A Fortune Worth a City

The crystal chandelier lights of the Twin Snake Island casino shone down upon the 1.05 billion Beli in chips scattered across the gambling table.

Conrad's tumble looked utterly ridiculous, yet everyone present knew he was the final winner.

Conrad didn't bother trying to stand up; he simply lay there, avoiding the risk of tripping again.

Baccarat walked over to his side, and from his vantage point, the view was boundless, stretching on without end.

"Two billion to ransom Issho. Give me one hundred million in cash, and release our fellow marines from the Aokiji Buster Force."

"Do you think the boss will agree?" Baccarat asked with interest, crouching down to remove her sunglasses with a smile.

"A winner doesn't need to consider the opinions of the loser." Conrad pushed against the floor to sit up, but he slid and fell back down—his hand had landed on a bar of soap.

"You don't look much like a winner to me." Baccarat burst into laughter, grabbing Conrad by the shoulders to pull him up.

Conrad stood straight, but the top of his head didn't even reach Baccarat's chest; his line of sight was fixed squarely on her midriff.

He realized it then: this woman was pulling him up just to humiliate him, to mock him for being unable to stand steady, to mock him for his height!

He clenched his fists tightly, gathering Haki within his body, but the effect of the Luck-Luck Fruit wasn't a change in form—it was theft.

One could only defend before being robbed, but Conrad's luck had already been taken; he was now a loser with a negative luck stat.

Yet Conrad did not believe in luck; he was determined to defy it!

"My fate is determined by me, not by the heavens!" Conrad channeled his Haki, activating the Imperial Classic of World Governance, intending to absorb the fortune of the heavens for his own use and forge a body of great momentum.

The surging aura caused the casino lights to flicker on and off.

He raised his head, his sharp eyes locking onto Baccarat's as if staring down destiny itself, determined to shatter the cage of fate.

Baccarat found herself unable to meet his gaze and put her sunglasses back on.

At that very moment, the energy shifted.

Seeing her recoil, Conrad took a step forward, moving with the utmost caution.

He intended to drive his Haki to crush that ridiculous luck and show this world: man can conquer heaven!

Slap.

His foot slipped, and he plunged headfirst into Baccarat's embrace.

A cleaning lady had appeared out of nowhere, knocking over a full bucket of soapy water with her mop.

The tiles were slick, the fall was forceful, and like the cold reality of the dark sea, it completely engulfed Conrad's face.

Baccarat was startled at first, not expecting Conrad to be able to get close and touch her while completely devoid of luck.

Then, she bared her two rows of white teeth, revealing a generous smile as she held Conrad and patted his back with motherly affection.

"Release Master Conrad."

Issho was blind, relying on sound and Observation Haki; in his perception of volume and position, Conrad was being completely held hostage by Baccarat.

He leaned on his blade and stepped forward. He was no longer sluggish, the dejection of a man bowing under the eaves gone; his scars and palms radiated an imposing sharpness.

Conrad was actually struggling, but hearing those words made his efforts even more futile.

It was as if fate demanded he endure the most cruel and humiliating torture; he thrashed his limbs like a drowning man who couldn't swim, yet his face and body kept sinking forward.

When he was finally steadied by Baccarat, his face was as dark as iron, and the space between her massive, olive-shaped mounds had been rubbed red.

"Little brother, it seems you are quite starved for affection." Baccarat crossed her long legs, leaned her chin on her hand against the gambling table, and took a sip of her juice.

Conrad fell silent.

This was his second hurdle, more pathetic than the helplessness he felt when imprisoned by the Black Cage; this time, he couldn't overcome it even with all his might, toyed with like an infant in the palms of a woman.

But he knew well that when heaven is about to bestow a great responsibility upon a man, it first exhausts his heart and mind, and strains his muscles and bones... this was merely a necessary path on the road to becoming a powerhouse.

Today, his eyes turned red, but he did not shed a tear.

Because he had shed his tears yesterday, and a man would not cry over the same thing—even if this torture came a hundred times! A thousand times! He would not drop another tear!

Conrad raised his proud, unyielding head once more, while Anthony walked toward him, leaning on his cane.

The old man was not flustered at this moment; he calmly adjusted his tie, straightened the rose on his suit, and took out a piece of parchment.

"Issho, have you thought about your ransom? Have I ever treated you poorly over these years?"

"Never." Issho shook his head, his blind eyes looking toward Conrad's back. "But I have indeed been stagnant here for too long, as if I had mistaken hiding in the filth for a sanctuary where I didn't have to face reality."

Anthony puffed on his cigar, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and took one last look at the parchment. "The contract has explicit terms. As long as you pay off your gambling debts, you can regain your freedom at any time. If you've made up your mind, take it and burn it."

"Many thanks, Boss." Issho flicked his blade from its sheath.

The contract was torn to shreds, and save for the corner Anthony held, it instantly crumbled into ash on the floor.

There wasn't even a flash of a blade, only a gentle breeze.

What had bound him was never the power of the Mafia casino, but the contract he had made with himself.

Anthony waved his hand, and a bodyguard walked out carrying a black leather briefcase, which he opened in front of Conrad.

"One hundred million Beli. Do you need me to count it for you? It was prepared in advance, so there shouldn't be any mistakes."

"No need!" Conrad declared with heroic spirit.

Footsteps rang out as forty marines were led out from the basement, with Prince and Drake both wearing Seastone handcuffs.

Click.

The bodyguards unlocked their shackles.

Prince glanced at Conrad, looking dejected as he gritted his teeth and squeezed out a voice: "Why did it have to be him..."

"Conrad!" Drake spread his arms and ran over with joy.

Conrad also opened his arms to give his friend a firm hug, but his smile vanished instantly as Drake stepped onto a patch of soapy tiles.

"Stop!"

Boom!

Drake hurriedly tried to brake with his heels, but he couldn't stop at all, and in his panic, he transformed into an Allosaurus.

He slammed into Conrad, and the two of them tumbled seven or eight times.

Conrad stood up first, wanting to get away.

But Drake, panicking and wanting to apologize, accidentally hooked his pant leg with a claw, nearly dragging him back down.

"Let go!"

"I'm... I'm sorry!" Drake suddenly retracted his claws and returned to human form.

This caused Conrad, who was still pulling forward, to lunge with his momentum, step on a random banana peel, and stumble back into the soapy water. As he looked up, he once again fell face-first into Baccarat's bosom.

Their height difference made for a truly pathetic alignment.

"Little brother, do you miss me already?" Baccarat straightened her waist and brushed back her long, bright red wavy hair with a charming flair.

She was a bit confused herself; her luck hadn't run out yet, and she was still in a state of good fortune, yet Conrad had managed to get close to her twice.

Could this be good luck?

She had accidentally eaten the fruit at age twelve and was isolated as a harbinger of misfortune who drained the luck of others. After growing up, she was often coveted by men for her stunning appearance and figure.

But because of her good luck, no one had ever been able to get close enough to succeed.

Yet in such a short time, despite suffering from unlucky accidents, Conrad had managed to close in on her twice.

And Baccarat's Luck-Luck Fruit told her that she still had plenty of luck in reserve.

This could only mean one thing: coming into contact with Conrad was good luck.