Sicily Island, located in the northern reaches of the East Blue, was blessed with flat terrain and fertile soil, making it home to a bustling population. Renowned as the Star of the East Blue, it was the most prosperous land in the region throughout history.
It was also the stronghold of the Kohler Trading Company.
Night had fallen, yet the town remained ablaze with lights. The crowded streets buzzed with activity, filled with people eating, drinking, talking, and laughing, as if unwinding from the day's labor.
At the heart of the town stood the headquarters of the Kohler Trading Company, a sprawling estate the size of a small village. In stark contrast to the lively clamor outside, the estate was eerily silent, like a slumbering beast, quiet yet unsettling.
Inside a lavishly decorated study, a portly middle-aged man sat at a desk, poring over documents. This was Kohler Duncan, the current president of the Kohler Trading Company.
On Duncan's desk lay a thick stack of papers. A closer look would reveal they were all reports concerning the Goldglint Trading Company. Duncan rubbed his throbbing temples. He had assumed that with Sherlock, his greatest rival, out of the picture, the Goldglint Trading Company would be easy pickings. But reality was far harsher than his rosy expectations.
Anna, the second-in-command of the Goldglint Trading Company and one of Sherlock's most trusted confidants, had stepped up after his "demise." Despite her youth, she quelled the unrest in the company's branches with decisive, iron-fisted measures, becoming the third president of the Goldglint Trading Company. She swiftly reorganized the company, facing the predatory advances of the Kohler Trading Company and others head-on. A year later, contrary to expectations of decline, the Goldglint Trading Company had stabilized and was even on a slow but steady path to growth, leaving countless onlookers stunned.
Duncan pulled a dossier from the pile. The front page featured a photograph of a woman with refined features, long pale blonde hair, and glasses. Her aura was strikingly similar to Sherlock's—elegant and brimming with intellect.
"I never expected Anna to rise after Sherlock's death…" Duncan muttered, setting the dossier down. He stood, poured himself a glass of wine, and walked to the window, gazing out at the scenery, lost in thought.
After a long pause…
"To think Anna's done so well. Truly impressive," a sudden male voice shattered the study's silence.
Duncan flinched, his hand trembling so violently that the delicate crystal glass slipped, shattering on the floor and spilling amber liquid everywhere. He spun around, only to be confronted by a figure that pushed the limits of his mental endurance.
A handsome young man with black hair sat in Duncan's chair, one hand flipping through a stack of documents at an astonishing speed, the other holding an intricately crafted pistol, its dark barrel aimed directly at Duncan.
Who else could it be but Sherlock, the man Duncan believed had been dead for a year?
Sherlock's reading pace was blistering, finishing the thick stack in mere moments. He set the papers down and adjusted his glasses, the polished lenses glinting with a sharp, almost sword-like brilliance that seemed to pierce Duncan's heart, making the fat on his face quiver.
"Long time no see, President Duncan," Sherlock said, rising to offer an elegant, textbook-perfect greeting—though the pistol in his hand somewhat undermined the courtesy. Duncan, however, was no ordinary man. As the head of the Kohler Trading Company, he quickly regained his composure, plastering on his usual ingratiating smile.
"Sherlock! My goodness, you're alive! That's wonderful!" Duncan's tone was so sincere that an uninformed onlooker might have been fooled. His acting was worthy of the East Blue's top performer.
"Is it?" Sherlock gave a playful smile, his pistol unwavering. "What a pity. I'm still alive."
"What do you mean? I'm thrilled you're alive!" Duncan ignored the menacing barrel, waddling his hefty frame to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself another glass of wine and turned to Sherlock. "Care for a drink?"
"No, thanks," Sherlock replied, his brow furrowing slightly. With a thought, he produced a stack of documents from thin air, much to Duncan's shock.
"These are ledgers from your secret vault," Sherlock said, waving the documents. "They detail your clandestine dealings with the East Blue's Fourth Marine Branch. Everything's laid out clearly, including a certain attack from a year ago. I must say, your subordinates could use some lessons in keeping their mouths shut." He emphasized the words a certain attack with deliberate weight.
"I'm sure Smoker and a few other Marines would find these quite interesting." Ignoring Duncan's paling face, Sherlock returned the ledgers to his Mirror Space.
"Don't bother calling for help. The entire estate—aside from you and me—has no one left who can speak. Oh, and I used your Kohler Trading Company's knockout drugs. If your products are as reliable as advertised, they'll be out until tomorrow evening. By the way, I couldn't find that ability-user bodyguard of yours anywhere in the estate."
Seeing Sherlock cut straight to the point, Duncan dropped his facade, his gaze turning venomous as he stared at the bespectacled man.
"So, you're here for revenge?" Duncan asked, clutching his wine glass, his mind racing with unspoken calculations.
"Revenge is part of it," Sherlock replied, stepping forward. He enunciated each word carefully: "But I also want to know who betrayed me."
"Hahaha!" Duncan suddenly burst into laughter, his jowls quivering unpleasantly. He downed his wine in one gulp and said cryptically, "You already know the answer. Why bother asking?"
"Is that so?" Sherlock's expression darkened, his mind wavering for a moment. In that instant, a sudden sense of danger surged within him. A year of survival on a desolate island had honed his instincts to a razor's edge. Without hesitation, he dove to the side.
BOOM! A deafening explosion rocked the room, debris flying everywhere as the entire mansion shuddered.
Sherlock rolled to dissipate the force, scrambling to his feet and turning to look. His pupils contracted sharply.
Before him stood a monstrous creature, nearly four meters tall, with the head of a bear and the body of a man. Its massive bear paws could crush a skull with ease, and its knotted muscles were covered in dense, black fur that promised formidable defense. Notably, the creature wore clothes identical to Duncan's.
An Animal-type Devil Fruit: the Bear-Bear Fruit, Black Bear Form.
Though the clothes were different, Sherlock instantly recognized this as the Devil Fruit user who had attacked him a year ago.
"To think Duncan ate that Devil Fruit himself. No wonder no one's seen his mysterious bodyguard," Sherlock muttered, his expression grim. The situation had spiraled beyond his expectations. Though he was a Devil Fruit user himself, he wasn't entirely confident he could defeat his opponent.
"You dodged that? Impressive, Sherlock!" Duncan's beastly eyes gleamed with excitement as he swung his massive paws. "Since you didn't disappear a year ago, I'll just have to send you off today!"
"Is that so?" Sherlock's face remained impassive. He raised his pistol again, aiming at the bear-man.
Duncan sneered at the small firearm. "What, you think that toy can kill me? That's laughable—"
Bang! Sherlock pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullet flew, and then— "Mirror: Magnification!"
The bullet, originally the size of a fingernail, transformed under Sherlock's Devil Fruit power into a projectile as large as a naval warship's cannonball, its speed undiminished.
BOOM! With a thunderous crash, Duncan was blasted backward before he could react. His massive body smashed through several bookshelves and a wall before coming to a stop, papers scattering and dust billowing.
Sherlock adjusted his glasses, his gaze icy.
"Let's see who sends who."