Chapter 3: Newbie Package
Eustass Kid.
In the original work, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Luffy, Zoro, and other Supernovas infamous pirates of the "Worst Generation" who led the tide of the New Era. A brutal man with a hair-trigger temper and a body count to match.
Maud instinctively marked Kid as a future target an entry in the Hunter's Notes, not unlike how Kurapika designated each Phantom Troupe member. But the timing had to be perfect.
If the conditions were right, he'd harvest Kid's experience points cleanly.
If not he'd wait.
He had no intention of throwing his life away recklessly. Especially not in this body's current state weak, fragile, barely stronger than an East Blue civilian.
"The world of One Piece…"
Maud lowered his gaze, masking the tremor behind his eyes. He hadn't expected to stumble into this world let alone face a young Kid this early. It felt like the first page of a long volume, the kind that started with foreshadowing you only understood twenty arcs later.
Old, dust-covered memories from the One Piece manga came rushing back, just as those from Hunter x Hunter had when he first activated the Hunter's Notes.
Here, every detail might matter. Names. Crews. Bounties. Devil Fruits. Even minor characters could become keys to survival or stepping stones toward strength.
The tension in the room paused briefly at the arrival of Sunny and Maud. Kid spared Maud a side glance, eyes sizing up the silent, unimpressive figure behind the woman. He didn't know that the quiet man before him had already logged him as a target.
If he did, he might've laughed and then broken Maud's neck without hesitation.
Disinterested, Kid turned back toward Sol and scoffed, "Tch. Where'd you dig up this free coolie? Looks like dead meat already. I bet he'll get carved up in some alley and rot before sunset."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Sol replied, voice grainy from age, puffing on a gilded pipe etched with wave patterns likely a relic from the West Sea. "In Mad Hatter, there's no shortage of undertakers. Even if the boy's chopped into twenty pieces, someone will find a way to extract his value. As long as he dies properly, even scraps can shine."
Sol chuckled darkly, letting the ashes fall to the floor.
"Speaking of coolies I had higher hopes for you, Kid. If you'd just play ball, I wouldn't just throw in Keanu's gun. I'd toss in Salaman's shortblades too. And I'd supply you with West Blue's best liquor, straight from Illusia's vineyards."
"Scram."
Kid's voice was low and sharp. "I don't take orders."
"Pity." Sol exhaled slowly, smoke curling upward like lazy sea clouds.
Their exchange didn't escape Maud's notice. Valuable intel was hidden between the insults and threats.
Mad Hatter. West Sea. Gunfire on the streets. Ruthless undertakers who dismantled corpses for profit. All signs pointed to a dark, anarchic underworld a rogue zone not under Marine jurisdiction. Possibly like Rook Island, or even worse than Mock Town on Jaya.
Maud's eyes flicked toward the weapon-stocked shelves. Pistols, rifles, rusted cutlasses. This wasn't just a shop it was a war chest.
And Sol, with his obsession over value, wasn't just a weapons merchant.
He was a broker of potential and corpses.
Maud kept silent. He had no power here. Only patience.
Sol, meanwhile, studied him closely his quiet posture, his deliberate restraint. A knowing glint flickered in his eyes.
Then he hopped down from the high stool and stepped out from behind the counter.
Only then did Maud realize Sol barely cleared one meter in height. Dwarf-like, possibly from a rare race like the Tontatta, though lacking the distinctive ears. The stool had given him the height earlier to look Kid straight in the eye.
Kid, frustrated from their verbal jousting, tried one last time.
"Do you actually sell that gun?"
Sol raised his head and looked pointedly at the bag of money in Kid's hand.
"Where'd the money come from?"
Kid's brow twitched. "What's it to you? Sell it or don't."
He was at his limit. Anyone else would've been punched through a wall by now but he knew better than to underestimate Sol.
Unfazed, Sol took a slow puff. "Didn't I say earlier? I wouldn't sell Keanu's gun even if it were in pieces, rusted, and dumped in the landfill."
Kid's face twitched. More veins surfaced on his forehead.
"Then throw it away!"
Knock. Knock.
Sol tapped his pipe against the cabinet wall.
"I'll pick a nice day and toss it," he replied, deadpan.
"Old bastard!!!" Kid practically vibrated with rage.
The contrast was striking. One man, small and aged, calm as still water. The other, a volatile powder keg in human form.
Maud watched closely, weighing the interaction.
For Kid a man who'd one day earn a 470 million berry bounty, who'd go toe-to-toe with Yonko and challenge the World Government this restraint was unusual.
That alone proved something.
Sol wasn't weak.
Not physically, perhaps. But socially, politically, and mentally he was a man of weight. The kind you didn't provoke unless you had a death wish.
Maud made a mental note.
In this lawless place where value trumped morality, and gunfire echoed more often than laughter, Sol was not just a shopkeeper.
He was a gatekeeper.
And if Maud wanted to survive long enough to rise… he'd have to learn how to play this game better than anyone.
Maud observed quietly and could vaguely sense the unspoken exasperation coming off Sunny beside him.
From Sunny's point of view, although Sol was a notorious money-grubber, he wasn't the kind of merchant who'd stoop or beg for business. On the contrary, he loathed people who lacked basic respect.
