Day 79 | Location: Hoko Island, East Blue
The Hoko Timber Company's showroom is unlike anything I've seen in this world so far. It resembles a museum of woodcraft more than a commercial space, with polished samples of every timber variety arranged in elegant displays. Natural light streams through skylights to illuminate the rich colors and grains of each species.
Mr. Farrow introduces me to Madame Thornhill, the establishment's manager—a striking woman in her fifties with silver-streaked black hair and the practiced poise of someone accustomed to dealing with nobility.
"Mr. Zarathius is quite knowledgeable about naval architecture," Farrow explains. "He's considering commissioning a vessel of considerable quality."
Madame Thornhill's appraising look tells me she's trying to determine if I'm worth her time. I'm dressed well enough after my shopping in Loguetown, but I certainly don't carry myself with the entitled air of nobility.
"How fortunate you've come to us, then," she says with professional warmth. "Shall we begin with our standard offerings, or did you have specific requirements in mind?"
"I'm interested in understanding the full spectrum," I reply. "From practical to exceptional."
She nods approvingly and leads me to the first display—a rich golden-brown wood with a straight, even grain.
"We'll start with teak," she explains, running her fingers along the polished surface. "Extremely durable, naturally water and rot-resistant. The Marine vessels that patrol East Blue primarily use our teak for their decking."
I examine the sample, noting its density and natural oil content. "It's beautiful work."
"Beautiful and functional," she agrees. "Now, for structural elements, many shipwrights prefer our white oak."
She guides me to another display featuring a lighter-colored wood with distinctive grain patterns.
"The strength-to-weight ratio is exceptional, and it bends rather than breaks under stress—a critical quality during storms."
We continue through the showroom, with Madame Thornhill explaining the properties of each wood type and its optimal use in shipbuilding. She's clearly passionate about her product, pointing out subtle differences in grain patterns that would escape most observers.
"This cedar is ideal for planking below the waterline," she notes, indicating a reddish wood with a distinctive aroma. "The natural oils repel marine borers that would destroy lesser woods within months."
As we move through the displays, I ask about notable vessels constructed with Hoko timber.
"Oh, many of the finest ships in East Blue feature our woods," Thornhill says with pride. "The Marine flagship Righteous Dawn was built entirely with our premium oak and teak. Several World Noble pleasure yachts use our exotic blueheart for their interior finishes."
She pauses before a particularly stunning display—a dark wood with an almost metallic sheen.
"And then there's Adam Wood," she says reverently. "The crown jewel of shipbuilding timber. The legendary pirate Tom used our Adam Wood to build Gold Roger's Oro Jackson."
My pulse quickens at this confirmation of the anime lore. "It's remarkable," I say, examining the sample closely. The grain has an almost hypnotic quality, with subtle patterns that seem to shift as the light changes.
"The Sea Train connecting Water 7 to Enies Lobby also uses Adam Wood for its most critical structural components," she continues. "Its resistance to both physical stress and the elements makes it nearly indestructible when properly treated and maintained."
I can't hide my interest. "What would be involved in acquiring Adam Wood for a project?"
Madame Thornhill's expression turns apologetic. "I'm afraid our Adam Wood is fully allocated for the next twelve years, Mr. Zarathius. We maintain strict waiting lists, and many World Nobles have standing orders."
"Surely exceptions could be made," I suggest, feigning the entitled expectation of someone used to buying their way past obstacles.
Her smile remains professional but cools noticeably. "That's not how we operate at Hoko Timber. Our reputation is built on quality and integrity. The cultivation process cannot be rushed, and our allocation system ensures fairness even among our most... influential clients."
I respect her position, nodding in understanding rather than pushing further. "What alternatives would you recommend for someone unwilling to wait twelve years?"
This shifts us back to comfortable territory, and she brightens. "Our blueheart or ironwood varieties offer exceptional durability, though they lack some of Adam Wood's unique properties. Many master shipwrights combine these with our premium white oak to create vessels that will last generations."
We continue our tour, discussing specific applications and treatments. Throughout the conversation, I store small samples of each wood variety in my ring when Thornhill's attention is directed elsewhere. The storage ring proves its worth, silently absorbing each specimen without visible effect.
