Buru-buru-buru!
The sudden buzz of a Den Den Mushi rang right by Ryukawa's ear.
"A Den Den Mushi?"
He reached into his clothes and pulled it out.
One glance was enough.
Wasn't this the one he'd taken off Bellamy?
Ryukawa's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the wriggling snail in his palm, falling into thought.
It kept ringing.
He didn't move.
Because he didn't know who was calling.
There were only two possibilities.
The first: the caller was from the Donquixote Family—Bellamy's true backer, the one pulling strings from the shadows.
The second: it was Cipher Pol.
Either way, it wasn't good news.
To Ryukawa, it offered no benefit—only endless trouble.
"…Are you going to answer?" Hack walked over and asked.
He could make the same deductions, of course.
"At my current level," Ryukawa said flatly, "I'm not qualified to talk to those people."
He understood his own standing very clearly.
With the strength he had right now, the gap between him and that kind of power was still far too wide.
He had no intention of picking up.
And after wiping out that CP squad, the Den Den Mushi taken from Bellamy wasn't that important anymore.
So—
With casual indifference, Ryukawa tossed the ringing snail onto the deck beside him.
Then he lifted his foot.
And stomped down.
No hesitation. No flourish. Clean and decisive.
Pff.
A soft, wet crunch.
The ringing stopped instantly.
The Den Den Mushi was crushed into scraps, the remains scattered across the planks.
"Finally. Quiet."
Ryukawa stretched his arms, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. A sharp glint flashed through his eyes.
"When the day comes that I can stand on equal footing with them… then I'll talk."
"And I've always believed—"
"That day won't be far."
Beside him, Hack nodded solemnly. "If it's you… I believe it."
If it were anyone else, he might doubt.
But if it was Ryukawa?
Hack would believe without question.
Because in Ryukawa, he'd already seen too much—too many terrifying, rare talents.
In Hack's eyes, Ryukawa wasn't merely gifted.
He was a true genius.
A genuine monster.
Only after these few days of close contact did Hack finally understand what "monster" really meant.
A monster was a monster—someone whose talent and methods surpassed common sense.
Just like the boy in front of him.
In Hack's heart, no one's talent could be mentioned in the same breath as Ryukawa's.
The score he gave the boy was… absurdly high.
If one spoke only of talent—
Hack truly believed there wasn't a single person on the sea who could compare.
Loguetown was one of the East Blue's most prosperous towns.
If you wanted to step from East Blue into the Grand Line, Loguetown was unavoidable.
It was the Pirate King Gol D. Roger's birthplace…
…and the place where he was executed.
Because of that, people called it:
The Town of Beginnings and Endings.
Every day, crowds flooded in.
Among them were plenty of pirates—naturally.
And because it sat at the throat of the route into the Grand Line, a Marine branch was stationed there as well.
But beyond the Marines…
Almost no one knew the truth.
In the shadows of Loguetown, a far more secretive force had roots there.
Cipher Pol's East Blue foothold…
was in Loguetown.
At that moment, inside the CP base—within a prison-like interrogation room—
A middle-aged man in a black suit raised his head, face heavy, and set the Den Den Mushi down on the desk.
"…We can't reach them."
His name was Morks.
The main person in charge of the East Blue CP presence stationed in Loguetown.
More importantly—
He was the head of the human trafficking pipeline.
On ordinary days, he gave the orders and dispatched agents throughout the East Blue, coordinating with pirates for "transactions."
Every instruction, every assignment—came from his mouth.
Which meant his authority in the East Blue was no small thing.
"Whether it's the agents we sent to Octagon Town… or the pirate group responsible for delivering the 'goods'…"
"Every single one of them has gone silent."
"If only one side went missing, it could be explained as coincidence."
"But if both sides can't be contacted…"
"That can't be coincidence."
Morks' brow furrowed tight, his expression darkening.
For years, business had been smooth.
Something like this almost never happened.
To have an accident like this occur now—it caught him completely off guard.
"Both sides being unreachable means one thing—"
"Both sides likely met with an incident."
"And this incident wasn't random. It was deliberate."
"Not bad weather. Not interference from the environment."
"Someone stepped in."
