Come Down for a Drink

[Observation Haki: 5000 points]

[Armament Haki: 5000 points]

The Two-colored Haki priced at 5000 points in the platform shop made Seven forcibly suppress his urge to buy the Flying Cape.

A cape was cool, sure, but compared to the two types of Haki, it was ultimately an external tool.

"I'm going to be the strongest man in the world—no way I'm ending up as a cautionary tale like Sand Crocodile."

That so-called Shichibukai Sand Crocodile, chasing after an Ancient Weapon, neglected his Haki training and got beaten by Luffy, who'd just set sail with no Haki at all.

What a disgrace to the Logia Type.

"Better train for a while first. If I can awaken both types of Haki through practice, I'll buy the Flying Cape and the Flying Bamboo Dragonfly then."

No choice—Seven was broke.

If he had a million points right now, he'd max out the Three Types of Haki to their peak and buy whatever he wanted.

But being broke meant living broke.

From what the apocalypse user was selling and buying, Seven had a rough idea of his situation.

A month ago, that apocalypse guy was begging for food and water; now he was buying Water Shells and Laser Dials.

Probably in a similar spot to Seven—just started with the system not long ago.

Definitely didn't have spare points either.

On the Myriad Worlds Trading Platform, the richest in points was the Warhammer World user, who didn't hesitate to spend tens of thousands on bounties for Momonosuke, the Deserter King, and Third Brother.

Like points meant nothing.

The Deserter King wasn't even born yet.

As for Momonosuke...

Oden was still alive. Seven decided to head to Wano Country in four years, and when Oden got killed by Kaido, he'd personally off Momonosuke.

Compared to ten thousand points.

Whatever bond he had with Oden from the Roger Pirates was worthless.

Those father and son... were disgustingly stupid.

After washing up and changing into fresh clothes, Seven strolled to the banquet hall with his hands in his pockets.

"Too bad I don't know what Warhammer Bro needs, or I could sell him something targeted."

People's circumstances were different. Seven was desperate for points, while that rich Warhammer guy had more than he could spend.

As for that dense fool on the Teyvat Continent, he had a goddess wife and a goddess sister-in-law.

Living the dream of every transmigrator.

When Seven stepped into the banquet hall, unlike the Shandia Warriors' warm respect, some of the native Skypieans had their resentment practically written on their faces.

Seven didn't care much.

He almost wished they'd start shouting:

"On Skypiean soil, we Skypiean people have become second-class citizens! Brothers, guns in hand, follow me!!"

That way, Seven could show his iron fist.

Anyone who dared resist—none left alive.

The so-called banquet hall was like an open-air barbecue from Seven's past life. Amid cheers from the great Shandia Warrior Calpa and former Skypiean god Gan Fall, Seven took the seat of honor.

"Today, we gather here."

Seven raised his glass: "To celebrate this hard-won peace. This toast—to peace!"

"To peace!"

"To peace!"

Overall, the Skypiean natives unhappy with the new god were still a minority.

Most people had no choice but to go with the flow.

The two tribes had fought for four hundred years. With Gan Fall's push, calls for peaceful coexistence had spread among them years ago.

Seven had just reaped the fruit.

Glass after glass, the warriors from both tribes drank and ate heartily, the atmosphere gradually warming.

Around the crackling bonfire, Calpa and Gan Fall led their people in the Shandia ritual dance to honor the sun god.

And when Seven pulled out a guitar to accompany them.

Mihawk nearly spat out his drink. He really wanted to know: was there anything this guy couldn't do?

"This guy's a one-man band!"

Masterful cooking, steering a ship, drawing sea charts, making Log Poses, repairing vessels, playing guitar... aside from not knowing how to swim, he was practically all-around.

At a Skypiean girl's invitation, Seven joined the dancing crowd.

Dum-dum-dum-dum~ Dum-dum-dum-dum~

A ritual dance eerily similar to the Nika Dance—how to describe it? Before you start, it feels childish; while you're dancing, it's genuinely joyful.

"Dum-dum-dum-dum~ Dum-dum-dum-dum~"

The older warriors of both tribes, watching this scene, couldn't help but weep. Some even joined in, swaying to the rhythm Seven hummed.

Peace was never just empty words; it had to be proven through concrete action.

The Doctor didn't join in, but his face clearly showed a flicker of temptation.

Mihawk didn't step into the dance floor, but his toes unconsciously tapped along to the beat—until a certain figure appeared, and he abruptly stood up.

Kizaru flew from the sea surface up to the sky island, and this was the sight that greeted him—

Barzeb Seven, whom the World Government had ordered captured alive, was dancing the Nika Dance with a crowd of men, women, and children who had small wings sprouting from their backs.

Through the electric waves carried in the air, Seven looked up in surprise. Recognizing the newcomer, he didn't panic; instead, he smiled and raised his glass.

"Come down and have a drink."

This battle was likely unavoidable.

But before the fight began, Seven decided to try a trick first—he had Gan Fall use an Image Shell to capture a photo of Seven and Kizaru drinking together.

Kizaru hovered in midair, a look of deep bewilderment flashing across his face. This guy was actually inviting him down for a drink?

Fine.

In two days, he'd crossed most of Paradise from Marineford, then searched for a long time in the waters near Lodestar Island and Jaya Island.

He was indeed a bit thirsty.

Kizaru sat down across from Mihawk.

"Dracule Mihawk—a man like you, how did you end up with Barzeb?"

Mihawk poured himself a drink without looking up, and the words he casually spoke made the smile on Kizaru's face freeze instantly.

"He's my Captain."

"What?!"

Kizaru smacked his lips.

He could only conclude that the intelligence systems of the World Government and the Navy were a bunch of idiots—something this important, and they hadn't caught a single whisper.

In truth, the moment he saw Mihawk, Kizaru understood: things were about to get troublesome.

The mission's target—

Barzeb, a former member of the Roger Pirates, possessed the qualities of a king, and had also consumed the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, a power that rivaled the Glint-Glint Fruit.

The other prisoner seemed less important.

The World Government hadn't made a single extra demand; they only wanted the target captured alive.

Now there was Mihawk, an unexpected variable.

Plus the island existing ten thousand meters in the sky and the native race living there—every single complication had hit him at once.

What a mess.

While Kizaru and Mihawk talked, Seven had already instructed Gan Fall and Calpa to lead the tribespeople far away, and to capture a photo of him and Kizaru drinking together.

Facing the future Marine Admiral Kizaru, Seven had to try every method he could think of.

Whether it could be used as leverage was one thing.

Whether he actually did it was another.

Seven walked over and sat down beside Mihawk, raising his glass. "A guest from afar is a guest of honor, Mr. Borsalino."

"I'll drink to you."