Which was why, as long as one was courteous, Keanu's gun wasn't exactly a "non-sale" item. If the price was right and the buyer wasn't an eyesore, Sol would sell it grudgingly, perhaps, but he'd sell it.
Kidd knew that perfectly well. Yet he deliberately refused to rein in his thuggish temper, leading to this recurring circus where the buyer was trying to force a deal and the seller was flatly refusing.
What Sunny couldn't comprehend was how someone like Sol—whose temperament was practically the opposite of Leorio's "people-pleaser" nature continued to tolerate Kidd's insolence. Repeatedly.
She had no idea what Sol saw in him.
Kidd, failing to get what he wanted, clearly didn't want to linger any longer. Clutching his cloth bag of Bailey, he turned and strode toward the wooden front door, pushing through the half-open panel without a backward glance.
"No delivery."
Sol spoke to Kidd's back in a neutral voice.
Kidd didn't turn around.
He took just a few steps forward when
Bang!
The opposite door flew open with a violent crash. A burly man with a machete kicked it in, slamming it so hard into the wall that the hinges groaned and the frame splintered.
His clothes were soaked with blood, and a dark, iron-scented miasma clung to him. He exuded killing intent as tangibly as Nen from a seasoned Hunter.
The moment he spotted the bulging cloth sack in Kidd's hand, his eyes turned murderous, his teeth grinding audibly.
"There you are, little punk. Took me long enough."
"And what alley did this mangy dog crawl out of?"
Kidd replied with a sneer, not moving an inch.
Behind the counter, Sol glanced at the now-ruined left door the one just obliterated and then the earlier-damaged right one, courtesy of Kidd's foot. His squint deepened.
Emotions are addictive.
A familiar frost settled on Sol's face.
The blood-stained newcomer ignored everyone else. Fixated only on Kidd, he pointed his blade and snarled:
"I'm Evan Watt! Eleven million bounty! Known across West Blue as the Executioner"
"Smack!"
Before Watt could finish his theatrical self-introduction, Sol appeared behind him and slapped him unconscious with one clean strike.
Kidd's pupils contracted.
He had been closest to the attacker he should've been the first to register Sol's movement. But he'd seen nothing. Not even an afterimage.
This old bastard… is seriously dangerous.
Sol landed gently.
At his height, the only way to reach Watt's head was to jump—and yet the blow had dropped a hardened pirate instantly.
Without sparing the unconscious man a glance, Sol turned to Kidd and said flatly:
"Still thinking of staying for dinner?"
Kidd's jaw clenched. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop, not sparing another word.
As Sol shut the near-derelict front door, Sunny appeared at his side and murmured:
"You're too friendly to that brat."
"Friendly?"
Sol gave her a sidelong look and chuckled. "More like... eccentric, wouldn't you say?"
Sunny nodded. As she casually frisked the unconscious pirate for valuables, she added, "You're really eccentric when it comes to him."
"Haha."
Sol tucked away his pipe, lifted the machete from the floor, and with casual expertise wiped it clean. Then, he placed it among the store's displayed inventory like a secondhand kitchen knife.
Watching the seamless switch between violence and commerce, Maud who had once seen similar casual pragmatism in Phantom Troupe members felt a strange sense of unease.
Sol kicked Watt lightly in the head and muttered, "Shame. That head's worth a decent bit, but I doubt we'll cash in on it now. What was his name again?"
"Evan Watt," Sunny replied smoothly. "Captain of the Ghost Knife Pirates. Nicknamed 'The Executioner.' A swordsman with an 11 million bounty from the West Blue."
She laid the pilfered loot on the counter, completing Watt's introduction with professional flair.
"Hmph."
Sol stroked his chin, then looked over at Maud, who had been quietly absorbing the scene.
"You. Come here."
Maud approached without a word.
Sol slapped his knee lightly and raised an eyebrow.
"Respect your elders. Or do you need me to spell it out?"
Maud's eye twitched. He caught on instantly and sat cross-legged, matching Sol's seated height.
Their eye levels aligned. Sol studied him carefully, noting the calm that radiated from him—uncommon for someone newly dropped into Mad Hatter.
"Name?"
"Bacardi Maud."
It was the same name from the photo Sunny had shown earlier, so Maud stuck with it.
"Bacardi…"
Sol repeated the surname, then instinctively looked at Sunny.
She offered a helpful nudge. "The rum."
"Oh!" Sol's eyes brightened. "Right, I remember. Good rum. Didn't I see something about it in the papers? An armed merchant ship carrying it got raided a few days ago. No survivors—head of the family included."
Sunny confirmed it with a nod.
"Interesting…"
Sol turned back to Maud, narrowing his eyes like a seasoned examiner evaluating a rookie applicant to the Hunter Association.
Then, without warning, he pulled out a small, sharp-edged knife—barely bigger than a fruit peeler—and handed it to Maud.
"Let go of the past. Kill this man called Watt."
"No problem."
Maud accepted the knife without hesitation.
His expression was calm, but inside, he was ecstatic.
This wasn't an order. It was an invitation. A test. And a shortcut.
He looked down at Watt.
Evan Watt. The Executioner. Eleven million bounty.
Maud made a silent promise to remember the name.
Seeing how easily Maud accepted the assignment, Sol was visibly pleased.
Then Maud said:
"I want to use the toilet first."
"…?" Sol.
"…Seriously?" Sunny.
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