Gran Tesoro was every bit as magnificent and colossal as the stories said, yet seeing it with their own eyes still left them stunned. This wasn't a ship at all—it was a city gliding across the sea. The hull rose like a skyscraper stacked in dozens of tiers, lights washing its gilded sides in dazzling brilliance, even a pleasure-park Ferris wheel glittering atop it.
No wonder Robin had come to disturb him with the report.
Hands on the helm, Redfield couldn't help himself. "Captain, want to go in and take a look?"
Even this old fox was itching to set foot on it. "We're going in," Creed said.
He usually focused on training while Redfield and Robin handled navigation, so this time he intended to reward them properly.
"Great!" Robin's smile blossomed; Redfield's lips also curved with rare delight as he spun the wheel, searching for the entry.
The entrance sat beneath the prow—a cavernous channel like a sea beast yawning wide. The moment they slipped inside, fine powder drifted from above.
"Gold dust?" Redfield caught a pinch and instantly understood.
"Look, even the water below is golden!" Robin cried, pointing down.
"Don't let that dust get into your body," Creed warned them with a voice-transmission. "Gran Tesoro's master, Gild Tesoro, is a Devil Fruit user. His Goru Goru no Mi (Gold-Gold Fruit) lets him control any metal."
That made both Redfield and Robin stiffen.
Truth be told, Creed had little fondness for Tesoro, a man who believed gold could rule all.
They weren't the only ship in the channel. Vessels crowded in—some pirates fresh from plunder, yelling about winning it all back at the tables.
Soon they reached the harbor—grand enough to make Robin and Redfield gasp again. Pirates, Marines, even World Government craft were moored all around, but tourists drawn by the legend far outnumbered them all. The place throbbed with life.
"Honored guests, I'm Baccarat, and I'll be your hostess." A tall beauty in a cheongsam approached—bronzed skin, red hair—introducing herself with elegant poise.
Creed gave her a longer look. He hadn't expected her to greet him personally. Baccarat—wielder of the Raki Raki no Mi (Luck-Luck Fruit). Through skin contact she could steal luck, twist a person's fortune, and then wield that stolen luck as her own.
Under her guidance, the three of them boarded a turtle sleigh pulled by eight muscle-bound tortoises and began their little vacation.
"This is the general district—casino, shopping center, amusement arcade, aquarium… golf course, and more," she said.
Robin and Redfield could only sigh again. Truly the world's largest, most extravagant city of pleasure.
They rode through the public commercial zone where most buildings were cast in gold, their splendor almost blinding—Gran Tesoro indeed.
Before long, the sleigh halted at the ship's most exclusive venue: the world's only eight-star hotel—the "King of Gold."
Through the opulent front doors, a roar of sound washed over them. A boundless playground unfolded—baccarat, roulette, slot machines; rings for viewing and betting on boxing; luxury boutiques; even a city-loop racetrack.
"For your convenience, we offer loans at very low interest—" Baccarat began.
"No need. We have belly. Exchange this one hundred million belly into chips," Creed said, flipping open a briefcase and passing it to her.
"One hundred million belly? Certainly—please wait a moment."
She'd seen all kinds of high rollers; a hundred million was impressive but hardly shocking. When she returned with the chips, Creed didn't take them. He nodded toward Redfield and Robin instead. "Fifty million each. Spend however you like. You've got half a day of free time."
"Captain! Really?" Robin's eyes sparkled. Gambling wasn't her thing, but the luxury boutiques most definitely were.
"Hah! Then I won't stand on ceremony. I'm going to unwind properly," Redfield said, scooping up his stack.
"He hands out fifty million per crew member without blinking… This Creed is that wealthy? That's… troublesome," Baccarat thought, still smiling flawlessly. "Mr. Creed, shall we rest first or have a look around?"
"Let's stroll. And… I'm interested in roulette."
He'd planned to keep things low-key, but the moment he spotted a certain someone, he changed his mind.
They stopped at a roulette table. A crowd clustered there, eyes locked on the spinning wheel. Among them, a white-silver, shoulder-length-haired old man with rimless glasses and a straight scar over his right eye muttered tensely, "Eight… eight…"
Creed recognized him at once—wasn't that Rayleigh, the "Dark King" he'd met on Skypiea? As expected of the man—besides drink, he had a gambler's itch. From the look of him, he'd lost plenty already.
The ball clicked down in slot 12 (right next to 8), and Rayleigh clutched his head. "No!"
Unlucky, indeed. After a short early streak, he'd gone on to lose nineteen spins in a row without a single win. He'd bled himself dry and even borrowed fifty million belly from the casino. If he lost this one, he wouldn't have a single chip left.
No wonder despair darkened his face.
"Hey, old man, if you're bust, move it—give me the seat," someone said, patting Rayleigh's shoulder.
"Beat it! Who told you to touch me? You slapped all my luck away—that's why I've lost nineteen in a row!" Rayleigh barked.
Nineteen straight losses? Creed slid a glance at Baccarat. With luck that rotten, the Raki Raki no Mi (Luck-Luck Fruit) was surely at work.
"Then bet already!"
"Yeah, if you've got no money, don't hog the seat. What are you doing, laying eggs?"
"Old fossil, if you're that unwilling, why don't you just rob the place!" the onlookers jeered. Rayleigh, thick-skinned as they came, didn't budge. He'd slogged for days coating ships to set aside this stake and came to Gran Tesoro dreaming of turning a bike into a luxury car—only to lose it all. He'd even borrowed fifty million belly. Worst of all, part of that money was Shakky's merchandise funds. If she found out, she'd twist his ear clean off.
"Sir, if you won't wager, please make room for guests who wish to bet. Thank you," the croupier finally said.
Rayleigh spotted Baccarat then, flailing like a drowning man clutching at straw. "Lovely Miss Baccarat—over here!" he waved.
(End of Chapter)
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