The Hunter of Pirates

Throughout the day, cannon fire echoed incessantly across Mad Hat Town, only subsiding as dusk approached.

As the sun sank beneath the horizon, the town lit up in a dazzling display of lights.

After dinner, Sol gathered his cash and prepared to attend the auction.

Though he lacked the talent to become a master swordsman, Sol had a deep passion for collecting renowned blades. Tonight, his target was one of the fifty Ryo Wazamono, a finely crafted sword being auctioned.

Before leaving, he turned to Sunny and Mobin, his tone carrying a faint warning.

"You two, if you've got nothing to do tonight, just go to bed early."

"Got it."

"Understood."

Sunny and Mobin nodded obediently.

Satisfied, Sol opened the shop door and stepped out.

After watching Sol leave, Mobin promptly locked and bolted the door.

"Sunny, I'm off to bed."

"Oh? Heading out to sneak around this early?"

"Yep. Anyway, it's not like—wait, what did you just say?"

"I said, Sol just left, and you're already thinking about sneaking out to cause trouble?"

"What are you talking about? The outside world is so dangerous. How could I even think of going out?"

Caught off guard, Mobin forced a sheepish smile, realizing his intentions had been seen through.

Sunny snorted coldly. "You think I don't know what you've been up to these past few days?"

"What have I been up to?"

Feigning ignorance, Mobin blinked innocently and asked in return.

Seeing his act, Sunny didn't bother arguing further but issued a stern warning:

"Tonight's different from usual. You'd better stay in. I really don't want to see Arthur delivering your corpse here tomorrow morning—eyes gouged out, ears and nose sliced off, body hacked into pieces, and your guts missing half a pound."

"Sunny! That's… that's way too graphic!"

Mobin's eye twitched at her vivid and "kind-hearted" warning.

Sunny's expression remained serious. "I'm not joking."

"I can tell."

"Then behave yourself tonight and go to sleep."

"…"

Mobin remained silent.

Sunny, frowning slightly, also fell into silence.

She knew that when Mobin stopped joking, it meant his mind was set, and she couldn't change it.

The air grew awkward.

After a long pause, Sunny suddenly walked to the counter and pulled out a weathered notebook from the drawer.

"Take this."

She tossed the notebook to Mobin.

Mobin caught it, puzzled. "What's this?"

"My intelligence journal from the past few years."

"An intelligence journal?"

Mobin's eyes widened as he quickly flipped through it.

"What the…"

Just a brief glance revealed a wealth of information on bounty-holding pirates, many of them mid- to high-level targets.

This was exactly what he had been lacking.

He'd assumed Sunny's investigations were merely for precautionary measures against their "neighbors."

Now it was clear she had been at this for much longer—and for entirely different reasons.

"Sunny… is this some sort of hobby for you?"

Struggling to contain his excitement, Mobin almost stuffed the journal into his shirt.

Sunny, unable to understand his enthusiasm, shrugged. "Not really. It's just preparation for the future."

"Preparation for the future?"

"Yeah. Sol's getting old. One day, he might not wake up. Maybe next month, he'll just keel over—it's entirely possible."

Sunny spoke about Sol's mortality as though it were a mundane topic, then continued:

"When that day comes, I'll have to handle things on my own. And since my abilities are limited, I can only rely on pre-gathered intelligence to reduce the burden."

"You've thought that far ahead?"

Mobin was startled. Though Sol seemed healthy—still energetic enough for his morning exercises in the red-light district—it was clear Sunny wasn't wrong to prepare for the inevitable.

Unconsciously, Mobin found himself growing accustomed to her unintentional harshness.

"Unlike you, I don't have talent," Sunny said, glancing at Mobin's weighted legs.

"Uh…"

For a moment, Mobin didn't know how to respond.

"When Sol saved you, it wasn't out of kindness. It wasn't just to get an extra worker for the shop, either. Mostly, it was to make sure I wouldn't have to face the future alone."

"Before you, there were several others. None of them lasted long in Mad Hat Town—they all died horribly."

Sunny's gaze fixed on Mobin's face.

"But this time, the one Sol brought back was different. Even though you can be obnoxious, your talent is remarkable. So much so that Sol broke his usual rules and actively offered to take you as his apprentice."

Hearing this, Mobin fell silent.

He'd always wondered why Sol had gone out of his way to save him. Now, he finally understood.

Looking at the quiet Mobin, Sunny's tone grew heavier. "I don't dislike you. That's why I'm giving you the journal. I just don't want you to die too soon."

"Thanks."

Mobin smiled warmly.

Even if it wasn't love, at least it wasn't hate.

That was enough for him.

Sunny snorted. "Do whatever you want afterward, but give the journal back by tomorrow night."

"What? I have to return it?"

"Of course. I worked hard on that!"

"Can't I just keep it?"

"No. Copy it if you want."

"Fair enough."

Mobin chuckled.

Their conversation over, Sunny headed upstairs.

By giving Mobin the journal, she hoped he would stay away from the dangerous people outside and avoid a needless, brutal death.

"Sunny," Mobin suddenly called out.

She stopped, turning to look at him.

"What kind of Devil Fruit would you want? Someday, I'll get one for you."

"…"

When Sunny didn't respond, Mobin started counting on his fingers, grinning.

"Logia types are too hard to find. Zoan types are great for durability, but they're so hit-or-miss unless it's an Ancient Zoan. So, maybe a Paramecia type would be best—though they're all over the place. You've got superhuman abilities, creation powers, dominion over elements…"

"Oh! There's one called the Slip-Slip Fruit that might suit you."

Listening to Mobin ramble, Sunny remained expressionless. "You sure know a lot about Devil Fruits."

"Σ(д)"

Mobin hurriedly explained, "I read about them in a book!"

"Oh."

Sunny thought for a moment, then walked back to the counter.

"What are you doing?" Mobin asked.

"Taking notes."

Sunny grabbed paper and pen, carefully writing down Mobin's analysis of Devil Fruits.

Mobin was speechless.

Shouldn't deciding on a direction come first before writing a note?

Watching Sunny earnestly jotting down notes at the counter, Mobin sighed.

She seemed so sharp most of the time, yet occasionally struck him as endearingly naive.

Devil Fruits…

Mobin's thoughts drifted to the expression on Sunny's face when she'd looked at the auction catalog.

"Not now, but someday, I'll definitely get you a Devil Fruit," he vowed silently.