As we conclude the tour, I express genuine interest in placing an order for a selection of their premium materials—enough for a modest but high-quality vessel.
"I'll need to consult with my shipwright about exact specifications," I explain. "But I'd like to reserve a selection of your premium teak, white oak, and ironwood."
"A wise approach," she approves. "We can hold materials for up to six months with a reasonable deposit. Shall I prepare a preliminary order for your consideration?"
I agree, and we move to her office to discuss details. The prices are steep but not unexpected for materials of this quality. I place a deposit using funds from my dwindling berry supply, knowing I'll need to find additional revenue sources soon if I'm to maintain my cover as a wealthy traveler.
As Thornhill finalizes the paperwork, movement outside the window catches my attention. A flash of orange hair—Nami, moving with practiced casualness through a group of well-dressed tourists. I watch as she "accidentally" bumps into a portly nobleman, her hand slipping into and out of his coat pocket with such skill that even knowing what to look for, I barely catch the movement.
Thornhill follows my gaze. "The resort attracts all types," she says diplomatically. "Including those who prey on visitors' relaxed vigilance. I suggest keeping valuables secure during your stay."
I thank her for the advice and the tour, promising to return with final specifications within two days. As I exit the building, I catch sight of Nami slipping around a corner, clearly pleased with herself.
Rather than confronting her immediately, I follow at a discreet distance. She weaves through the resort district with the confidence of someone who's already mapped every escape route. Eventually, she settles at an outdoor café, ordering a drink with the air of a legitimate tourist.
"Productive afternoon?" I ask, sliding into the chair opposite her.
She doesn't startle—a testament to her self-control—but her eyes narrow fractionally.
"I could ask you the same," she replies, sipping her drink. "Learn anything valuable about fancy wood?"
"Plenty," I say, signaling a waiter. "Though I suspect your shopping was more immediately profitable than mine."
The corner of her mouth twitches. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not," I agree amiably. "Just like that gentleman in the blue coat doesn't know his wallet is significantly lighter now."
For a moment, I think she might deny it further or perhaps flee. Instead, she studies me with renewed interest.
"You saw that, but you're sitting here instead of raising an alarm," she observes. "Why?"
I consider my response carefully. "Let's just say I'm not particularly concerned with upholding the financial status quo of the nobility."
This earns a genuine, if small, smile. "A man after my own heart."
"Besides," I continue, "I'm more interested in your navigational expertise than your... other talents."
"My navigation skills don't come cheap," she warns, though I can tell I've piqued her interest.
"Neither does quality timber," I counter. "Yet here we both are, investing in our futures."
Our conversation shifts to more neutral territory as I order food and drink. I ask her about East Blue currents and weather patterns, genuinely curious about her knowledge. Nami may be a thief out of necessity, but her passion for cartography and navigation is authentic. Her eyes light up as she explains complex weather phenomena and how to read subtle signs of changing conditions.
"Most sailors only look at cloud formations," she explains, gesturing with her fork. "But that's reactive. If you understand pressure systems and how they interact with sea temperatures, you can predict changes hours or even days in advance."
I find myself genuinely absorbed in her explanations, asking questions that prompt increasingly detailed responses. By the time we finish our meal, she's sketched multiple diagrams on napkins, illustrating concepts with the precision of a natural teacher.
As evening approaches, we return to the harbor district, securing rooms at a respectable inn called The Captain's Rest. The accommodations are comfortable without being luxurious—perfect for maintaining my cover as a well-off but not extravagantly wealthy traveler.
"Meet for breakfast?" I suggest as we reach our respective doors.
Nami hesitates, then nods. "Sure. I want to hear more about this ship you're planning to build."
In my room, I take the opportunity to consult with Red Queen, speaking quietly after confirming no one can overhear.
"Analysis of local materials complete," she reports. "The timber specimens you collected contain unusual cellular structures not found in standard Earth or Devilukean woods. Particularly the Adam Wood sample, which exhibits properties more consistent with advanced composites than natural materials."
