Chapter 22: Water Seven
The days after Garp's departure were loud, chaotic, and cramped.
The ship that had once felt spacious now groaned under the weight of fourteen pirates. Nozdon's enormous frame took up half the deck. Miller's hammer lived in the center of the walkway, a constant hazard. Punk Lo's inventions—most of which smoked, sparked, or simply sat there—cluttered every available corner.
Bluemarine's logbook had been stepped on twice. Jabba had fallen over a crate of Punk Lo's "Portable Barbecue" prototypes. Even Kyle's training sessions with Isaac had become a game of dodging laundry lines and barrels.
He sidestepped a drying shirt, ducked under a rope, and nearly tripped over Miller's hammer. Again.
"We need a bigger ship," he muttered.
Rayleigh appeared beside him, wiping his glasses. "I was thinking the same."
Across the deck, Roger burst from his cabin, arms spread. "Lads! This ship's too small for us! Let's build the best ship in the world!"
The crew cheered.
"Where?" Jabba asked, pausing mid‑drink.
Spencer closed his book. "Water Seven, if the stories are true. The shipwrights there are the finest in the Grand Line."
Kyle's ears perked up. Water Seven. Tom. The ship that would become the Oro Jackson.
He kept his face neutral. "I've heard the name. There's a shipwright there—a fishman named Tom. They say he's the best."
Roger's eyes lit up. "A fishman shipwright? Kuhahaha! Perfect! Set course for Water Seven!"
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The city rose from the sea like something out of a dream.
Massive fountains sprayed skyward, their mist catching the sun in rainbows. Canals crisscrossed the streets, carrying small boats pulled by seahorse‑like creatures called buru. Buildings climbed over each other in layers, their architecture both strange and beautiful, built to withstand the seasonal floods that gave the city its name.
Nozdon's jaw dropped. "It's a city on water!"
Even Spencer, who had seen much, looked impressed. "Remarkable engineering."
Roger stood at the bow, taking it all in. Then he turned to the crew, grinning. "Alright! Shore leave! Find fun, find food, find trouble—but be back by sunset. We've got a shipwright to find!"
The crew scattered. Miller made straight for the nearest tavern. Mu Gulian headed toward a gunsmith's shop. The others paired off, vanishing into the maze of canals and streets.
Soon only Roger, Rayleigh, Jabba, and Kyle remained on deck.
"Now," Roger said, cracking his knuckles, "let's find this Tom."
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The search took longer than expected.
Water Seven was vast, and Tom's shipyard was on the outskirts, tucked between dry docks and warehouses. They asked directions twice, got lost once, and finally found it by following the sound of hammering and laughter.
Tom's Workers was a sprawling yard filled with half‑built ships, stacks of timber, and the sharp smell of sawdust. In the center, a massive bull‑horned fishman was driving a plank into place with a hammer the size of a small barrel.
He looked up as they approached. "Visitors? Don't get many of those. What do you want?"
Roger stepped forward. "We're pirates. We want you to build us a ship."
The yard went quiet. Apprentices stopped working, eyes darting between their master and the strangers.
Tom set down his hammer. "Pirates." He studied them—Roger's grin, Rayleigh's calm, Jabba's broad shoulders, Kyle standing slightly apart. "And what makes you think I'd build a ship for pirates?"
"Because we're not just any pirates." Roger's voice was light, but there was weight beneath it. "We're going to sail the whole Grand Line. Every island, every sea. And we need a ship that can take us there."
Tom's eyes narrowed. Then he laughed—a booming, infectious sound. "Wahahaha! A brat with big dreams! I like that!"
He picked up a bottle of sake, drank, and tossed it to Roger. "You want a ship from Tom? Fine. But first, let me see what you've been sailing. A ship tells me who her captain is."
Roger caught the bottle, took a swig, and grinned. "Follow me."
---
They walked back to the harbor, Tom's apprentices trailing behind, curious. When they reached the ship, Tom circled it slowly, running his hands over the hull, examining every scar.
He stopped at the patch covering the hole Roger had made with his Haki demonstration. "This damage. It's not from battle."
Roger scratched his head. "I was teaching the kid. Got carried away."
Tom snorted. Then he moved on, tracing the marks left by Marine cannonballs, the gouges from sea king teeth, the crude repairs from islands where they'd had no proper shipwright.
He was silent for a long time. When he finally turned back, his expression had changed.
"You sailed through the Grand Line in this?" His voice was low, almost reverent.
"Kuhahaha! She's a good ship. Tough."
Tom shook his head slowly. "Not tough. Loved." He looked at Roger. "A ship that carries a crew this far, through this much, with nothing but hope holding her together—that's a ship with a captain who cares."
He walked back to his apprentices, retrieved his sake bottle, and raised it high.
"I'll build your ship! Don!"
Roger whooped. Jabba cheered. Rayleigh smiled.
Kyle let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Tom took a long drink, then fixed Roger with a serious look. "But if you want the best ship in the world, ordinary wood won't do. You need the strongest wood in the world. Adam wood."
"Where do we find it?" Roger asked, already reaching for his sword.
Tom laughed. "Not by fighting. There's a tree on Warland that's been growing for centuries. Its wood is harder than steel. But getting it won't be easy."
Roger's grin only widened. "Kuhahaha! If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth doing."
Tom clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "That's the spirit! Bring me the wood, and I'll build you a ship that will carry you to the ends of the sea."
---
The crew reassembled at sunset, full of food and stories. Roger gathered them on the deck, explained the plan. The mood was electric.
Kyle stood at the rail, watching the lights of Water Seven flicker on across the canals. Rayleigh appeared beside him.
"You knew his name," Rayleigh said quietly. "Tom's. Before we asked."
Kyle kept his face neutral. "I'd heard stories. Everyone knows the best shipwright in the world."
Rayleigh studied him for a moment. "You're a strange boy, Kyle. Sometimes it feels like you know things you shouldn't."
Kyle's heart beat faster, but he met Rayleigh's eyes. "I pay attention. That's all."
Rayleigh's expression softened. "That's more than most." He rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Whatever you know, wherever you heard it—you've used it to help this crew. That's what matters."
He walked away, leaving Kyle alone with the city lights and the weight of secrets he'd carried since the beginning.
Tom. The Oro Jackson. Roger's ship.
He looked at the man himself, laughing with Jabba, already planning the voyage to Warland. The timeline was shifting. He was part of it now, not just a passenger.
Maybe that was enough.
"Kyle!" Roger called. "We're celebrating! Get over here!"
Kyle smiled, pushed off from the rail, and joined his crew.
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End of Chapter 22
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