"Well, well, don't we have a celebrity here?" a voice called out from behind me, stopping me dead in my tracks like a physical blow.
'Tsk!'
The voice was unmistakably Don Krieg's, and the fact that he knew to call out to me meant that my hope of slipping away unnoticed had just evaporated completely.
I stopped walking, my hand instinctively moving toward the Sword of Gryffindor concealed beneath my cloak.
Around me, the other fleeing patrons—including the petty officer Kowalski—continued their desperate exodus, but I could feel the weight of attention settling on my shoulders like a burial shroud.
Slowly, with the careful deliberation of someone who knew they were walking into a trap, I turned around.
Krieg was standing in the entrance of the dining room, his impressive physique and a cruel smile playing across his lips.
He looked every inch the infamous pirate captain now—all traces of his earlier weakness erased, replaced by the confident bearing of someone who'd never met a problem he couldn't solve with violence.
And he was looking directly at me with the kind of predatory interest that usually preceded very bad things happening to very unlucky people.
'Unfortunately—literally—I am included today in those unlucky ones.'
"If it isn't the famous Dead-Eyes Hikigaya," Krieg continued, his voice carrying easily across the now-silent restaurant. "The Sorcerer himself. The greatest treasure hunter in the East Blue. I have to admit, I didn't expect to find you here after all of this trouble."
I kept my expression neutral, though my mind was racing. I knew he was trying to track me for a while now—not only him, in fact—and I kept avoiding any place that had a famous pirate in the East Blue, including him.
My small ship was currently being repaired by Delgado, meaning I was stuck here until he finished his work.
'Which means I can't avoid this shit.'
"Don Krieg," I said, his name leaving my mouth like I was spitting out spoiled milk. "You certainly look better than you did five minutes ago. Amazing what a full stomach can do for a man's posture."
His laugh was harsh and grating, the sound of someone who found genuine joy in others' discomfort. "It was a good meal I can say, and even better luck," he replied, his grin spreading wider.
"Do you know how long I've been searching for you, boy? You're slippery as an eel, always disappearing just when my ships get close. But today..." He gestured broadly at the restaurant around us.
"Today I find not only a perfect ship to replace my worn-out vessel, but the celebrity himself. The Dead-Eyes Hikigaya, the treasure hunter who can find anything hidden in these seas."
I felt my jaw tighten. Celebrity. The word left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"With this ship and your skills," Krieg continued, his voice taking on the tone of someone explaining simple math to a child, "I'll be able to build an even larger fleet. A grand fleet worthy of conquering the Grand Line. And as a bonus, I'll have the most skilled treasure hunter in East Blue working for me."
The casual way he said it—as if my cooperation was already a foregone conclusion—made something cold and sharp twist in my chest. But before I could respond, his attention shifted to the kitchen staff.
"But first," he announced, clapping his hands together with mock cheerfulness, "I'll need all you fine cooks to prepare enough food for my hundred subordinates waiting on my ship."
The response was immediate and predictable. The cooks—brave men, I had to give them credit—stepped forward with expressions ranging from outrage to determination.
"How could you ask us to willingly feed pirates and hand over our ship?" one of them demanded, his voice shaking with either fear or fury. Possibly both.
Krieg's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes grew colder. "I think there's been a misunderstanding here," he said, his voice deceptively gentle.
"I'm not requesting you to do anything. I'm ordering you. Neither the cooks of Baratie nor our famous treasure hunter here have a choice in this matter! You Will Only Follow my Orders!"
'There it is,' I thought grimly. 'The real Don Krieg. Strip away the false politeness and what's left is just another bully with a bigger stick.'
I could see the fear creeping into the faces of the restaurant staff, could practically smell it in the air. Gin—who was thrown away earlier—looked like he was about to cry, mumbling something about being sorry to Sanji.
The whole scene was pathetic in that uniquely human way that made my skin crawl.
But then, just as my irritation was reaching its peak, a commotion near the kitchen caught my attention.
"Sanji, You Bastard! It's Because Of You That We're In This M...! HEY! Where Do You Think You're Going!?" one of the cooks shouted.
I turned to see the blonde cook walking toward the kitchen with that easy, confident stride of his, as if he were heading to work on any normal day instead of preparing to feed a crew of pirates who'd just threatened to steal his home.
"To the kitchen," Sanji replied, not breaking his stride. "There are a hundred starving people on that ship who need food."
