CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Morning in Water Seven always woke to that steady rhythm of hammer and chisel.
Since Tom's Workers had accepted the earth-shaking commission, the shipyard had become the most vibrant heart of the city. Hammer strikes, the hiss of saws, shipwrights' rough sea-shanties mixing with salt air and the scent of sawdust together they composed a symphony of a legend in the making.
Months passed. The keel of the Oro Jackson had long been laid, and its massive ribs now rose like the chest cavity of some giant beast, holding the indestructible body of Adam Wood aloft. Even in its unfinished form, it radiated a pressure that made the heart pound.
Along a quiet waterway, Kael sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, one hand hovering over a discarded iron plate. No waves stirred, no sound burst forth, yet the air around him shimmered faintly, gathering an invisible heat.
"Senpai… what are you doing? Warming up the iron plate?" Nozdon crouched nearby, a seagull perched on his pointy head, tilting its neck with equal curiosity.
"Shh. Don't distract me." Sweat dotted Kael's brow. He was trying a new application. "Heatwave Breath."
With the words, a crimson glow flared beneath his palm. The half-inch steel plate's center melted silently, glowing red before a concentrated ray pierced clean through, leaving a smooth, perfect circle.
"Whoa! Sugoi!" Nozdon's eyes nearly popped. The startled seagull flapped away in a panic.
Kael exhaled, wiping his forehead. Focusing and binding infrared waves into a beam required precision far beyond his usual shockwaves. But the power worth it.
"Next time those tin-clad warships won't even be worth a finger tap," he murmured, smiling at his hand.
Wave-particle duality, bro.
How would this play out in front of Uncle Kizaru, he wondered?
Could the old man even react?
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a tavern roared with life.
"ORA ORA ORA!" Miller Pine, shirtless and slick with sweat, was locked in an arm-wrestling duel with Gaban, muscles bulging, veins standing out.
Around them pirates and local shipwrights formed a circle, shouting themselves hoarse.
"Come on, Gaban!"
"Break his arm, Uncle Miller!"
Rayleigh sat calmly in a corner, sipping coffee and reading the paper.
A chair whistled past his head and shattered against the wall. He didn't even blink, just brushed a few wood chips from the page.
Spencer tried to discuss noble tailoring with a local designer, but every sentence was drowned by Gaban's roar, his cultivated elegance fraying fast.
Then Rayleigh's eyes caught on a tiny news column.
It reported that Vice Admiral Garp had "rescued" a group of slaves from pirate captivity and seized a fortune in Berries, some of which would "help resettle" the freed people.
No mention of the Roger Pirates, of course, though the insinuation of "greedy, foolish pirates" dripped from the lines.
Rayleigh's lips curled in a wry smile. The World Government was still as quick as ever to snatch credit.
But the article ended with a note: due to the recent surge of pirate activity, the Government had reinforced naval patrols in the first half of the Grand Line.
That was less amusing.
When Rayleigh returned to the shipyard with the paper, Roger stood, hands on hips, watching shipwrights fit a massive plank onto the hull.
"Tom! Faster! My partner's already itching to set sail!"
"Wah ha ha! Don't rush me, boy! This is art! DON!" Tom slammed his hammer, the huge plank sliding into place with a perfect fit.
Rayleigh handed Roger the paper. "Look. Seems we're famous again."
Roger glanced at it and burst out laughing. "Ku ha ha ha! That old dog Garp snagged himself a free medal! Perfect. Once our ship's done, we'll sail it right under his nose!"
"Naval patrols are tighter now. We should stay low," Rayleigh warned.
"Afraid of what?" Tom slung his hammer over his shoulder, grinning as he joined them. "A ship built by Tom fears no one! Once the Oro Jackson hits the water, those Navy tubs won't even taste your wake! DON!"
His bravado stirred the pirates' blood.
Just then a commotion rose inside the shipyard. The team working under the bow had hit a snag.
The Adam Wood plank was too hard, its curve too tricky. Forcing it might crack it, steaming it might mar its "divinity."
"Damn it! Just a little more!" one shipwright swore, sweating.
Tom frowned. This plank was crucial to the hull's flow whether it could "dance with the waves" as Kael had described.
"Let me try."
Kael stepped forward. Under the puzzled stares of the workers, he laid his palm on the massive curved plank.
"Resonance Shatter… reversed." he whispered.
He sent a minute, ever-shifting resonance wave through the wood, hunting for the exact frequency where its structure would loosen without harm.
Seconds ticked by. Then his eyes snapped open. "Now! Hit it!"
Tom didn't hesitate. He trusted the boy who'd given him so much inspiration. Raising the hammer with all his strength, he brought it down with a thunderous "DON!"
BOOM.
No crack. No screech.
Under the resonance, the unyielding Adam Wood flexed for a heartbeat, sliding perfectly into the groove, seamless and whole.
The shipyard went dead silent.
Shipwrights gaped as if they'd witnessed a miracle.
Tom lowered his hammer slowly, running a rough hand over the flawless curve, trembling with excitement.
Then he turned to Kael, eyes blazing as if he'd found something rarer than Adam Wood itself.
"You brat… you brat!" His voice shook. He snatched Kael up like a chick and roared, "Wah ha ha ha! You're a born shipwright! Stay here! Be my apprentice! DON!"
"I refuse!" Kael gasped, dizzy. "I'm going to be a pirate!"
"Ku ha ha ha! Well said, Kael! You're my crewmate!" Roger pried him free and clapped his shoulder proudly.
From that day on, whenever a technical snag arose, shipwrights began looking to Kael with mingled awe and expectation.
And Kael enjoyed it using his Wave-Wave Fruit to lend a hand, sending heavy beams up with precision shockwaves or using sound to scan wood for flaws, speeding the work immeasurably.
Finally, under Water Seven's radiant sun, the day arrived.
The Oro Jackson was complete.
It rested in the flooded dock, its Adam-Wood hull glowing warm and holy under the golden light.
Its sleek, elegant lines seemed to cradle the power of wind and wave, a sleeping king radiating the aura of one about to race across the world.
Every member of the Roger Pirates, Tom and his workers, and countless citizens drawn by rumor gathered at the dock, faces alight with awe.
"It's… breathing…" Nozdon whispered.
Roger stood at the front, silent. This ship carried all his dreams, his crew's hopes, a genius's spark, the world's greatest shipwright's skill.
It wasn't just a ship. It was a new companion. Their soul for conquering the sea.
He turned slowly to the rows of faces excited, trembling, full of expectation and smiled that signature smile bright enough to light an era.
"All right, lads!"
His voice rolled across the harbor.
"Our partner's been waiting long enough!"
"Are you ready… to conquer the seas?!"
"OOOOOH!"
The roar shook all of Water Seven.
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