"You. Come here."
Louis returned to the tavern, grabbed one of his fellow countrymen by the shoulder, and pulled him toward a quieter corner.
After scanning the surroundings to ensure no one was paying attention, he lowered his voice.
"I need you to handle something. Go to the black market and buy the locations of the World Government offices and Marine bases. Whatever remains from this—consider it your reward."
He carefully relayed everything Robin had told him.
The man counted the money quickly. He couldn't read, but when it came to Berries, his arithmetic was flawless.
3.05 million Berries.
The listed price was 3 million.
The extra fifty thousand would be his payment.
But demand for that kind of intelligence was low these days. If he negotiated well, he might knock the price down and pocket close to 100,000 Berries total.
That was no small sum.
"First Mate, don't worry. We're both from the former Territory of Baron Trell. I'll handle this cleanly."
News of Louis's promotion had already spread. The man eagerly tried to ingratiate himself.
Louis ignored the flattery.
"Deliver it quietly. No attention. And don't bring up hometown ties again."
He had learned his lesson.
Early on, his fellow countrymen had exploited his competence more than once. Since then, their relationship had grown cold—borderline hostile.
Still, his position ensured obedience. If the task failed, crew rules would handle the consequences.
And technically—
He was simply following Captain Medica's orders.
The captain had clearly stated: as long as Robin's requests did not harm the crew's interests, they were to be fulfilled.
This was not collusion.
It was compliance.
If the hometown group was exposed, he wouldn't be implicated. Their distance was useful.
As he imagined Robin disembarking at the next island, Louis felt his mood lift. A faint smile crept onto his face.
Behind him, in his blind spot, a small ear that had sprouted on a nearby surface quietly withered away.
Robin sat inside the tavern, hat brim lowered, a faint smile playing on her lips.
So this was Louis's foundation.
His hometown faction.
From her observations, at least a hundred crew members hailed from the same region.
If each of them had even two close associates, that network expanded to three or four hundred pirates—more than a third of the Tequila Pirates.
A solid base.
With that kind of support, ambition wasn't surprising.
She swirled her fruit wine and watched Louis re-enter the tavern.
Interesting. You've always appeared cold toward your countrymen aboard the ship. Yet privately…
Power. Supporters. The captain's complete trust.
If not you, then who would attempt a coup?
Captain Medica had instructed Louis to attend to her needs as fully as possible.
Robin rose and seated herself beside him.
"First Mate, how long will we remain here?"
Louis scanned the tavern warily.
"Three more days. Don't ask about ship matters here. Too many ears."
He had no intention of elaborating.
Robin glanced around the room and suppressed a faint, ironic smile.
Too many ears?
This tavern leaked information like a sieve.
She hadn't meant to inquire about crew secrets.
"I've finished organizing my belongings," she said calmly. "They're still at my previous residence. The captain instructed me to request your assistance if needed. I'd prefer not to have rough pirates handling my personal effects."
Louis cursed internally.
Using the captain's order as leverage, are we?
Out loud, he adopted the sternest tone he could muster.
"Enough rambling. Just give me the address. I'll move them now."
Strong words.
Utterly resigned compliance.
Three days later, the Tequila Pirates departed as scheduled.
Louis's caution about "too many ears" had been justified.
The tavern bartender was indeed a Marine intelligence asset.
So were several servers, the cook, security staff, even the tavern owner. The newspaper vendor across the street maintained ties as well.
Nine individuals in total.
The moment the Tequila Pirates set sail, they dispersed toward the nearest Marine base to report.
One day later—
A report landed on the desk of Vice Admiral Gust of Marine Branch G-12 in West Blue.
The Tequila Pirates were a priority target. Within an hour, the intelligence file was placed before him.
"Tequila Pirates again…" Gust muttered. "Stir things up while you can. When I have the manpower, I'll bury you all at sea. I won't even need more than a Headquarters colonel."
He opened the folder.
As the pirate crew with the highest combined bounty in West Blue, the Tequila Pirates had long been under close observation. Gust had even risked exposing dormant informants to track their movements.
Yet he had refrained from acting.
Not out of mercy.
Pragmatism.
The crew was powerful.
They targeted nobles, not civilians.
They avoided unnecessary bloodshed. When they fought, they annihilated opponents decisively.
To ordinary people, their actions were distant.
High bounty.
High reputation.
High strength.
Low direct civilian harm.
Noble protests only resulted in incremental bounty increases.
The Marines' priority targets were weaker crews who terrorized towns and merchant routes.
Of course—
Another factor played a role.
Branch officers were, on average, significantly weaker than their Headquarters counterparts.
A typical Branch colonel equaled a Headquarters captain.
A Branch vice admiral might correspond to a Headquarters colonel—or, at best, a commodore.
Gust, however, lagged even further.
His strength was barely above that of a Headquarters lieutenant colonel—and inferior to most Headquarters colonels.
The Marine elite were concentrated in the Grand Line.
In a direct confrontation, G-12 would require its full force to secure a decisive victory.
And even then—
There were no guarantees.