"Understood, sir. I'll follow your instructions to the letter."
Kristen was almost sHaking with excitement.
One moment he'd been quietly managing his auction house, terrified every day that some noble or pirate would take a fancy to his place.
The next, a butler claiming to serve a Celestial Dragon had walked through his door and said: "My master has taken a liking to your auction house."
Kristen hadn't hesitated for even half a second.
This was Sabaody Archipelago—where nobles swarmed thicker than flies. You could throw a shoe out the window and practically hit a World Noble's cousin.
He had no backing, just grit and careful survival. It was dumb luck he'd lasted this long. Now a Celestial Dragon wanted to use his auction house?
That was called ascending to heaven in a single step.
Seeing that the quiet young man sitting on the sofa didn't answer, Kristen thought maybe he hadn't heard him. He started to step closer.
Before he could move, a blade tip burst out through his chest with a wet shhk.
The one holding the blade… was his own deputy—Little Mustache.
"Y–you… why?!" Kristen gurgled, eyes bulging.
Little Mustache bared his teeth in a creepy grin.
"Because, boss… the gentleman said he prefers dealing with me. You can go to hell in peace."
Kristen's eyes went flat. He crumpled to the floor.
Stella didn't scream. After everything she'd been through, this barely made her pulse jump. More importantly: Jin was standing right there.
With him next to her, even a murder in front of her felt… distant.
The Celestial Dragon's elderly butler barely blinked. To him, Kristen was just another commoner. Dead or alive, it made no difference—what mattered was that this Marine had once saved his master's life. The instructions had been clear: "Do as he says."
Little Mustache suddenly dropped to his knees in front of Jin with a heavy thud.
"From today on, sir, I'm your dog," he said, lowering his head all the way to the floor. "Whoever you point at, I'll bite."
Jin took a drag of his cigar, looking down at him.
"You're smart. Know why I picked you?"
Little Mustache's eyes flickered. He reached into his clothes and took out a small piece of paper—a Life Card—and held it up with both hands.
Jin chuckled.
Yep. Smart dog.
"Do as I said," Jin continued. "Clean out the dirty stock, reorganize everything from the ground up. Don't get greedy and don't get cute."
"Yes, sir! I will not disappoint you!" Little Mustache trembled, practically glowing with relief. He'd bet his life on this, and it paid off. As long as he never betrayed this man, he might really live to old age.
Jin patted him on the shoulder.
"Half of the auction's capital goes to Mjosgard as his cut. The rest is your startup fund. As long as you don't turn on me… you'll die an old man in your own bed. That's already more than most in this world get."
"Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!" Little Mustache bowed so hard his forehead hit the floor.
Jin stood and turned to the old butler.
"Then I'll leave the formalities to you. Take the money back to Lord Mjosgard as a meeting gift."
"Of course, Vice Admiral Jin," the butler said with a respectful bow. "My master will be very pleased."
Jin walked out of the auction house with Stella at his side.
Outside, he spread his Observation Haki, searching the archipelago.
"Still nearby, huh…" He smirked. "Stella, I'll show you something fun."
Before she could ask, he simply stooped, wrapped an arm around her waist, and leapt.
Wings of wind and scale burst from his back, carrying them into the sky.
"Ah—!" Stella cried softly, instinctively looping her arms around his neck. Her face burned scarlet as she buried herself against his solid chest.
Jin shaped the air around them into a smooth barrier, cutting off the rushing wind. Inside the bubble it was strangely calm and warm.
Down below, a lavish carriage rolled slowly along the street.
Inside, a very fat woman with freckles packed across her face was sipping afternoon tea. She flipped through the day's purchase list with a satisfied hum.
"Mm. Not bad. Two young male slaves, and this sturdy old man… He looks strong. He'll make a nice dessert."
She dabbed her lips and pointed at the old slave in chains.
"Bring that one up. I'm ready for my sweets."
"Yes, ma'am!" a guard barked, hurrying to the side of the carriage to drag the old man up.
Rayleigh had felt something was off ever since he'd stood on that auction stage.
At first, with his Observation Haki, he'd sensed several decent fighters. Nothing he needed to worry about as long as he kept his head down.
But then he'd felt another presence—one that felt like a sleeping dragon, coiled and dangerous. A life force overflowing with power.
His first thought was Marine. For a second, he'd almost bolted then and there, slipping into Sabaody's back alleys like smoke.
But nothing happened. He was sold off like any other slave and marched away.
On the road he had quietly probed with his Haki: no ambush, no rear guard, no Marine squads closing in.
"Maybe I'm getting paranoid in my old age," he muttered to himself.
"Hey, old man!" the guard yanked his chain. "Lady Wants-a-Snack is calling. Move it!"
Rayleigh blinked out of his thoughts and put on a genial smile.
"Haha, yes, yes, coming."
They shoved him toward the carriage door. The guards outside gave him looks of heavy sympathy.
