Chapter 701

"It seems the new city is coming along nicely..." The elderly Judge spoke softly as he lifted the glass of water offered to him. His aged eyes wandered toward the enormous windows overlooking the reconstruction efforts beyond. Even from here, the sounds of Water 7 rebuilding itself echoed faintly through the air—hammering steel, grinding machinery, workers shouting across scaffolds.

Life. The island had chosen to live again despite everything that had happened to it. The room they sat in was modest compared to the grandeur one would expect for hosting figures of such status. Iceburg had deliberately chosen a temporary office near the construction district rather than the old mayoral hall that had long since turned to rubble during the Buster Call.

A plain wooden table separated the men. No luxury. No ceremony. Just tension. Iceburg sat quietly at one side, fingers interlocked before him while several trusted Galley-La foremen stood farther back near the walls, their expressions guarded. Outside the building, workers and survivors lingered nearby pretending to continue their tasks while secretly watching the meeting through cracked windows and unfinished beams.

No one trusted the World Government. Not anymore. Garp sat opposite the Judge, massive arms folded tightly across his chest, his enormous frame making the sturdy chair beneath him creak ominously. The Vice Admiral hadn’t touched the tea or water placed before him.

His expression remained dark. Cold. Only because Iceburg himself had personally asked him to hear the old man out had Garp restrained himself from throwing the entire delegation back into the ocean the moment they docked. Iceburg still remembered.

Years ago—when everyone else had condemned Tom without hesitation and wanted his head for building the Oro Jackson—this very same Judge had granted the legendary shipwright a chance to prove his worth through the sea train project. That debt alone had earned the old man this conversation. Nothing more.

Garp suddenly scoffed loudly. "It’s not thanks to you," he growled, his sharp gaze locking onto the Judge. "Or have you conveniently forgotten who it was that destroyed this island in the first place?"

The atmosphere instantly tightened. Several nearby workers stiffened visibly. Even the air itself seemed heavier. Garp leaned forward slightly, his presence pressing against the room like an approaching storm.

"If Iceburg hadn’t insisted on hearing you out..." his voice lowered dangerously, "...you wouldn’t even be sitting here right now."

The Judge met Garp’s glare calmly. No fear crossed his weathered face. No arrogance either. Only exhaustion. He slowly set the glass down onto the table before finally speaking.

"The last time I checked..." the old man replied quietly, "...it was the Marines who carried out the World Government’s orders." The room fell dead silent. Even Iceburg’s eyes widened faintly. Garp’s expression hardened instantly.

"And from the looks of it..." the Judge continued, his eyes drifting toward the justice coat draped over Garp’s broad shoulders, "...you are still wearing that same uniform." The words landed heavily. Not as an insult. But as truth. A dangerous truth. The wood beneath Garp’s hand cracked sharply.

CRACK.

Several people in the room flinched instinctively. The pressure erupting from the Vice Admiral for a split second was monstrous enough to make breathing difficult. Ginshimo quietly rested one hand over the hilt of his meitō. Not threateningly. Just ready. Because he knew better than anyone how terrifying Garp truly was when angered.

But surprisingly, Garp didn’t explode. Didn’t yell. Didn’t attack. Instead, the Marine Hero leaned back slowly in his chair and let out a rough breath through his nose. "...You’ve got guts, old man," he muttered.

The Judge gave a faint bitter smile. "At my age, Vice Admiral, fear becomes exhausting." Outside, thunder rumbled faintly across distant clouds gathering over the sea. The old Judge’s eyes slowly drifted toward the city beyond the windows.

"I did not come here to deny responsibility," he said quietly. "Nor to pretend what happened was justified." His wrinkled fingers tightened lightly around the cane resting beside him. "What happened to Water 7 was a tragedy born from fear... incompetence... and politics." Iceburg’s expression darkened.

"A tragedy?" one of the elderly foremen snapped angrily from the back. "Hundreds of thousands died that day at the world governments’ orders...!"

The Judge lowered his gaze. "I know."

"No—you don’t," another shipwright hissed bitterly. "You didn’t watch your family burn."

