Egg Head Island, New World
Dr. Vegapunk's hands moved deftly as he tinkered with a complex machine, the soft hum of whirring gears filling the air. His expression was thoughtful, yet tinged with skepticism. "Do you really think the Donquixote Pirates would go so far as to attack a research station?" he mused aloud, his voice laced with curiosity. "And more importantly… how did they even learn the location of Egghead in the first place?"
The room was bathed in a cold, artificial glow, reflecting off the metallic surfaces of countless inventions. Outside, the heavy presence of the World Government's forces was undeniable—warships lined the perimeter, Marines patrolled the island in rigid formations, and two additional admiral candidates had been dispatched to ensure Vegapunk's safety. It was a force akin to a Buster Call, all mobilized in response to a single rumor: that the Donquixote Pirates were after him.
"Well, when it comes to Doflamingo and his crew," Vice Admiral Borsalino—Kizaru—responded in his usual slow, drawling tone, "none of us can truly predict their intentions, now can we?" He leaned back lazily, hands tucked into his coat, his posture relaxed but his presence ever imposing.
Vegapunk chuckled, though there was a knowing sharpness to his laughter. "I must say, Borsalino, I'm quite touched. You even canceled your trip back to Marine Headquarters just to stay here and protect me. I never knew you cared so much… or is this just another order from the World Government?" His eyes glimmered with amusement, though the underlying truth was far from funny.
Borsalino smirked, shaking his head. "Ah… your words wound me, dear friend," he said, his tone teasing but not entirely insincere. "After all these years, I would have thought we could at least call ourselves that—friends."
It was a rare admission, and for a moment, an air of unspoken understanding passed between them. Borsalino had been assigned to Vegapunk's protection for years, their paths intertwined by duty. Though he had been recalled to Marine Headquarters when Vergo and Kuzan were dispatched to assist, he had ultimately chosen to stay behind. His official reason was the security of Egghead, but perhaps—deep down—he simply couldn't leave Vegapunk to face the unknown threat alone.
Vegapunk's lips curled into a smirk as he adjusted a dial on his machine. "Ah… you speak as if, were the World Government to order my elimination tomorrow, you would defy them for the sake of our friendship, Borsalino." His tone was light, but his words carried a weight that lingered in the air.
Borsalino's ever-present smirk faltered, if only for a moment. His sunglasses hid the flicker of emotion in his eyes, but he could feel it—a sharp twinge of conflict twisting in his chest. Vegapunk's words had struck closer to home than he cared to admit.
What would he do?
He had spent his entire life following orders, drifting through the world with an easygoing attitude, never allowing himself to be burdened by questions of morality. Right and wrong were matters for the higher-ups to decide; he was simply the enforcer. But Vegapunk… Vegapunk was different. Despite everything, he had come to respect the scientist—maybe even care for him in a way he hadn't expected.
If the order came down… would he follow it? The thought unsettled him.
Borsalino forced his usual grin back onto his face, though this time, it felt just a little strained. "Oh, Vegapunk… you ask such difficult questions," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Let's hope it never comes to that, eh?"
But as he stood there, watching the old scientist at work, the doubt in his heart remained. For the first time in his life, Admiral Borsalino wasn't entirely sure what he would do if the World Government gave him an order. And that realization terrified him.
Borsalino took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he pushed the troubling thoughts from his mind. Such complex matters were best left for another day. He knew how invaluable Dr. Vegapunk was to the World Government—there was no conceivable way they would ever harm him. Not yet, at least.
Deciding to shift the conversation to something lighter, he cocked his head slightly and spoke with his usual lazy drawl. "So… how are you feeling about your new neighbor?" A smirk tugged at his lips as he continued, "If I understand correctly, he was once part of your old gang, yes?"
The "neighbor" in question was none other than Vinsmoke Judge—a former colleague from their days in MADS. After the downfall of the Big Mom Pirates, Judge had somehow been captured and ended up at the mercy of the World Government. Rather than executing him, they had made an unexpected decision: to put his scientific genius to use.
Vegapunk's hands stilled, his brows furrowing as he processed the name. "Vinsmoke Judge...?" he repeated, his voice tinged with something between nostalgia and disdain. He had not thought of the man in years.
