Chapter 90

The battle raged on within the confines of Tom's workshop. With each of my black lightning strikes illuminating the chaos, the air crackled with tension as the two parties clashed with all the ferocity of the tempest outside.

Mihawk moved with unparalleled deadly grace and precision, his blade, Yoru, cutting through the Fishmen pirates like a scythe through wheat. With each stroke, he carved a path of destruction, his movements a deadly dance of skill and lethality. As the bodies of his fallen foes littered the ground, the sheer elegance of his technique belied the brutality of his strikes.

Meanwhile, Doffy, with his entire body ablaze in blue flames, moved like a whirlwind of destruction, his laughter echoing amidst the chaos. With every attack, he unleashed torrents of fire that engulfed his enemies in searing agony. His devil-may-care attitude belied his cunning and ferocity, as he dispatched his opponents with ruthless efficiency.

The captain of the Fishmen pirates rose from the wreckage of the shattered galleon, his bloodshot eyes ablaze with fury. With one arm completely charred and hanging limply at his side, he glared at us with defiance, his voice booming with defiance amidst the chaos.

"Ptui! Who are you bastards? Are you here to snatch away my treasures?" He roared, his words dripping with venom and desperation. But before he could even react, I flickered next to him in a blur of movement, my fist charged with crackling black lightning.

"Thunder Lance!" I unleashed the full force of my power, driving my lightning-infused fist into the Fishman's massive form with relentless ferocity. The lightning drilled through his body like a bolt of divine retribution, leaving behind a gaping hole in his chest.

Despite his body being clad in Armament Haki, a futile attempt to defend against the might of the Lightning Fruit, his efforts were in vain. The power of my Thunder Lance proved overwhelming, rendering his defenses useless in the face of such raw, elemental power.

As the captain staggered backward, his strength waning with each passing moment, a sense of finality hung in the air. The battle was over, and the victor was clear.

The captain of the Fishmen pirates coughed violently, blood spewing from his lips as his airway was flooded with crimson. Despite his weakened state, defiance still burned in his bloodshot eyes as he struggled to comprehend the events unfolding before him.

"Cough! Cough! Who are you bastards? Why are you attacking me?" He rasped, his voice barely a whisper amidst the chaos of the stormy night. His question hung in the air, a last desperate plea for understanding in the face of inevitable defeat.

"You should have left when I asked you nicely," I remarked coolly, my voice tinged with a hint of disappointment at the captain's stubbornness. Slowly, deliberately, I drew Kitetsu, the blade crackling with electric energy as lightning danced across its surface.

With one swift motion, I unsheathed the blade, the sound of metal slicing through the air echoing through the workshop. In an instant, the captain's head was severed from his body—a clean cut that marked the end of his reign of terror.

As the last remnants of the Fishmen pirates were dispatched, a sense of calm settled over the workshop. Despite his bullet wound, Tom had begun to recover, a testament to the resilience of the Fishmen's superior physique.

"Sorry about your ship, Tom-san," I offered, my tone tinged with genuine regret as I took a seat in front of him. Behind him, his two apprentices remained close, seeking shelter behind their master's protective stance.

Tom-san, a seasoned veteran of the One Piece world, was no stranger to the true depths of power that lurked within it. Having been acquainted with the likes of Roger and his legendary crew, he possessed a keen awareness that the three newcomers before him were not to be underestimated. The ease with which we had dispatched the Fishmen pirates spoke volumes about our strength, a fact that Tom-san undoubtedly recognized.

Despite the chaos and destruction that had unfolded within his workshop, Tom-san remained remarkably composed. His gaze, though wary, held a glimmer of curiosity as he regarded us, his mind undoubtedly racing with questions about our identities and intentions.

"Who are you? Why are you looking for me?" Tom's weary voice cut through the lingering tension in the workshop as he eyed the three of us warily. Doffy had already settled back on the couch, his expression one of casual indifference, while Mihawk perused the designs of small, one-manned boats that adorned the walls with a curious interest.

"Ah, Tom-san, where are my manners? Let me introduce myself first," I began, offering a polite smile despite the gravity of the situation. "My name is Donquixote Rosinante, and I am here to ask you to join the Donquixote family."

Tom's expression remained inscrutable as he processed my proposal. His eyes flickered between the three of us, his gaze searching for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. Behind him, his apprentices watched with bated breath, their apprehension palpable in the air.

"I appreciate your help in saving me and my students earlier, but I apologize; I must decline your offer," Tom-san's voice was firm but respectful as he delivered his refusal. "I have no intention of leaving Water 7 and venturing out into the sea. However, in exchange for saving our lives, if you would like to commission a ship, I can help you build it to the best of my abilities."

I nodded, understanding his position. Tom-san was a man of principle, dedicated to his craft and his home. His loyalty to Water 7 was unwavering, and I respected his decision even as disappointment lingered in the air. To have Tom-san's expertise in shipbuilding was a rare opportunity, one that I had hoped to capitalize on, but I knew better than to press the matter further.

"In that case, I would like to commission your help in building me PLUTON," I replied, my tone shifting as I dropped the facade of formality. A smirk played at the corners of my lips, and a glint of determination sparkled in my eyes. "With the blueprint in hand, I am sure that with enough resources, a shipwright of your stature should be able to help me create a new one, yes?"

The mention of Pluton hung in the air, a name whispered in hushed tones throughout the world of pirates and adventurers. It was a legendary ship, said to possess unparalleled power and unmatched strength.

Tom-san's reaction was palpable, a flicker of unease crossing his features at the mere mention of the name PLUTON. Even Iceburg, the teenage apprentice standing behind him, seemed to tense at the mention of the legendary ancient weapon. Only Franky remained oblivious, his focus still on Mihawk, who was browsing through the designs spread across the workshop walls.

