Aboard the deck of the golden White Dragon, everyone took their seats around a massive outdoor table. Almost immediately, several of the tiny, metallic Automata waddled out from the galley, meticulously serving hot tea, chilled beverages, and a wide assortment of freshly baked pastries to the guests.
These ancient lunar robots weren't just lethal combat assets; they were heavily programmed with a vast array of domestic and industrial skills. They were truly the ultimate companions for home living, deep-space travel, and grand adventures on the high seas.
"SUPER...!" Cutty Flam (Franky) stared at the tiny robots, his eyes glowing with an intense, manic brilliance. He was already frantically brainstorming the best way to ask if he could violently dismantle one of them just to see how their gears worked.
"Shut up, you idiot Flam!" Iceburg, who knew his fellow apprentice better than anyone, instantly karate-chopped Franky on the back of the head.
Franky grumbled and rubbed his head, clearly dissatisfied. However, since they were currently guests aboard a foreign ship, he knew he couldn't cause a scene and embarrass Mr. Tom. He decided to hold his tongue and plot his revenge on Iceburg for later.
"Mr. Tom," Bardock began, picking up his teacup. "You've lived in Water 7 for decades, but I assume you still keep in touch with the affairs of Fish-Man Island, right? Tell me, are you familiar with a mermaid fortune-teller named Madam Shyarly?"
Bardock intended to use 'prophecy' as a convenient, irrefutable narrative tool to justify his omniscient knowledge.
"Shyarly?" Tom rubbed his massive chin, digging through his memories. "Tahahaha, yes, I've heard the name! My younger brother, Den, mentioned her in a letter once. He said her prophecies are terrifyingly accurate, boasting a 100% success rate. Why do you ask, Bardock? Have you met her?"
"I've only heard the legends; I've never met her in person," Bardock smiled smoothly. "But I bring her up because I possess a prophecy of my own. A completely accurate, unavoidable vision of the future. Mr. Tom... you are going to die very soon."
CRASH!
Iceburg and Franky instantly shot to their feet, knocking their chairs backward.
"WHAT?!"
"That's impossible! Take that back!"
Tom, however, remained incredibly calm. He merely raised a single eyebrow, his booming voice lowering to a serious rumble. "A prophecy says I am going to die soon?"
Bardock shook his head slowly. "Not right now. You will die the exact moment you finally complete the Sea Train. You will be dragged before a World Government Judicial Judge and sentenced to death. The official charge? The unforgivable crime of constructing the Oro Jackson for Pirate King Gol D. Roger."
"Wait... the Sea Train actually gets completed?! That's SUPER amazing!" Franky cheered, before realizing the second half of the sentence. "Wait, no! That's impossible! The Chief Judge explicitly made a legal agreement with Mr. Tom! If he successfully builds the Sea Train, the monumental pardon for saving Water 7 will completely wipe away his previous crimes!"
"Exactly!" Iceburg agreed, his fists clenched. "A World Government Judge made that promise publicly! He can't just go back on his word! Something else must have happened!"
The three shipwrights had wildly different reactions. Tom felt a deep sense of relief knowing his life's work—the Sea Train—would actually succeed. Franky was in total denial of the legal betrayal. Iceburg, being the smartest of the bunch, immediately realized there had to be an external, sabotaging variable.
"Iceburg is absolutely correct," Bardock nodded. "Mr. Tom, the Chief Judge will honor his agreement. He will offer to use the Sea Train's success to completely pardon your crime of building Roger's ship. However... you will actively refuse the pardon for yourself. You will use that once-in-a-lifetime pardon to save the life of someone else. You will volunteer to walk to the execution block."
Hearing this, Tom fell silent, his eyes darkening as he processed the psychological weight of that choice.
"Mr. Bardock," Iceburg demanded, his voice trembling slightly. "Please tell us exactly what happens. Why would Mr. Tom throw his own life away? Who does he use the pardon to save?!"
"Yeah! Tell us!" Franky yelled.
Bardock calmly pointed a single finger directly at the blue-haired teenager.
Franky blinked, aggressively pointing at his own chest. "Me? I'm the one who kills Mr. Tom?!"
"Technically, no. Mr. Tom uses his pardon to save your life, but you aren't the one who actively murders him," Bardock clarified, though his words only seemed to confuse the trio further.
"Let me explain," Bardock continued, his tone turning icy. "Mr. Tom, the World Government's Cipher Pol agents already know you secretly possess the blueprints for the Ancient Weapon Pluton."
Tom's eyes widened infinitesimally, but his massive frame remained perfectly still.
"They will come to you in secret and demand you hand over the blueprints. You, being an honorable man, will refuse," Bardock narrated. "So, the vicious Cipher Pol agent in charge—a man named Spandam—will orchestrate a vile conspiracy. On the exact day of your final pardon trial, his agents will secretly hijack the heavily armed 'Battle Franky' warships docked at the scrapyard. They will use your apprentice's weapons to violently bombard the World Government's Judicial Ship."
Bardock paused, letting the horrifying realization sink in. "Because everyone in Water 7 knows those bizarre warships belong exclusively to Cutty Flam, the entire world will automatically assume he attacked the Judicial Ship. That is an act of terrorism against the World Government. It carries an instant death penalty. Therefore, to save his beloved apprentice from execution, Mr. Tom will use the Sea Train's pardon to wipe away Franky's crime... leaving his own crime of building Roger's ship unpardoned. He sacrifices himself for you."
