Far from O'Hara, a carrier pigeon skimmed the clouds. Its tiny leg tube carried Cipher Pol agent Veyla's full report. By sunset, a wax‑sealed scroll rested on a polished desk in Pangaea Castle. Five shadows read it in silence. By dawn, a single stamped order raced down the red‑tape ladders of Marine Headquarters:
"Initiate Buster Call on the island of O'Hara. Commanders: Vice Admirals Sakazuki and Kuzan. Auxiliary fleet to be assembled at once. Compliance absolute."
Lightning seldom falls twice on the same spot, but the World Government knew when to make exceptions.
Fleet Admiral Kong
Bronze‑skinned and square‑jawed, Kong slammed the scroll onto a war‑room table already cluttered with maps. "The elders want a Buster Call on a library?" His moustache bristled. "We are a navy, not a book‑burning club." Yet orders were orders. He scribbled countersignature lines and passed the paper to Sengoku.
Admiral Sengoku
Sengoku's calm mask barely cracked, but his stomach twisted. He'd visited O'Hara once—quiet island, kind scholars. "Ten warships, twenty‑five cannons each… on civilians." He adjusted his glasses. If the elders decree, my duty is clear—but justice feels thin tonight.
Vice Admiral Garp
Garp kicked the doorway, hands shoved into coat pockets. "Blowing up librarians? Baka orders." Yet the symbol of D on his grand‑child‑to‑be's future name needled him. He grumbled louder, but signed the fleet schedule anyway. "Sengoku, I'm taking a leave; if I watch this, I'll punch a Celestial Dragon."
Vice Admiral Tsuru
Tsuru's keen eyes skimmed casualty projections. "If scholars resist, we lose nothing; if they flee, knowledge scatters. The elders mean to erase questions, Sengoku, not people. But the cannonball seldom asks what it hits." She drafted logistics: medical units ironically prepared to treat any Marine scratches.
Vice Admiral Kuzan
Kuzan read the order, yawned, then stared at the ceiling. "Heavy‑handed… but orders, yeah." Beneath the lazy voice stirred unease. He pictured children reading under tall trees. Don't get attached, he told himself. Yet when Tsuru named him co‑commander, he nodded once, eyes colder.
Vice Admiral Sakazuki
Akainu crushed his cigar. "Scholars who toy with ancient weapons threaten absolute justice. We purge before rot spreads." When told Kuzan would share command, magma hissed along his fist. "Fine. I'll make sure there's nothing left to freeze."
Vice Admiral Jaguar D. Saul
Across the Grand Line, the giant Saul received coded den‑den call. His cheerful laugh faltered. "Buster Call… on O'Hara? Those librarians used to send me jokes." Headquarters wanted his giant fleet haulers. He saluted slowly, heart heavy. D should stand for deliverance, not destruction, he thought.
Nico Robin
Nico Robin woke early, ink still on her fingers from long copying hours. Outside, gulls cried, but the song felt off‑key. She crossed the courtyard; every whisper seemed sharper. The navy audit team had left, yet fear lingered like stale smoke.
She found Ash asleep at a reading desk, head on a scroll. Skeyth, disguised as two plain walking staves, leaned nearby. Robin touched his shoulder. "You didn't rest."
Spectre D. Ash
"Dreams kept me busy," he mumbled, blinking. The Codex ticked behind his eyes: WRP 52/100. Fatigue moderate.
In the main hall, Clover addressed twenty librarians and a handful of town elders. "Cipher Pol's questions were a warning. But they will not fire on scholars; sense will prevail." He proposed voluntary sealing of the restricted vault and a formal letter to Marineford.
Ash listened, fists tight. "Elder, you underestimate political fear."
Gentle laughter rippled; an eight‑year‑old's prophecy carried little weight. Clover patted his shoulder. "Your caution is welcome, Ash, but the marines already sailed. We have time."
Ash bit back retort. Time measured in fuse length, he thought.
Ash spent the afternoon stock‑piling: rope, dry rations, lamp oil, copies of key Haki notes wrapped in wax cloth. He marked tunnels on a floor sketch, highlighting three hidden exits leading into jungle brush.
The Codex scrolled helpful tasks:
Evac Pack Ready: ✓
Robin Escape Route Memorized: ✓
Skeyth Practice Window: 17:00 – 17:30 (garden shed)
At twilight he and Robin sneaked behind the herb garden. He unfolded Skeyth into twin blades, demonstrated a turning guard, then refolded. Robin's eyes shone with thrill and worry.
"If anything happens," he said, "take tunnel C, follow the painted stones, and don't wait for me."
She frowned. "Clever, but I dislike plans that leave you behind."
"They won't," he lied.
Marines Depart — POV Kuzan
Three days later, ten warships gathered under grey skies outside Marineford. Kuzan leaned on the rail of the flagship Raven, watching seagulls scatter. "So many guns for a library," he muttered.
Behind him, Akainu barked orders, soldiers scrambled, cannons gleamed. Justice is heavy, Kuzan mused, but sometimes too heavy crushes what it guards. He slipped hands into pockets, letting cold air calm his thoughts.
