The barkeep never truly had the intent to shoot, of that Sanji was almost certain.
And though he had felt that lack of genuine killing intent in his gut, he couldn't afford to take any chances based on just an inkling, a sliver of intuition.
One never really knew with these slum punks. Spontaneous, mindless violence was their creed, the only language they seemed to truly understand.
But there was good news, though. Or at least, maybe a little.
When Sanji had asked about Kiki's whereabouts, the barkeep's right eye had twitched. It was a minute spasm, a flicker of muscle almost too small to register, but it was glaringly noticeable to someone who knows what facial cues to look for.