"Makes sense," I murmur. "In the story, Adam Wood was described as nearly indestructible when properly treated."
"I recommend acquiring more if possible," Red Queen suggests. "The molecular structure could provide insights for improving our own vessel's hull integrity."
I'm about to respond when a commotion erupts outside—shouting, followed by the unmistakable crack of pistol fire. Moving to the window, I see chaos in the harbor. A familiar ship with dark sails has returned—Sawteeth Pete's vessel, now flying red signal lamps indicating attack rather than mere boarding.
"It appears the pirates we encountered earlier have followed us," Red Queen observes through my earpiece.
"Revenge or opportunity?" I wonder aloud.
"Possibly both. Thermal imaging shows approximately thirty combatants dispersing through the harbor district. Several appear to be moving toward the timber company's offices."
That can't be coincidence. I quickly retrieve my weapons from the storage ring—the cutlass I used before, plus a few more advanced options I'd prefer not to reveal unless absolutely necessary.
As I exit my room, I nearly collide with Nami, who's also moving toward the stairs.
"Pirates," she says unnecessarily. "The same crew from yesterday."
"They must have followed the Crimson Dawn," I reply. "Are you leaving or fighting?"
A practical calculation visibly runs behind her eyes. "Depends on what's worth more—staying safe or finding opportunity in the chaos."
"Just be careful," I warn. "They'll remember you from yesterday's fight."
She flashes a confident smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "They have to catch me first."
We separate at the inn's entrance—Nami slipping into shadow while I move toward the sound of fighting. The streets are chaotic, with tourists fleeing and local security forces attempting to organize resistance. The pirates have spread throughout the harbor district, setting fires and looting businesses.
I spot Captain Barrett and several of the Crimson Dawn's crew defending their vessel against boarders. They seem to be holding their own, so I continue toward the timber company, where smoke is already rising.
As I round a corner, I encounter three pirates ransacking a shop. They turn at my approach, weapons raised.
"Well, look who it is," one sneers, recognition dawning. "The fancy swordsman from yesterday."
I assess the situation quickly. No civilians present, no witnesses beyond the pirates themselves. No need to hold back as much as before.
"Last chance to retreat," I offer calmly.
They laugh, spreading out to surround me. The first attacks with a wild swing of his cutlass, telegraphing his move so obviously I barely need enhanced reflexes to avoid it. I sidestep and deliver a precise strike to his wrist, sending his weapon clattering to the cobblestones.
The second pirate is more cautious, circling while his companion draws a pistol. In close quarters, the firearm is as much a liability as an advantage—especially against someone with my speed. I close the distance before he can aim properly, deflecting his arm upward. The pistol discharges harmlessly into the night sky, and a quick strike to his solar plexus leaves him gasping on the ground.
The third attacker, witnessing the rapid dispatch of his companions, hesitates just long enough for me to sweep his legs from under him. He crashes down, head striking the pavement with enough force to render him unconscious.
The entire encounter lasts less than twenty seconds.
I continue toward the timber company, encountering and neutralizing several more pirate groups along the way. With each skirmish, I allow myself to display slightly more skill—still within human parameters, but approaching the upper limits of what might be considered natural talent.
When I reach the timber company's main building, I find the entrance smashed open and several guards unconscious or wounded outside.
Inside, the sound of breaking glass and angry voices guides me to the showroom, now in shambles.
Sawteeth Pete himself stands in the center, directing his men as they smash display cases and gather the most valuable wood samples.
"Check the office for valuables," he orders a subordinate. "And find that woman manager—she'll know where they keep the Adam Wood."
I step into view, cutlass ready. "I thought we had an understanding yesterday, Pete."
He spins, surprise quickly replaced by a savage grin. "The pretty boy swordsman! I was hoping we'd meet again."
Unlike our previous encounter aboard the Crimson Dawn, Pete doesn't waste time with banter. He signals to his men, and three rush me simultaneously while he circles toward a side door.
These pirates are more skilled than the street thugs I dispatched earlier, forcing me to elevate my performance further. I parry a thrust from the first, redirect a strike from the second, and dodge the third's wild swing all in one fluid motion. My counterattack is equally efficient—the pommel of my cutlass to one man's temple, a sweeping kick to unbalance the second, and a precise strike to disarm the third.
