-----
-----
Mr. 3 lay sprawled in a pool of blood, unmoving. Miss Golden Week's pupils shrank, her usually calm face twisting in shock.
The hand holding her paintbrush froze midair.
The Baroque Works' No. 3 agent—taken down in an instant?
Mr. 3 couldn't even land a single hit on Logan?!
"Logan! You're amazing!" Vivi clapped excitedly.
To her, there didn't seem to be anyone in the world Logan couldn't beat.
Logan accepted her praise with a relaxed smile, then turned toward Miss Golden Week.
He glanced at the half-finished painting on her board and chuckled. "Need me to sit for you?"
Miss Golden Week's lips twitched bitterly.
If even Mr. 3 was taken out like that, what difference did finishing her painting make?
"What do you want?" she asked nervously, eyes locked on him.
The day she became an assassin, she'd already made peace with the idea of dying.But she hadn't expected that day to come this suddenly.
Logan looked at her—calm, defiant, ready to die—and laughed softly.
"Relax. I'm not gonna kill you. Go make us some tea."
Miss Golden Week blinked, surprised, but did as he said, quietly preparing a pot of Earl Grey.
If she could live, who'd choose to die?
Logan took a sip, raising his brows in mild surprise. "Not bad. You make good tea."
Golden Week lowered her head, embarrassed.
Just a little while ago, she and Mr. 3 had been sitting here, sipping tea and plotting how to get rid of Logan.
Who could've guessed the tables would turn this fast?
"From now on," Logan said as he swirled the tea in his cup, his tone leaving no room for argument, "you're no longer part of Baroque Works. You're a member of the Logan Pirates."
"Join the Logan Pirates?!" Miss Golden Week looked between Vivi and Valentine.
Wait—was that how they'd joined too?!
"Don't hesitate, Golden Week," Valentine said quickly. "The captain's stronger than the Boss. Oh, right—guess I forgot to tell you. The real boss behind Baroque Works is one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea… Crocodile."
Golden Week's eyes widened. "So it's him…"
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll join your crew."
She wasn't about to risk her life for some mysterious boss she'd never even met.
As the saying goes—better a live coward than a dead hero.
Besides, Vivi and Valentine both looked healthier and happier than before.
"You should have a log pose pointing to Alabasta, right?" Logan asked, still sipping his tea.
He couldn't help but think again—her brewing skills really were something.
"Yeah." Golden Week reached into a wicker basket beside her and handed him a permanent pointer.
She and Mr. 3 never traveled without it; without that needle, returning to Alabasta would've been a nightmare.
Buru buru…
Buru buru…
Just as Logan pocketed the pointer, a sharp ringing came from the basket.
"Logan…" Vivi instinctively grabbed his arm.
For some reason, she felt a chill.
Valentine and Golden Week also stiffened.
Assassins rarely contacted one another directly—if someone was calling, it could only mean one thing: the vice president, or the boss himself.
"I'll handle this," Logan said calmly, giving the three women a reassuring look before picking up the call.
The transponder snail's face immediately shifted—an X-shaped scar across its cheek, a cigar clamped between its lips.
Crocodile. Of course it was him.
Vivi and the others tensed instantly.
It was their first time seeing the infamous Warlord face-to-face, even through a snail.
"Mr. 3," came the deep, irritated voice. "You're keeping me waiting. I'm starting to question your competence."
Logan smiled.
He'd actually been planning to contact Crocodile himself—but it looked like the Warlord had saved him the trouble.
"Yo, Crocodile."
There was silence on the other end.
Then, after a long pause, that rough, gravelly voice returned. "You're Logan, aren't you?"
Logan smirked. "Well, well… looks like your head's not entirely full of sand. Congrats—you guessed right."
"So that means Mr. 3 and Miss Golden Week are both dead, huh?"
A harsh laugh followed. "Hah! Useless trash. Every last one of you."
His words dripped with contempt, the snail's face perfectly mirroring Crocodile's sneer.
Golden Week's face went pale, her fists trembling in fury.
That bastard!
They'd been out there risking their lives for him, and not only did he not care—he insulted them on top of it!
"Shut up, Crocodile!" she suddenly snapped.
"Huh? Golden Week? You're alive?" The Warlord's tone shifted, uncertain.
Was he hearing things?
Golden Week planted her hands on her hips and glared at the snail. "Damn right I'm alive! Sorry to disappoint you. And guess what? I've joined the Logan Pirates!"
She jabbed a finger at the snail. "You just wait, Crocodile! The captain's coming for you in Alabasta, and he's gonna gut that overgrown lizard you call a body!"
Logan: "…"
Crocodile: "…"
Golden Week's cheeks flushed as she finished her tirade, breathing hard.
Vivi and Valentine just stared at her, stunned—then slowly raised their thumbs in awe.
She was way braver than they'd expected.
What a woman.
"....."