Ginshimo remained silent throughout the outburst. Because there was no defense for what had happened here. None. The Judge accepted every ounce of hatred directed toward him without argument. Then finally, his gaze returned toward Iceburg.

"I came because I owe this island a debt," he admitted softly. "And because if Water 7 disappears completely... then Tom’s dream and my vision disappear with it." At the mention of Tom, Iceburg’s expression flickered slightly. The Judge noticed.

"The sea train project was never merely infrastructure," the old man continued. "It had the potential to connect islands... economies... entire nations." His tired eyes narrowed slightly. "It could have changed the world, and it still can."

Garp scoffed again. "And now the World Government suddenly cares after blowing the island to hell?"

The Judge did not answer immediately. Because there was no answer that would satisfy anyone in this room. Instead, he simply said—"...Some of us never stopped caring."

"Well... it shows how much you truly care." One of the elderly shipwrights could not restrain himself any longer. His voice cracked with bitterness as he slammed both palms against the table before storming toward the doorway. "It has been over a year. Don’t you think your sympathy comes a little too late now?"

The room fell silent except for the distant crashing of waves against the unfinished docks outside.

No one stopped the old man from leaving. Not Garp. Not Iceburg. Not even the elderly Judge.

The shipwright staggered out into the evening light, shoulders trembling beneath worn work clothes stained with grease, seawater, and sawdust. He had lost everything during the Buster Call—his sons, his workshop, even the little wooden house he had built beside the canals with his own hands. Like many others on Water 7, all he had left now were scars and memories.

The Judge watched the man disappear into the bustling reconstruction outside and quietly lowered his teacup onto the table. For once, the old official had no defense to offer. Because the shipwright was right.

Had it not been for the possibility of reviving the Sea Train project through Tom’s remaining disciples, the World Government might never have paid Water 7 another glance. In the beginning, the Judge himself had assumed the island would collapse entirely after the destruction—its survivors scattered, starving, desperate enough to cling to any helping hand the Government extended later.

That had been the expectation. Instead, Water 7 endured. Against all logic... it endured. At first, the reports had confused even Cipher Pol. Supply ships had begun arriving at irregular intervals, unloading lumber, medicine, steel, food, tools, and machinery in quantities far beyond what the survivors should have been capable of acquiring. The strange part was not merely the aid itself—it was how impossible the shipments were to track.

The vessels moved like ghosts. Some sailed beneath false flags. Others carried forged papers so flawless that even Marine inspectors failed to notice inconsistencies until long after the ships had vanished from port. A few simply appeared overnight through routes no one could explain, unloading their cargo before disappearing into the mist before dawn.

The World Government had attempted to trace them. Every attempt failed. Pirates tried as well. That ended far worse. The Judge’s aged eyes shifted toward the harbor outside the open window. Massive skeletal frameworks now rose proudly from the sea where ruins once floated. Towering cranes groaned overhead while workers hammered steel beams into place. New canals cut through the city with deliberate precision, wider and sturdier than the old ones ever were.

Water 7 was no longer rebuilding. It was evolving. And standing at the center of that miracle was one terrifying truth. Monkey D. Garp.

More than a dozen pirate crews—some opportunistic, others outright suicidal—had attempted to raid the island over the past year after hearing rumors of endless resource shipments arriving on weakened shores. None succeeded. Some ships vanished before even reaching the coastline.

Others were found shattered across reefs miles away, their hulls broken apart as though struck by sea kings. One particularly infamous crew had attempted a nighttime landing with over three hundred men. Only their captain returned alive. Half-mad.

He babbled incoherently about a laughing Marine who leapt across the ocean itself and punched their flagship apart with his bare fists. After that, the underworld learned quickly. Water 7 was forbidden territory. Not because of the Marines. Not because of the World Government. But because one monster had planted himself upon its shores and dared the entire sea to challenge him. And no one had won.

The Judge slowly exhaled before looking toward Garp, who sat with arms folded, his enormous frame radiating restrained hostility. The Vice Admiral’s expression remained unreadable, but the air around him carried immense pressure—like a volcano suppressing its eruption beneath stone.

"You hate us," the Judge said quietly.

