As the sun was setting below the horizen, Jacob was returning home after finishing some of his pending obligations in the village.
he got to meet with many old friends and other people in the village, yet right now his face couldn't be described as remotely joyful.
He was sulking following a session of earfuls from the old shopkeeper, who was furious at his lackluster presence in his son's upbringing.
The poor father felt wronged; it wasn't like he was intentionally running from responsibility—well, frankly, there was some truth to the old man's comments, but it was also true that he genuinely wanted to spend a lot more time with his kid.
However, the weight of his current responsibilities was ever so heavy.
While such thoughts went on in his head, not far from where he stood, at the doorstep of their small cabin, he saw his son talking to a marine soldier.
Joining the two, he recognized the marine to be one of the new recruits, Mashaku, who had apparently come to relay some direct orders from their superiors.
He had been recalled to the base, for an urgent mission.
Orders from the marine hierarchies were essentially verdicts, leaving no room for questions.
Instantly dejected and left with no other choice but to accept, Jacob sighed heavily. 'Looks like I am not beating those allegations anytime soon…' —his status as the absent father would remain.
. . .
Early in the morning, a marine ship could be seen docked at the harbor.
There, on the adjacent shores, Jacob gave a tight fatherly hug to his dear son.
Crack! Crack!
'Oh no, I think my bones have broken!' the poor boy struggled to breathe.
"Come!, let dad give you a mommy kissy!."
"Enough! Get off my face, your mouth stinks!" Sear spat out, pushing the large face away with his tiny hands. Only God knew how many days it had been since Jacob last brushed his teeth.
'Sigh, kids grow up too fast.'
Letting go, Jacob continued,
"With this attitude, in a few years you'll probably be scheming with your wife to abandon your old man in some rotten place."
"Yeah, right!!" Sear scoffed at the thought.
To which Jacob had a hearty laugh. "Hahaha!! I am joking!! Of course my boy will never leave me to die like that," he said as his calloused hands ruffled the five-year-old's head.
Thereafter, the father resolutely stood up. Walking around a dozen steps to the ship, he turned around one last time, enthusiastically waving his hand, not stopping even while gradually boarding the vessel.
Sear couldn't help but feel touched seeing his father's enthusiastic goodbye, so likewise, he returned the gesture, similarly waving his hands, albeit mechanically and, as always, with a facial expression as stale as that of a dead fish.
Nevertheless, for once, no emotional barriers could stop him anymore. The wind seemed to communicate with him, telling him to savor this moment. Gradually, even his normally stale—almost dead—face beamed with a fulfilling smile.
"See you again, Dad! Come back soon, ya hear me!!!?" Sear shouted with everything he had in his lungs.
"Don't worry, I'll be home in a jiff. You won't even notice my absence," Jacob said, stretching his bulky muscles and flexing his biceps for all to see. "Hahahaha!!!"
Following the heartfelt farewell, time moved on as hours turned into days and days into weeks and months.
Around two months passed since Jacob returned to the marine base at Louge Town. The whole time, not a single attempt at communication was made by his father. Rather, every so often, calls were made from Sear's side; however, the line had always remained unreceived.
The Den Den Mushi is a snail-like creature that can telepathically connect with others of its kind, functioning like a wireless telephone. The one at the Shimotsuki dojo was a regular Den Den Mushi with a limited range, thus restricting connection to only nearby snails. It couldn't reach the vicinity of the faraway Red Line, no less wherever his father patrolled in the vast ocean.
Normally, Jacob would at least send a letter or two, and better yet, if by chance he was patrolling nearby waters, he would stop by to check up on Sear or at least talk to the boy on the Den Den Mushi. Needless to say, no contact whatsoever was strange.
Presently, Sear had no idea of his father's well-being; furthermore, his whereabouts were unknown, as Jacob had left without disclosing any specifics.
Today was also a disappointment… yet again, his father's portable Den Den Mushi couldn't be reached.
The day was coming to an end as Sear aimlessly roamed the village, having nothing better to do after training.
Coincidentally, a little further ahead, an old man in his 60s or 70s came into sight—not the old shopkeeper, but somebody else.
As for the identity of that person… Sear had a pretty good idea. 'Blacksmith; Kozaboro, Koushirou's father, and the same man whose katana Zoro will one day use. Am I finally meeting him in person? Lucky, haha!' muttering to himself, he approached the man.
The old master, Shimotsuki Kozaboro, had been running the village dojo since its inception, for as long as it had existed. Actually, the village itself was named after the Shimotsuki clan, members of which had migrated here some 40 years ago, along with a number of citizens, all hailing from Wano.
