Successfully escaped—by using the classic bathroom excuse.
Once inside the cramped toilet, Maud immediately locked the door behind him with a sharp click.
[Hunter's Notes]
Like obsidian jade conjured from the void, a black-bound notebook materialized in the air before him. Thick with invisible weight, its dark cover shimmered with Nen-infused potential.
From the spine of the book, a black quill trembled gently—as if sensing its master's intent.
When Maud had first conceptualized this ability, he'd imagined a sleek, modern fountain pen. But materializing a complex mechanism like that would have drastically increased the Nen cost and structural instability. To lower the burden on his Emission and Conjuration blend, he had compromised. The result: a classic quill. Cruder in function, simpler in form, but more reliable for his current capacity.
Without hesitation, Maud plucked the quill from the spine and began to write on the first shimmering silver thread that ran across the page. In sharp, deliberate Chinese characters, he wrote: "Physique."
This priority required no debate.
In this world—this pirate-infested, Devil Fruit-riddled world—a strong body is everything.
Before one can master Haki, wield cursed blades, or survive a clash with a Yonko, they need a foundation. A monstrous body like Charlotte Linlin's or the seemingly indestructible Kaido's was more than just genes—it was command over life itself.
Maud couldn't aim that high—yet. But step one started here.
Once the word was inscribed, he turned the page.
Pristine white. Like a new snowfall.
Then, for just an instant, phantom letters flickered across the page—spidery, crooked, barely legible. A chaotic echo of something that should not be there.
Then they vanished.
Maud blinked and murmured to himself: "Start from scratch, huh…"
Like a man who had been stripped clean and redressed, he was beginning again, body and soul.
He took a breath, focused on Evan Watt's image, and began inscribing in his Hunter's Notes:
[Evan Watt]
[Skilled Swordsman | Good at Close-Range Knife Combat]
It wasn't much. Just the minimal info Sunny had supplied. But even scraps had value.
Mosquito legs were still meat.
And in his current physical state, even the smallest gain could yield a visible result.
With the entry written, Maud gently closed the notebook. The dark cover shimmered once before vanishing into nothingness.
He gave a silent thanks—to Evan Watt for being the sacrifice, and to Kidd for delivering him.
Stepping toward the mirror above the sink, Maud looked at his reflection. His pale face stared back—older than it should be, eyes sharp but haunted.
He raised a finger to his temple, gently pressing the bandage across his forehead. Pain bloomed beneath the surface.
If his ability worked properly, if the Hunter's Note really applied the boost, even the wound's healing should accelerate.
Too bad Watt wasn't a full-body combat specialist. Otherwise, the reward might have been even greater.
"I'm ready."
Maud picked up the knife resting near the sink—still sharp, still faintly stained—and stepped out.
In the shop, Sol and Sunny were waiting.
It had only been a few minutes.
Maud walked straight to Watt's unconscious body, blade in hand. Under the silent eyes of the two onlookers, he knelt beside the downed pirate.
No speeches. No posturing.
He took a breath—then thrust the knife directly into Watt's chest, aiming for the heart.
Squelch.
Warm blood splattered across his hand. The blade went in—but only halfway. His grip faltered.
Sol's frown deepened.
Sunny's gaze fell, a sigh nearly escaping her lips.
"Shit…" Maud cursed under his breath.
But then again, this was One Piece. People here survived cannonballs to the chest. His current body was barely stronger than an average East Blue civilian. His grip strength was garbage.
He gritted his teeth and yanked the blade free. Then, mechanically, he stabbed again—three more times. Quick, decisive strikes to vital points. Evan Watt died in his sleep, never even waking up to fight.
The entire scene had the clumsy awkwardness of someone butchering poultry for the first time.
Maud's movements weren't elegant. They weren't efficient.
But they got the job done.
This was his first real kill in this world.
In his previous life, his Hunter's Note had recorded nearly a thousand names. Most had been death-row criminals he'd personally executed through a position embedded in a shadowy execution bureau—where the bodies were easy to access and the justice system looked the other way.
Harvesting those deaths had been clinical. Strategic. Repetitive. He barely remembered their names anymore.
In this world, though, opportunities were scarce. Even a place like Impel Down—supposedly the maximum security prison—rarely executed anyone. Even the worst of them were just locked away on Level 6, forgotten.
How absurd.
