In the waters not far from Jaya Island, on the deck of a Marine warship.
"Hahahaha! This is killing me! It's just too funny!" A burst of melodious, bell-like laughter rang out.
"That outfit was his absolute favorite, wasn't it? Tsk, tsk. What kind of brain-dead taste is that? Dressing up like a damn flamingo... Honestly, with his sense of fashion, it's no wonder [those bastards] won't let him go back!"
"So, burning it was actually me doing him a favor. He should be thanking me... Pfft, I can't... I'm dying, ahahaha!"
A certain "expired loli" with black-and-white twin tails was rolling around the deck in fits of excitement. She was having the time of her life, leaving the group of Marines—led by the "White Hunter"—watching with dark lines of exasperation on their faces.
"Is she spouting gibberish again? Did she smoke so many cigars her brain finally rotted?" Smoker muttered with a malicious undertone.
"Eh? Can smoking cigars rot your brain?"
The airheaded swordswoman gasped in shock. She turned toward her superior with a face full of concern. "Captain Smoker, you smoke just as many cigars as Rear Admiral Alan. You..."
"Tashigi!"
Smoker's mouth twitched violently. "If you don't have anything useful to say, keep it to yourself!"
"If you keep being this much of a space cadet, I'm going to assign you to Rear Admiral Alan as her personal attendant!"
"No... No, please!"
Tashigi's face turned bright red as she instinctively covered her chest. It was clear she had suffered no small amount of "harassment" at Alan's hands during this period.
Sighing helplessly, Smoker looked back at the petite Rear Admiral rolling around the deck and wore a look of deep confusion.
(Judging by the state of her clothes, it looks like she went through a massive battle... Strange. Is there really an enemy that powerful in these waters?)
On the streets of Mock Town.
A man and a woman walked side-by-side. Notably, both possessed an identical air of calm, elegant composure. As the surrounding pedestrians caught sight of the young man's face, their expressions shifted drastically, and they hurried their pace as if they had seen something terrifying.
"Mont Blanc Cricket... So, the 'Old Man' those primates mentioned was him. Wait, Mont Blanc?"
As Robin walked, she studied a map of Jaya she had just acquired from a weapons shop. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed slightly.
"I feel like I've heard that surname somewhere before. Does it ring a bell, Sherlock?"
Sherlock nodded. "It is the surname of 'Liar' Norland, a name known to every household in the North Blue."
"The Liar?" Robin reminisced for a moment before a look of realization dawned on her. "I remember now. It was that picture book about the City of Gold. I recall the island in the story was also called 'Jaya'."
"Exactly. This should be the setting of that story." Sherlock adjusted his glasses, the lenses reflecting two cold flashes of light. "In that case, it makes sense why he has spent all these years here searching for gold."
At this, the Occultist let out a light chuckle. "I'm sure Nami will be extremely interested once she hears about this. She is, after all, the most avaricious of us all."
"Hehe, Miss Navigator will certainly be very happy." Robin's beautiful eyes curved into crescent moons. Then, the intellectual beauty seemed to remember something and asked the Occultist again:
"By the way, Sherlock, besides information on Sky Island, you've been gathering news about the 'Blood-Soaked Moon.' Why? Are you interested in the 'Seven-Star Sword'? Hehe, I would have thought that was something our swordsman friend would be interested in."
Though Robin usually maintained a calm and collected facade, she possessed an incredibly strong sense of curiosity. Regarding Sherlock—a man whose every move was surely laden with hidden meaning—she asked about almost everything on her mind.
"There is no rule saying someone who isn't a swordsman can't use a sword as a weapon."
Sherlock's expression remained unchanged. He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully, before continuing, "Robin, I brought back some very interesting things from the dreamscape of the Rainbow Mist. As an archaeologist, you will definitely be interested. We can study them together later."
After all, Sherlock was well aware that his half-baked knowledge of ancient scripts couldn't compare to a genius archaeologist who had passed the doctoral exams with full marks at the age of eight.
"Oh?"
Robin's eyes lit up instantly. In this vast sea, perhaps only things related to archaeology could make a woman as charming as her this excited.
"From the Rainbow Mist... what exactly is it? Can't you be a bit more specific? Could it be... that it's related to the 'Seven-Star Sword'?"
Sherlock smiled and opened his mouth, preparing to answer...
However, in that instant, his face changed. He stopped abruptly, standing perfectly still with a flickering expression, as if he had suddenly sensed something horrifying.
(This feeling of madness... It's him?! What is that 'psychopath' doing here?)
"What's wrong, Sherlock?"
Seeing this, Robin's heart skipped a beat. She looked around and was startled to find that the previously boisterous street had become completely deserted. The silence was eerie.
(What happened?)
Shing!—Crossing her arms over her chest, Robin looked around sternly, searching for the enemy hiding in the shadows.
"Go back on your own, Robin."
Sherlock placed a hand on Robin's shoulder and spoke in a flat tone. "Go lead Luffy and the others to find Mont Blanc Cricket. We'll meet up there."
Robin narrowed her eyes. "And you...?"
"I'm going to see an 'old friend'." Sherlock pushed up his glasses, which reflected a heart-stopping, cold light.
"An old friend?"
Robin looked at the Occultist suspiciously, wanting to ask more. But when she looked into those deep, dark eyes behind the lenses—as calm as an ancient well—she swallowed her words.
"I understand." With a sigh, Robin lowered her arms and turned to leave without a second glance.
After a long while.
Once Robin was far away, Sherlock, standing alone on the street, calmed his nerves. He then walked straight toward a nearby bar and pushed the door open without hesitation.
Ding-ling, ding-ling... The bells on the tavern door chimed crisply.
It was a small bar that didn't look particularly luxurious, though the fixtures suggested it had been around for many years. Curiously, the bar—which should have been packed with patrons—had only one customer.
Blonde hair, red sunglasses, a tropical shirt, cropped pants, and pointed shoes. It was a familiar, somewhat bizarre outfit, though for some reason, his signature pink feather mantle was missing...
He was currently sitting boldly at the bar, his back to the door, pouring himself a drink. The barmaid, who appeared quite attractive, stood behind the counter with a deathly pale face, trembling like a frightened rabbit.
Tap, tap... The sound of leather boots on the wooden floor was steady and rhythmic.
Sherlock walked up to the tall, blonde man and sat down, leaving one empty seat between them. His expression was devoid of joy or sorrow.
No one spoke. You could have heard a pin drop in the empty bar. The silence was terrifying as two invisible, formidable auras radiated from the only two customers, making the surrounding air feel viscous. The atmosphere was so oppressive that the poor barmaid looked like she was about to faint.
After a long time, the blonde man was the first to break the silence.
"Fuffuffuffuffu... I thought you wouldn't dare come in, little partner."
Having said that, the man with the eerie smile put down his glass and barked an order at the trembling barmaid. "Hey, get him a drink. The best you have."
"Don't bother."
Sherlock propped his elbows on the bar, interlacing his long fingers in front of his mouth. The white glare on his lenses hid his eyes, making his expression unreadable.
"You should know that I don't drink. Also, please don't use that strange codename for me ever again."
"Donquixote Doflamingo."
In this dim bar, these two men—both of whom should have been "Gods"—had met once more.
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