One Piece: Lord of the Weather Chapter 2: Coal

Pablo woke up with the first light of dawn.

He hadn't slept much. His mind had been working all night.

He sat up and stared at the simple tools in front of him, the fishing nets and small hooks left by the previous body's owner.

Fishing is an option, but it's not what he wants.

He thought.

A thirty-seven-year-old man living in a poor neighborhood learns one thing by necessity: how to make sothing from nothing.

And he rembered sothing very simple.

In his old neighborhood, his elderly neighbor used to make charcoal and sell it to small restaurants. He sotis watched him explain the process to anyone who asked.

The idea is simple: wood, controlled fire, and ti equals charcoal.

And here in this village, they use charcoal daily for cooking, but they collect it in a very primitive way. They burn wood directly and take what remains.

This gives them poor-quality charcoal that burns quickly.

Good charcoal burns slowly and gives more heat, which ans saving wood in the long run.

Any woman who cooks daily will understand this difference imdiately.

Pablo stood up and put a simple plan in his mind.

First, he needs the right wood.

---

He left his small room. The morning air was cool and light.

He headed toward the small forest in the north of the island, at a reasonable walking distance from the village.

He was looking for a specific type: dense, dry wood. Not thin branches, not wet logs.

But after an hour of searching, he realized it wasn't that simple.

Most of the trees here had their dry wood already depleted by the villagers who collect it for cooking and construction.

What remained was either fresh and wet or too small to be useful.

He sat on an old stump and breathed slowly.

The first problem appeared quickly.

He thought for a while.

Wet wood needs drying, which ans ti he doesn't have now.

But dense, dry wood exists in one place he hadn't thought of: old construction remains.

He rembered that yesterday he saw a pile of broken planks and wooden remains behind one of the big houses in the village.

He stood up and went back.

---

He reached the pile he rembered. It was behind a dium-sized house near the center of the village.

He began sorting through the remains with his hands. Broken planks and scattered pieces that no one seed to want.

The wood was dry and dense. Exactly what he needed.

"What are you doing?"

Pablo raised his head.

A woman was standing near the door of the house looking at him. She was in her thirties, her dark hair tied carelessly behind her head in a way that increased her beauty rather than diminishing it. Her figure was attractive, and her features were both sharp and soft at the sa ti—the type that n's eyes turn to without permission.

But her eyes now were not welcoming. She was studying him the way a rchant appraises goods before deciding if they are worth his ti.

Pablo said quietly: "These remains, do you need them?"

She looked at the pile, then at his face more closely.

She paused.

"You're that pirate's son."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Pablo said it simply.

From the previous body's mories, his father was a pirate. Not a ship captain, but a sowhat known mber in this small area of the Southern Blue. His bounty was less than a million Beli. He was caught and executed about ten years ago.

As for his mother, she died four years after his father was executed, from illness. They left a child of eight. If not for the kindness of an elderly person who took care of him and taught him fishing, he would have starved to death long ago.

She let out a light breath from her nose, the kind of sound people make when they ntion sothing unworthy of respect.

"Your father passed through here years ago. A stupid pirate. His bounty wasn't worth the price of a decent boat."

She paused for a second, as if waiting for him to be affected.

"He was executed like a dog in the end. And your mother left shortly after from illness."

Pablo looked at her with completely calm eyes.

No pain, no anger, nothing.

That unknown man was not his father, and he left no trace worth grieving over.

Savia saw this emptiness in his eyes and paused for a mont, as if she hadn't expected this response—or its absence.

Then she continued in a colder tone:

"Why are you sorting these remains?"

"I'm making charcoal. Better charcoal than what people use here."

She looked at the pile again, her eyes calculating, not sympathetic.

"I don't need these remains. But if your charcoal is truly good, I will buy from you."

Pablo nodded his head.

"What's your na?" he asked her.

"Savia."

---

Pablo took enough of the wooden remains and returned to his room.

The process is not complicated, but it requires precision.

He dug a small hole in the ground near his room, arranged the wood inside it tightly, lit the fire slowly, then covered the hole with a layer of soil, leaving a very small opening for air.

The fire must be smothered slowly, not allowed to burn freely.

That's the whole difference.

He sat beside it, waiting.

Ti passed slowly, but Pablo was patient.

A man who spent ti in prison knows how to wait.

---

After hours, he carefully opened the soil.

The charcoal was ready. Black, solid, heavy pieces.

He grabbed a piece and examined it. Good.

Not perfect, because this was his first attempt here, but far better than what the villagers collect.

He gathered what he produced and carried it toward Savia's house.

---

After he knocked on the door, Savia opened it.

She looked at the charcoal in his hands, then took a piece and examined it with her fingers. She turned it slowly and broke its small end to see the inside.

She didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"How much do you want?"

Pablo thought for a mont.

He didn't want to ask for too much, nor too little.

"Four hundred Beli for this amount."

She looked at him with an expert's eye.

"Two hundred and fifty."

"Three hundred and fifty."

She paused again, then reached her hand into her pocket and took out the coins.

"Three hundred and fifty."

Pablo took the money quietly and gave her the charcoal.

Before he turned around, she said:

"If the quality is consistent, I will buy from you every week."

"Okay."

"But if the quality changes, I will not buy a second ti."

He looked at her directly.

"It won't change."

She closed the door.

---

Pablo returned to his room with the coins in his hand.

Three hundred and fifty Beli.

Not much, but that's not the important number.

What's important is that he found his first custor, a potential steady inco, and the first person in this world who dealt with him based on what he provides.

He sat and stared at the sky above him.

One step.

But every long journey begins with a single step.