Raising Legends in Roger’s Shadow

When Roger and the others returned to Water 7 with the treasure wood, Adam, they slipped in quietly through a hidden harbor Tom had once shown them. Without alerting anyone, they brought the massive tree trunk straight into Tom's workshop where it nearly filled the entire space.

Tom rushed over the moment he received the news. But when he laid eyes on the intact, ancient, awe-inspiring trunk of the treasure tree Adam, he froze in place.

Roger burst into hearty laughter. "Not bad, huh, Tom?"

Tom's eyes went wide, gleaming with an almost feverish light as he completely ignored Roger's voice.

He walked up quickly and reverently ran his calloused hands over the rugged, resilient grain of the wood, his face pressing flush against the tree's surface.

"Who's the sturdiest little baby?"

Tom began rubbing his face against it. Rub rub rub.

"Who's the toughest keel in the world?"

Rub rub rub.

"Uncle Tom, stop rubbing it! You're gonna break the skin!" Ritter finally couldn't bear to watch anymore.

Tom's mouth twitched uncontrollably, and then, slowly, a brilliant smile broke across his face.

His shoulders trembled faintly, as though he were trying to suppress the indescribable surge of emotion rising within him.

And who could blame him? The treasure wood Adam was the holy grail of shipbuilding no master shipwright could possibly resist its allure.

Suddenly, as if just remembering something, Tom snapped his head toward Roger and the others. His eyes were filled with gratitude and reverence.

"You... you actually did it!" Tom's voice choked slightly with emotion, though joy and excitement were clearly the dominant notes. "This is the real deal! The real treasure tree Adam! With this... I can finally build the most indestructible ship the world has ever seen!"

"Uncle Tom, your reaction time's kinda slow," Ritter muttered.

But Tom wasn't listening to a word he said. He turned back to the wood, eyes full of affection.

At that moment, it looked like stars were twinkling in Tom's eyes. A blissful smile curved his lips, and somehow a single teardrop slid... from the corner of his mouth.

Roger chuckled at the sight. "Uncle Tom, you look happier than we are."

"Of course I'm happy!" Tom wiped his mouth and turned back to them, his face radiant with pride. "This is the pinnacle of my shipbuilding life! Thanks to you all, I finally have the chance to create a true legend!"

Rayleigh adjusted his glasses and offered a calm smile. "Then we'll be waiting for its birth."

Tom nodded solemnly, then suddenly grabbed Rayleigh, Jabba, Roger, and Ritter by the collar. "One-two-three, out you go!"

None of them even had time to resist just wide-eyed confusion in every direction.

Tom spun around and declared, "Come back in six months."

Before anyone could object—

SLAM—the workshop door shut tight.

Ritter looked at Captain Roger. Roger turned to First Mate Rayleigh. Rayleigh turned to Jabba. Jabba looked at Ritter.

"So… what do we do now?" Ritter asked.

Roger, Rayleigh, and Jabba all turned their heads toward him in perfect sync.

Ritter: Huh???

Jabba cleared his throat. "Ritter, don't you think you're still way too weak?"

A bad feeling crept up Ritter's spine.

Roger laughed heartily. "Well, we've got half a year to kill. Ritter, it's time for training."

"You'll be working on the Six Powers techniques, mastering heavy swords, developing your Devil Fruit abilities, and pushing your Haki to the next level," Rayleigh added calmly, delivering the most ruthless news with the gentlest voice.

Ritter: My guys... the sky is falling.

While Ritter was undergoing joyful torture training…

What were the Five Elders up to?

Of course they were having a little meeting.

Inside the chamber of authority, the Five Elders sat in grim silence. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across their weathered faces.

"The treasure wood Adam is gone. CP0 was wiped out, and we didn't even catch a glimpse of the enemy," the sword-bearing elder growled, his knuckles white from gripping the armrest.

"All investigators found in the area were surrounded only by Sea Kings," said the finance elder. "Are we supposed to tell the world we were robbed by fish?"

"Seal the information," the blond elder ordered flatly. "Classify the incident as a maritime anomaly."

The official record would state that the transport ship had been lost to a sudden underwater volcanic eruption purely an accident. But in reality, it had been a robbery, a humiliation. An unacceptable stain on the World Government's authority.

"Looks like we've gotten too complacent over the years," muttered the finance elder. "This ends now. Silence everyone who knows."

The Five Elders were truly furious. And helpless. The agents they sent out had failed to send back a single message before they died. Useless to the last.

Ritter: If they'd actually sent a message, where would that leave me?

"Agreed," echoed four voices in unison.

Three months passed in a flash.

Let's check in with Ritter again.

He was sprawled out on a rooftop, legs swinging idly, a roughly carved wooden sword twirling between his fingers something Rayleigh had casually whittled for him a few days prior.

"This thing's so light, it feels like air," he grumbled, and with a casual flick, snap the wooden blade broke clean in half.

His strength had grown so much lately, it was hard to control it sometimes.

Down in the courtyard, Jabba was polishing his axe. He snorted. "That's not how you use a sword, kid."

"I didn't mean to!" Ritter snapped. "This stick's too brittle!"

Rayleigh stepped out of the house, holding a rolled-up sea chart. "There's an island near Water 7. Word is, a legendary blacksmith's living there in seclusion."

Ritter sat up suddenly, his crimson eyes gleaming. "A blacksmith? That means… there might be some really powerful swords there?"

Jabba raised a brow. "What, getting into swords now, brat?"

Ritter clenched his fist, voice unusually serious. "I want a real sword! Not a toy, not a stick something that can slice the sea in two!"

Roger burst into booming laughter. Leaping down from the mast, he clapped Ritter hard on the back. "That's the spirit! Then let's go check out that island!"

And just like that, the crew borrowed a ship from the dock and set sail.

That night, Ritter lay on the deck, gazing up at the star-filled sky.

The waves lapped gently against the hull in a steady rhythm.

Rayleigh walked over and sat beside him.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Ritter rolled over, mumbling into the deck, "Hey, Rayleigh… what kind of sword do you think suits the future 'Phantom of the Mist'?"

Rayleigh chuckled softly. "It's not about the sword. It's about the one who wields it."

Ritter pouted. "Ugh, that's such a cliché. Don't tell me you're gonna lecture me with some life philosophy now."

"But it's true," Rayleigh said, gazing out toward the horizon. "The famous black blades those weren't born black. The great swordsmen tempered them with Armament Haki until the metal transformed. A good blade enhances your performance in battle, sure. But swordsmanship itself doesn't change. A sword's just steel. Nothing more."

Ritter was quiet for a while. Then he asked, "But… what if I find one that's too heavy or too big? What if I can't lift it?"

Rayleigh's glasses glinted in the moonlight. "Then get stronger. Until you can. You wanted to use a heavy sword, didn't you? Don't shy away now. Train until it obeys you."

The next morning, the ship docked.

As soon as the four of them stepped onto the pier, a clamor erupted from the nearby tavern.

"Did you hear? The old blacksmith's 'final blade' is finally complete!"