The golden Garuda cut through the moonlit sky, the precious Adam's Wood log cradled securely against its powerful chest. Shimotsuki Village's familiar cliffs and tranquil cove soon came into view. Landing silently in the secluded cove, Stanlee transformed back, the warm, living weight of the wood a constant reminder of his mission. He strode towards Kenshiro's workshop, the rhythmic crash of waves a counterpoint to his determined steps.
The workshop was bathed in lantern light. Kenshiro was exactly where Stanlee had left him, hunched over a workbench, meticulously planing timber. He didn't look up as Stanlee entered, simply sniffed the air.
"You smell of chaos, salt, and something… ancient," the old shipwright grunted. "And you're carrying more than just confidence. Let me see it."
Stanlee placed the dark, shimmering log on the workbench. It seemed to drink the light, emanating a deep, inner warmth.
Kenshiro finally stopped planing. He approached the log, his gnarled hands hovering over it without touching. He traced its grain, closed his eyes for a moment. "Adam's Wood," he breathed. "The real thing. You actually did it, boy. How?"
"Chaos is a useful tool when you know how to direct it," Stanlee replied. "And when you don't need to fight the war yourself."
Kenshiro circled the log. "Good. This… this has potential. It sings. Faintly, but it sings." He fixed Stanlee with an intense gaze. "Now. Leave it here. Come back in six months. The ship will be ready."
Stanlee didn't move. "No."
The single word hung in the air. Kenshiro's eyebrows shot up. "No? Boy, do you have any idea what it takes to work Adam's Wood? It demands focus! Precision! Decades of experience! I can't have some clumsy giant hovering—"
"I'm not asking to hover," Stanlee countered, his voice calm but firm. "I'm asking to learn. To work beside you. To help." He spread his massive hands. "Shanks sent me here for the 'Freest Ship'. A ship built for me. For a solo traveler. What happens when I'm out there, and a cannon punches a hole? When a storm rips the mast? When I scrape her blind on a reef? Am I supposed to flap my wings back and beg you to fix her?" His voice dropped, imbued with conviction. "Freedom isn't just about sailing where I please. It's about self-sufficiency. A captain who can't fix his own ship isn't free. He's a liability waiting to happen. Let me work. Let me learn. Let me earn this ship with sweat, blisters, and splinters. Let me make it truly mine, from the inside out."
Silence stretched. Kenshiro's gaze swept over Stanlee – his power, his intelligence, his fierce determination. He saw vulnerability, a need for knowledge. He saw the truth in Stanlee's words.
Finally, the old shipwright sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. He picked up a heavy mallet and tossed it towards Stanlee. Stanlee caught it easily.
"Fine," Kenshiro grumbled. "But you start at the bottom. Sweep this floor until it shines. Sharpen every tool. And don't even think about touching the Adam's Wood until I say so. Now get to work, apprentice. The dawn's not getting any younger."
Stanlee's answering grin was wide. "Yes, Master Kenshiro."
The Forge of Freedom: Three Months of Sweat and Splinters
The next three months became a relentless rhythm of sawdust, sweat, and the constant sounds of craftsmanship. Kenshiro was a demanding, exacting, and often infuriating teacher.
"Your sweep lines are crooked! Etching a map of incompetence into my floor?" "That chisel edge is duller than a Marine's wit! Feel the grain, boy!" "You're planing against the grain! Adam's Wood will tear your soul out!"
Stanlee embraced it. He found focus in sweeping and sharpening. He learned different woods – teak's stubbornness, cedar's flexibility, the unique resonance of Adam's Wood. His powerful hands, capable of shattering stone, learned the delicate art of shaping wood, guiding tools with growing precision. Blisters formed, then calloused. Splinters were daily occurrences.
"See?" Kenshiro would chuckle, pointing at a splinter in Stanlee's thumb. "Even the mighty Garuda can be brought low by a splinter. Respect the wood, boy. Always."
Navigation lessons continued on Kenshiro's fishing boat. Stanlee learned to read currents, wind shifts, water color, marine life behavior, and the stars. He correlated Log Pose readings with visual cues, anticipating weather changes.
"Power without knowledge is just noise," Kenshiro stated flatly after Stanlee navigated them through fog using only wind and wave sounds. "You've got the noise covered. Now you're learning the song."