Wano is an island nation, originally known for its samurai warriors and legendary blacksmiths. The Shimotsuki clan is also primarily a blacksmith clan, but its samurai legacy cannot be understated. Legends have it that Shimotsuki Ryuma, hailed as the Sword God, was born to this clan.
"What are you doing here, old mister?"
"Hmm…?" The old man slightly turned his head, looking straight at the boy's innocent-looking face. "Who are you, kid?.. What do you care what this old man does?"
"I am Arka Sear, and umm!! Well, I was curious and bored when I saw you."
"Just for that?" Kozaboro scoffed, suspiciously scanning the boy from top to bottom. Due to old age, he didn't often roam around the village, so he didn't recognize the kid's face, but he knew the old Arka family very well.
"Yes, just for that. Can't I watch you as you do your thing??.. I won't bother you, I assure you!!"
"Eh?!! If so, fine… it wouldn't hurt to tell you a few things, I suppose… Listen well, these are the metal scraps I collected from the village…" Kozaboro said, pointing at a fiber sack.
"I plan to forge a blade out of these rusted pieces of garbage that everyone has discarded. It will be my final original work, a strong blade hammered into shape using my last remaining strength. What do you make of this?"
…
"What do I make of it?? Is this a test? Do you want me to find some kind of meaning from what you said?" Sear asked in confusion.
"Sure, you could put it that way," Kozaboro said, trying to have a little fun with the kid. He didn't seriously believe that a snot-nosed brat could ascertain any sort of meaning from his words.
…And indeed, although he pondered it, Sear had a hard time deciphering the old man's message—very unusual of his witty self.
"Go on, answer me," Kozaboro persisted.
But Sear had no clear idea. "I am not sure… are you trying to say that you can beat anyone into shape? At least that's what my dad always says."
'Sigh! Kids nowadays… can't understand the simplest things. Tch! Tch!' Kozaboro muttered. 'Well, I guess you are on the right track… What I meant to say is this: Everything and everyone has a purpose, their exclusive moments to shine… such a time is bound to come at least once in your life.'
Hearing the explanation, 'Is that so?!' Sear could only ponder.
"Yes!!… After all, even scrap metal, despite being rusty for who knows how long, burns the brightest when heated in a forge, to be reforged into something new—never ceasing to exist, merely changing form. Even if nothing else, trash can serve as a cautionary example to others."
Listening to Kozaboro's words, the boy remained silent, really contemplating a few things…
Following the small talk, it was rather awkward to continue the interaction in the middle of the street, so the two were about to move on from there, heading to the Shimotsuki dojo, more specifically to the area where Kozaboro usually stayed—his blacksmithing workshop.
For a while before dinner, Sear planned to spectate the old blacksmith in action, permission for which the old man reluctantly granted after Sear's nonstop pleading.
But right as the two were about to head for the place, they noticed a strange scene in the village. Something seemed to be going on.
A commotion could be heard. Focusing on the source, they quickly discovered it was coming from the harbor.
Everyone heading in that direction was confused. A large crowd had already gathered at the harbor by the time they arrived.
They looked around, trying to find out what was happening.
An ethereal sunset framed the shores, the ocean glittering under the golden rays the sun scattered in every direction—a majestic view, able to captivate every soul.
However, Sear wasn't at all mesmerized by the view. His vision had become tunneled, focusing straight ahead.
"Excuse me, please let me through for a second," he apologized as he forced his way through the mass of people.
For some inexplicable reason, when noticing him, every person, with no exception, seemed to move aside and make a path, all while giving him a strange look.
Something felt off… he didn't like this eerily familiar atmosphere. He had a strange premonition at the moment: 'What is happening… f*ck, it's suffocating.'
…
"This!" the boy softly exclaimed, seeing the scene at the front. Finally catching his view, he saw a large ship, one he was familiar with, and to further clarify his doubts, lined before the ship in disciplined formation were a number of marines in uniform.
"Just what is this?" In front of the group of marines lay a casket, adorned with flowers.
"No! No! No!"
Thump! Thump! His heart beat erratically, distressed for what was to come.
He could connect the dots. He wasn't clueless.
He knew without being told the identity of the man inside. 'Dad?' A word reached his dried-up lips but never left, seemingly stuck there forever.
Too stunned to utter anything, he just stood there, frozen in place. This went on for a while, during which everyone looked on with pity.
When he finally moved, his head spun as the reality of the situation truly dawned on him.
To open the coffin and look inside, he neither had the wish nor the courage, but alas, from somewhere within himself, he still found it—a will strong enough to do what was required of a son.