The simplicity of his answer was almost insulting in its naivety. 'Or Maybe It's The Rest Of Us Who Are Complicated,' a treacherous part of my mind whispered. I pushed the thought away.
Krieg's grin widened. "A wise choice."
But the other cooks weren't having it. They moved as one, drawing knives, cleavers, and ridiculously large ladles, forming a barrier around Sanji.
Their weapons gleamed in the restaurant's warm lighting, and for a moment, I was struck by how surreal the whole scene was.
'I know they are cooks but…you know…don't you have actual real weapons?'
"We've had enough of your insane and reckless actions, Sanji!" one of them shouted.
Sanji spread his arms wide, his expression one of exaggerated virtue. "I'm a cook," he said simply. "I feed anyone who's starving, even scum like Krieg and his subordinates. That's the ideal of any cook."
'Ideals?' The word hit me like a slap. Here was someone talking about ideals in the face of armed pirates, as if principles mattered more than survival.
It was exactly the kind of naive thinking that used to make me want to tear my hair out—the belief that doing the right thing would somehow magically make everything work out.
'Spoilers alert! It doesn't. Not in my world or this one. Also, I'd had enough of the drama.'
Taking several deliberate steps forward, I felt every eye in the restaurant turn toward me. The weight of their attention was familiar but unwelcome—like being called to the front of the class to solve a problem you hadn't been paying attention to.
I looked directly at Krieg, meeting his cruel gaze with what I hoped was an expression of complete indifference. "I refuse your offer," I said clearly. "I work alone, and I have no intention of working with a pirate."
The silence that followed was deafening. I could practically hear the collective intake of breath from everyone in the room. Krieg's grin widened, but now it held the promise of violence.
"You refuse?" he asked, his voice dangerously harsh. "I don't think you understand, boy. You're coming with me whether you like it or not. The only choice you have is whether you walk onto my ship, or I drag your broken body there."
'And there's the threat.' I felt that familiar calm settle over me—the same detached focus I'd cultivated during countless life-or-death situations over the past two years.
My right hand moved almost unconsciously to rest on the grip of my Custom-Made Flintlock, the weight of it reassuring against my palm.
"I'd like to watch you try," I replied, my voice flat and emotionless. "I didn't spend two years drilling myself just to be dragged away by a weakling like you."
The word 'weakling' hung in the air like a challenge. I saw Krieg's face darken, saw his muscles tense in preparation for violence. But I was already moving.
My draw was fluid, practiced—the result of countless hours of training with both sword and gun until the motions became as natural as breathing.
The flintlock cleared its holster in one smooth motion, the barrel tracking toward Krieg's head with mechanical precision. His eyes widened in surprise at my speed.
"Motherfu—" he cursed and moved erratically. And I allowed myself a moment of grim satisfaction.
'Two years of facing pirates on a weekly basis does wonders for your reflexes.'
I squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The round that left my barrel wasn't a standard bullet—it was one of my special loads in my customized flintlock. A mini bazooka round, compressed down to the size of a normal bullet but packing the explosive force of a full-sized projectile.
Krieg's reflexes were impressive, I had to give him credit. The moment my gun cleared leather, he was already moving, bringing his arms up to guard his head.
KABOOM!!!
The bullet struck his forearms just as the explosive charge detonated.
The blast was tremendous, a concussive wave of force that shattered windows and sent chairs flying.
CRACK!
Krieg himself was launched backward through the restaurant's double doors, the wooden frames splintering around his huge form as he crashed into the deck beyond.
For a moment, the only sound was the settling of debris and the ringing in everyone's ears.
"DON!" Gin shouted, his voice cracking with worry as he rushed toward the destroyed entrance.
The remaining patrons and cooks erupted in cheers, their relief palpable. Several of them clapped, praising my quick thinking and marksmanship.
One of the cooks, one with sunglasses, assured me that I didn't need to worry about the broken door, that it was a small price to pay to protect the restaurant.
"What are we going to do about Krieg's starving subordinates?" Sanji asked, his voice cutting through the celebration.
Patty, the rough-looking cook, cracked his knuckles. "I say we set their whole ship on fire. Let the fish have 'em."
But I ignored all the congratulations and discussions, my eyes fixed on the smoke and debris where Krieg had landed.
I can sense with the Mantra that he is alive and well.
'Most likely, his armor protected him.'
"Eh? What is wrong?" I heard one of the cooks whisper, confusion evident in his voice.