A Silent Encounter: During his early morning runs through Shimotsuki Village, Stanlee often heard the distinctive, rhythmic sounds of intense sword training emanating from a dojo on a hill – the clashing of blades, sharp kiai shouts. One misty dawn, curiosity piqued, he scaled a nearby tree for a discreet view. In the dojo's courtyard, a young man with green hair and three swords strapped to his hip moved with blinding speed and ferocious intensity, cutting through practice dummies like butter. Zoro, Stanlee realized instantly. Roronoa Zoro, future World's Greatest Swordsman. He watched, impressed, a flicker of temptation to meet this future legend warring with his resolve. No. His path is set. His crew awaits. I won't interfere. He slipped away silently, never approaching the Koushirou Dojo, respecting the timeline and his own solitary journey.
The Little Dream Takes Shape
The ship, built entirely from Adam's Wood, was sleek, functional, and elegant – perhaps forty meters stem to stern, with a low, streamlined profile. The wood shimmered with inner warmth, grain flowing like captured water.
The layout was meticulously designed for solo self-sufficiency:
Basement: Accessed via a sturdy hatch near the mast. Cavernous storage for supplies, water barrels, filtration systems, and ballast.Main Deck (1st Floor):Aft Section: Compact galley with stove, storage, and a small cold box. Beside it, a large reinforced glass aquarium stocked with local fish.Mid-Ship: A small, ingenious enclosed garden (3m²) using rainwater, collected soil, and Stanlee's minimal life-force encouragement for herbs, vegetables, and a citrus tree.Forward Section: Captain's Quarters – spacious bunk, sturdy desk with charts/tools, locked chest, ample storage, large portholes.Open Deck: Surrounding these structures, featuring a reinforced Adam's Wood training area and sturdy railings.Upper Deck (2nd Floor): Helm with large, responsive wheel. Small enclosed lookout post with panoramic windows. Two small, functional guest cabins.The Wind's Embrace: Concealed vents and channels integrated into the mast and deck structure, allowing Stanlee to channel his wind abilities directly into the ship's propulsion, supplementing or replacing sails. Traditional sails were rigged for normal use.
The banter remained constant:
"You call this sanding? Feels like a shark's back! Do it again! Finer grit, you lumbering brute!" "Lumbering brute? You called me a 'walking natural disaster'! Should I shake the island to level the sandpaper?" "Hah! Shake my workshop, you'll plan toothpicks with your teeth! Focus on the wood, not your smart mouth! The sea doesn't care how witty you are!"
Struggles were met with gruff wisdom:
"It's not going!" Stanlee grunted, struggling with a mast step joint. "Because you're fighting it!" Kenshiro snapped. "The wood wants to fit! Feel it! Guide it! You're a Garuda, not a hammer! Use finesse!" Stanlee focused, felt the grain, adjusted. With a soft click, the joint settled perfectly. "See? Told you. Listen to the wood. Now, don't get cocky. You still sand like a drunken Sea King."
The Final Night: Questions and Directions
Three months to the day after delivering the wood, the Little Dream rested in its cradle, gleaming under the moonlight, ready for launch. The village was abuzz with quiet excitement. As Stanlee made final checks on deck, securing a coiled rope, Kenshiro approached, leaning against the reinforced railing near the small garden.
"She's ready, boy," Kenshiro said, his voice softer than usual, filled with a rare pride. "Three months of sweat, splinters, and your particular brand of stubbornness. She'll take you anywhere."
Stanlee leaned against the railing beside him, looking at his ship – his freedom. "She's perfect, Master Kenshiro. More than I imagined." He hesitated, then turned to face the old shipwright. "There's… one more thing I need to find. Before I truly set off."
Kenshiro raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What could the mighty Garuda possibly lack now? A bigger fish tank? A stronger training dummy?"
Stanlee chuckled. "No. A teacher. Specifically… a chef." He gestured vaguely towards the galley. "Gaimon drilled it into me for years. I can't cook. At all. My attempts over the past three months…" He shuddered dramatically. "Let's just say even the rats in the workshop avoided my 'experiments'. I need to learn the basics. Proper cooking techniques. And…" He flexed a hand, watching the muscles move. "My body… it burns through fuel at an insane rate. I need to understand nutrition, supplements, how to maintain peak condition on the open sea without access to… well, without access to anything but what I can catch, grow, or trade for. I need to know what to eat, how much, how to prepare it to sustain this." He tapped his chest. "Not just survive, but thrive. For the long haul."