"And whoever it is… they're an East Blue force that dared to meddle with our operations."
Morks quickly arrived at the conclusion.
His eyes narrowed, turning vicious.
It was the first time in the East Blue he'd run into something like this.
"East Blue isn't huge, but it isn't small either…"
"And yet this is the first time I've met someone who dares to target Cipher Pol's transactions."
"Who are they?"
"What faction do they belong to?"
"We need to investigate. Thoroughly."
"No matter who they are—no matter where they come from—"
"I'll make them pay in blood."
He snorted coldly and reached for another Den Den Mushi.
Not long after—
Someone knocked at the door.
"Come in!"
Creaaak.
The door opened, and several CP agents in black suits stepped into the office, faces respectful.
"Morks-sama."
"There's a transaction near Octagon Town that has lost contact," Morks said icily. "I want you to investigate at maximum speed. Find out the truth."
"Whoever dares to ruin our operation… will pay a painful price."
"Yes, Morks-sama!"
The agents hurried out.
The office was left with only Morks.
After hesitating—
his expression remained grim.
Something felt… wrong.
For years, there had been no problems.
Why now?
Something had changed.
Something abnormal.
"…To be safe," he muttered, "I should report it upward."
"If something goes wrong later, the people above will pin it on someone."
"And I'll become the scapegoat."
With that thought, Morks took a deep breath and lifted the Den Den Mushi again.
Buru-guru-guru…
The next morning—
Rapid knocking hammered the door.
Morks opened his eyes, face turning ugly as he stared at the entrance.
"Come in!"
Who dared disturb him this early?
Did they have a death wish?
Creaaak.
The door opened.
A young man dressed in black stepped inside.
He was lean, wearing a tall black hat.
The most eye-catching detail—
A pigeon perched on his shoulder.
The young man raised his head.
His face was utterly expressionless, like a machine, without the slightest ripple of emotion.
Cold as stagnant water.
"…Who are you?" Morks asked, his tone immediately tightening.
The newcomer spoke flatly.
"I happened to be in East Blue on a mission."
"By coincidence, I saw the matter you reported."
"The people above have ordered that this incident be handed over to me—fully."
"The people above…?" Morks' heart jolted.
So young, yet trusted enough for that?
This wasn't ordinary.
It meant the man in front of him had an identity far more terrifying than Morks could afford to imagine.
After forcing himself to calm down, Morks asked cautiously, with great politeness:
"May I ask… your name, sir?"
In front of this kind of figure—
Morks' so-called "East Blue authority" was paper-thin.
One sentence from the other party could get his head removed with ease.
So he didn't dare show even a hint of disrespect.
The young man's eyes lowered, looking at him as if from above.
"You should've heard my name."
"I am…"
"Rob Lucci."
The moment the name landed—
Morks' pupils shrank violently.
His face drained.
"…Rob Lucci…?"
No.
No way.
Did the people above really send that man to Loguetown?
That legendary "killing god"—
the one called the most outstanding CP9 agent in eight hundred years.
The strongest CP9 operative in eight hundred years.
Rob Lucci.
Coincidence?
Absolutely not.
Thinking of Lucci's record—near-perfect success.
Thinking of the blood on his hands—
Morks' scalp went numb.
Goosebumps rose across his skin.
The temperature in the office seemed to drop straight down, turning ice-cold.
What was this?!
Why would the higher-ups send someone like Lucci to handle East Blue business?
This was—
like using a butcher's cleaver to kill a chicken.
Morks couldn't understand the decision.
But he understood one thing:
Since this "killing god" had arrived…
from this moment onward, he could only obey.
He could not offend him.
Otherwise, the outcome would be—
unimaginably miserable.
Lucci sat down in a wooden chair with casual indifference.
"All right. Spare me the nonsense."
"Tell me everything—how it started, what happened, and every detail you have."
At that instant, Morks almost felt sorry for whoever had dared to ruin their operation.
Who would've thought…
the higher-ups would dispatch a monster like Lucci?
Even Morks hadn't expected this.
Those people…
were finished.
This was Rob Lucci.
The strongest CP9 agent in eight hundred years.
With him involved—
no matter how complicated the case was, it would be solved effortlessly.
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