A cold sweat formed on my face. "By any chance… this protection you speak of—is it the guy who'll make sure I return your money?"
The doctor threw his head back and laughed. "Hahaha! You catch on fast, kid. But don't get too nosy. He's reliable, that's all you need to know. Aren't you going to ask what work you'll be doing here?"
Kid. That word made me flinch. If my math was right, I was thirty years old, and Issho—Fujitora—would be thirty-two right now. Was Martinez connected to him? Or was it someone else? I didn't know, and pushing further could get me killed.
So I swallowed it and asked, "Alright… what kind of work?"
"Groceries. Cooking. Deliveries. And from time to time, you'll go into the forest to gather things for me." Martinez grinned, his hunched back creaking as he leaned forward. "Do a good job… and maybe I'll ask my guy to teach you how not to get yourself torn apart out there. If I like you enough, hah!"
My stomach tightened. If my suspicion was right, that meant training from a man destined to become a marine admiral. It was insane. Tempting, but insane. Getting near someone like that was dangerous. What if he noticed something? My fruit, my lies, my name…
For a moment, I almost refused outright. But then the image of Ohara burning filled my head. The helplessness, the weakness. Did I really have the luxury to turn away from strength, even if it scared me?
I clenched my fists and forced a reply: "Sure. I'll do whatever I can to earn my living."
"That's the spirit!" Martinez smirked. "Now, let's see if you can cook without killing me."
He led me to his house near the clinic. I cooked us both a simple dish. He ate, seemed satisfied, then showed me to a spare room.
Alone, lying on the bed, my thoughts wouldn't stop.
"I don't want revenge. That was Reed's life, not mine. But I can't let myself be powerless again. I need strength. Comfort. A way to live without fear"
Joining the marines left a bitter taste. Too much risk of my secrets being exposed. Pirates were worse—chaos and danger at every turn.
Morgans crossed my mind—he protected his reporters well, and it seemed safer than most paths. But I needed strength first, otherwise I wouldn't live long enough to consider any of it.
I pushed myself off the bed and started leg and ab exercises from my old world, careful not to strain my arm. Sweat poured down my face until exhaustion dropped me flat.
The next morning I stank so badly I nearly gagged. After a shower, I put on spare clothes Martinez lent me, then cooked breakfast. We ate together, he changed my bandage, and handed me a small map.
"Go get groceries. Don't waste time."
The western city left me stunned. The eastern side had been lavish, yes, but this… every home looked like a Spanish-style mansion, white walls gleaming under the sun, decorated balconies and carved wooden doors. It reminded me of Dressrosa, only richer. By comparison, Martinez's clinic looked almost poor.
At the market, I bought groceries and slipped in a shirt and trousers for myself—on credit, of course. Another debt.
When I returned, I asked, "Need me for anything else, sir?"
"No. Just make lunch later. Until then, do what you want."
So I explored. The city's beauty was almost distracting, but eventually I reached the building I was looking for: the casino.
And there he was. A guard standing at the entrance—short black hair, black suit, sandals, sword at his waist. His eyes, scarred and unseeing, scanned the crowd. Issho.
My blood ran cold. Martinez's "guy." It had to be him.
I forced my gaze away and walked past as if I hadn't noticed.
Back at the house, I cooked lunch, then trained again in my room. This became my routine for a week: cook, exercise, rest.
Finally, Martinez removed my bandages. "You're healed. Lucky brat. No lasting damage, though you'll have a scar,as I said."
I exhaled, relieved. But then he shoved a map and a field guide into my hands.
"Alright, kid. Time to pay off your debt properly. Go into the forest and fetch me herbs. Maybe some animals too if you can manage, hah!"
I scowled. "Starting to pay my debt? I've been cooking and running errands all week!"
Martinez just shrugged. "You lived under my roof. Debt doesn't vanish because you stirred soup."
"…Fair enough."
So once again, I strapped on Fred's old knife, studied the map, and set off into the forest.