Chapter 77: The First Step of the Test—Passed
Uncle Fried Rice spoke slowly, the words falling like stones into still water.
He was fifty-seven years old now. At seven, he'd been exiled to this island with his parents—both listed as criminals by the World Government. Back then, the island had been nothing but barren rock. A dumping ground for the unpardonable. Those too dangerous to kill, too powerful to hold.
But the prisoners survived. The strong ones, the stubborn ones, the ones who refused to die. They carved shelters from stone. They found water. They built. And eventually, they transformed a wasteland into something new—an underground kingdom for the exiled, the forgotten, the damned.
That kingdom grew. It gained power, influence, a reputation. It became Rakesh Callender.
And one of those original prisoners—one of the architects of this place—was the crooked old man beneath the auction stairs.
"I never learned his name," Uncle Fried Rice admitted. "When I was a boy, he called himself 'the Redeemer.' Said he survived only to atone for the horrors of his past."
He gestured toward the distant figure.
"He became like that after the island was built. After that, he had only one question for everyone he met:"
'Do you want the Root Fruit? I have the Root Fruit. If you want it, you must first pass my test.'
From the original prisoners who'd built this kingdom, to every pirate who'd landed here since—he asked the same words. Over and over. For decades.
Sometimes someone would sit before him and ask what the test was. He would place his hand on them. A few minutes. Then shake his head.
'Unfortunately, you failed.'
The islanders grew tired of him. His contributions to building Rakesh Callender faded from memory. He became a joke. A punchline.
New arrivals would seek him out, curious. They would sit before him, receive his touch, hear the word failed—and then beat him. Sometimes viciously. Sometimes casually.
He never fought back. Never defended himself. He called it atonement.
Years passed. The trading conference, perhaps as a joke, added his Root Fruit to the auction list. Every year, it appeared. Every year, it made the pirates laugh—and reminded them that they knew Rakesh Callender, that they were not outsiders.
"That's the story," Uncle Fried Rice finished. "The source of the fruit."
No one smiled. No one laughed.
The three sat in silence, the weight of fifty years pressing down on them.
Law finally spoke, his voice rough. "I assumed the Root Fruit was simply here. Something we could acquire at auction. I didn't realize..."
He looked at the crooked old man.
"Master Itachi. This was my failure of intelligence. Under these circumstances, obtaining that fruit may be impossible."
Uncle Fried Rice smiled sadly. "It is impossible. Whether you beg him, steal from him, beat him, threaten him, search his belongings—you cannot get it. There is only one way to have that fruit."
"Pass his test."
Itachi looked at the old man.
At that moment, a group of pirates approached him.
The crooked old man raised his eyelids with visible effort. His skin had collapsed into his eye sockets, leaving only black pits from which dark eyes peered out.
"Do you want the Root Fruit? I have the Root Fruit. If you want it, you must first pass my test."
"Ha! They told me there was some crazy old man here. Wasn't sure I believed them."
A tall, thin pirate squatted down, grinning behind his mask.
"Alright, old man. I want it. What's the test?"
"Please wait."
The old man extended a dirty hand—crusted with soil, nails broken—and placed it on the pirate's shoulder. The pirate recoiled slightly at the filth.
A moment passed.
The old man shook his head.
"Unfortunately, you failed."
The pirate's face twisted. "You're mocking me, you old bastard?!"
He kicked the old man in the chest. The crooked body flew, hit the ground, slid. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
The other pirates laughed.
"Just what they said. A lying old fraud."
Uncle Fried Rice grabbed a kitchen knife, Haki coating the blade. "Those BASTARDS. AGAIN—"
He stopped.
Itachi, Law, and Freys were gone.
Freys's ultra-long vision had tracked the rocks beside the fallen old man. Law's Room expanded.
"ROOM—SHAMBLES."
Itachi appeared before the descending fist. He caught it.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Itachi's eyes met the pirate's—
One by one, they fell. Only the center pirate—a fifty-million bounty—remained standing. And then he screamed. Tsukuyomi's seventy-two hours compressed into an instant. He collapsed, incontinent, twitching.
The armored troops arrived. Uncle Fried Rice hurried forward, explaining. The troops nodded, dragging the unconscious pirates away.
"You three..." Uncle Fried Rice bowed deeply. "Thank you. Thank you."
Law waved it off. Then his voice dropped.
"Master Itachi. I'm sorry about this. If this is the situation—we likely cannot obtain the fruit."
The auction bell rang. One hour until trading began.
Itachi looked at the crooked old man, still murmuring his eternal words: "Do you want the Root Fruit? I have the Root Fruit. If you want it, you must first pass my test."
"Perhaps I'll try," Itachi said.
Law stared. Then nodded.
"We've come this far."
Uncle Fried Rice's expression tightened with worry. "If you become angry when he fails you—"
"We're not like that." Law's voice was firm. "We don't solve problems with casual violence."
Freys nodded vigorously. "Blink. These brothers are kind. Blink."
Uncle Fried Rice studied them. Then his shoulders relaxed.
"I believe you."
Itachi knelt before the old man.
"You said there is a test. I wish to try."
"You wish to try... good."
The old man's filthy hand rose. It touched Itachi's shoulder.
Uncle Fried Rice sighed. "It's useless. After all these years—no one passes. I don't even know how he tests, but no one passes."
Law's guilt weighed on him. If my intelligence had been complete, we wouldn't have—
The old man's black eyes rose.
On his ruined, wrinkled face—a smile.
"Congratulations. You have passed the first step of my test."
Silence.
Uncle Fried Rice's jaw dropped.
Law's eyes widened.
Freys's blinks stopped.
"Old man—" Uncle Fried Rice's voice cracked. "Are you saying—this young man PASSED?!"
In all his years, he had never heard those words.
"Brother Itachi..." Freys covered his mouth.
Itachi himself had no time to react. The old man waved him closer.
"Come. It is clean here."
Itachi moved to follow. Law grabbed his arm.
"I should accompany you—"
The old man's voice cut through.
"No one follows."
His smile remained, but his eyes were ancient stone.
"I will not permit anyone to disturb my time with this young man."
Itachi and Law exchanged glances. A silent conversation. Then—
Trust.
Itachi nodded.
Law exhaled. "The auction starts soon. Freys and I will handle the ship's trading. Find us when you're done."
Itachi followed the crooked old man into the shadows behind the auction house.
Behind him, the bells of Rakesh Callender tolled the hour.
(End of Chapter)
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