"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Water 7's mornings always awakened to this rhythmic hammering.
Since Tom's shipyard took on that earth-shaking order, it had become the liveliest place in the entire city.
The ding-dong of hammers, the screech of saws, the rough work songs of shipwrights, mixed with the scent of sea breeze and wood shavings, composed a symphony celebrating the birth of a legend.
Months had passed, and the Oro Jackson's keel was long complete. Massive ribs stretched like a giant beast's ribcage, supporting the Treasure Tree Adam's indestructible frame. It rested quietly in the dock, radiating heart-stopping pressure even in its unfinished state.
Beside a quiet canal in the city, Kyle sat with eyes closed, one hand hovering over a discarded iron plate. He wasn't summoning water waves or releasing sound blasts, yet the surrounding air seemed to shimmer slightly as invisible heat gathered.
"Senpai... what are you doing? Warming up the iron plate?" Nozdon crouched nearby, a seagull perched on his pointed head, curiously tilting to one side.
"Shh, don't interrupt me," Kyle's forehead beaded with sweat as he attempted a new application. "Heat Wave Searing Breath."
As his words fell, the air below his palm suddenly flashed red. The half-finger-thick iron plate's center silently melted and glowed, finally pierced with a "hiss" by a concentrated heat ray, leaving a smooth-edged circular hole.
"Whoa—! Awesome!" Nozdon's eyes nearly popped out, and the seagull on his head flapped away in fright.
Kyle exhaled deeply, wiping his sweat. Constraining and focusing infrared wave beams into rays required extreme precision, consuming far more mental energy than wide-area shockwaves. But this power... absolutely worth it.
"Now those tin can warships won't be enough for me to pierce," Kyle smiled with satisfaction at his palm.
Wave-particle duality, bro!
Wonder how it would work against Admiral Kizaru someday?
Could you react in time, old man?
On the other side of the city, in a rowdy tavern, the atmosphere was far wilder.
"Ora ora ora!" Millet, shirtless with sweat glistening on his muscled frame, arm-wrestled with Gaban. Both men's arms bulged with veins in deadlock.
Surrounding pirates and local shipwrights formed a circle, cheering wildly.
"Go Gaban-san!"
"Millet-ojisan, twist his arm off!"
Rayleigh sat leisurely in a corner with coffee, intently reading a newspaper.
A chair whistled over his head and shattered against the wall. He didn't even lift an eyelid, merely shaking wood chips off his paper.
Spencer attempted to discuss noble tailoring artistry with a local fashion designer, but every sentence was interrupted by Gaban's roars, making his carefully maintained, elegant image teeter.
Suddenly, Rayleigh's gaze stopped at a small corner of the newspaper.
It was an unremarkable news item reporting Marine Commodore Garp's recent "rescue" of slaves hijacked by pirates and seizure of large amounts of berries, some to be used for the slaves' resettlement.
The news naturally didn't mention the Roger Pirates, but the implication of "greedy, foolish pirates" practically dripped from the page.
Rayleigh's lips curved in an amused smile. The World Government crowd was as good as ever at claiming credit.
However, the article's end mentioned that due to recent rampant piracy, the World Government had dispatched additional fleets to strengthen patrols in the Grand Line's first half.
That wasn't good news.
When Rayleigh returned to the shipyard with this intelligence, Roger stood with hands on hips, excitedly watching workers install a massive hull plate.
"Tom! Faster! My partner can't wait to set sail!"
"Wa ha ha ha! Don't rush me, kid! This is artwork! DON!" Tom's hammer strike fit the enormous plate seamlessly into the hull.
Rayleigh handed Roger the newspaper. "Take a look, Roger. Seems we're famous again."
Roger glanced over and laughed carelessly: "Gu ha ha ha! That Garp guy scored free credit! Perfect—once our ship's finished, we'll sail right up to show it off!"
"The Navy's strengthened patrols. We should keep a low profile," Rayleigh reminded.
