“Mr. 12… Miss Saturday!”

Vivi instantly recognized them—she’d seen their faces in the classified internal documents of Baroque Works.

In hindsight, it was probably taking the risk to read those documents that exposed both her and Igaram.

“So Miss Wednesday is actually Princess Vivi. No wonder you changed your outfit to sneak in…”

The man with the telephone-dial outfit giggled. The number keys on his clothes beeped one by one in sequence—each time a button lit up, the previous one dimmed.

“Major credit! And now there’s a vacancy too!” the woman in the business suit, looking like a sharp attorney, said gleefully. “We might be promoted straight to the Mr. 8 and Mr. 9 tier!”

Vivi’s guard was up—she had already drawn two cords from her sleeves, coiled around her arms. At the end of each cord was a sharp arrowhead.

The phone-dial man turned his gaze to Alvida, barking,

“You’re with Davy Jones, aren’t you? I saw your bounty poster—I know who you are. You used to be a giant fatty, and now look at you—like a completely different person. I’m warning you, don’t get involved. Step aside!”

Vivi swallowed nervously and looked to Alvida.

She saw the same sweet, smiling expression on Alvida’s face. But then, Alvida took off her white hat and tossed it straight at the phone-dial man.

She hadn’t brought her spiked club this time—it was too conspicuous. She was only carrying a dagger and a pistol for self-defense.

And just as the man fumbled to swat away her hat, Alvida kicked off her sandals and slid barefoot right up to him.

“Huh?!”

The phone-dial man was clearly caught off guard. He instinctively raised his microphone-shaped hammer to slam it down.

But when it struck Alvida’s face—it bounced off like a finger poking jelly.

In the next second, Alvida grabbed his wrist, spun around, and performed a flawless over-the-shoulder throw.

WHAM!

He hit the ground hard, eyes rolling back, stars circling his head. Alvida effortlessly snatched the hammer from his limp hand.

She spun on her heel and, without hesitation, smashed the hammer into the chest of the “attorney” woman who’d tried to stab her in the back with a metal folder.

BANG!

The woman crashed into the wall and slumped down, eyes white—completely unconscious.

Alvida turned back to the fallen phone-dial man, her expression cold. She slowly raised the microphone hammer high above her head.

“No… please…” the man whimpered, reaching up to beg.

“Remember this,” Alvida said with a dark scowl. “I’m the most beautiful woman on the sea. No exceptions.”

Then she brought the hammer down.

Blood splattered—some of it hitting both Alvida and Vivi square in the face.

Vivi stared in horror at the mangled body on the ground, chest heaving, too stunned even to wipe the blood from her face.

She now had a much clearer idea of just how ruthless Davy Jones’ crew really was.

And she couldn’t help but feel a pang of doubt:

Did I just escape a dragon’s den only to land in a tiger’s lair?

Still, given the situation… she had no other choice.

Alvida casually tossed the hammer aside and looked at her.

“Come with me. I’ll take you to see Captain Davy Jones. And a warning—don’t try anything stupid, or I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”

Vivi composed herself, nodded slowly.

Only then did Alvida’s expression soften. She smiled like a gentle big sister and wiped the blood from Vivi’s cheek with a light touch.

Meanwhile…

“These log poses are ridiculously overpriced.”

Buggy stood in front of a display shelf, eyeing the wrist-mounted globes with spinning arrow needles.

He’d spent some time on the Grand Line. He knew when prices were gouged, and these definitely were. He barely had enough funds.

If they just turned me in to the Marines for my bounty, that 25 million beli would’ve been enough to buy a dozen of these…

Buggy scowled at the thought of his 25 million bounty.

I didn’t even do anything! Just because I’m part of Davy Jones’ crew… how did I end up with the second-highest bounty in the group?!

If he knew his current bounty had actually risen to 45 million, he might have had a heart attack right then.

“They’re really not that expensive,” said the bald shopkeeper, rubbing his palms together with a greasy smile.

Buggy gave him a flat look.

“You guys make a living scamming rookies at the Grand Line’s entrance.”

“Do you have a permanent log pose?” Buggy asked bluntly.

Permanent log poses were a rarer type of log pose—they only pointed to one specific island, unaffected by magnetic shifts.

“We’ve got one for Arabasta—but it costs extra.”

The bald man pointed to a log pose in the middle of the second shelf. It looked like the others—only up close could you spot the subtle differences.

Buggy gave it a good look—and nodded.

BOOM—!

A distant explosion echoed through the air.

The shopkeeper spun toward the window in alarm.

Buggy seized the moment. He grabbed the permanent log pose, tucked it into his coat, and casually placed a regular log pose in its place. Then, imitating the shopkeeper, turned toward the window in curiosity.

“Looks like something’s on fire,” Buggy said. “Explosion, maybe?”

The bald shopkeeper narrowed his eyes, then turned back with a fake smile.

“Probably just a restaurant kitchen fire. Nothing serious.”

“Huh… alright then.” Buggy nodded thoughtfully, still standing there, arms crossed.

Then he said casually:

“Yeah, I’m gonna head to the next shop. Prices here are a bit steep.”

“You sure you don’t want to browse some more?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Buggy strode to the door, made a show of shaking out his coat to prove he had nothing hidden—then opened the door and walked out.

From inside the shop came the angry voice of the shopkeeper.

“Hey—WAIT A MINUTE!”

He stormed outside.

“Where’s my permanent log pose?!”

He’d noticed instantly—the one now on the shelf was a normal log pose.

“Tch.”

Buggy clicked his tongue and took off running—but immediately crashed into someone and fell flat on his back.

Clutching his bright red nose in pain, Buggy looked up at the man he’d just collided with—a tall, imposing figure wearing a fine hat and carrying a beautifully sheathed longsword at his waist.

Beside him stood a tan-skinned woman with a hooked nose, a black cloth wrapped tightly around her mouth, and a kite-shaped triangular shield strapped to her back.

The man looked down at Buggy, then turned to the shopkeeper.

“What happened?”

The bald man recognized the newcomers instantly—Mr. 11 and Miss Thursday—and bowed respectfully before explaining:

“He stole my permanent log pose without paying!”

Mr. 11 glared down at Buggy.

“So that’s the kind of pirates Davy Jones’ crew are? Can’t even follow basic trade ethics?”

He reached for his sword.

“Fine. Let me give you a little lesson—your boss won’t spare you anyway.”

He unsheathed his blade—the air itself seemed to shiver.

In the world of swords, there are three ranked classes:

Supreme Grade (12 blades)

Great Grade (21 blades)

Skillful Grade (50 blades)

His sword, “Hanashū (OC),” was one of the Skillful Grade 50. The lowest of the greats—but a named blade nonetheless.

A flash of light—and a head flew.

Mr. 11 sheathed his sword with elegant precision and walked past the body.

“So much for Davy Jones’ crew…”

“Mr. 11!” Miss Thursday suddenly shouted.

He sensed something was wrong.

He looked down.

A throwing knife was embedded in his abdomen—and two more were flying straight at his face!

Miss Thursday leapt in, raising her triangular shield, deflecting the two knives with a deep THUD THUD.

“What the hell—?!”

Mr. 11 yanked the blade from his stomach and turned back.

Buggy stood there, grinning viciously, holding his own detached head in one hand, reattaching it to his neck.

He wiggled it to adjust the angle and said coldly:

“You knew I was with Davy Jones—but didn’t know my ability?”

“Was that not on my bounty poster?”

It wasn’t.

They’d come here in a hurry and had no intel on the enemy.

Now, Mr. 11, hand on the hilt of his sword, could only feel a cold sweat creep up his back.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep