I Sell Gacha Jars in One Piece

Amon was stretched out on his deck chair with his eyes closed, Lily working methodically at his shoulders with the focused dedication she brought to everything. The afternoon had settled into a rare, pleasant quiet. Robin sat nearby with one elbow propped on her knee, turning pages at a pace that suggested she was enjoying the book rather than racing through it.

The ship drifted easy on the water. Nobody spoke. It was the type of peace that felt almost too comfortable to interrupt.

"Mr. Amon, it's me again!"

A voice came carrying across the water from some distance off, cheerful and completely indifferent to the atmosphere it was shattering. Amon cracked one eye open.

Observation Haki had already told him who it was before he saw the ships. Franky was at the prow of his lead vessel, waving both arms with the enthusiasm of someone who had never once in his life considered restraint. Behind him on the deck stood several figures Amon recognized immediately, not from personal acquaintance, but from years of knowing the story by heart. Tom the fishman, vast and broad-shouldered. Grandma Kokoro, small and weathered. A composed young teenager who could only be Iceberg. And a very large frog sitting perfectly still near the stern.

Amon sat up and felt a quiet satisfaction settle over him. Franky had come back faster than expected, and he hadn't come back alone. The blueprint had done exactly what he'd hoped.

He turned the ship toward them and called out as the gap between the ships closed. "Franky! Didn't expect to see you back so soon. I should warn you upfront, I only sell to each customer once. You've already had your turn."

It was the right thing to say first. Franky looked briefly disappointed, then waved it off, since he hadn't come back to buy anything anyway. But the others on deck had heard it, and the quiet implication that access to the Jars was limited did its work in the background without Amon needing to press it.

"You've got it wrong!" Franky called back. "I'm not here to open anything. My teacher saw the blueprint and basically dragged me back here himself. He wanted to thank you in person. Also, he's incredibly curious about your ship, and..." Franky paused, then asked it plainly, because Franky didn't really know any other way. "Could we come aboard?"

"Mr. Amon." Iceberg stepped forward and added his own voice, measured and polite. "We'd be grateful for the opportunity, if you're willing."

Amon glanced at the group on the other deck, then smiled. "Of course. Welcome aboard."

He'd actually been in the middle of trying to think of a way to get them onto the ship. They'd saved him the trouble entirely.

The group crossed over with varying degrees of composure. Tom was the least composed of all, though he disguised it with dignity. The moment his feet touched the deck of the ship, his expression shifted, the subtle but total change of a craftsman whose instincts have been engaged against his will.

The first thing he noticed was the stillness. The sea around them was not calm, there was a proper swell running, waves broad and unhurried but present, and the ship simply didn't respond to them the way a ship should. It sat on the water as though the water were solid ground, with no perceptible roll, no shift underfoot, no correction needed. Tom had spent decades learning to read a ship's movement by the feel of his feet on its deck. This ship offered him nothing to read. It was like standing inside a building.

The second thing he noticed was the scale. From outside, the ship was a reasonable size, nothing remarkable. Stepping inside was a different experience entirely. The interior spaces stretched and opened in ways that the exterior dimensions simply didn't allow for. Tom moved slowly, touching a bulkhead here, a frame there, not quite believing what his hands were telling him.

The third thing, which came to him gradually as he walked, was the quality of the construction. Not just well-built, not just precise, but armored against the world in some fundamental way. The ship felt less like a vessel and more like a fortification. As though no sea and no force could find purchase against it.

"Extraordinary," he murmured, more to himself than anyone. "Truly extraordinary..."

He circled the interior with his head tilting at each structural detail, muttering under his breath, forgetting entirely where he was or who was watching.

Iceberg, standing nearby, was having much the same experience, though he managed to look slightly less like a child who had just discovered something wonderful. He was quiet, methodical, and the shock on his face was visible only if you were paying close attention.

Franky and Kokoro were somewhat more settled. Franky had burned through his astonishment the first time around and now wore a composed expression. Kokoro, for her part, was not a shipbuilder and knew it, and her feelings about the vessel were correspondingly simpler. She thought it was impressive. But she had come primarily because of what Franky had said about the Jars, and the Jars were what she was thinking about.

It was Kokoro who eventually broke the spell, because someone had to.

"Heheheheh. I'm sorry about those two, Mr. Amon. Ships are something of a sickness with them." She waved a hand at Tom and Iceberg, who were still moving around the interior with focused intensity. "We really came to thank you. Franky told us about the rail schematic, and what it means for us... well. We'd have been in a very bad situation without it. You may not understand how serious things were, but we do. So, from the bottom of our hearts, thank you."

The sincerity in her voice was plain and uncomplicated.

Tom and Iceberg surfaced from their respective reveries at the sound of her words, blinking like people returning from somewhere else. Tom had the grace to look a little embarrassed. He smoothed the front of his coat and cleared his throat, and some color rose in his broad fishman face.