"What's to fear!" Tom approached with his hammer, having overheard their conversation. He grinned: "Ships I build are meant to make you fearless of anyone! Once the Oro Jackson launches, those Navy rust buckets won't even qualify to eat your dust! DON!"
This bold spirit stirred Roger and the others' hearts.
Just then, commotion arose in the shipyard. Workers installing a crucial curved plate below the bow had hit trouble.
That piece of Treasure Tree Adam was too hard, with an extremely tricky curve. Brute force might damage the wood, while steam softening could affect its divine properties.
"Damn! Just a little more!" A worker sweated profusely.
Tom looked over and frowned. This was key to the ship's streamlined design, determining whether it could "dance with waves" as Kyle suggested.
"Let me try."
Kyle approached and, under puzzled gazes, gently placed his palm on the massive curved plate.
"Resonance Collapse — Reverse Phase," Kyle said softly.
He released extremely subtle, constantly changing resonance waves, carefully seeking the "point" of complete synchronization with this Adam wood.
Seconds later, he found it.
"Now! Strike!" Kyle's eyes snapped open.
Tom didn't hesitate—he completely trusted this young man who'd given him countless inspirations. He raised his hammer, using full strength with his signature "DON!" and struck down hard!
"Bang!"
This time, there was no feared cracking or harsh metal-on-metal sound.
Under the resonance waves' effect, the incredibly hard Treasure Tree Adam's internal structure momentarily, minutely loosened. It seemed to become flexible for an instant, sliding perfectly into the reserved groove under tremendous force—seamless, natural perfection.
The entire shipyard fell deathly silent.
All workers stared agape at this scene as if witnessing a miracle.
Tom slowly lowered his hammer, his rough palm caressing the perfectly fitted plate, feeling those smooth curves, trembling with excitement.
He whirled around to stare at Kyle like he'd discovered treasure more precious than Treasure Tree Adam itself.
"You brat... You brat!" Tom's voice trembled as he lifted Kyle like a chick, shouting excitedly: "Wa ha ha ha ha! You're practically a shipbuilding genius born for this! Want to stay as my apprentice?! DON!"
"I refuse!" Kyle felt dizzy from the shaking. "I'm going to be a pirate!"
"Gu ha ha ha! Well said, Kyle! You're my crew member!" Roger snatched Kyle back from Tom, proudly patting his shoulder.
From then on, whenever technical problems arose, workers would look at him with awe and anticipation.
Kyle enjoyed it, occasionally using his Wave-Wave Fruit abilities to help—using shockwaves to precisely deliver heavy materials to heights, or sound waves to detect internal wood flaws, greatly accelerating construction.
Finally, under Water 7's brilliant sunshine, that day arrived.
The Oro Jackson was complete!
It rested quietly in the flooded dock, golden sunlight reflecting off its Treasure Tree Adam hull in warm, sacred radiance.
Those elegant yet powerful hull lines seemed to contain wind and wave power—motionless like a sleeping king, yet constantly radiating the aura of one about to dominate the world.
All Roger Pirates members, Tom and his workers, even many Water 7 citizens who'd come upon hearing the news gathered on shore, gazing up at this unprecedented pirate ship with faces full of shock and wonder.
"It... it's breathing..." Nozdon whispered.
Roger stood foremost, quietly watching. This ship carried all his dreams, crystallized his comrades' hopes, fused genius inspiration, crafted by the world's greatest shipwright.
It wasn't just a ship—it was their new partner, the soul with which they'd conquer the seas.
He slowly turned to face those excited, thrilled, expectation-filled faces behind him, showing that signature smile brilliant enough to illuminate an entire era.
"Alright, boys!"
His voice carried across the entire harbor.
"Our partner can't wait any longer!"
"Are you ready... to conquer these seas?!"
"Wooooooo—!"
Thunderous cheers echoed throughout all of Water 7.