his crew and grinned.
"Are you ready… to conquer the sea?!"
"OOOOHHHH!!!"
The roar shook all of Water 7.
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