Although the Uzumaki Clan had not officially named its new leader, it was already accepted by everyone that Shanks would take the position. No one else was considered even remotely suitable.
Without a word, Miki retrieved a scroll from her bag, performed an unsealing hand sign, and with a puff of white smoke, a suitcase materialized before her. She opened it to reveal stacks of cash, took out 30,000 ryō, and handed it to Shanks.
Shanks glanced at the suitcase and said, "Also take out another 20,000 ryō. We can't keep unsealing money like this every time."
Meanwhile, both the receptionist and the caravan leader stood frozen, their mouths agape. A suitcase full of cash? The receptionist had never seen such a thing, and even the caravan leader was stunned by the sheer amount of money.
Shanks turned to the caravan leader and handed him the bundle. "Here's the payment I promised. You're free to go."
The caravan leader accepted the money with mixed feelings. Parting with his carriages and horses had been painful. But as the weight of the ryō settled in his hands, his regret began to fade. Up until this moment, he'd doubted the sword-wielding stranger would actually pay him—threats and blades didn't usually come with honest coin. Yet now, with the cash firmly in his grip, disbelief gave way to relief.
Shanks turned to Miki. "Another 2,000 ryō," he said.
She handed him the amount, and Shanks walked over to the receptionist, offering the money with a faint nod.
"Sorry for the trouble," he said. "Consider this compensation for the injury to your neck."
The receptionist accepted the money with a quiet nod. A small smile tugged at her lips—relief, perhaps, or simply gratitude. Almost unconsciously, her fingers brushed the side of her neck, where a thin cut had formed. The blade had barely grazed her skin, but the memory of its cold edge lingered.
With their business concluded, both the receptionist and the caravan leader departed. As they walked away, the caravan leader couldn't help but wonder who those mysterious red-haired strangers really were. A hunch began to form—one that felt more like certainty the longer he thought about it.
He mused that they must be from the Uzumaki clan. It wasn't a wild guess—the crimson hair gave them away, a trait so distinct and rare that it was the clan's signature. Had there been only one or two with red hair, there might have been doubt, but with more than ten present, all with red hair and behaving as a family, it was clear they were from the Uzumaki clan.
Shanks turned toward his clan members, his tone resolute. "Let's go. The food should be ready by now. After we eat, we leave immediately."
They walked into the restaurant, where waiters were busy serving steaming dishes. Shanks found a seat, and Erza, Benimaru, and Guy joined him at the table.
"Don't hold back," Shanks said, his voice steady but carrying a hint of urgency. "Eat as much as you can. After this, you never know how long it will be before we have hot food again."
His words carried weight, and his clan members understood the unspoken meaning behind them. They nodded in silent agreement.
The meal began in earnest, each of them eating with a sense of purpose. Shanks, however, ate quickly, his mind elsewhere. There was still one final task to take care of—something that would ensure their journey ahead would be smooth and, more importantly, that they would disappear from the eyes of anyone who might come searching. Once he finished this, no one would be able to find them so easily.
After finishing his meal, Shanks stood up from his seat with a sense of purpose. As he looked around, he noticed that, like him, all of his family members were eating in a hurried manner. It seemed that they were all anxious, perhaps sensing the urgency in the air. With a small sigh, Shanks raised his voice slightly, addressing them all. "Everyone, please slow down a little," he said with a calm yet firm tone. "There's no need to rush. I have some important work to take care of, which is why I'm in a hurry, but I'd prefer if you all ate at a more relaxed pace."
His words had the desired effect. One by one, his family members nodded in understanding, their expressions softening. They each took a more deliberate approach to their meals, chewing slowly and savoring the food. Their initial haste diminished as they adjusted to Shanks' request, returning to a more comfortable rhythm.
Shanks, content that his family was now eating at a more manageable pace, turned his attention to the manager. The man had been waiting patiently, standing by in case Shanks needed anything. "Manager," Shanks called, his voice steady and authoritative. "Please, calculate the total bill for our food."
The manager, quick to respond, nodded with a sense of professionalism. He moved swiftly to the nearby counter, his fingers flying over the abacus as he calculated the costs of the meal. Within a matter of minutes, he had finished the calculations and looked up at Shanks. "The total comes to 3,000 ryo, sir," the manager reported, his tone neutral but efficient.
Shanks gave a small nod, acknowledging the manager's work. He then turned to Miri, who was sitting nearby. His eyes met hers, and with a calm but decisive look, he spoke. "Aunt Miri, please give the manager 6,000 ryo. This is the amount I promised him earlier."
Miri, who had been quietly observing the exchange, nodded without hesitation. She reached into the pouch at her side, pulling out a large bundle of cash. The bundle was thick, and it was clear from the weight of it that she was well-prepared. Carefully, she handed the money to Shanks, who took it from her with practiced ease. After quickly counting the ryo, ensuring the amount was correct, he handed over exactly 6,000 ryo to the manager.
The manager, who had been skeptical at first about receiving any money from Shanks—who had previously been threatening—was now pleasantly surprised. Not only did he receive the full payment, but he was also given double what had originally been promised. His mood brightened considerably as he accepted the money.
Shanks turned to the manager and asked, "Are you finished?"
The manager gave a quick nod and replied, "Yes, sir."
Shanks then inquired, "There must be a herb shop around here, right?"
The manager hesitated for a moment before answering, "Yes, there is one. However, it's quite a distance from here—about four to five hundred meters away."
Shanks nodded thoughtfully. "You know the directions, then. Come, follow me."
The manager, still uneasy, nodded in return, though his nerves were evident. He couldn't shake the fear that Shanks might have something else in mind, something beyond just getting directions. Despite his unease, he followed Shanks outside the restaurant.
As soon as they stepped into the street, Shanks suddenly grabbed the collar of the manager's shirt. The manager's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected movement, but before he could react, Shanks spoke again. "Lead the way."
Shanks' grip tightened slightly as he kept the manager close, his steps quick and purposeful. They moved at a brisk pace, Shanks asking for directions intermittently while darting from side to side, urging the manager to keep up. The manager, still unsure of what to expect, did his best to lead the way, all the while feeling the tension building between them.
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