The Oro Jackson rocked gently with the waves. On deck, an unprecedented training session was about to begin.

"Laboon," Ritter stood with arms crossed, a blood-red mist swirling faintly around him. "Starting today, you need to learn how to control your strength."

Laboon blinked his large, expressive eyes. His two small fins rubbed together nervously.

Ever since eating a Devil Fruit, he had been a walking disaster. Just yesterday, he'd smashed the dining table. The day before that, he broke a mast. Three days ago, he nearly slapped Buggy into the sea to feed the fish. And yesterday again he hugged Shanks hard enough to break his bones.

"First," Ritter said, pulling out a delicate porcelain teacup as if performing a magic trick, "try picking this up."

The teacup gleamed ivory-white under the sun, so thin it was nearly translucent. Laboon swallowed nervously and extended a trembling "finger"

Crack!

The teacup shattered into eight perfect pieces.

"Uuuuuh..." Laboon drooped his head in defeat.

"It's alright," Shanks patted his fin. "The hundredth time I used my sword, I sliced a hole in Uncle Rayleigh's shirt."

"Brat, don't bring that up!" Rayleigh's voice echoed from below deck.

Ritter handed Laboon his breakfast and turned to retrieve a secret weapon he had prepared.

"Laboon."

Laboon turned his head, a half-swallowed fish still wriggling from his mouth. He let out a guilty whimper, while the silver fork in his fin had already bent into an odd arc.

The deck fell so silent they could hear the waves lapping against the hull.

Ritter stifled a laugh as he approached. "Looks like we need sturdier utensils."

He returned carrying several forks made from seastone "borrowed" from the Navy and reforged overnight into practical cutlery.

"Try this," Ritter handed one to Laboon. "Seastone is sturdy enough; it should withstand your strength."

Laboon carefully gripped the fork. This time, he'd learned. The moment the fork touched his fin, he felt his strength diminish but not vanish completely. Perhaps because he was an island whale, the seastone merely dampened his power rather than nullifying it.

He lightly tapped the fish with the fork. The sea fish swam lazily in the bucket, unaware that danger loomed.

"Just like that..." Ritter coached in a low voice. "Imagine your fin is a feather..."

Thwip!

The fork pierced the fish's gills with clean precision. Laboon triumphantly raised his prize.

Perfect shot.

Ritter felt like a genius. The seastone didn't negate Laboon's abilities it allowed him to regulate his strength output.

Laboon got a little too excited, though, and a flick of his fin sent a splash of seawater right into Shanks' face.

"Hey!" Shanks wiped the fishy water off his face. And what did he do next? Of course, he chose forgiveness.

"At least this time the fish stayed on the fork! Nice job, Laboon!"

Seeing the seastone worked so well, Ritter took out a feather one he had "happened to acquire."

"Now, little Laboon, I need you to keep this feather floating in the air using just your fins. Don't let it fly away or fall."

Laboon crouched cautiously in the middle of the deck, gripping the feather gently between his fins, tail curled upward. Every muscle in his small body was focused.

"Remember," Ritter said, sitting cross-legged in front of him, "your power should be as steady as breathing."

Laboon nodded, took a deep breath, and lightly flapped his fin—

Whoosh!

The feather shot like a white streak, thwack! and embedded itself in the mainmast. The tail of the feather still quivered faintly.

Buggy stared, eyes wide. "Sheesh..."

"Quiet." Ritter glared at him, then walked over and pulled the feather out. "Again."

Beads of sweat formed on Laboon's brow. This time, he used only the very tip of his fin, gently balancing the feather.

"Good, now..."

But Laboon suddenly went cross-eyed staring at the feather. It caught a breeze and started drifting toward the edge of the ship.

Laboon panicked and lunged to grab it—

"Wait, don't—!"

Boom!

Ritter enveloped the feather in his blood mist and fused a trace of seastone powder into it. The feather now shimmered with a faint metallic glow.

"Now it won't fly off so easily," Ritter explained. "Even if it does, I can pull it back. This should help suppress your strength without making you powerless."

Laboon curiously took the "reinforced feather" and instantly noticed the difference it was like trying to handle something with thick gloves. His power was now within a controllable range.

"Oooh! (This one's good!)"

He gently flapped his fin, and the feather floated upward. It wobbled a bit, but at least it hovered.

"Success!" Shanks cheered.

Ritter slowly withdrew the surrounding mist and the feather shot off. Everyone's words of praise got stuck halfway in their throats. The timing couldn't have been worse.

Day by day, time passed. The "three little ones" each continued their own training, and Crocus diligently checked the crew's physical conditions from top to bottom. His detailed examinations showed that they were all in good health. Even old injuries were healing thanks to the vitality Ritter constantly provided.

But for Ritter, this wasn't exactly good news.

He believed that every terminal illness must leave some trace.

Could it be a narrative trap? In the original story, it was never explained how Roger's illness came about. That made Ritter anxious. He sought out Crocus, hoping the doctor would give Roger another thorough check-up.

"Little Ritter, they've told me you know a bit about the future and that you're the one who invited me on board. I'm guessing Roger will suffer from some illness in the future that even you can't cure, am I right?"

Ritter nodded. He was about to describe the symptoms of Roger's illness only to realize he didn't know them. The story had never explained. All he knew was that Roger was terminally ill.

Crocus patted his shoulder. "I've been a doctor for many years and have seen more than my share of life and death. I promise I'll do everything I can to treat the captain. Consider it my way of repaying you all for helping me search for the Rumbar Pirates."

"Saving lives is our duty as doctors," he added, "not something a fighter like you should be worrying about. Of course, if you'd like to study medicine with me, I'd be more than happy to teach you."

Ritter bowed deeply. "Then I'll leave it to you, Doctor."

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