Illusion Technique

"Forget it. We've more or less finished what needed doing. Shisui, notify the other clan members to gather. I'll head over later."

"Understood."

The call ended.

Yoru tucked the Den Den Mushi back into his clothes, brushed off dust that was not there, and put that easy smile back on his face before walking back to Rayleigh.

"Old man, looks like our chat will have to be put on hold for now."

Yoru spread his hands, his tone carrying a hint of regret. "The kids back home don't know how to behave. They caused a little trouble, so I have to clean up the mess."

Rayleigh's hand, which had been applying resin, finally came to a complete stop.

He raised his head and looked at Yoru through his glasses, his expression complicated.

With his mastery of Observation Haki, there was no way he could have failed to hear the contents of that call.

Defeating the head of CP0... kicking a Celestial Dragon... an Admiral...

That was no small trouble. They had practically punched a hole in the sky.

"You lot..." Rayleigh opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only shook his head and sighed.

"What an incredible bunch of brats. How long have you even been on the island?"

"Can't be helped. Young people have hot blood."

Yoru said it with a grin, as if he were merely commenting on the nice weather.

"So, old man, you really won't reconsider my earlier offer? Be our swordsmanship instructor. I guarantee it'll be far more exciting than coating bubbles here."

Rayleigh looked at him, then suddenly smiled as well—a carefree smile born from weathering countless storms.

"Exciting? This old man only wants to drink in peace, coat ships, and occasionally read the newspaper. Your road is far too exciting. I'd still like to live a few more years."

"What a shame."

Yoru did not press the matter. He took a crystal bottle filled with clear liquid from his clothes and placed it on the wooden crate beside them.

"This is fine liquor from my hometown. Consider it an apology for taking up your time, and a gift for our first meeting. If you ever change your mind, or just want to try something different, come find me."

With that, he waved to Rayleigh, turned around, and hummed an off-key tune.

He ambled out of the alley and soon vanished around the corner.

Rayleigh watched his back disappear, then lowered his gaze to the bottle on the crate.

He picked it up, pulled out the stopper, and took a small sip, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"That little brat sure knows how to brag. This liquor is pretty ordinary."

"Uchiha..."

He murmured the unfamiliar surname and looked toward the faint alarm sounds coming from outside the alley.

"Will this sea once again be stirred into new waves by a group of brats who don't know their limits?"

"Roger... are these the people you were waiting for?"

He shook his head, carefully tucked the bottle into his clothes, and picked up the resin brush again.

He resumed his daily work.

In Sabaody's Grove 25, the once-bustling open-air plaza had been cleared out.

Dozens of medical staff in White Uniforms and CP Department agents moved about anxiously.

A makeshift medical tent had been erected in the center of the plaza. At least three layers of fully armed guards surrounded it, every one of them grim-faced and tense as if facing a great enemy.

Uchiha Yoru stood in the distance, his gaze passing through gaps in the crowd and settling on the entrance to the tent.

Through the curtain that was occasionally lifted, he could see Saint Charlos's bloated body lying inside.

The glass bubble around him had been shattered and removed. An oxygen mask covered his face, and various monitoring devices were connected to his body.

"His vital signs are temporarily stable, but he has multiple soft-tissue bruises, mild internal organ trauma, cracked ribs... Most importantly, he suffered severe psychological shock."

The doctor's report drifted over in fragments.

"Useless! You're all useless!"

A CP official who appeared to be in charge cursed in a low voice.

"Saint Charlos was attacked and seriously injured right under your noses! What are you even good for?! Where is Lord Kong?!"

"M-My lord... he was seriously injured too. He's receiving emergency treatment elsewhere," the reporting agent said, his voice trembling.

The scene was in chaos, and fear weighed on the heart of every World Government employee.

No one knew how furious Saint Charlos would be once he woke up, or how much of that fury would be directed at them.

After observing for a while, Yoru directly used the Transformation Technique to turn into a medical worker in a white uniform.

He swaggered inside, and sure enough, no one paid him any attention.

The interior of the tent was larger than it appeared from outside, but it was still crowded.

The sharp smell of disinfectant mixed with the scent of blood.

Saint Charlos lay on the hospital bed in the center, groaning and whimpering. Even injured, he was still muttering curses about "commoners" and "kill them all."

Several doctors stood around him, being extremely careful.

The high-ranking CP members stood a little farther away, their faces dark as they discussed pursuing the culprits.

Yoru's arrival drew a glance or two, but seeing his attire, they assumed he was some special medical consultant or observer sent by their superiors and did not question him further.

Yoru walked straight to the bedside and studied Saint Charlos's fat face, twisted by pain and rage, with great interest.

A lead doctor beside him looked up at him, about to ask something.

Uchiha Yoru raised a hand, signaling for him to wait.

Then he bent down as though he intended to inspect the patient's pupils closely.

His face drew near Saint Charlos's.

Saint Charlos's cloudy eyes met Yoru's.

At that instant, Three Tomoe Sharingan silently emerged deep within Uchiha Yoru's black eyes and slowly rotated.

Saint Charlos's body suddenly jerked, and a short, strange gasp escaped his throat.

His eyes rolled upward uncontrollably, exposing large patches of white, but they returned to normal after barely half a second.

To outsiders, it looked like nothing more than an ordinary convulsion or discomfort from a severely injured patient.

Only Saint Charlos himself knew that a cold, commanding voice had already been branded into the depths of his consciousness:

["I am Uchiha Yoru. From now on, obey my commands, and you shall have peace and protection. If the Marines question you, say that the attackers were unidentified pirates who have already fled far away. Do not pursue this matter further. When I contact you, act according to my instructions. This is top secret and must not be leaked."]

The command was simple and direct.

For someone like Saint Charlos, whose willpower was nearly nonexistent and who had just suffered tremendous fright and pain.

The Sharingan's illusion technique was like a sledgehammer smashing tofu. It met no resistance at all.

After planting the command deep within Saint Charlos's mind, Yoru straightened up. The Three Tomoe in his eyes had long since faded, returning them to ordinary black.

He nodded to the somewhat puzzled doctor beside him and spoke in a deliberately lowered voice.

"Excessive shock. A neurological stress response. Adjust the sedative dosage slightly. Let him rest more and avoid further stimulation."

The doctor nodded instinctively, feeling that this new doctor's words made sense.

Yoru did not linger. He turned and walked out, his steps steady and composed.

As he passed the high-ranking CP members, he even gave them a slight nod, as though saying, You've all worked hard.

Only after he left the tent and blended back into the crowd outside.

Did the doctors inside the tent belatedly mutter to themselves.

"Which department was that colleague from just now? Why don't I remember seeing him before?"

But at that moment, Saint Charlos on the bed suddenly began groaning again, his voice clearer than before.

"Pirates... pirates attacked me and ran away? Forget it... my head hurts... I want to rest... Don't investigate anymore! It's so annoying!"

The CP members froze and looked at one another.

Saint Charlos was... letting it go?

Or was he babbling nonsense from excessive shock?

They hurried over to confirm it, but Saint Charlos only waved them away irritably.

He kept repeating things like "Stop investigating," "My head hurts," and "I want quiet."

In the end, he even threw a tantrum and smashed a medical instrument.

The scene descended into chaos once more.