The Hunter of Pirates

The tavern buzzed with noise and chatter, nearly every seat occupied, including those along the semi-circular bar. The thriving business was evident at a glance.

After a brief survey, only a few inconspicuous seats near the corners remained vacant.

Mobin sat at one such table, with a small round table before him, holding a glass of rum and a plate of snacks recently delivered by a server.

He hadn't touched the food or drink, focusing instead on the lively conversations around him.

"Did you hear about the commotion at last night's auction?"

"What, you don't know?"

"I drank too much last night. If I hadn't overheard people talking about it on my way here, I'd have missed it entirely. So, what happened?"

"Word is, a fight broke out between some big-name gangs over a Devil Fruit. I mean, who wouldn't want one of those?"

"Oh? Did someone manage to snatch it?"

"Nope. The troublemakers were all killed by a gang, and the Devil Fruit ended up being eaten by one of the gang's members—."

"Tch. How much did they pay for it?"

"Rumor says it was in the billions. No idea if that's true, though."

"Pfft—"

The sound of someone sharply inhaling through their teeth.

"That much? If I had billions, I'd travel anywhere in the world I pleased!"

"Idiot. If you had that much money, I'd be the first to rob you."

"What did you say?"

Bang!

A wooden mug slammed against the table.

Almost immediately, fists began to fly, accompanied by the dull sounds of punches landing on faces and bodies.

Exchanging blows at the drop of a hat—a peculiar kind of masculine camaraderie.

Mobin withdrew his gaze, his thoughts churning.

"Becky? He's in Mad Hatter Town too? But Sunny's journal didn't have any intel on him. Could he have come here specifically for the Devil Fruit?"

"So, this is when he ate the Devil Fruit."

His mind quickly summoned up information about Becky and the abilities of his Devil Fruit.

Listening to the conversations around him, mostly centered on the Devil Fruit incident and Becky's reputation, Mobin felt little inclination to deal with the man for now.

It was hard to fathom how someone with Becky's status and influence would eventually choose to venture out to sea.

Everyone has their ambitions, he supposed.

"Did that Fishman slave manage to escape in the end?"

At a nearby table, a group of pirates discussed the fate of a Fishman slave.

Mobin subtly directed his attention to the speakers.

"Nope. Died in an alley. They say it was a mortician who killed him."

"A mortician? What, they've started taking Fishman corpses as clients now?"

"No idea. But when the auction house people found the Fishman's body, it was missing a few parts."

"You mean to say…?"

"Hey, it's just gossip. Don't overthink it. For all you know, the Fishman slave could've been killed by a prostitute. Would you believe that?"

"Haha, enough talk, let's drink."

Listening to this conversation, Morin's brows furrowed slightly as he sighed inwardly.

It wasn't surprising that someone had discovered the Fishman slave's death.

After all, whether in the streets or near the alleyways, there had been no shortage of witnesses.

What annoyed him was that, after killing the Fishman, he had been so engrossed in the joy of his reward that he hadn't thought to remove a few key "parts" from the body to align with his mortician disguise.

Next time, he'd be more cautious.

Making a mental note of this lesson, Mobin absentmindedly picked up his glass and took a sip.

He reminded himself that he was now posing as a tavern patron—sitting for too long without drinking would seem suspicious.

What Mobin didn't know was that the auction house had followed some clues and tracked down Arthur, who wore a mask similar to his.

If not for Arthur's alibi of being at the auction itself, he might have been summoned for a "chat."

Even so, Arthur had become aware of someone impersonating him to commit unsavory deeds.

Setting down his glass, Mobin discreetly observed the other patrons.

With his limited access to information, this method was his best option to gather intel.

Every time the tavern door creaked open, he would instinctively glance over.

Creak—

The old wooden door swung open.

Mobin looked up, only to see Ratsnout enter. He quickly averted his gaze.

"That lunatic from last night who seemed desperate for a friend?"

Looking down at his untouched food and drink, Mobin was surprised.

Last night, he had clearly shot Ratsnout, but the man now looked completely unscathed—and was even dressed flamboyantly.

"So this is the recovery power of a Zoan-type fruit…"

A faint spark of excitement ignited in Morin's heart.

Last night, he had fled due to the uncertainty of his chances.

But now, after reaping the rewards from killing the Fishman Sam, his current strength and thorough preparations gave him at least a 50% chance.

As he calculated his odds, Ratsnout's gaze swept across the tavern before locking onto Morin, who sat in a corner.

Compared to the boisterous, bare-armed men nearby, Morin's youthful and almost naive appearance stood out, even in a corner.

"Found you. And… fate is on my side."

Ratsnout began to approach Mobin nonchalantly.

In a tavern with few empty seats, choosing to sit at Morin's table—a two-seater—seemed natural and unassuming.

Had there been more spacious options available, squeezing into Morin's table might have raised suspicion—or worse, made people think he had other intentions.

"He's coming this way?"

Noticing Ratsnout's movements, Mobin instinctively glanced at the empty seat across from him, feeling a twinge of annoyance.

Last night, it had been a similar situation.

The difference was that Lafayette's reputation and aura had been strong enough to command the attention of most pirates in the tavern.

Now, this Zoan user, exuding a cold and sleazy vibe, wasn't nearly as conspicuous.

"Good thing I wore a mask and lowered my voice last night. Still, I'm never coming to a packed tavern again."

Mobin silently vowed.

Last night, he had deliberately worn a bulky outfit to obscure his build.

As a result, he felt confident that Ratsnout wouldn't recognize him.

Footsteps drew closer.

Mobin looked up as Ratsnout approached and casually took the seat across from him.

Seeing no particular reaction from Ratsnout, Mobin became more certain that his identity was still safe.

"Hey there, kid. You're quite the looker."

Ratsnout's voice carried a note of exaggerated admiration as he settled into his seat, his gaze almost theatrically transfixed on Morin.

The compliment was clearly meant to break the ice and pave the way for further interaction.

Mobin offered a polite smile but didn't respond.

This guy… really does seem desperate for a friend.

Ratsnout took the lack of rejection as a good sign. He gestured for a server and then turned back to Morin, donning what he believed was a disarming smile.

Unbeknownst to him, the smile looked more like a facial spasm to others.

"Name's Ratsnout. What's yours?"

"…Usopp."

"Oh, Usopp? What a fantastic name! Truly remarkable!"

Ratsnout clapped his hands in apparent amazement.

"What's so remarkable about it?"

"Uh…"

Ratsnout was momentarily at a loss.

At that moment, the tavern door swung open again.

Ratsnout turned toward the noise, seizing the opportunity to escape the awkwardness.

A tall, curvaceous woman in revealing clothing, her lips painted a vivid red, entered the tavern, holding a white ferret on a leash. Behind her trailed a group of burly men.

"Wow, Usopp, look! A beauty just walked in."

Ratsnout's eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of the woman, his comment a deliberate diversion.

Mobin smirked faintly, letting the matter drop as he followed Ratsnout's gaze to the newcomer.

At the same time, he keenly sensed a shift in the tavern's atmosphere.

Another notorious figure, like Lafayette?

And a woman, no less.

Could it be…

Morin's mind raced as he sifted through the intel in Sunny's journal.

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