Maud released the knife's hilt and slowly stood.
Eyes closed, breath steady.
A name had been written. Blood had been spilled.
The hunt had begun.
In the darkness before him, the Hunter's Note hovered silently in midair. A soft, luminous ring glowed faintly around its edges—like the burning halo seen during a total solar eclipse. That shimmering halo wasn't static—it was seeping inward, melting into the cover of the notebook at a pace visible to the naked eye.
Moments later, a tiny white star emerged at the center of the pitch-black cover, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
Then the light vanished.
Darkness returned, heavy and complete.
Maud opened his eyes.
A slight warmth tinged his pale cheeks, and a faint itch tickled across his forehead. At the same time, the oppressive fatigue that had haunted him—like a feather ready to topple in the wind—had receded significantly.
This shift, subtle but unmistakable, was the result of fulfilling a physical need logged by the Hunter's Note.
It didn't grant explosive gains like muscle mass or visible strength—not yet. Watt's combat rating, after all, was modest. His profile had been sparse, his physical traits average at best. A basic pirate with a bounty of 11 million Berries, known more for brutality than discipline.
Still, even the smallest boost mattered.
The Hunter's Note worked.
Maud's eyes lit up with quiet triumph.
He had confirmed it.
From a distance, Sol and Sunny had observed the entire scene—Maud's grim expression as he drove the blade into Watt's chest, the blood that spilled, the change in atmosphere afterward—but neither showed much reaction.
To them, it was expected.
Pirates were predators—locusts in human form, tearing through merchant towns like Mad Hatter without a shred of restraint. And Maud? He was just another victim clawing back a piece of himself.
If anything, venting that hatred on Watt was healthy. Normal. Therapeutic, even.
Still, Sol wasn't about to let a promising errand boy spiral into obsession.
He approached Watt's corpse, crouched, and smoothly yanked the bloodied blade free. With the pirate's own shredded clothing, he wiped the knife clean before sliding it back into his belt.
"Look at you," Sol said flatly, "all fired up. I told you to say goodbye to the past. Didn't mean for you to build a shrine to it."
"…Understood," Maud replied, bowing his head.
There was no need to explain himself.
He already understood Sol's intent.
For now, his only goal was to survive—and to fully embed himself into the brutal rhythm of Mad Hatter Town, a place where human life could be bought, sold, or snuffed out like a matchstick.
Sol's eyes drifted to the blood caked on Maud's hand.
"Go wash up."
Then he turned to Sunny. "Little Nini, go call Arthur. Tell him we've got a body to clean up."
"Got it."
Sunny turned on her heel and disappeared through the side door.
Maud made his way back to the toilet, turned the rusted faucet, and let the freezing water flow over his hands.
Blood swirled in tight red spirals, washing away down the chipped porcelain.
After drying off with a threadbare towel, Maud leaned toward the mirror.
His own reflection looked back—still pale, still worn, but sharper now.
He touched the bandage on his forehead again.
The pain that had throbbed minutes ago was gone.
The results were subtle, but real.
His body was responding.
That said, it only emphasized how weak this current body still was.
"I don't know how many more hunts it'll take," Maud muttered, "before I reach Luffy-level recovery."
He exhaled softly, feeling a thread of tension slip from his shoulders.
This was his first kill.
His first confirmed benefit.
And it had gone—relatively—smoothly.
It gave him confidence.
But this world didn't offer progress for free.
His next target was still somewhere out there, faceless, undefined.
"Mad Hatter Town…" he whispered.
"This place might be dangerous, but…"
He narrowed his eyes.
"…it's also the perfect hunting ground."
A cold splash to the face shocked his nerves awake.
After wiping away the water and resisting the urge to peel back the bandage, Maud exited the bathroom.
When he returned, a new figure stood in the shop.
Tall, broad-shouldered. The man wore a fitted work jacket over a suit, a black armband wrapped tight around one bicep with the kanji for "Death" stitched in red. A stark white mask covered the upper half of his face, leaving only the eyes and half of the mouth exposed.
Maud guessed instantly: This must be Arthur.
Sunny's cleanup contact.
Arthur crouched beside Watt's corpse, inspecting it with a practiced eye. Hearing Maud's approach, he looked up—his gaze sharp, calculating.
Then he blinked, surprised.
"…Oh. You're already awake."