Marines Depart — POV Akainu
Sakazuki paced the deck of Inferno, satisfaction simmering. "Buster Call reminds the world: law stands above dreams." He lit a fresh cigar; ember sparks died on molten knuckles. This time, no scholar escapes punishment.
Marines Depart — POV Saul
The giant Saul stood on Atlas, his laughter faint. He studied the mission chart, heart sinking with each mile marker. He thought of a shy girl who asked him once if giants loved books. "Maybe she's moved away," he hoped aloud. The wind did not answer.
Back at O'Hara — POV Ash
Clover finished his appeal to Marineford, sealed it with the Tree's wax stamp, and handed it to Ash to place on the outgoing mail ship.
Ash read the opening lines—"Our research is purely academic; we welcome reasonable oversight." He doubted words could stop cannonballs.
That night he hid extra medical supplies under a loose plank in the children's dormitory. Robin helped, saying nothing. Their silence weighed more than any lecture.
Marine Fleet — Tsuru's Briefing
On the lead transport, Tsuru called senior officers. Maps unfurled, showing O'Hara, wind patterns, and evacuation routes. "Objective: seize scholars, confiscate artifacts, torch restricted materials," she said crisp. "Collateral must be minimal for public record." She didn't mention the unspoken rule: once Buster Call began, fire rarely stopped at "minimal."
Kuzan's gaze hardened; Akainu nodded grimly.
Robin's POV — Signs in the Wind
Robin sat on a bench outside the reading hall, translating glyph lines that whispered of "lost centuries" and "the voice of all things." Wind carried distant gull cries, but she felt another sound—a hush, like the island holding its breath. She looked toward the sea. Low clouds glowered on the horizon.
She thought of Ash's warnings and shivered, though the air was warm.
The Fleet Nears — Kuzan's Doubts
Two days later the warships cut through calm seas. Kuzan stood on deck as dusk painted the horizon blood‑red. He conjured a small ice flower, watched it melt. If they fight back, he told himself, I will freeze their weapons, not their hearts.
Inside the command cabin, Akainu detailed bombardment arcs that would leave no building standing.
Kuzan frowned. "You'll kill civilians."
"Better ash than rebel nests," Akainu answered.
Kuzan said nothing, but the ice flower dripped faster in his palm.
Clover's Midnight Meeting - POV Ash
Night draped the library halls in soft lamp‑light as rain peppered stained‑glass windows. In the circular map room, Professor Clover unrolled the latest weather charts while senior librarians gathered around. Ash and Robin slipped in quietly, Skeyth disguised in Ash's cloak.
Ash cleared his throat. "A government fleet is coming. It isn't an inspection—it's a Buster Call."
Murmurs rippled. An elderly cartographer adjusted her spectacles. "Child, Buster Calls target pirate forts, not libraries."
"Cipher Pol already filed a weapons report," Ash pressed. "They fear what you read, not what you sail. Cannons will silence questions."
Clover raised a calming hand. "We will prepare—seal the restricted wing, hide sensitive texts, organize legal petitions. Marines will arrest us at worst, place us on trial—"
"—and fire their guns after," Ash cut in. He slammed a hand on the table, surprising even himself. "Please, evacuate the children and non‑combatants. Let the scholars scatter, manuscripts in their sleeves. We can rebuild knowledge, not lives."
Silence fell. Rain drummed overhead like distant artillery.
One senior linguist finally sighed. "We are academics, not refugees. Deserting our Tree means surrendering truth."
Clover's eyes softened with quiet sorrow. "Ash, we value your warning, but panic helps no one. We will send the youngest to the mainland tomorrow for a 'regional study tour.' Beyond that, we trust reason."
Ash clenched his fists. Reason drowns under cannon‑fire, he thought, but swallowed his protest. Robin gave his sleeve a reassuring tug—even she saw they would not shift tonight.
Clover laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your courage honors us. Still, rest. Tomorrow we act, calmly."
Ash nodded, though his heart thundered.
Near midnight Ash trained alone in the rooftop shed, rain leaking through cracked tiles. He spun Skeyth in staff form, feeling the weapon's hum echo through his bones. After an hour, breath ragged, he leaned on the shaft.
The scythe's mind‑voice drifted, cool and metallic: "Harvest comes. Steel thy stem; spare the roots thou cherish."
Ash wiped sweat from his brow. "I'll shield what roots I can."
The blade shimmered, as if approving. In its reflection he saw distant lightning—maybe the flashes of a fleet still days away.
Back in his bunk, Ash opened his notebook. The Codex overlaid tidy lines:
Marine fleet ETA: 34–48 hrs
Scholar evacuation: partial (children)
Weapon readiness: Skeyth bond stable
Hidden exits stocked: tunnels A, B, C
Personal fatigue: high → rest advised
He scribbled beneath: "If the world fears knowledge, I'll guard it—even from itself."
Robin's snores drifted from the next cot; the sound eased his chest. He tucked the notebook away, let eyelids fall, and dreamed of waves lapping a fire‑lit shore.
Outside, the Tree of Knowledge swayed in the gusting wind, its leaves whispering warnings that only an eight‑year‑old and his living blade seemed to hear.