Wearing sunglasses and a checkered shirt, the man before Oran was Vegapunk, MADS's director—destined to be hailed as a scientist five hundred years ahead of his time.
Earlier, while Judge and Queen roamed freely, Vegapunk had visited the Sorbet Kingdom's new smelter.
He sensed something off—the smelter's tech and style clashed with the kingdom's rustic vibe.
While MADS researchers haggled with workers over fees, Vegapunk, after inquiries, found Oran providing technical guidance.
"Hello, I'm Vegapunk, MADS's director. I heard you oversaw this smelter's construction. Impressive approach."
Oran remembered Vegapunk—many inventions tied to his name. Though some were recreations from ancient texts, that was no small feat. Research wasn't just reading and doing.
Take artificial Devil Fruits: Vegapunk's were leagues above Caesar's shoddy knockoffs.
Now, Vegapunk lacked his future fame, but his oversized head drew Oran's eye more.
"Odd? I'm a Brain-Brain Fruit user, so my head's a bit large."
The Paramecia-type Brain-Brain Fruit granted infinite brain capacity—a boon for researchers.
Oran wasn't averse to Devil Fruits, the sea's most enigmatic treasures. Kuma's Paw-Paw Fruit had already proven invaluable.
Oran eyed a few fruits, like the Munch-Munch Fruit, which could eliminate material constraints. Others with potent or conceptual powers also intrigued him, but the Sorbet Kingdom offered no chance to find them.
"No big deal. I've seen stranger."
"I'm Cidilir Oran, technical advisor here."
After brief introductions, they dove into technical talk, blending ideas from different worlds. Then Kate's call reached Oran.
"Did you say you're MADS's director?"
"MADS is a loose group, with members enjoying high freedom. I'll come with you to check. If they caused trouble, I'll handle it."
MADS resembled a salon of science enthusiasts swapping ideas without rigid hierarchy. Vegapunk's authority stemmed from funding control. Du Feld entrusted him with the budget, allowing him to cut off troublemakers.
Science burned money—most couldn't sustain research alone, keeping MADS stable.
"No trouble, but I won't cover medical bills."
Kate clarified the pair had started the conflict. Even if Blitzcrank's extermination mode activated, Oran would find it justified.
Vegapunk nodded silently. MADS's unspoken rule: high freedom meant bearing your own consequences.
The fishing spot was far, and even rushing, Oran arrived by dusk.
Under the setting sun, three figures dashed along the shore—Blitzcrank's first long run and a memory Queen and Judge would rather forget.
"How's this thing still powered?!"
"How should I know? You caused this mess!"
Blitzcrank trailed them at a teasing distance, neither crushing them nor letting them escape. Slow runners felt its electrified fist.
From its steam, Queen and Judge deduced it was steam-powered, hoping to outlast its fuel. But Blitzcrank's Hextech crystal core made that impossible.
"Blitzcrank can chase you all day!"
Its learning module caused this. Oran programmed only basic operations. Blitzcrank didn't truly feel emotions—anger was just a threatening tone.
It acted because its code deemed the pair needed a lesson. Spending time with Kate, it adopted feline traits, like toying with prey.
"Blitzcrank, that's enough."
Oran's soft command reached its sensors. Blitzcrank halted, returning to Oran and Kate. Queen and Judge collapsed on the beach, gasping.
"Master, Blitzcrank awaits orders."
"Patrol nearby. Stay on standby."
"Understood."
Blitzcrank lumbered off to help Kate process the day's catch before it spoiled.
"Hard to believe it follows such vague orders," Vegapunk remarked.
He'd built robots, but they needed precise instructions to avoid errors. Send one for bamboo, and it might return with anything.
Blitzcrank was different. Tasked with fetching bamboo, it'd pick the best fit for the context.
"Since it calls you Master, it's your creation, right? Mind sharing your approach?"
Vegapunk's curiosity flared. Unknown tech was irresistible.
"I just tweaked existing tech, standing on giants' shoulders. No big deal."
"Giants' shoulders—a fitting metaphor. Science builds on generations, doesn't it?
Mr. Cidilir, interested in joining MADS?"
(End of Chapter)