"You ended him, right?" another replied.
I kept my expression neutral, but inside, I was already preparing for round two. My free hand moved to rest on the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor.
Then, just as I'd expected, a figure emerged from the smoke and debris.
Don Krieg stood up slowly, dusting off his armor with casual indifference.
His clothes were scorched, and his face bore a few new cuts, but he was very much alive and seemingly unharmed by an explosion that should have reduced him to paste.
"That was close," he said conversationally, rolling his shoulders as if working out a minor kink.
"A mini bazooka round, if I'm not mistaken. Very rare ammunition—really hard to find, let alone make. Only a famous treasure hunter like yourself would have access to such exotic weaponry."
He spread his arms wide, and for the first time, I got a clear look at what had protected him from my attack.
His armor gleamed like polished gold in the afternoon sun, but I could tell from the way light reflected off its surface that it was something far more valuable.
"But even such impressive firepower can't compare to my prized Wootz steel armor," Krieg continued, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. "Forged from the finest steel in the world, it can stop even a direct cannon blast."
'Of course he has it,' I thought darkly. 'Because why would anything in this world ever be simple?'
The other cooks, apparently deciding that if one explosion couldn't stop him, maybe twenty people with kitchen knives could, charged forward with a collective battle cry. I wanted to stop them—could see that Krieg was far from finished—but they were already committed to their attack.
Krieg moved with surprising speed for someone wearing what had to be hundreds of Kilograms of steel.
Pads all along his armor suddenly opened, revealing dozens of gun barrels hidden within the plating. The sound of simultaneous gunfire filled the air as bullets sprayed in every direction.
'Shit.' I acted on instinct, extending my flintlock forward and focusing my breathing.
From the gun's secondary muzzle, something like a glowing substance expanded outward in a symmetrical circular shape, forming what looked like a circular kaleidoscope, with myriad mystical-looking patterns and small sparks like electricity flowing all around it.
It appeared in an instant and acted like a barrier, intercepting the incoming bullets.
The projectiles stopped on contact with the Hamon barrier, their kinetic energy dissipating harmlessly.
The effect on the spectators was immediate and dramatic.
"Ma-Ma-Magic!" someone shouted.
"It really is magic!" another voice confirmed.
"AMAAAZING!!!" definitely Luffy.
"A magic circle!"
"No, is it a barrier?"
"The Sorcerer!" I heard a patron whisper in awe. "The rumors were true!"
I grimaced at the titles. 'Great. More reputation building.' But at least the cooks were safe behind my barrier, their eyes wide with wonder and gratitude.
Krieg himself looked genuinely surprised for the first time since this confrontation began. "As expected," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of wariness. "The rumors about you were really right."
"But Even With Magical Abilities, You're Still No Match For Me!!"
He began showing off his arsenal with the enthusiasm of a child displaying his favorite toys.
"Wootz steel armor, forged by the greatest smiths!"
"Exoskeleton steel arms that can crush boulders."
"Diamond-studded gauntlets that can punch through ship hulls."
"My Entire Body Is Like a Finely Tuned Weapon! I'm The Fleet Admiral Of 50 Ships and The Commander Of 5000 Men! I've Won Every Single Battle I've Been In! There Is No Other Man More Worthy of the Title 'Don' Than I Am!!"
"With all of this," he declared, flexing his enhanced arms, "I am the strongest man in East Blue. Perhaps in all the seas."
'The strongest man in all the seas just got his ass kicked in the Grand Line and came crawling back here,' I thought, but kept the observation to myself.
Instead, the barrier returned to the pistol, and I was ready to draw the Sword of Gryffindor.
But before I could, a polite but firm voice spoke from behind me.
"If you would, young man, please step aside."
I turned to see an elderly man approaching with slow, measured steps.
He was tall despite his age, with an impossibly long braided mustache that reached to his shoulder and a chef's hat that looked like a pillar atop his head. His right leg had been replaced with a wooden peg, but he moved with the confident gait of someone who'd spent decades with it.
What caught my attention most, however, was the enormous sack he was dragging behind him—easily five times his own size and clearly heavy with food.
'This must be the owner, Zeff, ' I realized, stepping aside as requested.
The old man walked past me with a nod of thanks, positioning himself directly between Krieg and the rest of us. He hefted the massive sack and threw it down between himself and the armored pirate.
"Food for a hundred men," he announced simply. "Take it to your crew quickly."
