Dr. Vegapunk froze for a few seconds, his mind suddenly flooded with a stream of foreign memories. When he finally regained his senses, he took a deep breath and quickly scanned through the blueprints of Pluton now embedded in his consciousness.
His expression grew increasingly shocked until he finally exclaimed in disbelief,
"This... this is incredible... These are the blueprints of Pluton!"
His six satellites, who shared a collective consciousness with him, had also finished processing the information. Their faces mirrored Vegapunk's astonishment.
Carl spoke calmly,
"Don't follow the blueprint exactly. The Mother Flame you developed earlier was quite impressive—integrate it into Pluton."
Vegapunk nodded frantically, his face a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.
As a scientist, what could be more exhilarating than witnessing the blueprints of an ancient weapon firsthand?
Carl cast a sweeping glance at Vegapunk and his satellites before continuing,
"If you need materials, contact CP0 and have them collect everything required. Also, recover that Seraphim from earlier and make some refinements—I want to take it back to Marineford when it's ready."
Vegapunk bobbed his head vigorously in agreement, while York quickly pulled out a notebook, diligently jotting down Carl's words.
Of course, with her intellect, she hardly needed to write things down—but this was her way of showing she took things seriously.
Carl glanced at York, already well aware of her ambitions. She desired nothing more than to become a Celestial Dragon. It was no surprise—she was the satellite representing "greed." Her greed was so overwhelming it practically dulled her intelligence.
But some things could never be obtained, no matter how badly one wished for them. A mere clone like York becoming a Celestial Dragon? Pure fantasy.
Still, Carl saw no need to crush her hopes outright. Keeping her on a leash suited his needs just fine. After all, she was responsible for handling the daily needs of Vegapunk and his satellites, significantly improving their work efficiency—a benefit to Carl as well.
Right now, York was nothing more than a donkey chasing after a carrot.
From the sidelines, Pudding watched Carl issue commands, feeling a deep sense of awe. During her time following him, she had witnessed firsthand what true power and authority looked like.
...
Meanwhile, on Baltigo—
In a slightly run-down laboratory, Lindbergh, wearing safety goggles, was carefully welding a body on the operating table in front of him.
Behind him, the Straw Hat crew stood silently, their faces grim as they watched the sparks flickering from the welding torch.
After what felt like an eternity, Lindbergh finally stopped, wiping sweat from his forehead before turning around and announcing,
"It's done!"
He stepped aside, revealing the figure lying on the operating table to the Straw Hats.
Chopper gasped in shock.
"Franky!"
The little reindeer leaped onto the table, but as soon as he got a clear look at "Franky's" face, his expression froze.
The person in front of him wasn't exactly the same Franky he remembered. The difference was as stark as Sanji's real face compared to his wanted poster—completely absurd.
The bright blue hair? Just a patchwork of fabric strips hastily pieced together. It had a glaringly counterfeit look.
Nami stepped forward, and the moment she saw "Franky's" face, her expression turned stiff. She then spun around and shouted at Lindbergh,
"This is what you call 'exactly the same'?!"
Lindbergh removed his goggles and blinked in confusion.
"What? Isn't this identical to the original Franky? I recreated him based on his photos, down to the last detail!"
"Are you kidding me?! And you call yourself the Revolutionary Army's top inventor?! This is the best you can do?!"
"Hey now, Miss Nami, what are you saying? Are you doubting my skills?"
Nami was so frustrated she couldn't even form words, while Chopper stomped on the table in fury.
"Baka! Baka! This doesn't look like him at all!"
As they argued, Luffy silently walked forward. He gazed down at "Franky" and spoke in a low voice,
"Enough... Even if he looked exactly the same, it wouldn't change anything. Franky is gone."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Nami and the others knew that truth deep down—they had just been venting their emotions.
The repeated loss of their crewmates had pushed them all to the brink of madness.
But more than anything, it was Luffy's current demeanor that worried them the most.
Nami hesitated before cautiously asking,
"Luffy... Are you still you?"
Luffy nodded slowly. He placed a hand on "Franky's" chest, but the figure remained motionless.
Lindbergh stepped forward, raising a claw crackling with electricity.
"It's probably a power issue. Let me just—"
Smack!
Luffy suddenly grabbed Lindbergh's electrified claw, stopping him mid-action.
"No need, Lindbergh. Franky doesn't run on that kind of power. Do you have any cola?"
Lindbergh paused before nodding.
"Of course. Do you want some, Luffy?"
"No. Just bring as much as you can."
Seeing Luffy's heavy mood, Lindbergh didn't ask further. He quickly called for his men to bring over a large crate of cola.
Luffy grabbed a few bottles in one hand and pressed the other against "Franky's" abdomen, locating a familiar compartment. He then opened his energy chamber and loaded in the cola.
Lindbergh watched in astonishment as the makeshift "Franky" suddenly twitched. The blue fabric strips on his head stood on end, and in the next moment, he bolted upright, turning his head toward Luffy.
Lindbergh gasped.
"He actually runs on cola? That's... bizarre."
The revived "Franky's" eyes slowly focused on Luffy. The first words he spoke were,
"Joy Boy..."
Luffy's body visibly trembled at the name. He slowly lifted his head, staring into "Franky's" eyes, and whispered,
"Emet."
Without another word, Luffy turned and walked away.
Emet tried to follow, but having just synchronized with Franky's body, his motor control was still shaky. He moved too quickly and tumbled off the operating table.
Nami and the others exchanged complicated looks. Lindbergh stepped forward, helping Emet back up.
Frowning, Emet muttered, "This body... What's wrong with it? It's so hard to move!"
His words sent another wave of emotion crashing over the crew, leaving them barely able to hold back their tears.
-----------
+230 chapters on p@treon/tambeerg