Yoruichi Shihōin sat cross-legged on the bar, golden eyes bright with curiosity. Her high ponytail swung lazily behind her; her skin, a warm bronze, didn't soften her aura so much as sharpen it—handsome more than pretty, all poise and velocity.
She was, however… very much not wearing clothes.
"The Universal Tavern, huh? Interesting."
She swept the room with her gaze, measuring, weighing.
What kind of world is this?
It looks… fragile. An Adjuchas-class Menos could probably wipe out most of its 'powerhouses' in a blink.
Her voice slid out low and husky—tinged with teeth.
"Hold it. That little bastard said he'd spay me. And breed me. I should kill him."
Who says that to a lady? Did he think Yoruichi Shihōin had no shame?
She narrowed her eyes, thinking back to a moment earlier.
"Also… that sudden mutation in the tavern—what was it? I let my spiritual pressure trickle out and felt a power I couldn't push through."
"And if we're not from the same world… how did that kid call me by name?"
A string of question marks danced through her head, leaving her uncharacteristically at a loss.
(If Ron had seen her like this, he would've blurted: Dark skin, long legs—top-tier hardware.)
Morning.
The tavern opened early as always.
Ron ate breakfast and skimmed the fresh World Economy News—this time with a black cat draped in his arms.
At first, Yoruichi had refused.
But Ron's cat-petting technique was… masterful. Light pinch, slow curl, stroke and return; top work on the ears, patient work under the chin. One full sequence later, Yoruichi's cheeks were faintly flushed, and she'd curled up against his chest in feline form, tail flicking in spite of herself.
Today's headlines were their usual coin-flip of fact and fantasy:
"Kizaru Blows a Fortune at Midnight, Reloads a Red-Light 'Artist's' Card with Seven Figures!"
"Major Breaking News! Kaido, Whitebeard, and Red-Haired Shanks Set Sail for the Sabaody Archipelago!"
Ron was about to fold the paper when another line hooked his eye:
"Sources Say: World Diva Uta to Hold a Concert Soon on Sabaody!"
Uta?
Red-Hair's daughter. Sing-Sing Fruit user.
Ron's eyes narrowed, amused.
"Now that's a fruit."
Not long from now, she'd drag seventy percent of the world into her Uta World on willpower and melody alone.
The door creaked open.
Rayleigh stepped in, hefting a bulging money pouch and laughing from the belly.
"Luck was good yesterday. Mugged a rich man, then tried my hand at the casino—won on a clean sweep."
His laughter cut off. He stared around at the gleaming wood, the bright crystal lotus chandelier, the freshly expanded bar.
"What in—? What happened here?"
"Overnight remodel," Ron said, airily.
Rayleigh didn't believe a word, but he didn't press. With Ron, secrets came standard; digging them up never mattered as much as the itch to do it. And right now, his itch had a name: Ace.
Ron slid a bottle across the counter.
"How's the battlefield?"
The chaos on Sabaody was the tavern's lifeblood. More chaos meant more monsters walking through his door.
Rayleigh clearly misheard his intent. He took a long pull and sighed with a grin.
"Battlefield? I'll say this: digging wells is hard work—but the water's sweet."
Smack. Ron palmed his own face.
"Old man, I meant the Marines."
Rayleigh straightened, scandalized.
"You know nothing. A man should keep three parts greed and three parts lust—so he doesn't drift too far from ordinary folk!"
He deflated a second later.
Ace had vanished again. Even with Shakky's entire information net combing Sabaody, they'd found nothing. In a temper, Rayleigh had settled for robbing a rich fool who happened to be in the wrong place.
The door banged open.
A tall, powerfully built old man strode in, black skin weathered by salt and sun, a dog-head cap perched on his head. A white suit under a Justice coat hung over broad shoulders. Just standing there, he radiated a strange sort of safety.
…It would've been even better if he weren't crunching senbei between every sentence.
"Rayleigh?"
Rayleigh froze. Eyes wide.
"G–Garp… long time no see."
It was a lie to say he didn't want to run.
Twenty-odd years ago, the entire Roger Pirates had been hunted across the world by this man. More than once, they'd nearly been cornered and crushed.
Even after all this time, even in retirement, Rayleigh hadn't forgotten the Fist of the Navy.
Monkey D. Garp, the Hero of the Marines. Currently a Vice Admiral. Legend.
Garp laughed and dropped onto a stool.
"Ahahahaha! It has been a while—twenty years at least!"
Then his voice turned flat as steel.
"How's my grandson Ace?"
Rayleigh's smile died.
"Your grandson? Since when is the captain's boy your grandson?"
His tone went cold, and the murderous pressure spilled out of him like a falling tide. Every time he thought of it—of Garp, of the execution, of the child born under a death sentence—fear burned away. Rage took its place.
"I can explain," Garp coughed, suddenly sheepish.
He didn't get the chance.
Thud!
Rayleigh's boot hit Garp square in the chest, booting him out the door.
Rayleigh flashed after, arm snaking around Garp's neck to wrench him down into the dirt.
"Don't blame me. This hurts me more than it hurts you."
"This one's for the Captain!"
Garp, guilty as charged, had planned to endure it—but Rayleigh's fist-storm left him little choice. His own fist snapped out, burying itself in Rayleigh's midriff.
"Ace was entrusted to me by Roger. If he needed a grandpa, then a grandpa he got," Garp said, picking himself up and—insufferably—digging in his nose.
Rayleigh clutched his belly, eyes blazing.
"Now Whitebeard and Roger are both your sons, is that it? Believe it or not, I'll raise the flag again and team up with Pops to beat you black and blue."
Garp's mouth twitched into a bitter smile.
"Forget it. This is pointless. Let's go back and drink."
"Hmph. Now you're talking."
Rayleigh nodded, turned toward the tavern—
"I'll be your father, too!" Garp crowed behind him.
His burly right arm snapped around Rayleigh's neck again. The left didn't idle; it slammed mercilessly into Rayleigh's lower back in a cheap kidney-shot combo.
Rayleigh thrashed free and roared:
"Old man! Have you no martial ethics?!"
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
patreon.com/ZoroTL442