The reaction from his staff was immediate and explosive.
"Owner Zeff!" several voices shouted in unison. "How could you give food to pirates who want to steal our home?"
"That would only be true," Zeff replied calmly, not taking his eyes off Krieg, "if these losers from the Grand Line still had the will to fight."
'Grand Line.' The words hit the room like a thunderbolt.
The revelation sent ripples of shock through the assembled crowd.
Gin, who'd been on the floor near the entrance, suddenly went pale and began hyperventilating, muttering something about "that place" and "the monsters."
But Krieg himself seemed unaffected by the revelation, his attention focused entirely on the old chef standing before him.
"You are…Red-Leg Zeff," Krieg said.
"So you were alive, Red-Leg Zeff…" Krieg said, genuine surprise in his voice. "I heard you were dead. Lost at sea years ago with your entire crew."
Zeff's expression remained impassive. "So what if I'm alive? It's got nothing to do with you. As you can see. I'm living as a mere cook now."
Krieg's surprise quickly transformed into cruel amusement. "Hahaha...interesting to hear it put that way... but from the way I see it, you're living as a cook, not by choice, but because that's the only thing you can do." he laughed harshly. "With the way you are now, you can't wear your infamous 'red shoes'."
The insult hung in the air like a physical weight. I could see the cooks bristling at the disrespect shown to their mentor, but Zeff himself showed no reaction.
"To speak of 'Red-Leg Zeff', is to speak of the master of kicking who refused to use his hands in battle! The pirate whose destructive kicks could pulverize bedrock and leave a clear imprint even on steel!"
"Your nickname 'Red-Leg' refers to your legs, which would be dyed in the blood of your enemies after a fight. Though I've heard rumors that you died during a shipwreck, it seems that you've managed to survive. But at the cost of one of your precious legs, it seems."
"With one of your legs gone. You shouldn't be able to fight anymore."
At Krieg's last words, everyone looked shocked. But I noticed from the corners of my eyes that Sanji seemed agitated.
"I may not be able to fight anymore, but I can still cook as long as I have these hands. But just what are you getting at exactly?" With a calm expression, Zeff replied.
"Red-Leg Zeff, you're a man who once braved the waters of the devil's hideout, the Grand Line itself! Not only that. You returned without a loss," Krieg continued, his voice dripping with greed,
"You must've kept a log during your time in Grand Line. So, what I'm getting at is…Hand Over That Log to Me!"
'Now that's interesting.'
I felt my own attention focus like a laser.
A ship's log from the Grand Line would be invaluable—not just for the navigational information, but for the intelligence about weather patterns, sea currents, and the countless other hazards that made those waters so deadly.
'It was something that a fantasy-like book, Brag Men, could never compare.'
And I was planning to enter the Grand Line myself eventually. Such information could mean the difference between life and death.
"Cool, you've been to Grand Line, old man?" Luffy asked in wonder, and Zeff affirmed, but his eyes kept looking at Krieg.
"You are certainly correct to assume that I kept a log. And I indeed have it to this day. But I shan't hand that over to you."
"That Log Is the Pride of Me and My Men Who Bravely Ventured Grand Line Together," Zeff said firmly. "It's much too valuable to give to the likes of you!"
The passion in the old man's voice surprised me. Here was someone talking about pride and honor and the memory of fallen friends—concepts that should have sounded hollow and naive. But coming from Zeff, they carried the weight of absolute conviction.
Krieg's expression darkened. "Then I'll take it by force."
"I was only defeated in the Grand Line because I lacked information. I went in blind, unprepared for the true horrors of those waters. But with your logs—with the intelligence gathered from your year of survival—I'll be able to navigate those waters successfully."
He gestured broadly, his armor gleaming as the afternoon sun caught its polished surface. "Combined with my prowess, my grand fleet, and the treasure-hunting skills of Dead-Eyes Hikigaya here, I'll not only conquer the Grand Line—I'll find the One Piece itself and become the greatest pirate who ever lived."
'The One Piece…Huh.' Even after two years in this world, the legendary treasure still seemed like something out of a fairy tale.
When I used the Sparrow Compass to get its direction, the compass disk and the distance meter were going crazy, the sundial was flicking continuously, and the star chart was completely dark.
The compass simply can't get a reading on it, and that same with the island itself. But when I wanted the biggest clue to it, I actually got a reading, which means there is some form of way.
