In the neighboring Room 222, Rogers nearly jumped out of his skin as he listened. He hadn't expected what was supposed to be a straightforward transaction to turn out to be nothing but a government trap. Still, when he thought back to the World Government's ugly face in the original story, it all made perfect sense.
The corners of his mouth tugged upward. Perfect. If those two sides start fighting, my chances of snatching the prize will skyrocket. Looks like coming here really wasn't a waste after all.
"Open fire!" The government official in Room 221 barked the order, and the men behind him instantly squeezed their triggers.
Flames burst from the muzzles as bullets flew toward the man in black—or rather, the man who was now covered head to toe in shimmering golden scales, like an armadillo standing upright.
The man just grinned. Clutching the case to his chest, he curled into a tight ball, exposing only his scaled back to the bullets.
The shots sparked harmlessly off his armor. Not even a scratch.
"Hahaha! Useless. My scales are as hard as steel!" he boasted, straightening again, chest puffed with pride.
"Don't get cocky just because you've eaten a Zoan fruit," the government agent replied coolly, tilting his head with disdain.
"Cocky? You dare talk about cocky? Zoans give the greatest boost to raw power!" the armadillo man snarled, kicking the table between them aside. He wound back his fist—scales glinting—and hurled a punch straight at the government agent. "Die, you government lapdog!"
The agent didn't flinch. With one hand, he caught the scaled fist and sneered. "Zoans boost strength, sure. But it all depends on your foundation."
The man's eyes widened in shock. His fist felt like it had been caught in an iron vice. His strength… even greater than mine, even after transforming? Cold sweat rolled down his temple.
"Reckless fool," the agent said with icy contempt. "Your douriki barely scrapes four hundred." He yanked the man forward with ease, lifting a leg as he continued, "And mine? Nearly five hundred. Rankyaku!"
His foot sliced through the air, producing a sharp, vacuum-like blade of compressed wind. The azure slash tore across the room, slamming into the man's chest.
Blood sprayed as the armadillo man was hurled back, crashing into the wall with a sickening crunch. A deep wound gaped across his chest. Cracks spread along the wall where the attack had carved through.
"Your scales might be tough," the official said smugly, lowering his leg. "But unarmored flesh? Still just flesh."
The man spat blood, face twisted with pain. Yet a defiant smile tugged at his lips. "You may have the upper hand this time… but if I want to leave, you won't stop me."
"Still can't see reality, can you?" The agent's brow creased.
"You're the blind one!" the man roared. Clutching the case tighter, he bolted for the window and hurled himself through it.
Glass shattered as his bulky body smashed out, tumbling down into the street below. He hit the ground hard, carving a crater into the cobblestones, blood spilling from his chest.
"How troublesome," the government agent muttered, leaping to the window. He barked down to the men stationed below, "Quick, seize him! Shoot on sight if you must. The… contraband is in that case!"
"Yes, sir!" came the chorus from below as more than a dozen suited men swarmed toward the fallen target, guns blazing.
The chaos startled the hotel's wealthy patrons, who had been dining in peace. But after only a few moments of discomfort, their expressions shifted to amusement. To them, this was just another show. They were nobles—spectators, not participants.
Rogers, however, couldn't stay calm. The moment the man had leapt, he'd thrown open his own window, watching from above.
The scene was just as he had guessed. Despite his wound, the armadillo man rampaged like a beast, shrugging off bullets and tearing through government men like paper. As the official had said, with douriki near 400, his physical might was leagues above ordinary enforcers.
Still, Rogers knew the truth. This wouldn't last. If the man was captured before he fell, there'd be no second chance. Do I intervene? If I don't act now, how will I ever get close to that fruit?
"Useless trash," the government agent growled, watching his men falter. Then he bent his knees. "Geppo!"
He sprang from the window, sprinting through the air itself as though climbing invisible stairs.
Rogers' blood ran cold. No way—he can use Geppo too? He wasn't kidding about five hundred douriki. Don't tell me he's mastered all six techniques…
By his own rough estimate, Rogers figured his power barely reached 150, maybe 200 at best. It was enough to crush regular pirates, sure. But compared to this monster? He was nothing.
"What the hell is that? He's… running in the sky?!" The armadillo man's eyes bulged, fear breaking through his rage as the official closed in fast.
"Pirate," the agent bellowed for all to hear, "you cannot escape the justice of the World Government!" He raised his leg high, his voice sharp as a blade, and lashed out with a kick aimed at the man's head.
The armadillo man had learned his lesson. He turned his scaled back into the strike, absorbing the blow. The impact still flung him back, but aside from a large, pale boot-print left across his scales, he was unhurt.
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T/N:
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