I Sell Gacha Jars in One Piece

Tom the fishman sat hunched over his drafting table in the shipyard, pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes. The sea train's overall structure was largely settled by now. The hull configuration, the engine layout, the passenger compartments. Most of it had come together over months of painstaking work. But the rail system remained an open wound in his design.

The rails had to sit on the ocean's surface. They had to resist constant saltwater corrosion without degrading, and at the same time bear the full weight and momentum of a locomotive crossing open sea. It was a problem that had no clean answer, a knot he'd been pulling at from every angle without finding the thread that would unravel it.

Iceberg, his eldest apprentice, was at the table beside him, quietly contributing wherever he could. Though still only in his mid-teens, the boy had absorbed so much of Tom's craft that he was already a genuine help, not just someone who fetched tools and swept shavings.

"Come, come. Take a break and drink something."

Kokoro, the old mermaid, shuffled in with cups of water. Yokozuna the frog followed close behind, carrying one in both hands with grave ceremony.

"Thank you, Grandma Kokoro," Iceberg said.

"Heheheh, don't mention it." Kokoro waved a hand and glanced around the yard. "Where's that Franky gone off to? Haven't seen him all day."

Of Tom's two apprentices, Franky was the one who kept everyone's nerves frayed. Iceberg was calm, conscientious, almost painfully earnest. Franky was a storm in human shape.

"I saw him heading out on one of his ships first thing this morning," Iceberg said, setting down his cup with a small frown. "Master Tom, I really think you need to have a talk with him. Mounting cannons on civilian vessels... it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong."

Tom laughed his big, rolling laugh and patted his enormous belly. "Iceberg, a ship is neither good nor evil. It's only the hands that steer it. Franky's a handful, sure, but his heart is in the right place. Don't worry so much."

Iceberg opened his mouth to press the point.

"Master Tom! Master Tom, I'm back!"

Franky's voice came booming in from outside before Iceberg could get a word out. A moment later, the boy himself came charging into the shipyard, wild-haired and grinning, his combat vessels visible through the dock entrance with several large Sea Kings draped over the hulls behind them.

"Yokozuna! Where's the old man? I've got news!"

He ruffled Yokozuna's head in passing, the frog blinking up at him with calm, patient eyes. Yokozuna and Franky had always been close, closer than words really covered. Those who knew the story of what came later, of Yokozuna throwing himself in front of sea trains day after day after Franky was gone, understood exactly what that friendship meant. For now, though, Yokozuna simply pointed one stubby arm toward the interior of the workshop.

"You're the best, Yokozuna. I'll show you something cool in a minute!"

He gave the frog another pat and barreled on through.

"Master Tom! Where are you!"

"Franky." Iceberg's voice carried the particular tired patience of an older sibling who has repeated himself many times. "How many times does he have to tell you? Slow down. Conduct yourself with some composure."

Iceberg didn't dislike Franky. He just genuinely believed in certain standards of decorum, and Franky violated most of them on a daily basis.

Franky stuck out his tongue and pulled a face.

"Hahaha, there he is." Tom came out from behind a stack of timber, rubbing his belly, eyes already creasing with warmth. "What is it, Franky? Did one of your ships break down? Or are you here to brag about the Sea Kings you caught?"

"Neither, old man!" Franky shook his head and pulled the blueprint from inside his coat. "I brought you a surprise."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "A surprise? Did you design a new ship?"

"Just look at it yourself."

Tom took it with the mild, tolerant curiosity of a man humoring a child, and unrolled the sheet.

For a moment, he was quiet.

"Iceberg," he said, without looking up. "I'm busy right now and can't be looking at whatever Franky's dragged in."

But he was already looking. His eyes had gone very still on the page.

"Wait..."

Another moment passed.

"Wait."

Tom set the sheet flat on the drafting table and leaned over it. His eyes moved slowly across every line, every notation, every structural detail. And then his hands began to tremble.

"Ingenious," he breathed. "This is... how did anyone think to construct it this way..."

He traced a section of the design with one finger, voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "Of course. Of course, that's why I kept failing. The load distribution here, and here... I was approaching it completely wrong..."

He straightened up. His face had gone through several things in the span of ten seconds, and what it landed on was pure, overwhelming joy. He let out a laugh that shook the rafters and grabbed Franky by both arms, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

"Franky! This is extraordinary! Where did you get this?! Did you design this yourself?!"

"Master, Master, you're going to crack my ribs!"

Iceberg stared at his master, bewildered. He had never seen Tom like this. "Master Tom, what's happening? What is it?"

Tom released Franky and thrust the blueprint into Iceberg's hands without a word.

Iceberg's brow furrowed as his eyes moved across the page. Then the furrow deepened. Then it disappeared entirely, replaced by the blankest expression of pure shock.

"This is... a rail schematic. For the sea train."

He looked up slowly and stared at Franky. "Did you draw this?"

Tom was already looking at Franky too, one enormous hand resting on his apprentice's shoulder, eyes full of the question.