The toll of the Golden Bell still echoed faintly across the sky when the Glory began her next journey.
Using the sky island's specialty, the giant Octopus Balloon, Buggy's crew descended from the heavens. Halfway down, the balloon could no longer maintain its form, but it didn't matter.
Enel stretched out his power, attaching clusters of Impact Dials around the ship's hull, cushioning their fall. The Glory glided smoothly down, touching the sea once more—right where their journey had begun, on Jaya Island.
As the crew prepared to set sail again, Montblanc Cricket approached Buggy. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with conviction.
"Lord Buggy… allow me to sail with you."
His life's dream was fulfilled—the Golden City had been found, the bell rung, the Shandians reunited with their land. His old crew had long departed. Nothing tied him to Jaya anymore. But Buggy… Buggy had shown him honor, vision, and the path to Raftel, the end of the Grand Line.
"I believe you can reach it," Cricket said, bowing his head. "And I will give my strength to help you become the Pirate King."
Buggy studied him in silence. Cricket was not the strongest man, but his sincerity was iron. His swordsmanship was serviceable, his spirit unshaken, and his bloodline carried the weight of history. With training—or perhaps the right Devil Fruit—his potential could grow.
At last, Buggy nodded.
"Very well. From today, you are one of us."
Cricket's heart swelled. He had found his new family.
The crew did not linger on Jaya. Supplies had already been gathered in Skypiea, their log pose set. After a quick farewell—Cricket sending word to his followers that he was leaving—the Glory unfurled her sails and charted a new course.
The seas ahead were lively. Pirate ships often crossed their path, some foolish enough to challenge them, only to be crushed by Buggy's growing fleet. Unlike the perilous seas of the White Sea, this stretch of the Grand Line had calmer weather, scattered islands with towns and markets. Occasionally, the crew went ashore for diversion, enjoying rare moments of ease.
Five days later, the spires of their next destination rose into view: the City of Water, Water 7.
Buggy's purpose here was threefold:
Upgrade the Glory. With the blueprints of the Ark Maxim in hand, he would grant his flagship the gift of flight.
Repair and maintenance. The ship had weathered fierce battles and deserved proper care.
Find Tom. The legendary shipwright, once builder of the Oro Jackson, is now living under persecution. Buggy knew of his plight—condemned not for his crimes, but for his ties to Roger's crew. Buggy bore the same legacy. He would not abandon Tom. At the very least, he would preserve his life. Perhaps, if fate allowed, Tom's disciples could join Buggy's vision.
The city appeared like a marvel of art and engineering. Towering fountains cascaded into grand canals that fed the sea. Terraced buildings stacked skyward like steps to the heavens, the whole city resembling a colossal pagoda rising from the waves.
Buggy's crew entered discreetly through the back canals. He knew CP9 agents were embedded here, watching every move. Drawing attention would invite the Navy, jeopardizing both his plans and Tom's safety.
The Glory anchored quietly at a cape outside the main channels—too narrow for a ship of her size. Buggy disembarked with Shiryu and Weevil, leaving the others aboard.
They rented Yagara Bulls, the sea-beasts that served as gondolas of the city. Guided by simple commands, the creatures carried them through the waterways.
Buggy did not head first to the shipyards. His destination was the Scrapyard, where he knew Tom labored, cast aside for his crime of building Roger's ship.
The scrapyard was no place of common refuse. Here, wrecked ships and broken timbers were piled high, the skeletal remains of vessels awaiting rebirth.
Buggy disguised himself and wandered the heaps, his Observation Haki scanning the area. At last, in a secluded corner, he saw them:
Tom, the great shipwright, his broad frame unmistakable, bull horns rising from his head.
Beside him, a serious young man, dark-haired and strong of build—Iceburg.
And a boy with a mischievous grin, lean and half-dressed despite his youth—Franky, fists greasy with oil.
Memories surged through Buggy. Yes—this was the man.
But Buggy did not approach immediately. His haki had already detected two sharp presences, hidden eyes watching Tom's every move. CP9 agents, without doubt. Their intent was clear: surveillance, waiting for the day they would strike.
Buggy turned to his men.
"Shiryu, Weevil—each of you take one. Make it quick, quiet. No commotion."
For once, his plan was not to terrify but to erase. If they allowed CP9 to report back, Tom's fate would be sealed, and their plans with him.
The three split silently into the shadows, predators closing in on the hunters.