Buster Call (Part 1)

Three days later, inside the Tree of Knowledge.

"Take it, Robin."

Dr. Clover's voice was gentle yet solemn. Resting in his palm, weathered by the marks of time, was a small badge.

It bore exquisite engravings of the Tree of Knowledge and the World Book—an emblem of a scholar's identity.

Robin's young eyes, long accustomed to gloom, now shone like stars in the badge's light.

Overwhelming joy shattered the dam of her usual timidity. Holding her breath, she almost reverently extended both hands and carefully accepted the badge that carried all her dreams and recognition.

"Congratulations, Robin!"

"That's wonderful, Robin!"

"Remarkable!"

The surrounding scholars gathered around her, their low, sincere congratulations like a warm tide that instantly engulfed the little figure.

Every face wore a heartfelt smile, wrinkles easing and eyes shining brightly.

Robin clenched the badge tightly, as if she were holding onto all the light in the world.

Dr. Clover stepped aside, picked up a long wooden pointer leaning against the enormous armillary sphere, and lightly tapped a thick wooden board beside it that displayed a complex sea chart.

Tap, tap.

The crisp sound temporarily quieted all the congratulations.

"Listen carefully, Robin. You must remember how to become a good scholar."

"Knowledge is the past."

"This is the largest and oldest library in the world. Countless scholars from all over the world come to this Tree of Knowledge because of its fame. We have studied these books year after year—there is nothing in history that I do not understand!"

His impassioned words echoed beneath the dome. At last, he lowered his arm and walked back to Robin.

That aged yet warm hand, carrying the faint dusty scent of books, gently settled on Robin's soft black hair, laden with weighty expectations.

"Do you remember? Studying Archaeology is your greatest pride. From now on, you must contribute to the world through research in every field."

Robin raised her little face. In the candlelight, the doctor's kindly features seemed incomparably tall. A courage and yearning she had never felt before surged into her throat, and the words she had chewed over countless times burst out:

"Yes, I understand, Doctor! I want to study the Void Century!"

At Robin's answer, the kindness on Dr. Clover's face instantly froze, torn apart by immense horror.

As if struck hard by the tail of some invisible Sea King, he staggered several steps backward. His back slammed heavily into the edge of a cold bookshelf with a dull thud.

His clouded eyes widened round, bottomless terror filling his pupils as he stared fixedly at the child before him, so ignorant of the enormity of her words.

"No, no, absolutely not! Just like before, no!"

He practically howled it out, his withered hand frantically waving through the air.

Robin was not frightened by his reaction. The stubborn light in her eyes only grew brighter.

"Huh? Why? Doctor... If we study those Poneglyphs, then... then wouldn't we learn what really happened during the Void Century?"

Dr. Clover's voice had the shrill edge of someone on the verge of collapse. He took a deep breath and began painstakingly persuading Robin, telling her just how dangerous it was to study the Poneglyphs.

Every scholar's gaze seemed pulled by invisible strings, locked firmly on the pale-faced Dr. Clover and the tiny figure who was both stubborn and bewildered.

Just as everyone's attention was drawn there, in a corner of shadow cast by the giant armillary sphere's base, a tiny figure no larger than a knuckle stood silently.

Deep beneath Ohara Island.

Cold. Deathly still. Absolute darkness pressed down on everything like thick ink.

This was a vast square underground chamber, hollow in its upper half and filled with seawater in its lower half.

Adams floated above the seawater with his eyes shut, images and sounds transmitted in real time by the tiny figure feeding back into his mind:

Unable to bear the doctor's overwhelming fear and stern lecture, Robin suddenly turned around. Her tiny figure, filled with immense grievance and helplessness, was like a startled fawn as she shoved past the stunned scholars, stumbling out of the Tree of Knowledge's warm glow and running toward the shore shrouded in night.

The scenes shifted within Adams's ice-blue pupils.

Through another Clay Doll that had been placed beforehand in a crevice among the coastal reefs, he "saw":

Night waves battered the rocks, giving off a monotonous, eternal wail. Little Robin ran to the shore, her suppressed sobs especially fragile in the empty sea wind.

Then she stopped. A giant, drenched from head to toe and in a miserable state, lay collapsed in the cold seawater.

"Everything... is proceeding smoothly."

Adams's voice, cold as ice chips, struck faint echoes through the sealed underground chamber, carrying the icy certainty of settled dust.

After parting ways with Dr. Clover, he had used his ability to come here.

For two years, apart from his daily training, he had spent all his time secretly constructing this underground space. He had not told anyone about it.

He had repeatedly considered several plans for how to ensure the scholars survived the Buster Call safely:

Telling the scholars beforehand and having them evacuate was simply impossible. Every one of them had already prepared for death before researching the historical texts; they could never be persuaded.

Ignoring the scholars' wishes and forcibly taking everyone away before the Buster Call began? That would not work either.

Adams even felt that this option was the worst possible choice, one highly likely to draw the personal intervention of God's Knights or even Imu.

The Five Elders had allowed Ohara to continue its research until now because they were fishing. They intended to gather all the rebels around Dr. Clover and wipe them out in one stroke.

Their method of teleporting across extreme distances was not something Adams could handle yet.

Fighting Sakazuki during the Buster Call and then evacuating with the scholars would also be idiotic. Leaving aside the fact that Adams had yet to learn Armament Haki and might not even be able to win, even if he somehow did, they would still be unable to escape.

There was no other reason: the Five Elders and Imu were the true masterminds behind this Buster Call. If Sakazuki were truly defeated, there was no way they could remain idle.

Adams did not dare gamble that there were no Magic Circles aboard the accompanying warships.

After considering it from every angle, the only chance of survival was to wait and watch, allowing the Buster Call to happen.

After Cipher Pol withdrew as they had in the original plot, and after the fires caused by the Navy's bombardment had engulfed all of Ohara, moving the scholars into this underground space would be the best strategy.

As for the island's civilians...

A series of cold images flashed through Adams's pupils:

Small stones whistling through the air as they struck young Robin, leaving dark bruises; children's piercing jeers: "Monster! Get lost!"

A woman disgustedly yanking her child away, as if Robin carried a plague;

A shopkeeper tossing the change far onto the ground, then spitting in contempt;

And Adams himself, dragging his abnormally tall body through narrow streets, the gazes falling upon his back mixed with fear, disdain, and undisguised rejection, like countless tiny poisoned needles...

Adams was not magnanimous enough to save these people. If he had not known they would die by Sakazuki's hand, he would have wanted to do it himself.

Ignorance? Rejection of those who were different? Adams understood. It was the most primitive shade of human nature, like beasts marking their territory. He could tolerate ignorance.

But when ignorance refused to be illuminated by knowledge, when malice continued stubbornly breeding even in the soil of education, when these maggots turned their baseness and fear into stones and spit cast at the innocent...

Then their only value was to become the ashes kicked up by Sakazuki's bombardment, proving "Absolute Justice"! That would be the fate they deserved.

A cold fury, like dormant magma, briefly churned deep inside Adams's chest. He forcibly suppressed it, drew a deep breath, and spread his consciousness outward like invisible roots.

The Clay Dolls scattered across several key "plot points" on Ohara became his extended senses.

The docks, the path outside the Tree of Knowledge, coastal lookout points... These tiny, silent sentries faithfully relayed everything they "saw" back underground.

Time crawled slowly through absolute darkness and deathly silence, measured by heartbeats and the sighs of stone.

TO BE CONTINUED