As they regroup for another assault, a crash from the adjoining room suggests Pete has found what he was looking for. I need to end this quickly.
Channeling more of my enhanced abilities than I've revealed so far, I flow between the attackers with unnatural speed. To their perception, I've become a blur of motion, striking pressure points and vulnerable areas with surgical precision. All three collapse within seconds, conscious but temporarily paralyzed.
I burst through the side door to find Pete confronting Madame Thornhill, who stands defiantly before a massive reinforced door despite the cutlass at her throat.
"The key," Pete demands. "Now, or your blood joins the pretty finish on this floor."
"That vault has protected Hoko's legacy for generations," she replies, voice steady despite her precarious position. "I'll die before I betray that trust."
"That can be arranged," Pete growls, pressing the blade enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"Let her go, Pete," I call, stepping fully into the room. "Your men are down, and the Marine outpost will have responded to the alarm by now."
He turns, keeping Thornhill as a shield. "This doesn't concern you, boy. Walk away while you can."
"I'm afraid I've invested too much in this establishment to let you plunder it." I advance slowly, cutlass raised. "Besides, we have unfinished business from yesterday."
Pete's eyes narrow, assessing the new threat I present. In that moment of distraction, Thornhill drives her elbow sharply into his ribs. He grunts in pain but maintains his grip, jerking her back against him roughly.
"Brave," he acknowledges. "Stupid, but brave."
I need to end this quickly before he can hurt her further. With calculated confidence, I lower my cutlass.
"You're here for the Adam Wood," I state. "Not revenge on some random passenger who bested you."
Pete's expression confirms my guess. "The wood is worth a fortune to the right buyer. Now back off, or she dies."
"Kill her, and you'll never get into that vault," I point out reasonably. "And you'll have to get through me afterward."
His eyes flick between me, Thornhill, and the vault door, calculating odds and outcomes.
"What's your offer?" he finally asks.
"Simple. You release her and leave with your men. In return, I don't humiliate you a second time." I allow a hint of power to surface in my stance and expression—nothing supernatural, but the unmistakable aura of someone holding back considerable capability.
For a tense moment, I think he might choose violence despite the unfavorable odds. Then, the distant sound of Marine whistles makes the decision for him.
"Another time," he growls, shoving Thornhill roughly toward me. She stumbles but maintains her dignity, moving quickly to the side as Pete backs toward another exit.
I could pursue and capture him—perhaps should, given the damage he's caused. But doing so would require revealing more of my abilities than prudent at this stage. Instead, I help Thornhill steady herself.
"Are you alright, Madame?"
She touches the thin cut on her neck, nodding grimly. "Thanks to you, Mr. Zarathius. That's twice you've confronted those pirates on my behalf, though I wasn't aware of the first instance."
"The Crimson Dawn mentioned you as their destination," I explain. "I'm glad I arrived in time."
We hear the pirates retreating through the building, making their escape before Marine forces can organize a proper response. Thornhill straightens her clothing, professional poise reasserting itself despite the chaos.
"They were after our Adam Wood reserve," she explains, gesturing to the vault door. "Not just samples, but the processed timber ready for shipment. The value would be incalculable on the black market."
"I'm not surprised," I respond. "From what you've shown me, it's unique in all the Blues."
Once we've confirmed the immediate danger has passed, Thornhill insists on treating me to a drink in her private office—a space mercifully undamaged by the pirates' rampage. She retrieves an elegant bottle of amber liquor from a hidden compartment in her desk.
"Hoko distillery's finest," she explains, pouring two glasses. "Reserved for special clients and... special circumstances."
We toast to averted disaster, the liquor burning pleasantly as it goes down. Outside, we can hear Marine officers organizing recovery efforts and taking statements from witnesses.
"They'll want to speak with us eventually," Thornhill notes, "but they'll start with the harbor district where most of the damage occurred."
She studies me thoughtfully over her glass. "You fight exceptionally well for someone interested in timber and shipbuilding."