Judge had always been different. Unlike Vegapunk, who sought knowledge for the sake of progress, Judge had been obsessed with power. He had pursued science not as a means of understanding the world, but as a weapon to bend it to his will. And that ambition, that unyielding hunger, made him dangerous.
Vegapunk leaned back, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the cold metal of his workstation. He had to tread carefully. Among the former MADS members, Judge was second only to him in knowledge of the Lineage Factor. If Vegapunk was trying to mislead the World Government in any way—if he was hiding anything—Judge was one of the few people capable of noticing discrepancies. And knowing where Judge's loyalty lay, there was no doubt in Vegapunk's mind—he served only his own ambition.
Sooner or later, the World Government would come to regret recruiting someone like Judge.
Borsalino, ever observant despite his aloof demeanor, noted the way Vegapunk's expression darkened. His usual carefree tone carried a trace of amusement. "From the way you look… I take it this is going to be a problem?"
Vegapunk sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "As long as he keeps his distance and doesn't interfere with my work, there won't be any problems," he muttered before turning his attention back to the machine he had been working on. His fingers moved with renewed focus, as if forcing himself not to dwell on the matter any further.
Borsalino chuckled. He knew Vegapunk preferred to work alone. Even though he and Judge would not be operating from the same location, their proximity now made them practically neighbors. It was bound to cause some friction.
After a moment, Borsalino's gaze drifted towards a sealed laboratory at the far end of the room. His expression turned slightly more serious. "By the way… one of the higher ups may personally pay a visit to approve your new clones," he remarked. "You'll have to convince them. Otherwise, well… you know how this works. Those clones won't be making it out of their pods."
Behind the reinforced glass of the sealed lab, six new entities lay suspended in large, cylindrical pods, their forms barely visible through the swirling preservation fluid. They were the latest of Vegapunk's creations—new satellites, designed to assist him with his work.
Vegapunk let out a small chuckle, though there was little amusement in it. "They're wasting my time," he said, shaking his head. "What do they think I'm going to accomplish with just six more assistants?"
His tone was light, but deep down, he understood why the World Government was being so cautious. They watched his every move, scrutinized every experiment, questioned every new invention. He was the most valuable mind in the world—but also its most heavily surveilled prisoner.
Still… he didn't care. Because his most prized creation had already left Egghead Island.
Only he and he alone would ever know of its existence. Not the World Government, not his satellites, not even his closest confidants. Even if one day Vegapunk were to die, his legacy—his true self—would live on.
*****
Water 7, Grand Line
"SUPERRR…!!"
A booming voice echoed through the workshop, shaking the very foundations of the shipyard. The sound of clanking metal accompanied the dramatic pose of a teenage Cutty Flam, now reborn with his bionic body. His massive steel reinforced-sea stone plated arms flexed, gleaming under the dim workshop lights. His chrome-fitted chest, reinforced with the toughest seastone, reflected his own grinning face.
With an exaggerated movement, he planted his feet wide apart, arms akimbo, fingers pointing skyward, and struck his iconic pose. His new cybernetic enhancements hummed with power as if roaring in response to his spirit.
"SUPERRR…!!"
Even in the face of death, even after losing most of his human flesh, Franky—no, Cutty Flam—had not lost his soul. Tom, the great shipwright, stood motionless, his massive hands clenched at his sides. His throat tightened, and his vision blurred, but he fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Just months ago, he had truly believed he had lost his reckless but brilliant student forever.
Now, against all odds, Cutty Flam stood before him—alive, laughing, and stronger than ever.
"I… I can't believe it…" Tom muttered, his booming voice uncharacteristically soft, thick with emotion.
A choked sob broke the moment.
"Uwahhh! Cutty Flam!!"
Iceburg, a grown man and supposed professional, had thrown himself at his junior, clinging to him like a drowning man to driftwood. His arms wrapped tightly around Cutty Flam's waist as he sobbed, his snot-filled nose smearing all over the pristine metal plating.
"Oi! Get off me, you snotty bastard! You'll stain my new super body!" Franky barked, trying to push him away, but Iceburg refused to let go, wailing louder. Tom could only chuckle at the sight, his heart swelling with pride.
