"Mr. Randoluff, I saw your stage play two years ago. It was thrilling. I didn't expect you to come all the way to the Seven Waters."
A middle-aged man named Esbagu stood there, short blue-purple hair neat and tidy. He dressed sharply, trying to appear mature and serious, but his playful heart still showed through his gestures and expressions.
The small room and meager board provided by the Carrera Company hardly expressed his gratitude. So bluntly, Esbagu asked if the troupe needed any help now.
"You've all been reduced to street performers. No one would believe there's no hardship behind this."
The old man didn't mention the filth they faced on Judiciary Island but only said he had encountered pirates. He suggested buying a new ship from Carrera.
Esbagu didn't hesitate to agree immediately—he was the ship king of the Seven Waters, after all. The ships there were unmatched.
Busy as ever, Esbagu expressed his wishes politely and left, leaving several foremen from the Carrera Company behind to help the troupe design a new ship.
A young man named Kaku, with a long square nose, was kind and attentive. He carefully inquired about the troupe's needs and took notes.
On the other shoulder stood a pigeon, while a man in a white vest brought out several types of boats for them to choose from.
The man in the white vest didn't speak much but was refined. As he spoke, he glanced back oddly. He saw an actor reciting lines passionately, a crew member arranging props, and a woman feeding a duck. Instinctively, he felt someone was watching him just moments ago—but when he looked around, no one suspicious was there.
"That guy's sharp!" Weiwei, feeding the ducks sideways, glanced back.
For these CP9 spies, she followed a strict principle: no contact, no hostility. She was just a passerby in the Seven Waters; whatever plans or missions they had were none of her business.
She picked up a copy of News of the World and read closely.
Three days had passed since the Judiciary Island bombing. The official investigation's conclusion was... intriguing. A gas explosion.
No Clown Bucky, no Revolutionary Army, no Baroque Studio involvement.
Before Weiwei became wanted by Baroque Studio, she lived comfortably, her hands washed clean in a golden pot, ready to inherit her family business.
Now, it seemed she could continue her promising undercover work.
Many knew about Sand Crocodile's employment of Mr. 5. Alabasta proved that Sand Crocodile had taken a naval warship to Mary Joa on the day of the explosion—a costly gamble.
...
A month passed quickly.
"Beep beep, beep beep..." The phone bug's shrill ringtone cut through the quiet. The man in a white vest, overalls, and with a pigeon on his shoulder—seemingly a foreman from Carrera—picked up the call. In reality, this was Rob Lucci, senior CP9 agent of the World Government.
A voice on the line disgusted him: "Rob Luigi!"
As the strongest CP9 agent in 800 years, Rob Lucci looked down on his boss. He could crush that guy with one finger, but family legacy ruled here—intelligence leadership passed from father to son. Unbelievable, but true.
An incompetent man had become boss, while Rob Lucci, the strongest in centuries, was sent undercover. One mission lasted four years. Judging by current events, another four years could be ahead.
Though disdainful, Rob Lucci remained fiercely loyal to the World Government, obeying orders without question. Firmly, he answered: "Yes."
"Crocodile from the Seven Seas went to Mary Joa last month. The World Government suspects him deeply and links him to the Judiciary Island bombing."
On the bright side, Sand Crocodile assured the World Government he'd obey any orders. Normally, that would settle things. But both Rob Lucci and the CP9 chief on the other end knew the truth: this was far from over.
Intelligence agencies don't keep promises; they care about results.
"You want me to investigate Crocodile?" Rob Lucci asked.
His boss didn't say yes or no. Instead, he said: "Oymo and Casey, the giants guarding the gates of Judiciary Island, have left the island. Are you aware?"
Rob Lucci scoffed coldly: "I'm stuck at a construction site building boats for a bunch of stage actors. Do you think I know about that? How would I?"
"Do you want me to arrest them?"
"No need, no government warrant yet. The two left Judiciary Island and headed to Alabasta, at the front of the Grand Line. I heard they joined a local bounty hunter group and are killing pirates. Coincidentally, Crocodile is also there."
Rob Lucci said, "Oh," confused by his boss's meaning but sensing trouble.
"We suspect Crocodile has deep ties with Baroque Studio. And now these two giants…"
The voice from the bug seethed with anger: "Baroque Studio! That studio actually took in those two idiots—I'm furious!"
Rob Lucci grew increasingly annoyed at his boss's idiocy. Impatient, he snapped, "You put me at risk of exposure just to say this? Mobilize the navy nearby, destroy them. For Crocodile, bring in the Admiral."
"Hey, hey," the boss chuckled, "This studio's pretty skilled. They hide identities well. I suspect professionals guide them or maybe someone inside long wanted by us... No further info on their president or vice president. It could be Crocodile, or not. We don't know the details."
Rob Lucci's voice grew rough: "You don't want me to give up the undercover mission. Go after Baroque Studio with Kalifa and the others? Quit now? Four years! We've already spent four years here! Do you know what that means?"
He expected to be scolded—he was loyal to the World Government, but not to an idiot boss. Both spoke curtly, and the call was about to end.
But this time, the