"I do not know what you are talking about. Pluton is simply a fairytale created by the people of the past to increase the reputation of Water 7; there is no such thing as Pluton."

With a subtle shift in demeanor, Tom-san rose to his full height, his towering figure casting a shadow over me as his tone turned downright hostile. His denial was vehement, his words laced with a hint of desperation as he sought to dismiss PLUTON as nothing more than a fairy tale concocted to elevate Water 7's reputation.

But I was not so easily swayed. My gaze locked with Tom-san's, my resolve unwavering as I met his denial with a challenge of my own. "Do you take me for a fool, Tom-san?" I retorted, my tone growing more serious by the moment.

"Perhaps this will help jog your memory. Both myself and my brother are descendants of the Celestial Dragons. So tell me, is PLUTON still just folklore?"

The mention of my lineage hung in the air like a weight, the gravity of the revelation sinking in as Tom-san's expression shifted, his facade of denial beginning to crack. Even Doffy, usually nonchalant in the face of conflict, eyed Tom-san with a newfound intensity, his casual demeanor replaced by a steely resolve.

"Let's cut to the chase, Tom-san," I asserted, my voice firm as I met his gaze head-on. "I know you have the blueprints for the ancient weapon Pluton hidden under your care. Soon enough, the World Government will come hunting for you, especially given your involvement with Roger and the construction of Oro Jackson. I'm not willing to gamble my chances once they get involved, so I hope you can hand over the PLUTON blueprints."

My demand hung in the air, the weight of its implications echoing through the workshop. I knew that in the near future, Spandam would catch wind of rumors regarding Tom's possession of the PLUTON blueprints. Originally, if Spandam had shared this news with the elders, the World Government would have razed Water 7, sinking the island completely in search of the weapon blueprints. However, Spandam wanted to keep the merits for himself and hand over the blueprints directly, so he kept the information to himself until the end.

"Even if Pluton were real, I don't have the blueprints for such a weapon," Tom-san continued to deny, his resolve unyielding despite the mounting pressure.

"Tom-san, it seems like you've misunderstood something," I countered, my tone cool and calculated. "You seem to have forgotten that I am a pirate, and it was not a request; the only reason I'm engaging in dialogue here is out of respect. However, if you want to push your luck, then so be it."

A smirk played at the corners of my lips, a silent warning that time was running out for Tom-san to come clean. He may have grown comfortable with our conversation, but I was not one to tolerate deception for long. The truth would come to light, one way or another, and I was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that PLUTON fell into the right hands—mine.

Franky's expression soured at the revelation that we were pirates, his deep-seated hatred for them burning brightly, fueled by the betrayal of his own pirate parents. Behind him, Iceburg struggled to conceal his fear, his knowledge of Pluton likely weighing heavily on his mind after years under Tom-san's tutelage.

"Little brother, you're wasting your time." Doffy's voice cut through the tension, his impatience evident. Unlike me, who sought resolution through dialogue, Doffy saw no need for restraint. He knew there were numerous ways to break someone, especially if they had someone they cared about. But I didn't want to resort to such tactics. Having Tom-san willingly join us would be the ideal outcome.

"Doffy, go back to sleep. Let me handle this." I reprimanded him, but his words had already struck a nerve with Tom-san. He understood that we weren't bluffing, and if he didn't cooperate, he'd face dire consequences.

"Tom-san, I'm a patient man, but my brother here..." I trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air. There was only so much I could do to restrain Doffy's impulsive nature. "If you're uncomfortable with handing over the blueprint, then join us and start building PLUTON for us."

As I spoke, I observed the reactions of the trio before me. Franky's anger simmered just beneath the surface, his fists clenched in frustration. Iceburg's fear was palpable, his eyes darting nervously between us. And Tom-san... his expression was unreadable, a mask of uncertainty and resignation as he grappled with the weight of his decision. In this moment, the fate of Pluton hung in the balance, its secrets poised to reshape the world of pirates and adventurers forever.

"What do you guys want to achieve with the blueprint?" Tom-san questioned, his tone grave, signaling his resignation to the reality of the situation.

"Why else? Of course, it's to bring down the World Government," I replied casually, though the weight of my words hung heavily in the air. "This world needs a change, don't you think, Tom-san? And in order to achieve it, we need Pluton when we face the world government in the future."

Tom-san's gaze sharpened, his understanding of the stakes clear. "You're planning to plunge the whole world into chaos so you can climb the throne?" He questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief. He understood the danger that Pluton posed, its legacy stretching back through the annals of history.

"Tom-san, you speak as if the current world is ideal," I retorted, my patience wearing thin. "But forget that. I'm not here to discuss philosophy with you."

With a heavy sigh, Tom-san delivered his verdict. "I'm sorry, but I cannot hand over the blueprint. You can torture me or kill me; I do not care. But I will not hand over the blueprint of such a dangerous weapon into your hands," he declared, his resolve unyielding.

"Tom-san, you should understand something," I countered, my tone firm. "PLUTON doesn't belong to you alone. It was the collective effort of all the shipwrights of Water 7 back during that time. So what gives you the right to dictate who the blueprint should belong to? You were merely lucky that the blueprint was handed down to you because of your mentor."

As the weight of my words settled over the workshop, Tom-san's expression shifted, a mixture of realization and reluctance crossing his features. He knew that what I said was the truth, yet his decision remained steadfast. He could not allow the blueprint to fall into the wrong hands, even if it meant facing the consequences of his defiance.