All the color completely drained from Franky's face. He looked like a ghost.
"So... it is my fault..." Franky choked out, tears rapidly welling in his eyes. "My ships... my ships kill Mr. Tom!"
"FRANKY! I TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES!" Iceburg roared, aggressively grabbing his fellow apprentice by the collar of his Hawaiian shirt, tears freely streaming down his own face. "I TOLD YOU THOSE STUPID BATTLESHIPS WERE TOO DANGEROUS! I TOLD YOU TO STOP BUILDING THEM!"
"I... I'll go destroy them!" Franky sobbed, violently shoving Iceburg away. He turned toward the railing, fully intending to dive into the ocean, swim back to the scrapyard, and smash every single one of his beloved creations to splinters. If his passion for weapons was going to kill his master, he would rather destroy his own dreams!
BAM!
Tom suddenly stood up. His massive, muscular arm shot out, firmly grabbing Franky by the shoulder and anchoring the boy in place.
"Flam," Tom rumbled, his voice echoing across the deck with absolute, undeniable authority. "Listen to me very carefully. No matter what a ship does... no matter who it hurts... even if that ship eventually brings about the destruction of the entire world! The person who built that ship must never, EVER deny it!"
Tom's eyes were fierce, filled with the unwavering pride of a master craftsman. "The creator must love the ship they poured their soul into! You must never disown your own creations! A man must puff out his chest and face the ships he built... WITH A DON!"
"But... But Mr. Tom... what about you?!" Franky bawled, crying so hard snot was running down his nose. "I can't let you die!"
"Tahahaha! None of this has actually happened yet, has it? It's just a prophecy!" Tom laughed heartily, patting the sobbing teenager on the back.
The colossal Fishman turned his gaze back to Bardock, his eyes sharp and calculating. "So, young Bardock... where exactly do you fit into this story? Why did you come all this way to tell me this?"
Bardock took a calm sip of his black tea. "Me? I don't technically exist in this prophecy. I am simply a massive variable. Personally, I don't want a legend like you dying so early. For a master shipwright of your caliber to be executed over a cheap, pathetic political scheme by Cipher Pol is an absolute tragedy. Furthermore, I absolutely refuse to let the World Government acquire the Pluton blueprints."
Iceburg wiped his eyes and frowned. "Mr. Bardock, if we don't hand over the blueprints, the World Government will just keep trying. Even if we foil this specific conspiracy with the Judicial Ship, they'll just invent another reason to assassinate Mr. Tom. As long as he holds the blueprints, his life will never be safe."
"That's enough, Iceburg," Tom said firmly. "I will never hand those blueprints over to the World Government. No matter what dirty tricks they play, I will face them head-on... with a DON!"
"Actually, there's a very simple, elegant solution to this," Bardock smirked, tapping his finger against the table. "You just have to pretend to let the Cipher Pol dogs win."
The three shipwrights stared at him.
"Think about it," Bardock continued. "When they finally attack, you hand over the blueprints. But naturally, because the blueprints are over 800 years old, they are heavily damaged and missing crucial pages! The technology is entirely incomplete and useless! Let them take a fake."
Bardock looked at Iceburg. "Or, better yet... one of you two apprentices acts as a 'traitor'. You violently betray Mr. Tom, steal a piece of the 'incomplete' blueprints, and hand it to the World Government. In exchange for your 'loyalty', you leverage the World Government's backing to become the Mayor of Water 7! You consolidate all the rival shipbuilding companies into a massive conglomerate and monopolize all Navy contracts!"
Bardock leaned back, smiling wickedly. "The initiative is entirely in your hands. You can play them however you want. The only absolute condition is that the World Government must never acquire the complete blueprints. Do not give them a single scrap of functional ancient technology."
"And finally, to ensure the true blueprints are never lost to history..." Bardock looked directly at Tom. "I want you to allow my crew to make a backup copy of the Pluton blueprints."
Tom stared at Bardock in silence for a long time.
"I will not hand the physical blueprints over to you," Tom finally spoke, his voice heavy. "However... I will allow her to make a backup."
Tom raised a massive finger and pointed directly at Robin.
"Me?" Robin blinked, genuinely surprised by the sudden trust.
"Or, more accurately, I am entrusting them to Ohara," Tom smiled gently. "The Tree of Knowledge housed the greatest collection of wisdom in human history. Perhaps one day, you will rebuild that library. The blueprints belong in the hands of true scholars. Furthermore... having survived the horrors of that Buster Call, you, more than anyone else in this world, understand the terrifying cost of unleashing weapons of mass destruction. I trust that you will never easily allow Pluton to see the light of day."
Robin lowered her head, her bangs shadowing her eyes as the agonizing memories of Ohara's burning shores flashed through her mind. She clenched her fists tightly.
"That works for me," Bardock nodded casually, entirely unbothered. "To be perfectly honest, I already know exactly where the original, physical Pluton is currently hidden. Getting the blueprints is purely a strategic fail-safe so I can build a counter-weapon if absolutely necessary."
The rest of the transaction was simple.
Using her Flower-Flower Fruit and her genius-level intellect, Robin quickly scanned the ancient, highly complex schematics. Within an hour, she had flawlessly backed up the complete architectural designs of the Ancient Weapon Pluton... right inside her own eidetic memory.