Rogers swam back to shore, dragging himself onto the rocks. Soaked to the bone, he sprawled there like a drowned rat, but the wild triumph on his face spoke louder than anything.
Just then, his stomach growled loudly, as if to remind him of its existence. He glanced at the Dark-Dark Fruit in his hand and muttered,
"Might as well eat it now—save myself the trouble later! Hahaha, and I'm starving anyway. That lousy bowl of ramen didn't fill me up at all. Though… I do remember hearing that Devil Fruits taste like crap…"
Rogers' expression twisted. But no matter how foul, he had to eat it. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the fruit whole into his mouth. The instant he bit down, a wave of revolting stench hit him—like a pair of socks left to rot for months. His face contorted; he nearly vomited. Slapping both hands over his mouth, he forced himself to chew and swallow.
Too vile. Too foul. Rogers collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air as though he'd just survived torture. He swore then and there: this was the most disgusting thing he had ever eaten.
After a long moment, he sat upright, focusing inward. A strange new energy pulsed inside him. Testing it, he let out a booming laugh.
"Zehahahaha! So this is the Dark-Dark Fruit? As expected—no elemental intangibility… the so-called most evil power in the world?"
…Though he paused mid-laugh, brow twitching. Wait—why did that laugh sound weird? (Since so many people in One Piece have their own distinctive laughs, well… since he'd stolen Blackbeard's fruit, maybe he'd inherited the laugh, too?)
A swirl of black mist appeared behind him, stark against his cheap white suit. At his will, the darkness seeped into his hands, tendrils coiling and writhing. He could feel his stamina being consumed, though not unbearably so.
A grin spread across his face. With a thought, he cloaked his entire body in darkness, pulling every last drop of seawater out of his clothes.
"Zehahahaha! Not bad at all! This power—darkness that can swallow everything? Hm? Why am I laughing like this again? Eh, whatever. Small problem!"
He dispersed the darkness, satisfied. There was much still to learn, much to develop. And yet
Growl.
Hunger struck him like a hammer, fiercer than before. Rogers clutched his stomach.
"Tch… nothing for it. First bar I see, I'm eating it dry. Zehahaha!"
In his past life, Rogers had loved bars—booze, smoke, the whole scene. But since arriving in this world, poverty had chained him. Forget cigars, even drinks were scavenged leftovers.
Retracing his path, Rogers found himself back near the hotel, then wandered along the streets. Soon, he stood before the place he'd noticed earlier—The Bounty Bar.
Now it was bursting with life. Far noisier than before, the bar looked to hold at least several hundred square meters. Crowds spilled out onto the street, people clutching bottles and laughing raucously. Inside, colored lights blazed, music thumped heavy, loud enough to spill into the night air.
Excitement flickered in his eyes. This, this was his kind of place. With confident strides, Rogers pushed inside.
The layout was simple. A stage dominated the center, where musicians pounded out their tunes. Behind it stretched a massive semi-circular bar counter. Beyond that, shelves groaned with bottles of liquor. A side door opened occasionally as staff carried out steaming dishes.
All around, tables were packed with drinkers. The atmosphere was a storm of chatter, laughter, curses, and toasts. Rogers took a slow lap, nodding to himself. Not bad. These musicians can actually play. Music's got bite.
Still, he frowned slightly. The patrons were all hard-faced men, scarred and armed—clearly dangerous. And though he'd just eaten the Dark-Dark Fruit, the ability wasn't yet much of a weapon. This wasn't some logia with intangibility. Its strength lay elsewhere.
As he wove through the bar, Rogers caught the glances. Some ignored him. Some sneered. A few watched with mocking amusement. Malice hung in the air like smoke. But Rogers strolled on, unbothered, and took a seat at the bar.
The counter's surface was plastered with menus and… wanted posters. High-bounty faces stared up at him, amounts scrawled in bold print. These were no small-time crooks—they were the big fish.
Rogers skimmed the menu and finally smiled. Now this is fair pricing. A bottle of rum—1,000 belli. Plates of food ranged in the hundreds, maybe a thousand or two. That fancy hotel? Pure scam. Scam for stupid nobles.
Checking the cash in his pocket—still a few tens of thousands—he felt satisfied. Enough to splurge. He circled ten dishes, added two bottles of rum, and prepared to hand over the slip when a waitress approached.
He passed her the list. She glanced over it, then looked at him with polite surprise.
"Sir, that's quite a lot of food. Are there other guests joining you? If so, I can arrange a table. The bar counter is usually for singles."
The moment he heard her voice, something tugged at his memory. Familiar. Too familiar. Rogers lifted his head.
And froze.
The woman before him had sleek, black hair cascading over her shoulders, and eyes of a deep violet-black that seemed to pierce right through. Her features were sharp, her skin faintly bronze. Dressed in a simple black server's outfit, she still exuded elegance. Tall—easily 1.8 meters. Graceful. Her figure… flawless.
Beautiful, yes. But beauty wasn't what stunned Rogers.
The waitress noticed his sudden, fixed stare and faltered. For a heartbeat, her eyes flickered with panic—but it vanished almost instantly. With practiced calm, she continued,
"Sir, please answer my question. If you're expecting more guests, I'll guide you to a table."
Rogers swallowed hard, still staring. His voice came out hesitant, broken, as though he barely dared believe it.
"You… you are…"
She stiffened slightly, though her mask held. "Sir, your answer?"
But Rogers leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You're… Nico Robin, aren't you?"
--------------
T/N:
Access 30 chapters in advance on my P@treon: [email protected]/FicTale
(Replace @ with a)
Thanks :)