"Lucky bastard," one of them smirked. "Lady Wess wants you for 'dessert'."
Rayleigh ducked inside—
—and the moment he stepped into the carriage, his entire face froze.
All the brutal battles with Shiki in the sky, all the desperate fights across the Grand Line—none of them had prepared his eyes or stomach for what he saw.
Lady Wess had changed into a sheer, silk one-piece that was about as transparent as it got. Her entire body wobbled with every breath—rolls stacked on rolls. Her face, covered in dense freckles, twisted into what she probably thought was a seductive smile.
When she saw Rayleigh staring, she mistook his visceral horror for stunned infatuation.
She fluttered her lashes and winked.
"Come here, my little dessert."
Rayleigh's guts lurched.
"Uuughhh—"
He'd seen a lot in his life, but this… this was too much.
The "lady" pouted.
"What's that face for? Don't be shy, old man, come on—"
Rayleigh's expression went flat.
"Sorry, ma'am," he sighed. "This old man really doesn't have that kind of hobby."
He lifted his head. For just a heartbeat, the air thickened.
His eyes sharpened.
Boom.
A wave of Conqueror's Haki exploded outward.
Lady Wess went cross-eyed and collapsed, limbs twitching. Outside, the guards and the two other slaves also dropped like sacks of flour.
Inside the carriage returned to silence.
Rayleigh straightened, scratched his head, then shrugged.
"Well. Can't be helped."
He casually rifled through the unconscious woman's jewelry and purse, then hopped back out of the carriage, jingling with stolen trinkets.
"Not bad, not bad," he chuckled. "This'll keep me fed in the casinos for a while."
He stepped down onto the street—
—and froze.
Two figures stood ahead of him. One was a tall young man, nearly two and a half meters, with a sword on his back and a casual, dangerous aura that made the air itself feel sharp. The woman at his side was pretty, but her strength barely registered.
Rayleigh's eyes narrowed.
He'd seen that man's face in the papers.
"Oi, oi," he said with a lopsided smile. "So it was you watching me back there. I was wondering why that Haki felt so nasty."
"The famous 'White Ghost' of the Marines, huh? You here to arrest an old retiree like me?"
Jin didn't answer at first. He just looked at Rayleigh with that half-amused, half-annoyed expression that made people want to punch him.
Rayleigh spread his Observation again, sweeping the area. No Marines, no ambush, nothing but these two.
He's alone?
No… that's exactly why it's annoying.
Before he could decide how to play it, Jin finally spoke.
"So," Jin said lazily, "how was the experience, old man? That 'beauty' any good?"
Stella couldn't help it—she snorted, then clapped both hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shook.
Rayleigh's face went dark.
This little bastard definitely saw everything.
"Draw your sword, Marine," Rayleigh said flatly. "I'll hold back a bit for your rank, but I'm not letting you walk away with that story in your head."
Jin waved a hand.
"Relax. You're already retired and half a foot in the grave. I'm not here to drag you in."
He tilted his head.
"If I don't show up, though—what happens when a super famous old man robs a carriage in the middle of my jurisdiction? The paperwork alone will kill me."
Rayleigh stared at him.
"…Then what are you here for?"
Jin's smile faded. His golden pupils glowed faintly.
"Rayleigh," he said quietly, "are you aware… that Roger has a child?"
Rayleigh went rigid.
"What?"
The name that leapt to his tongue was instinctive.
"Rouge…?"
He'd known about the pregnancy, about the death. About the hunt that had followed. But not…
Jin watched the shifting emotions on his face and answered his own question.
So he knows some of it, but not the whole story. Figures.
"Relax," Jin said. "The kid's alive. And he's safe—for now."
Rayleigh's shoulders eased, just a little.
"However," Jin went on, "every other pregnant woman on that island died. All of them. Just to be certain they didn't miss Roger's child."
Stella's eyes went wide. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Rayleigh's fists clenched until the veins popped.
He knew the World Government. He'd seen their darkness up close. But somehow, hearing it Ryder out so casually still punched straight through his composure.
"What do you want," he rasped. "To trade that information?"
Jin shrugged.
"Not trade. Call it… a purchase. I want a precise chart to a certain island in the New World. Sleepgull Island. You know where it is, don't you?"
Rayleigh thought for a long moment, then nodded once.
"I can get you that. But you'd better not be lying about the boy."
Jin's grin returned, sharp and irritating.
"Everyone knows I'm famous for my honesty."
He opened his wings. Wind coiled beneath his feet like living things, lifting both him and Stella into the air.
"Anyway, I'll come by for the map in a few days. Don't let the lady in the carriage wake up and come looking for her 'dessert'."
He shot up, vanished into the clouds.
Rayleigh stared after him, then spat to the side.
"Doesn't matter how old you are," he muttered. "Brats like that are still brats."
But as he turned away, his expression had shifted.
Somewhere out there was the son of the Pirate King.
And now, Rayleigh had a reason to move again.
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