"So… how do you feel, boy?" he finally asked, his deep voice steadying, though the warmth in it was unmistakable.
Cutty Flam cracked his metal knuckles, a grin stretching from ear to ear. "It's amazing, Master! I feel like I could lift an entire warship now—HAHAHAHA!!" His laughter boomed through the shipyard, loud and full of life. Even after being torn apart, abandoned at the gates of death itself, Cutty Flam had refused to break.
Tom's sharp eyes studied him closely, taking in the way he carried himself. No fear. No hesitation. His student was more than just metal and circuits now—he was a walking testament to indomitable will. For this, he now truly owed the Donquixote Family.
They had kept their promise. They had provided the blueprints, the rare seastone, and the materials necessary to make this miracle possible. Tom had never once trusted pirates before, with a select few exceptions, but Doflamingo's crew had now surpassed that exception and also had saved his student. And for that, his gratitude ran deep, turning into something akin to loyalty.
But gratitude alone wouldn't be enough. The sea train project had to be finished. Once it was, they could finally leave Water 7 and join the Donquixote Family for good. A voice cut through the warm atmosphere, bringing back the weight of reality.
"Tom-san…"
It was Kyros, the warrior who had been sent to ensure the safety of Iceburg and Tom himself, his imposing figure standing in the shadows. He stepped forward, his steady steps making no sound against the wooden floor. Though his posture was calm, his eyes were sharp—watchful.
"I've noticed more and more unfamiliar faces appearing around the island, disguised as sailors, merchants, and shipwrights," Kyros said, his tone measured but grave. "I suspect many of them belong to the World Government. And with the disappearance of all those Cipher Pol agents…" He let the words linger.
Tom frowned.
"They will eventually put the pieces together," Kyros continued. "Sooner or later, they'll realize it was us who took them out. If that happens, we'll be facing far more than just spies. We need to leave this island before it's too late."
The room fell into tense silence. Then, Kyros turned to Tom directly, his voice lower but carrying weight.
"Master Doflamingo advised me to inquire—how long until the project is finished?"
Tom exhaled heavily, glancing toward the half-constructed Sea Train—his masterpiece, his legacy, their only ticket to freedom. His grip tightened.
"Not long now," Tom said, his usual jovial tone replaced by something far more serious. "Tell Doflamingo… We'll be ready soon."
Just as Tom was contemplating the best way to accelerate the completion of the Sea Train, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.
"Master…"
Cutty Flam stood before him, his expression unusually serious. His metallic hands clenched at his sides, the mechanical joints softly whirring with the slightest movement.
The past few months had been consumed entirely by saving him. The Sea Train project had stagnated, put on hold while they fought to keep him alive. But now that he had survived—now that his bionic body was complete—there was no more time to waste.
The noose was tightening. With every passing day, more unfamiliar faces prowled the streets of Water 7. World Government operatives were already sniffing around, trying to unravel the mystery behind the sudden disappearance of the Cipher Pol agents. It was only a matter of time before they traced the threads back to Tom and his people.
They had to finish the project before the World Government could catch on about what exactly was happening. But that wasn't what Cutty Flam wanted to talk about. He hesitated for a moment before asking the question that had been weighing on his heart.
"Master… once we finish the Sea Train… are we really going to join the Donquixote Family?"
Tom's laughter died in his throat. Cutty's voice was steady, but his eyes… they betrayed him. He was conflicted. He knew that without the Donquixote Pirates, he wouldn't be standing here today. They had saved his life. The rare seastone, the blueprints, the expertise—it was all thanks to them. He owed them everything.
And yet… He hated pirates. He always had. No matter how much he tried to push it down, the bitterness in his heart remained. That scar ran too deep. How could he forget? Being abandoned to die by his own parents, tossed aside like garbage, left behind without a second thought… that kind of betrayal didn't just fade away.
The thought of calling himself a pirate—even under Doflamingo's flag—disgusted him. Tom understood his student's turmoil. He had seen it from the beginning—the fire, the resentment, the desperate need to prove he didn't need anyone. Iceburg had already pledged himself to the Donquixote Family and Tom himself had a promise to keep, but Cutty Flam…?