And of course, that clue exists in the Grand Line.
'Which was helpful, but not that much.'
It was almost public knowledge that if it were to exist, it would be somewhere in the Grand Line, and most likely it would be in the last section of it.
'However, even 22 years after the death of The Pirate King, Gold Roger, with thousands upon thousands of pirates, and most likely marines too searching for it, there was no one who had found it.'
Even if it was big, it was still a limited area of the sea. And I am under no illusion that the major powers in this world lack the resources or the capability to search every mile of that sea for it, not to mention the enthusiastic people.
'But they still didn't find it.'
I don't know if it was because of the area, the harsh weather, the sea currents, the island itself, or because the treasure known as the One Piece doesn't exist.
Or if it was all of the above reasons or none of them, or maybe something else entirely.
If it was real—and most likely it is—then the process of finding it is incredibly diabolical.
'And also most likely, it might be my ticket home. Because my life isn't hard enough.'
But before I could continue to roll in my thoughts, a new voice cut through them like a blade.
"Oi! Hold it right there!"
Everyone turned toward the source of the interruption—a young man with a straw hat, standing in front of the crowd as if he hadn't just walked into the middle of a life-or-death confrontation. His voice carried an absolute certainty that was almost insulting in its simplicity.
'Oh, right. We forgot the world's biggest dreamer is here.'
"Hikigaya's going to join my crew, not yours," the straw hat boy continued with the kind of confidence that suggested he'd never encountered a problem he couldn't shout his way through. "And I'm going to be the Pirate King, not you."
The silence that followed was deafening. I felt my eye twitch as I processed what I'd just heard.
Here I was, caught between two different pirates making demands on my future,
'And apparently I didn't get a vote in the matter.'
"Kid, stay quiet!" one of the cooks hissed urgently. "Do you want to get killed?"
But the boy—Luffy—just grinned wider, completely ignoring the warning. "Nope! I am not standing down on this! The Pirate King is going to be me!"
'The sheer audacity is almost impressive,' I thought with a mixture of fascination and disbelief.
I heard two people talking on the side. I turned to see two figures sitting at a table near the windows, both trying to project an air of casual coolness that was undermined by the obvious concern in their voices.
One was a green-haired man with three swords at his side—the infamous Roronoa Zoro, the first mate of the Straw Hats. The other was a long-nosed young man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
'Usopp, so he still joined the Straw Hat crew.'
"You planning to rumble, Luffy?" the green-haired swordsman called out, his voice carrying barely contained excitement rather than caution. "Need a hand?"
But what caught my attention wasn't his words—it was where his eyes were focused.
Not on Luffy or Krieg, but on me. More specifically, on the Sword of Gryffindor at my hip. His gaze was calculating, professional, the look of someone who could recognize quality craftsmanship when he saw it.
'You know I am not the enemy here, right?' The intensity of his stare made me uncomfortable, like being examined by a predator trying to determine if I was prey or competition.
I wasn't a real swordsman, I don't live by the sword or anything like that.
"There's no need," Luffy replied cheerfully, completely missing the warning in his companion's voice. "We've got this handled."
'"We"? Who the fuck is "we"?'
Krieg's laughter was like the sound of breaking glass. "Your crew?" he sneered, looking around at the two people who called to Luffy. "What crew? I count maybe three people. You think you can take on the Grand Line with three people?"
"What're you talking about!? I've got 3 others as well!" Luffy said, completely serious.
'Wait, what?' I felt my jaw drop slightly. 'When exactly did I agree to any of this?'
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, but apparently not quietly enough.
"See?" Luffy said, pointing at me as if my obvious dismay was somehow confirmation of his plan. "He's totally in."
'YOU RUBBER HEAD!! THAT'S NOT WHAT THAT MEANT AT ALL!!' I thought desperately, but before I could voice my objections, Krieg's expression darkened dangerously.
"You little punk," he snarled, his earlier amusement completely gone. "Do you have any idea what you're talking about? My fleet—my grand fleet of fifty ships and five thousand men—was destroyed in the Grand Line in only seven days. Seven days! And you think a crew of less than ten people can survive where I failed?"
The raw fury in his voice made the air itself seem to vibrate. This wasn't just anger—this was the wounded pride of someone who'd had his dreams crushed and his reputation shattered.
"If you're still spouting this nonsense when I return from feeding my crew," Krieg continued, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "I'll end you and everyone standing in my way. That's a promise."
