The rhythmic clanging in Water 7's shipyard came to an abrupt halt.
Tom set down his hammer, squinting toward the harbor, where a familiar red battleship limped into view, its hull battered and scarred.
"Master?" Young Iceberg looked up in confusion. "Is that—"
Tom's cigar hit the ground with a wet splat, veins bulging on his forehead. "ROOOOOOOOOGER!!!"
The roar startled Franky mid-gulp, sending cola spraying everywhere. "Su~per—! Master's pissed!"
Not a single weakling stood among the Roger Pirates, so they heard it loud and clear. No way in hell was I sticking around, Rhett thought, already turning for the workshop. Back when he was a kid, Uncle Tom had literally dragged him around by the scruff. Now? Showing his face meant instant death.
"Let go, you bastard captain!"
Roger clung to Rhett's leg like a barnacle, preventing his escape.
"Take one for the team, little Rhett! You can't leave me to face this alone!"
Rhett shuddered at the mental image of Uncle Tom's fists. "Screw that! I'm going inside!"
"Not happening unless you knock me off!"
By the time the Oro Jackson docked, Tom was already waiting on the pier, a thick wooden club in hand. The moment Roger's head popped into view, the weapon went whistling through the air.
"Ow! Uncle Tom!" Roger rubbed his skull.
"Uncle my ass!" Tom's bellow sent seagulls scattering. "My masterpiece! My blood and sweat! And you brought it back looking like this?!"
Hiding behind Rayleigh, Rhett muttered, "We got into some... serious fights. Ever heard of Shiki? We kinda clashed—"
"Clashed?!" Tom yanked Rhett up by the collar. "That excuses these gashes?! Look at these dents! Look at these scars!"
From the shipyard, Iceberg and Franky gaped at the scene.
"That's... the legendary Roger Pirates?"
Iceberg adjusted his glasses. "To damage Master's pride and joy like that... They're done for. An angry Master is terrifying."
Franky's eyes sparkled. "Su~per cool! That red-caped guy's a proper pirate, huh?"
As repairs progressed, Tom's fury gradually gave way to poorly concealed pride.
"See this?" He pointed to a vicious scar along the hull, addressing his apprentices. "Direct hit from Shiki's 'Chigiri-Gumo.' Any normal ship would've snapped in half. Mine? Just lost some paint! This vessel can carry the Roger Pirates anywhere!"
Franky eagerly leaned in. "Master! This damage is su~per unique!"
Iceberg, meanwhile, eyed the countless bullet marks along the railing. "Are these... Sea Stone rounds?"
"Damn right!" Tom stroked his beard smugly. "Kid Rhett told me—Shiki specially prepared Sea Stone ammo for them."
He slapped the hull. "And what happened? My ship still floats! Can you imagine the battle that left it like this?"
Franky stared at the battered yet majestic Oro Jackson, stars in his eyes. Right then and there, he vowed to build the greatest ship—one that would surpass his master's.
Late that night, Rhett crept into the shipyard, finding Tom hammering away alone.
"Sea Stone fiber weave." Tom didn't look up. "Oro Jackson's keel is Adam Wood, and I picked sturdy timber for the rest. But nothing beats Sea Stone."
Rhett blinked. "You're planning to—"
"Spancer coughed up plenty of Berries. Enough for upgrades."
Tom lit a fresh cigar. "Next time you bring my ship back in this state..."
He jerked a thumb toward an unfinished figurehead sculpture in the corner. "You're becoming that!"
Rhett finally noticed it and forced a laugh. "Hahaha... real cold joke, Uncle. Next time, take it out on Roger! I'm just a grunt, heheh."
After days of clanging and banging, the fully restored Oro Jackson gleamed anew. Before departure, Tom pulled Roger aside.
"Listen. Next time you see Shiki..." He lowered his voice. "Ram him with the prow! I reinforced it with special alloy and a Sea Stone coating. Make that bastard pay for damaging my ship!"
Roger roared with laughter. "Kyahahaha! You got it!"
Under the watchful eyes of Water 7's citizens, the Oro Jackson set sail once more. Franky waved wildly from the docks. "Su~per! Go become Pirate King!"
"Go on. You pirates better be worthy of my masterpiece."
Rhett and Laboon didn't board the Oro Jackson this time, staying behind in Water 7. Today, Rhett would leave—to fulfill his promise to Laboon by venturing into the Florian Triangle in search of Brook. Of course, he'd made it clear to Laboon this was just an attempt; no one knew where Brook might be drifting in that cursed sea.
They'd set out on a small boat prepared by Uncle Tom. Crocus was supposed to join them, but the ship's doctor refused, insisting on fulfilling his duties aboard the Oro Jackson.
Rhett could tell—Crocus had definitely noticed something. But with no other choice, he'd have to trust the old man's judgment.
The Roger Pirates had wanted to search together, but Rhett declined. Crocus hadn't spelled it out, but Rhett trusted his gut. Enough dwelling on gloom—let them continue their adventure.
At the docks, Rhett and Laboon sat side by side, watching the Oro Jackson shrink into the horizon.
"Miss them?" Rhett ruffled Laboon's massive head.
The whale nodded, then shook it, using a fin to sketch a musical note in the sand.
"Don't worry," Rhett murmured. "We'll find Brook. Even if not this time, someday..."
Laboon suddenly nudged Rhett's hand with its nose, then pointed insistently at the sea.
"Now? The Florian Triangle's creepy as hell, you know."
"Ooo! (Not scared!)" Laboon adjusted its tiny top hat, determination blazing in its eyes.
Rhett grinned. "Alright! Let's go!"
As their boat drifted away from Water 7, he threw his arms wide.
"Next stop—the Florian Triangle!"
"Oooooo!"
"Laboon, why do you keep ooo-ing lately? Try using words!"
"Go." The whale managed exactly one syllable before faltering.
"Pfft—HAHAHA! That's what you get for never talking! Go, go, go!"