I offer a modest shrug. "In my experience, those who travel extensively develop diverse skills out of necessity."
"Indeed." She finishes her drink, decision visibly forming in her eyes. "Mr. Zarathius, I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude that mere thanks cannot satisfy."
Rising from her chair, she moves to a painting on the wall—a detailed rendering of Hoko Island from above. She swings it aside to reveal a small safe, which she opens with practiced movements.
"What I'm about to share with you is not offered to our regular clients," she explains, retrieving an aged piece of parchment. "My grandfather was Hoko Timber's master cultivator for nearly sixty years. During his time, he became obsessed with finding the source of Adam Wood."
She carefully unfolds the parchment on her desk, revealing a detailed map of what appears to be an uncharted island.
"The trees we cultivate here are descended from specimens found elsewhere—an island that exists in no official record or Marine chart."
I lean forward, genuinely intrigued. "A hidden source of Adam Wood?"
Thornhill nods. "According to my grandfather's journal, the island exists in a perpetually misty region between East Blue and the Grand Line. Maritime superstition has kept most sailors away, but he claimed to have found it in his youth. He brought back seedlings that became our current Adam Wood grove."
The map shows an unusually shaped island with distinctive geographical features—a crescent bay on the northern shore, a central mountain, and what appears to be an extensive forest covering most of the terrain.
"He spent his final years trying to relocate the island, without success," she continues. "Most dismissed it as an old man's fancy, but I've always believed in his integrity."
"Why share this with me?" I ask, though I suspect I know the answer.
"You saved my life and protected our legacy," she replies simply. "And you've demonstrated both skill and discretion. If anyone could find this island—and survive whatever has kept it hidden for so long—I believe it might be you."
She carefully rolls the map and extends it to me. "Consider it both a thank you and an investment. If you find the island and its Adam Wood forest, Hoko Timber would be interested in an exclusive arrangement."
The synchronicity is almost too perfect—as if narrative causality itself is nudging events along familiar tracks. In stories I read in my previous life, protagonists often received maps to hidden treasures after proving themselves worthy. Now it's happening to me in reality.
"I'm honored by your trust," I tell her sincerely, accepting the map. Using my storage ring while she watches would reveal too much, so I carefully place it in an inner pocket of my coat.
As I prepare to leave, Marine officers finally arrive to take our statements. I provide a carefully edited version of events, downplaying my combat effectiveness while emphasizing the pirates' disorganization. Thornhill follows my lead, describing me as "fortunately skilled" rather than exceptional.
By the time I return to the inn, it's well past midnight. The pirate attack has been repelled, with several raiders captured by Marine forces while the main vessel escaped back to sea. The damage to the harbor district is significant but concentrated—broken windows, looted shops, minor structural damage to some buildings.
In my room, I finally examine the map properly, scanning it with Red Queen's systems for analysis.
"The geographical features suggest a location approximately 200 nautical miles northeast of our current position," she reports. "The area is known for unusual weather patterns and magnetic anomalies that make navigation difficult."
"Which explains why it remains undiscovered," I muse. "Or at least undocumented."
"Finding it would require exceptional navigational skill," Red Queen notes.
I smile, thinking of the orange-haired thief likely counting her day's takings in a nearby room.
"I might know someone who fits that description," I reply.
I carefully store the map in my ring and prepare for sleep, mind racing with possibilities. Adam Wood would be invaluable for both shipbuilding and research purposes. More importantly, pursuing this lead provides a natural reason to work with Nami without arousing suspicion about my knowledge of her importance to the coming age of piracy.
Tomorrow will require careful negotiation—Nami doesn't trust easily, and for good reason. But the promise of treasure has always been her weakness. And unlike many who would exploit that weakness, I can actually deliver on the promise.
I fall asleep planning my approach, aware that I'm now actively participating in this world's unfolding story rather than merely observing it. The implications are both exhilarating and concerning. Each choice I make could ripple outward in ways impossible to predict.
But one thing is certain—my journey has taken an unexpected and promising turn. If we find this island, my integration into this world will accelerate dramatically. And if the island truly harbors wild Adam Wood forests, it represents a resource of incalculable value in the coming era.