It was not a question. Garp scoffed. "Hate?" He leaned back slightly, the wooden chair creaking beneath his sheer weight. "If I hated you people, this conversation wouldn’t be happening." The statement was delivered casually. That only made it more terrifying.

"Garp-san... please." Iceburg’s voice cut through the suffocating tension before it could escalate further. Calm, restrained, yet carrying enough weight to make even the Marine Hero ease back slightly in his seat.

The massive Vice Admiral clicked his tongue in irritation but ultimately remained silent, though the glare he leveled at the elderly Judge never softened for even a moment. It was the kind of stare that made lesser men crumble under pressure alone.

The Judge understood something very clearly then. The true authority in this room was not Garp. It was Iceburg. As long as the young shipwright refused, no amount of political pressure, Government authority, or persuasion would move matters forward. And forcing him was completely out of the question. The Judge was not blind enough to miss the reality before him—Monkey D. Garp was watching this conversation like a hawk circling prey.

One wrong move...and this diplomatic visit would end in disaster. The elderly Judge slowly folded his hands atop the table before speaking again, this time with a gentler tone.

"Iceburg-kun... I may address you as such, yes?" Iceburg gave a small nod, though his expression remained guarded. The Judge continued carefully. "You know better than anyone that the Sea Train was Tom’s dream. Not merely a machine or a project, but his life’s work... his contribution to the world itself." His aged eyes drifted toward the city outside where workers hammered steel into place beneath the evening sun.

"That man wished to connect islands, to shorten distances between people, to create prosperity where there was none. Are you truly willing to let your master’s dream die here?" The room quieted. Even Garp’s expression shifted faintly at the mention of Tom. The Judge pressed on.

"And after the Buster Call..." His voice lowered slightly. "Water 7 is no longer formally affiliated with the World Government." A bitter truth. One no one bothered denying.

"I am not here to question where you acquired the resources to rebuild this island." His eyes flickered knowingly toward Iceburg. "Nor am I foolish enough to pretend ignorance. It does not take a genius to understand that piracy funded much of this reconstruction."

At those words, several nearby shipwrights stiffened. Some frowned. Others outright glared. But the Judge did not stop.

"You understand what that means, do you not?" he asked quietly. "When this city rises again, the World Government will not see a lawful nation reborn. They will see a haven rebuilt with pirate gold. A city standing outside Government authority." His fingers tightened around his teacup.

"Eventually, that label will spread across the seas. Merchants will hesitate. Kingdoms will distance themselves. Marines will become suspicious." His gaze sharpened slightly. "They will call Water 7 a pirate den." The words lingered heavily in the air. Outside, the sound of hammers striking steel echoed faintly across the canals.

Iceburg remained silent for several long seconds. Then finally, he spoke. "Tell me, Sir..." His tone was calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it now. "What good did it do us when we flew the World Government’s flag over our walls?"

The judge fell silent. Iceburg slowly leaned forward. "We paid your taxes...we obeyed your laws...we built ships for your people." His voice grew colder with each sentence. "And what did that loyalty earn us?" No one answered.

"All it took was a lie." Iceburg’s hands clenched atop the table. "A single lie... and the World Government became so paranoid that it erased an entire island." The memories flooded back instantly. The burning canals. The screams. Warships blotting out the horizon. Cannonfire raining from the heavens. Iceburg’s eyes darkened.

"Men, women, children..." he said hoarsely. "People who had never held weapons in their lives were slaughtered because someone, somewhere, decided Water 7 might become too dangerous."

Garp’s jaw tightened visibly. Even Admiral Ginshimo lowered his gaze slightly. Iceburg stared directly into the Judge’s eyes now. "So tell me..." he asked quietly, "what guarantee is there that it will not happen again?" No anger. No shouting. That made the question far heavier.

"What stops another rumor?" Iceburg continued. "Another paranoid order from Mariejois? Another massacre justified in the name of ’security’?" His voice cracked slightly at the end. "Because when the flames came last time... none of those banners protected us."

Silence swallowed the room whole. And for the first time since arriving on Water 7, the elderly Judge found himself unable to answer.