With that, he turned and strode toward the exit, his heavy armor clanking with each step. The sound echoed through the restaurant like a countdown to execution.
'Seven days,' I thought, the number sticking in my mind like a splinter. 'Fifty ships and five thousand men, reduced to nothing in seven days. And this rubber head thinks he can do better with a handful of people?'
The silence that followed Krieg's departure was heavy with uncertainty. The cooks huddled together, whispering among themselves about what to do. Gin looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. Even Luffy seemed to have lost some of his earlier enthusiasm, though he was trying to hide it behind that perpetual grin.
'This is it,' I realized. 'This is my chance.'
While everyone else was distracted by their own concerns, I made my way over to where Zeff was standing. The old chef was watching the entrance where Krieg had disappeared, his expression unreadable.
"Owner Zeff," I said simply, making sure my voice was clear. "I want to buy a copy of your ship's log."
The old man turned to look at me, his weathered face showing surprise at my request. "Is that so?"
"I'm serious," I continued, keeping my voice level and businesslike. "Name a price. I have gold, cash, rare treasures, anything you want. I need that information."
For a long moment, Zeff studied me with those sharp eyes of his. I got the feeling he was seeing far more than I was comfortable revealing.
"And what would a treasure hunter like you want with an old pirate's log?" he asked finally.
'The truth? I'm a displaced teenager from another world who's desperate to find a way home, and I think the Grand Line might hold the key to treasures powerful enough to grant my wish.' But somehow, I didn't think that explanation would go over well.
"I'm planning to enter the Grand Line eventually," I said instead, which was true enough. "Your log could mean the difference between survival and becoming another cautionary tale."
"The Grand Line?" one of them whispered. "You're really planning to go there too?"
"Are you insane?" another cook asked, his voice shaking slightly. "Did you not just hear what happened to Krieg's fleet? Fifty ships destroyed in seven days!"
"The Sorcerer's really going to challenge those waters," a third murmured, his tone filled with something approaching reverence. "Just like what they said."
"But does he really need to go there? He is very successful here, you know?"
Zeff was quiet for a moment, his gaze shifting between me and the young pirate crew that had just declared their intention to conquer the same waters that had destroyed Krieg's massive fleet.
"Even if it was a copy, that log isn't for sale," he said finally.
'Of course it's not.' I felt my jaw tighten with frustration. Nothing was ever simple in this world. But I wasn't about to give up that easily.
"Ten million berries," I said flatly.
The number hung in the air like a physical presence. I heard several sharp intakes of breath from the nearby cooks, and even Zeff's eyebrows rose slightly.
"That's... that's enough to almost buy this entire restaurant," one of the cooks whispered in shock.
"Twice over," I added, my voice audible.
But I wasn't finished. "Twenty million," I continued, my voice growing colder as I saw Zeff's hesitation. "Fifty million berries, cash, right now."
The silence that followed was deafening. A fork clattered to the floor somewhere behind me. One of the cooks made a choking sound like he'd swallowed his own tongue.
"F-fifty million? For-For-For J-Just a copy?" someone stammered. "That's... that's..."
"Impossible," another voice whispered.
"He's bluffing," a cook said weakly, but even he didn't sound convinced.
Even Luffy's crew had stopped their conversation entirely, their heads snapping toward me with expressions of pure shock. Roronoa's eyes had widened considerably, and Usopp looked like he might faint. Even Luffy himself was staring at me with his mouth hanging open.
"Fifty million berries," Sanji repeated slowly, a cigarette falling from his lips. "You're talking about enough money to rebuild this entire restaurant from scratch. Three times over."
I could practically hear the mental calculations going on around me—how many years of operating costs that represented, how many repairs and upgrades, how many lives it could change. The air itself seemed to thicken with the weight of that astronomical sum.
'It is Okay,' I thought grimly. 'It's worth it'
Zeff was quiet for a long moment, his weathered hands clasped behind his back as he studied me with those sharp eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured and careful.
"Fifty million berries," he said slowly. "That's... a considerable sum. More than considerable." He paused, glancing around at his restaurant, his staff, and the life he'd built here. "But if I'm going to hand over something as precious as that log, especially in a circumstance like this one, I'll need more than just money."
'Ugg…I have a bad feeling about this.' I felt my eye twitch. "What kind of 'more'?"
"Protection," Zeff said simply.
…
A\N: Well, That's it for now.
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