Tom knew better than to force him down that path. With a warm chuckle, he placed one massive, calloused hand on Franky's metal shoulder—the familiar gesture grounding the moment.
"We still have quite some time before we have to decide that, lad," Tom said, his voice steady, reassuring. "For now, let's just focus on finishing the Sea Train." Then, with a booming laugh, he gave Franky's shoulder a hearty pat, his strength barely restrained.
"And with you being strong enough to lift an entire warship now, I don't have to worry about straining my old bones anymore! Tahaha!"
Cutty Flam cracked a half-smile at the joke, but the shadow in his eyes remained. Tom wasn't fooled. He knew the decision would come sooner or later. And when that day arrived, Cutty Flam would have to choose—to follow his master and Iceburg into the Donquixote Family… or forge his own path.
And no matter what choice he made, Tom would respect it. But until then… He would teach him everything he knew. Because if Cutty Flam chose to walk away, he wanted to make sure his student would survive—no matter what dangers awaited him beyond Water 7.
As Tom led the sobbing Iceburg away, gently coaxing him back to work on the Sea Train, Cutty Flam lingered behind. His metallic fingers twitched, his thoughts tangled in a mess of emotions.
His gaze drifted toward Kyros, the towering warrior who stood like an unshakable sentinel, arms crossed, his face betraying no emotion. He was a living statue, a man who carried the weight of war on his shoulders, yet never sought acknowledgment.
Cutty Flam knew that Kyros expected nothing from him. No thanks. No gratitude. No words of appreciation. And why would he?
Kyros understood exactly how the young shipwright felt. Cutty Flam despised pirates. The very idea of acknowledging one, let alone thanking one, made his stomach turn. He had spent his whole life cursing their existence, convinced that anyone who sailed under a black flag was nothing but scum.
And yet…
Here he stood, alive, only because of a pirate. The words burned in his throat, but he forced them out.
"I'm… sorry."
Kyros didn't react. He simply raised a brow, waiting. Cutty Flam clenched his fists. "I should have thanked you for saving my life. But I let my own hatred… my own stupid grudge get in the way." His voice wavered, his pride screaming at him to stop, but he pushed through.
"I won't lie. I still don't like pirates. I don't think I ever will. But that doesn't change the fact that you saved me. And for that… I owe you my gratitude."
Silence stretched between them. Kyros said nothing, but he didn't need to. He had already understood where this conversation was heading. This wasn't just about gratitude. There was something else—something deeper—buried beneath Cutty Flam's words.
Kyros waited. And then—
Cutty Flam exhaled sharply, steeling himself. His eyes drifted down to his new jet-black, metallic arm, forged from seastone, the very thing that should have rendered him weak. A cruel irony, yet a reminder of his own helplessness.
He remembered. Even through the haze of near-death, he remembered that night in the warehouse. He remembered the slaughter. Kyros had butchered them. Cipher Pol agents—trained assassins—wiped out in moments.
Cutty Flam had been too weak to do anything but watch. Too weak to fight. Too weak to protect himself. And what about next time? What if it wasn't him on the brink of death, but Tom-san?
What if it was Iceberg?
What if next time, he had to watch someone else die—because he wasn't strong enough to stop it? He refused to let that happen. He would never let that happen.
"Kyros-san." His voice was steady now. His hands no longer trembled.
"Teach me how to fight."
For the first time, Kyros' expression shifted. It wasn't shock. It wasn't amusement. It was understanding. He saw it. The determination in the boy's eyes. The hunger. This wasn't a decision made on a whim.
Cutty Flam had spent months trapped between life and death—months to think, to reflect, to regret. And now, he had made his choice. He was willing to do something he had never considered before. He was willing to learn from a pirate.
Because if strength was the only thing that could guarantee the safety of those he loved, then he would swallow his pride, cast aside his hatred, and do whatever it took. Kyros let out a slow breath, crossing his arms.
"Are you sure?"
"More than I've ever been." Cutty Flam didn't hesitate to answer.
A long pause. Then, for the first time that day, Kyros allowed the slightest smirk to cross his lips.
"Good," he said simply.
Because he knew—this boy wasn't just asking to learn how to fight. He was asking to become strong. And that was an entirely different thing.