"Quick, take the shortcut back. Warn the townsfolk. Tell them not to provoke those pirates, no matter what."
The man with the gun spoke urgently to the short, lean figure beside him. That one was the fastest runner among them.
"No problem." The words had barely left his mouth before he shot off in a direction completely different from the one Shirakawa's group had taken.
"Why would someone like that come here?"
No one answered his question.
Ever since they learned of Shirakawa's identity, the mood among the group had turned stifling and grim. They couldn't wrap their heads around it. Why would a man like that sail all the way to their little island? Why wasn't he off in the New World? What was he doing puttering around the first half of the Grand Line?
"Pirates really are an unwelcome bunch, huh."
Yurisutin muttered, irritation clear in his voice. It was the first time he'd felt this kind of treatment firsthand. Back when he was a bounty hunter, his name only carried weight among pirates. To regular folks, he was just another nobody, an ordinary face in the crowd.
"You get used to it." Shirakawa offered the consolation, though truth be told, he hadn't faced this kind of reception all that often himself.
"Captain, look! The town's just up ahead."
Riddel suddenly pointed forward, his voice brimming with excitement as he turned to Shirakawa.
"Finally spotted the town, huh?"
For some reason, just hearing those words lifted Shirakawa's spirits considerably. Even his body felt a shade lighter. He knew it was just his imagination, of course.
He could sense the shift in Jora and Yurisutin's moods too, an unmistakable brightening.
"Once we're inside the town, let's split up and do our own thing. A whole group of us moving together just feels... inconvenient."
Shirakawa suggested.
"Sounds good." His thoughts echoed those of the other three perfectly. They'd spent more than enough time cooped up on the ship together. On land, they needed space. Otherwise, staring at the same faces for too long just got tiresome.
The town, it had to be said, was surprisingly lively. Maybe it was because the place had its own local militia. From the very moment Shirakawa and his crew stepped through the gates, the militia had their eyes glued to them.
"Look over there. That guy's the big shot pirate with a bounty over four hundred million, right?"
One militia member muttered to the person next to him.
"No doubt about it. Two of the three beside him have bounties over a hundred million each. The third one's probably a new recruit, hasn't made a name for himself yet."
"Never thought the day would come when we'd have three pirates with hundred-million-plus bounties on our island at the same time."
"Alright, cut the chatter. Stay on them. We can't let them slip out of our sight."
"Got it."
Trailing behind Shirakawa's group, the militia members couldn't quite settle their nerves, if they were being honest. Their outfit was a volunteer force cobbled together by the island's residents. Hardly anyone among them had any real training.
Their main purpose was to act as a deterrent to any pirates who showed up. A message, basically: Don't start trouble here. We've got teeth, too.
What they didn't know was whether that deterrent actually worked on pirates whose bounties soared past a hundred million. Such heavy hitters rarely ever came to this island. Years could go by without a single sighting.
"Well, look at this treatment." Even after they'd split up, Shirakawa could still feel two pairs of eyes tracking his every move. The kind of special attention usually reserved for dignitaries.
On this island, Shirakawa spotted other pirates. They weren't shy about it. Some wore clothes emblazoned with their crew's jolly roger. Others had pirate tattoos etched right into their skin.
"Maybe we should have a symbol of our own?"
The sight of their getups got Shirakawa thinking for a moment. But he quickly shelved the idea. He couldn't get a real tattoo, only paint one on. And what would happen if he got into a fight and it suddenly started pouring rain? Watching his mark wash off mid-battle would be mortifying. It'd definitely kill his momentum.
Just then, a wave of rowdy noise spilled out from a building on Shirakawa's left. Loud music, raucous laughter, the unmistakable energy of a packed bar.
After so many quiet, uneventful days aboard the ship, a little hustle and bustle sounded more than appealing.
"He actually went into that place."
The two militia members tailing Shirakawa exchanged uneasy looks. The bar he'd just entered was a real den of iniquity, a place where all sorts of lowlifes and troublemakers gathered. Most of the patrons were local thugs who made a sport of defying the militia.
And a fair number of outside pirates, knowing full well the militia wouldn't step foot in there, used it as their own private clubhouse.
The moment Shirakawa stepped inside, it was like entering another world. Dazzling, colored lights flashed overhead. Seductive, pulsing music filled the air. Bunny girls in revealing outfits weaved through the crowd of gamblers and drinkers.
"Welcome, sir! What can I get for you?"
A bunny girl approached, her voice dripping with practiced allure.
"A beer. Just one bottle."
"Right away, sir. Please wait just a moment."
Shirakawa found a booth seat and settled in, his gaze sweeping over the room. Nearly everyone he saw had ink on their skin. Textbook social nuisances, every last one.
The air was thick with drifting smoke, heavy with the smell of tobacco. Not a hint of ventilation anywhere.
"Sir, your drink." Before long, the bunny girl was back, placing a glass of beer in front of him with a coquettish little smile.
"Thanks."
"My pleasure, sir."
Shirakawa had barely taken his first sip when the bar door swung open again. In walked the two militia members who'd been shadowing him. Instantly, every single pair of eyes in the establishment locked onto the pair.
They'd been hesitating outside for a long while, debating whether to come in or not. But in the end, the thought that this man was a walking catastrophe, someone whose presence could decide the fate of their entire island, hardened their resolve. They gritted their teeth, steeled their nerves, and walked right in.
The moment they crossed the threshold, regret hit them like a tidal wave.
Sure, they'd come to places like this to blow off steam before. But never in their militia uniforms. Now, standing out like sore thumbs, they'd essentially walked into the lion's den.
The bar went eerily quiet. Then a man with bleached blond hair rose from his seat, a drink in each hand. He sauntered over toward the two militia men.
"Well, well. If it isn't our local security. How about a drink? Take a load off. Must be exhausting, protecting our fair island day in and day out."
"Sorry. On duty. No drinking."
"Oh, playing by the book with me, huh? Here's the thing. You're drinking this, whether you like it or not. Cut the crap."
"Sorry. On duty. No drinking." The militia man repeated himself word for word.
"You sure you want to embarrass me?" The blond's face darkened, anger flaring as he felt his pride take a hit. This was outright defiance, a blatant refusal to play along. He was losing face in front of all his boys. The men at his table rose to their feet as well, looking ready to teach these two a lesson.
The pirates scattered around the bar watched with eager amusement. Ever since they'd arrived on this island, the militia had kept them on a tight leash. If it weren't for the fact that the locals outnumbered them and they didn't like their odds, they'd have thrown down long ago.
"Sorry. On duty. No drinking."
"Fine. Once, twice I can overlook. But a third time? That's pushing it. You've turned me down three times now. Don't blame me for what happens next."
/-\
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