"But..." Iceburg finally spoke again, breaking the suffocating silence that had settled across the room, "I also understand that what we are doing now to sustain and rebuild Water 7 will not be overlooked forever."

He slowly turned toward Garp. The Marine Hero remained seated with his massive arms folded across his chest, but his sharp eyes narrowed slightly as Iceburg continued.

"I am grateful for everything you have done for us, Garp-san," Iceburg said sincerely. "More than grateful. Without you standing here... Water 7 would have already been swallowed by scavengers, pirates, or Government opportunists."

Outside the open windows, the sounds of reconstruction echoed endlessly—hammers striking steel, saws grinding through timber, workers shouting across scaffolds rising above the flooded streets. A city reborn through sheer stubbornness. But even miracles had limits.

"The pirates fear this island now because you are here," Iceburg continued logically. "The underworld avoids our waters because they know the Marine Hero is guarding them personally." His expression darkened slightly. "But what about a few years from now?" Garp remained silent.

"What about a few decades?" Iceburg pressed. "Can Water 7 truly build its future around the assumption that Monkey D. Garp will stand at its gates forever?" No one in the room answered because no answer existed. Even Garp himself understood that truth. Age came for everyone eventually. Even monsters. Iceburg slowly exhaled before leaning back slightly in his chair.

"We are in the first half of the Grand Line," he said calmly. "This is still territory where the World Government’s influence reigns absolute. Trade routes, shipping lanes, supply chains, commerce... everything eventually passes through Government oversight."

The Judge listened carefully now, his confusion slowly deepening. Iceburg was not speaking emotionally. He was speaking practically. Logically.

"As things stand now," Iceburg continued, "Water 7 survives because people sympathize with us. Because the world still remembers the tragedy." His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden table. "But sympathy fades. Fear fades even faster." His eyes hardened. "And once it does, we will become vulnerable."

The Judge’s gaze sharpened faintly. Iceburg understood politics far better than most people realized. A city openly rebuilt through pirate funding while existing outside Government jurisdiction could never remain untouched forever. At some point, the World Government would either move to reclaim it...or erase it properly this time.

Iceburg already understood that reality. Garp clicked his tongue irritably but did not interrupt. Because deep down, he knew the young shipwright was right.

"We cannot simply continue down this path forever," Iceburg admitted quietly. "Eventually, the Government will demand submission... and if we refuse openly, they will justify military intervention."

The elderly Judge finally spoke. "Then you understand why cooperation is necessary." Iceburg’s gaze instantly shifted back toward him. "But that also means," he said coldly, "that we cannot crawl back and pretend nothing happened." The atmosphere in the room turned heavy once more. "The dead would never rest if I made such a decision."

Images flashed behind Iceburg’s eyes. Citizens burned alive in collapsing canals. Children crushed beneath rubble. Shipwrights vaporized by cannonfire. The old Water 7 sinking beneath flames and smoke.

"No matter how practical it may seem," Iceburg continued, voice quieter now, "I cannot raise the Government’s banner over this island again as though the massacre never happened."

The Judge frowned slightly. Because Iceburg’s answer was neither acceptance nor refusal. It was something far more complicated. The young man sitting before him was balancing survival against dignity... pragmatism against resentment.

And perhaps most dangerous of all—he was thinking far ahead. The Judge slowly realized this conversation had never truly been about emotions. Iceburg had already made calculations long before this meeting began. How to protect Water 7. How to preserve its future. How to navigate between pirates and the Government without letting either side place chains around the island’s neck again.

For the first time since arriving, the elderly Judge truly understood why the survivors of Water 7 followed this young man. Not because he was the strongest. Not because he shouted the loudest. But because unlike everyone else in this endless war between pirates and the World Government... Iceburg was trying to build something meant to outlive them all.

"It seems," the elderly Judge finally said after a long silence, "that you have been considering this matter long before I ever set foot on the shores of Water 7, young man." His sharp old eyes studied Iceburg carefully now. Not as a grieving survivor. Not merely as Tom’s apprentice. But as a statesman.

"So," the Judge continued calmly, setting his teacup down with deliberate care, "why don’t you tell me what you truly have in mind? It would save both of us considerable time."

