The waves striking scrap metal usually produced a steady rhythm — a lullaby of rust and tide.
Tonight, that melody was ruined.
KING buried his head deeper into the sand.
It didn't help.
The noise drilled relentlessly into his skull.
Two men shouting hysterically.
The wet smack of tears and snot.
Fists pounding against rotten wood.
Unbearably loud.
His temples throbbed.
After escaping Marineford's endless nagging and Garp's iron fists, he had finally found this forgotten junk shore.
He wanted one thing:
Sleep.
Was that really so hard?
"...It still has to carry the Straw Hats to the ends of the earth, Iceburg!"
"Franky, face reality! The keel is broken!"
"I don't care! I don't want to hear it!"
"—I'm the one who doesn't want to hear it!!!"
The beach exploded.
King shot upright, sand bursting around him. He didn't even open his eyes. His hand grabbed the first object within reach.
A massive rotten beam, crusted with barnacles — thick enough that two men could barely wrap their arms around it.
He lifted it with one hand.
No stance.
No aim.
Only irritation.
"Sleeping! Don't you know basic public decency?!"
BOOM!
The beam tore through the air, carving a black line across the twilight sky, hurtling straight toward the source of the noise — the shattered ram-headed ship.
If they wouldn't shut up, he'd silence the noise at its source.
Simple. Efficient. Brutal.
Dozens of meters away.
Franky and Iceburg didn't even have time to turn.
A crushing wind pressure descended.
Their instincts screamed.
This is death.
That force could punch through a warship.
The Merry would be obliterated.
"STOP—!" Franky lunged forward to shield it.
Too late.
The beam was half a meter away.
Inside KING's fogged mind, the mechanical voice erupted:
[Dying ship spirit detected.]
[Survival will: extremely strong.]
[God-Level Ship Repair Gift Pack activated.]
[Host behavior recognized: material delivery.]
[Confirm repair target: Merry?]
KING didn't hear it.
He only wanted silence.
"Repair, repair, repair… just shut them up…"
His body sagged as he collapsed backward toward sleep.
Command confirmed.
Time paused.
The massive beam stopped just before touching the hull.
No collision.
No splintering.
It dissolved.
Not into dust — into radiant golden filaments.
Franky's sunglasses slid down his nose.
Iceburg's blueprints fell into the surf.
Physics no longer applied.
The glowing threads burrowed into the Merry's cracked timbers like living roots.
A deep resonance followed —
a sound like a whale calling from the abyss.
Then light bloomed.
Warm. Gentle. Sacred.
It outshone the sunset.
Franky trembled.
He witnessed something no shipwright could comprehend.
The Merry's blackened rot faded.
Fresh grain emerged.
Splintered beams intertwined and fused, forming wood denser and stronger than before.
Barnacles fell away.
Rust wept from nails, revealing bright steel beneath.
The hull lifted.
The warped frame corrected itself.
Then the ram figurehead…
The broken sheep's face glowed softly.
This was no mere repair.
It was reconstruction.
Moisture in the air.
The ironwood fibers from the thrown beam.
Mineral essence from reef and stone.
All were drawn in and woven into the vessel.
Three seconds.
The light faded.
Silence returned.
The wreck was gone.
In its place rested a vessel radiant with warm luster.
Its familiar white hull now shone with the smooth texture of polished jade.
The ram's head stood proud, eyes bright and gentle.
The sails were pristine.
The Straw Hat emblem fluttered vivid and new.
"This… is Merry?"
Franky knelt, trembling, afraid to touch the hull.
There were no patches.
No scars.
It looked as if it had always been whole.
"Perfect…"
Iceburg removed his hat, voice dry.
As head of the Galley-La Company, he had seen legendary ships.
Even the blueprints of ancient weapons.
Yet structurally…
this small caravel exceeded his understanding.
"This isn't repair," he whispered.
"It's art."
"Who… did this?!"
Franky spun toward the junk piles.
Behind the mountains of scrap metal…
On the beach.
A man in a dark green hoodie lay on his side.
The sunset gilded his silhouette.
He simply lay there.
…scratching his backside.
"That man…" Iceburg murmured, awed, "with a single piece of wood… from dozens of meters away… performed a miracle?"
"SUUUPER unbelievable!!"
Franky struck his pose — this time toward the sleeping figure.
"Did he hear Merry's voice? Was he moved by my manly spirit?!"
Neither dared make another sound.
To disturb such a craftsman felt like sacrilege.
Meanwhile, the architect of the miracle:
KING.
"Hoo… zzzzz…"
Soft snoring drifted from beneath his hood.
In his dream:
A huge soft bed.
Sleep without interruption.
He had no memory of what he'd done.
Probably swatted a mosquito.
But the system had added one final touch.
[Repair complete.]
Under the stunned gazes of Franky and Iceburg—
the reborn Merry's helm moved.
No wind.
No sail.
No current.
It slowly turned.
The ram's head faced the sleeping man on the shore.
Then it bowed gently.
Like a child offering quiet goodnight to the one who granted it new life.
"The ship… moved on its own?!"
Iceburg's worldview shattered.
Franky clamped a hand over his mouth and whispered with fierce reverence:
"Don't make a sound."
"He's asleep."