The setting sun bled across the coast.
A band of pirates boarded their ship. At the prow stood a burly, bearded middle-aged man, bare chest and coarse hemp trousers, his skin darkened by years of sea wind and sun. In his hand rested a massive war hammer strapped to a long pole. His appearance screamed brute—but beneath those thick brows, a pair of sharp blue eyes gleamed with intelligence.
"Captain Sherlock, all is ready."
His first mate strode over.
"Set sail," the man said.
This pirate captain, too, was named Sherlock—just like the Tax Minister of the Fire Country. In fact, they were brothers, born of the same father but different mothers. One was legitimate, the other a bastard.
They had grown up together. One had risen to power as the Fire Country's untouchable Tax Minister; the other had become a notorious pirate, his name whispered in fear. For thirty years, they had worked in tandem, controlling Fire Country's trade—one in the light, one in the shadows.
Before boarding, Captain Sherlock asked his mate in a low voice, "And what did he say?"
The first mate smirked. "The same as always—'We'll discuss it after this job.'"
Captain Sherlock chuckled bitterly. "Thirty years… and the answer never changes."
The mate tried to reassure him. "You're still family. When the time comes, he'll bring you home. You'll be reunited."
"Family…" The captain's smile twisted. The word grated in his ears.
…
That same evening, inside his luxurious manor, Minister Sherlock savored the chilled sweetness of the Ice Mushrooms. The stifling summer heat vanished with every bite.
"Excellent," he murmured. "With this product, whether I sell to our people or ship to Alabasta, the profits will be vast. If I gift it to the Celestial Dragons, perhaps… perhaps I could become a World Noble."
The world had its hierarchies. Among nobles, the apex were the Celestial Dragons. Below them, the World Nobles. Below still, the aristocracy of the World Government's member nations. And lowest, the nobles of non-member states. Every rung higher meant unimaginable wealth, privilege, and power.
To become a Celestial Dragon was a dream too distant. But a World Noble—that was the lifelong ambition of Minister Sherlock and his clan.
"Your brother," came a refined voice across the table, "seems less willing to play his part. He may ruin everything."
It was Galdino, sipping coffee with elegant posture, his hair twisted into the distinctive "3" topknot. On the surface, he was a businessman buying sulfur and minerals. In truth, he was Mr. 3 of the Baroque Works, Crocodile's clandestine organization.
He had been supporting Minister Sherlock, using him to seize the Fire Country's resources and forge weapons for the Baroque Works.
Minister Sherlock set down his fork and knife. "My brother is like me—a man who values family. His family is in my hands. I've already written him a script. He will die a 'glorious' death—betrayed by his men, hunted down by the Marines. He'll take all our secrets with him."
Galdino laughed coldly. "You're despicable. Selling out your own kin?"
"He was never family," the Minister sneered. "He was a mistake. A bastard."
…
Night fell. The island grew still.
Galdino could not sleep. At his window, he stared out over the dark sea, a gnawing unease in his chest. The lighthouse beam swept across the waves—illuminating two ships slipping silently from the night. Their black sails flew pirate flags.
…
At the docks, Jin stepped ashore once more. The town loomed ahead under the stars.
"Captain Sherlock," Jin said lightly to the weary man beside him, "may our cooperation be fruitful."
The pirate captain's eyes glimmered with conflict. "…I hope you keep your word."
"Of course," Jin replied. "I only want my five million back. As for you… tonight you become a hero. A liberator of the Fire Country. A pirate who slays the wicked and frees the people."
Behind them, the captured first mate stared wide-eyed. "Captain… what are you doing? Betraying the family?!"
Sherlock turned slowly. At his hip was a slender rapier. With a flash of cold steel, he drew and thrust in one smooth motion. The blade pierced the man's throat.
Blood welled as the sword clicked back into its sheath.
"Betrayal?" Sherlock's voice was like iron. "No. It is the family that betrayed us."
He turned to his men, resolve hard in his gaze. "No civilians. Our target is the Minister's manor."
Four to five hundred pirates—his loyal recruits, not the Minister's pawns—marched without hesitation. Any scattered resistance in the streets was crushed swiftly.
"Your Majesty!" Jason whispered nervously to Jin. "That really is Vulture Sherlock—the pirate with a 45-million-Berry bounty!"
Everything was happening too fast. Just yesterday they were merchants. Now they wore the guise of the Razor Pirates and fought alongside one of the most feared crews in the region.
Jin glanced at the militia he had brought from Drum. Young men, strong and brimming with blood… yet hesitant. They had never drawn true blood.
He raised his voice. "The Fire Country's Tax Minister didn't just steal our wealth. He wants our Ice Mushrooms—your future. Are you not angry? Will you just kneel?"
"Angry!"
"Furious!"
"Never!"
The men roared. Their hesitation burned away. They could still see the smug grin of the Minister when he took five million in broad daylight.
"Then take back what's ours!" Jin's voice was thunder. "Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth!"
A savage spark ignited in every gaze.
Violence lies within all men. Even the meekest carry a beast in their hearts. Tonight, Jin unleashed theirs—under the mask of "Razor Pirates." They could avenge their shame without guilt; the world would blame pirates, not them.
The bells of alarm clanged through the island.
"Kill!"
Screams rose as the town awoke in terror.
Minister Sherlock stumbled out of bed, pulling on his robe, panic on his face. "Pirates? Who dares raid my island?"
Wasn't this the Vulture Pirates' territory? Who would be so blind as to provoke the local overlords?
Boom!
The manor wall exploded. Dust and smoke filled the night. From the haze strode Captain Sherlock.
"It's me, dear brother," he said coldly.
…
Meanwhile, at the palace gates, guards raised muskets at Jin's approach.
"Stop! Any closer and we fire!"
Jin spread his hands in mock surrender, a pleasant smile on his lips. "I've come to see your king. I wish to discuss a business deal."
For six months he had not just trained and bred mushrooms—he had studied his markets. Alabasta was already under Crocodile's claws. But the Fire Country? A small, weak nation with no great powers. The perfect place for his first strike.
The captain of the guard hesitated. After a tense pause, he nodded to his lieutenant.
The man ran inside. A short while later, he returned.
"The King agrees to see you. But only you may enter."
"Good," Jin said with an easy smile.
And he stepped into the lion's den.