Across the table, Iceburg remained quiet for several seconds. Outside, the evening wind swept through the unfinished city, carrying with it the sounds of labor and rebuilding. Towering steel frameworks cast long shadows over the canals while workers moved like ants beneath the skeletal remains of what would one day become a grander Water 7.

A city reborn from ashes. Iceburg slowly folded his hands together. "Like you said earlier..." he began evenly, "Water 7 needs legitimacy." His gaze shifted toward the window overlooking the harbor.

"I have no intention of allowing this island to become known as a pirate haven. That future benefits no one." His expression hardened slightly. "And I understand perfectly well why the World Government wants the Sea Train project revived."

The Judge’s eyes narrowed faintly. Iceburg was sharper than anticipated. "The Sea Train is not merely transportation," Iceburg continued. "It is control."

He tapped a finger lightly against the wooden table. "Trade routes...Military mobility...Rapid deployment...Economic influence."

"If completed on a global scale, the Sea Train would allow the World Government to exert influence across entire seas in ways never before possible." Even Admiral Ginshimo glanced toward the Judge at that blunt assessment. Iceburg understood the true value of Tom’s dream. Not just economically. Strategically.

"But," Iceburg said firmly, "Water 7 will never again become a subordinate state kneeling beneath the World Government’s banner." The atmosphere shifted instantly. Garp’s lips curled upward faintly in approval. The Judge, however, remained composed. Iceburg leaned forward slightly now, his voice calm yet unwavering.

"My proposal is simple." The room fell completely silent. "Water 7 will be formally recognized as a sovereign and independent city-state." The Judge’s expression changed slightly for the first time. Iceburg continued before he could interrupt.

"No heavenly tribute...no forced military conscription...no direct world government oversight over our internal affairs." His eyes sharpened. "The World Government will recognize our neutrality and autonomy publicly before the world."

That was no small demand. In essence—Iceburg was asking the World Government to acknowledge Water 7 as independent without annexation or affiliation. A dangerous precedent.

But Iceburg was not finished. "In return," he said calmly, "Water 7 will enter into an official contractual partnership with the World Government." The Judge’s fingers paused atop the table. Now they were getting somewhere. "We will provide shipbuilding services," Iceburg explained. "Commercial vessels, infrastructure support, Sea Train engineering, maintenance, and technological development."

His voice remained purely professional now. "Not as subjects serving a superior power..." Iceburg’s gaze locked directly onto the Judge’s."But as an independent nation conducting business."

The distinction hit heavily. This was not submission. This was negotiation between equals.

"The Sea Train project will proceed under Water 7’s authority," Iceburg added. "The Government may commission routes and expansions, but ownership of the technology and engineering remains ours."

The Judge’s brows furrowed slightly. Iceburg had structured the proposal masterfully. The World Government would gain access to the Sea Train system without needing to occupy Water 7 directly. Water 7, meanwhile, would gain international legitimacy and protection without sacrificing sovereignty. It was neither rebellion nor obedience. It was coexistence.

"Additionally," Iceburg continued, "Water 7 will remain an open neutral port. Government vessels may dock. Merchant ships may trade...even pirates, so long as they abide by our laws while within city waters."

At that, the Judge finally spoke. "You are proposing a dangerous precedent—neutrality in the middle of the Grand Line?"

"I am proposing survival," Iceburg corrected calmly. The words hung heavily in the room. "Because if Water 7 belongs entirely to one side..." Iceburg said quietly, "then eventually the other side will try to destroy it again."

No one argued against that logic. Not even the Judge. Iceburg slowly stood from his seat and walked toward the window overlooking the massive reconstruction outside. The sunset painted the canals gold and crimson. Workers shouted proudly beneath rising towers of steel. Children ran through unfinished streets that once held corpses and ash.

"This city has suffered enough," Iceburg said softly. "I refuse to let it become another battlefield in a war between pirates and the World Government." Then he turned back toward the elderly Judge.

"So this is my answer...we are willing to cooperate."

"We are willing to trade...we are willing to build."

"But Water 7 will never again kneel."