Kenshiro stared at him for a long moment, then threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed across the deck. "HAH! A chef? You, who managed to turn perfectly good salt fish into something resembling charcoal briquettes with the texture of rock? You, who nearly poisoned us both with that 'lightning-accelerated' stew that tasted like burnt seawater and regret?" He wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, this is rich! The Freest Traveler, brought low by his inability to boil water!"
Stanlee sighed, but grinned. "Yes, yes, laugh it up, old man. My culinary disasters are legendary. But it's serious. I can't rely on finding restaurants out there. I need self-sufficiency in all things, including keeping myself fed properly."
Kenshiro's laughter subsided, replaced by a thoughtful expression. He stroked his snow-white braid. "Aye, aye. Point taken. Can't have the strongest man in the East Blue starving to death because he can't figure out how to cook rice." He tapped his chin. "You need someone who understands high-energy needs, who can teach fundamentals without getting bogged down in fancy palace cuisine. Someone… vibrant. Used to feeding people who burn through calories like wildfire." His eyes lit up with an idea. "I know just the place. And the perfect starting point."
"Where?" Stanlee asked, leaning forward.
"Mirror Ball Island," Kenshiro stated, a grin spreading across his face. "It's not far from here, actually, deeper in the East Blue. Famous for one thing: non-stop music, dancing, and festivals. The whole island is one big, chaotic party. They have food stalls everywhere, catering to revelers, performers, laborers – all sorts, working up incredible appetites." He chuckled. "The cooks there are masters of efficiency, flavor, and sheer volume. They know how to make food that fuels bodies for days of non-stop exertion. It's the perfect environment to learn the basics – fast, tasty, nutritious cooking on a budget, using local ingredients. Plus…" He winked. "You might actually learn to enjoy yourself while you're at it. A concept clearly foreign to you, mountain-smasher."
Stanlee considered it. An island dedicated to celebration and feasting… it sounded chaotic, but also like the perfect place to immerse himself in learning a vital skill. "Mirror Ball Island," he repeated, committing the name to memory. "Alright. I'll go there first. Find a teacher. Learn to feed myself properly." He looked back at the Little Dream, bathed in moonlight. "Then, the real journey begins."
Launching the Dream
At dawn, the village gathered. Kenshiro stood proudly beside the finished ship. Stanlee stood beside him, awe and fierce pride etched on his face.
"She's beautiful, Master Kenshiro," Stanlee said, his voice thick with emotion. "Beautiful?" Kenshiro snorted, but his eyes shone. "She's functional. Strong. Reliable. That's better than beautiful. You earned this. Every splinter, every blister, every moment of my shouting. You listened. You learned. You worked." He clapped Stanlee on the back. "Now, she needs a name."
Stanlee looked at the ship – sleek, self-sufficient, built not for conquest, but for the simple, profound freedom of the horizon. He thought of Gaimon, the vast ocean. "'Little Dream'," he said. "She's not big. She's not flashy. But she's everything. My little dream of freedom."
Kenshiro nodded. "Little Dream. Aye. Fits her. Fits you." He raised his voice. "Alright, you lot! Push her off!"
With cheers and effort, the Little Dream slid down the ramp, kissing the water with a sound that was both splash and sigh. She bobbed gently, riding the waves as if born to them.
Stanlee stepped aboard, boots landing firmly on the deck. He ran a hand along the smooth, warm railing. He walked the length of his ship, touching the mast, glancing into the galley, looking at his small garden, peering into the aquarium. He climbed to the upper deck and placed his hands on the large, polished wheel. It felt perfect.
He looked back at the shore. Kenshiro stood with his arms crossed. Stanlee raised a hand in salute. Kenshiro gave a single, curt nod back.
Stanlee took a deep breath. He focused his will, channeling a whisper of wind into the Wind's Embrace system. Faint currents stirred within the concealed channels. The sails billowed, catching the natural breeze. The Little Dream began to move, gliding silently away from the shore.
He didn't transform. He simply sailed. The Log Pose pulsed steadily, pointing towards the open ocean… and beyond it, towards the vibrant chaos of Mirror Ball Island. The wind whispered through the rigging. The Little Dream, his ship, his freedom, carried him forward. The vast blue horizon stretched endlessly before him. The journey of the Freest Traveler had truly begun.