Chapter 76: The Man Waiting Fifty Years
After placing his order, the big man moved aside with his two companions, settling into a corner booth. Itachi passed him on the way to the counter.
They glanced at each other simultaneously.
Is it my imagination? Itachi's Sharingan remained inactive, but his instincts prickled. That man isn't ordinary.
Law pulled him forward. "Plenty of strong pirates here. Nothing unusual."
Freys had already launched into his order.
"Purple rice seaweed fried rice with snail meat! Blink! What about you brothers?"
Law scanned the menu. "Same."
Itachi pointed at an item. "The glutinous rice three-color meatballs?"
Uncle Fried Rice beamed. "Excellent choice, young brother!"
"One order."
"Total: 0.5 Rand."
Freys winced beneath his mask. Half a Rand—six or seven catties of gold! But in Rakesh Callender, this was practically charity.
As their food was prepared, Law nudged Freys.
Freys cleared his throat. "Say, Uncle! What's the story with the Root Fruit?"
Half the patrons turned to look. Even with masks on, their amusement was obvious.
"First-timer, huh?"
"People still ask about THAT fruit? Pfft!"
But Uncle Fried Rice's usual hearty demeanor cooled.
He set down his ladle.
"Why are you asking about that fruit?"
"Oh! Uncle, we saw the trading conference posters—" Law smoothly took over the conversation. "The Root Fruit's been on the list for years. We're just curious. Is the price too high? Or is there something else?"
Uncle Fried Rice exhaled slowly.
"It's not just years. That fruit has been on Rakesh Callender's trading list since this town was founded."
He looked at them with old, tired eyes.
"It hasn't sold in fifty years."
All three stared.
"What's the reason?" Itachi asked.
Uncle Fried Rice pointed through the shop's entrance. Down the street, at the very end, rose the auction house—a grand structure with sweeping stone stairs.
At the base of those stairs, an old man leaned against the railing.
His clothes were rags. His hair and beard were wild, unkempt, gray-white with age. Though standing, he barely reached the height of a ten-year-old child—his spine bent, his legs twisted, a shrunken, broken figure.
"The so-called seller of the Root Fruit," Uncle Fried Rice said quietly. "It's him."
At the Same Time — Morel Black Tower, Top Floor
A curvy secretary pushed open the office door.
In the darkness behind the massive desk, an old man sat in a high-backed chair. Fire scars covered half his face. One hand was a prosthetic iron hook, gleaming dully. His eyes, when they opened, were like animal pupils.
"Boss. He's here."
The old man's voice was ancient, rasping.
"Let him in."
The secretary stepped aside.
A figure in a dark green cloak entered. Beneath the hood, a series of red square tattoos marked his left cheek.
Monkey D. Dragon.
"Long time no see, old man."
The scarred man rose—his ruined face belying the massive frame beneath his suit.
"Long time indeed. Your territory's so close to me now, and you can't visit an old friend? How hurtful."
Dragon smiled faintly. "Who would have thought that next to the Revolutionary Army, the previous generation's Navy's most dangerous operative would be hiding?"
"Don't speak of that. Ancient history." The old man laughed, the scars twisting grotesquely. "Even old Kong is retiring soon. This era belongs to the young devils."
He gestured with his hook.
"Now the one stirring the waves is you, Dragon. The World's Worst Criminal."
They regarded each other for a long moment.
Then Dragon spoke again. "Where is our old friend? Still the same?"
The old man's sigh seemed to come from a hundred years ago.
He pressed a switch. The office walls transformed—turning into transparent mirrors overlooking all of Rakesh Callender.
He pointed. At the auction house. At the small, broken figure at its base.
"That man. Still waiting."
Dragon's eyes followed the gesture.
"I came to him ten years ago. I failed his test."
"He's waited too long." The old man's voice was heavy. "In his prime, he dragged his broken body to this island. He built this kingdom with me."
A trace of genuine sadness crossed Dragon's face. "He's too stubborn. Who would recognize him now as the man who once rivaled Rocks himself for the title of most vicious pirate?"
The old man killed the mirror. The walls returned to black stone.
Dragon moved to business.
"I came for two matters."
The old man sat forward, hook resting under his chin, smiling grimly.
"When you start like that, you're asking for help."
Dragon smiled.
"First—the Reverie approaches. The kings of all World Government nations will gather at Mariejois."
His eyes were cold steel.
"This is an opportunity."
The old man considered, then nodded slowly.
"You needn't speak the rest. Rakesh Callender will provide maximum weapons support."
Dragon bowed slightly.
"Second—"
His voice grew sharper.
"Our intelligence has detected an Emperor's fleet. From the New World. Heading toward Rakesh Callender."
(End of Chapter)
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