Adams... Big Brother

Ejadi Island, former Dagger Gang headquarters, first-floor hall.

The moonlight was cold, spilling across the ground like a thin layer of frost.

Adams's gaze swept over the pile of items before him:

Gold and silver jewelry gleamed with greedy luster in the dim light, green Beli notes gave off the fishy scent of ink and desire, and heaps of food exuded a sickening sweetness.

These had all been looted by the Dirt Soldiers from the Blood Anchor Gang's headquarters.

As he looked at the spoils, the faint surprise in Adams's eyes was replaced by a stronger sense of amusement.

No matter how he looked at it, these were not resources a small gang like the Blood Anchor Gang, with only thirty members, should have possessed.

"A lower-level vault for some major gang?"

That possibility immediately came to mind.

At that thought, the corner of his mouth curled soundlessly. The bigger the enemy's backing, the better. Only major forces had enough experience points for him to farm.

"Lord Adams... can I have that?"

Just as Adams was thinking this, a soft voice, trembling with hesitation, gently pulled him from his thoughts.

Perona asked timidly. At that moment, she was staring fixedly at a dazzling crown amid the pile of jewelry. She was very interested in it.

However, the strength Adams had displayed while dealing with Barton earlier had instinctively frightened her, making her add an honorific without thinking.

Adams bent down and reached out. His broad palm, carrying a gentleness at odds with his size, landed atop Perona's soft pink curls.

"Of course you can."

His voice was low, yet it strangely dispelled some of Perona's tension. His fingertips brushed over the top of her small head.

He paused, and an unquestionable gentleness flickered deep in his eyes.

"And from now on, call me big brother."

Perona tilted up her little face, moonlight dancing in her clear pupils.

"I... I understand, Adams... Big Brother."

She answered brightly, a pure smile blooming on her face as the little fear in her heart was instantly washed away by the glittering treasures before her.

Like a nimble pink butterfly, she dove headfirst into the shining treasure pile. The Dirt Brown Bear followed close behind its little mistress, clumsy but loyal.

"By the way, where are your biological parents?"

Watching Perona pounce into the jewelry pile, Adams asked.

He had no intention of raising her for more than a decade, only for her biological parents to suddenly appear just as he was about to reap the rewards and make all sorts of idiotic demands.

Perona grabbed the crown without even turning around, her tone as calm as if she were speaking of something unrelated to herself.

"They're both dead. Pirates killed them."

The last trace of doubt deep in Adams's eyes melted away like ice.

"I see. Then from now on, let me be your family."

"Mm-hmm." Perona answered absentmindedly, all her attention captured by the crown.

Family? She had no concrete understanding of that word.

At that moment, the only things filling her little world were the crown before her and the Dirt Brown Bear beside her. She held the crown up before the little bear as if showing it off.

Adams silently shook his head, a faint smile passing over his lips.

A child as mature as Robin was an exception, after all. He did not need Perona to understand yet. He had plenty of time to help her understand what the word family meant.

A strange tranquility filled the hall, mingling the coldness of wealth with the faint warmth of a newly formed bond.

Meanwhile, at the docks.

The same pale moon hung overhead, yet it illuminated an entirely different scene.

Two twin-masted sailing ships crowded roughly against the wooden pier. Heavy anchor chains crashed down, splashing muddy water. Two groups surged ashore like two ominous currents.

The group on the left wore crisp black suits, every one of them. On their chests, an emblem of two crossed flintlock pistols glinted with a cold metallic sheen beneath the moonlight.

Their leader was a man with a hooked nose. His eyes were as sinister as a vulture's as he surveyed the people across from him.

The group on the right looked like a nightmare that had escaped from a circus. They wore bizarre outfits, their faces painted with exaggerated, grotesque clown makeup: red noses and blood-red mouths split all the way to their ears, twisted beneath the moonlight.

The clown leader at the front had the thickest makeup and the most sinister smile.

The hooked-nosed man stepped forward, the heel of his leather shoe striking the stone pavement with a sharp crack that shattered the suffocating silence.

"Colombo Family circus troupe, the rules are simple. Whoever wins gets Mastica Island. No objections?"

The clown leader gave an exaggerated shrug. Beneath his makeup, his mouth curled into a mocking grin, and the bells on his costume jingled.

"Of course not. But... you Bernano Family debt-collecting dogs think a bunch like you, who made your fortune squeezing widows and stealing bread from orphans, are worthy of beating us?"

The hooked-nosed man's face instantly darkened.

He shouted harshly, spittle nearly spraying onto the clown's face.

"And what makes the Colombo Family any better? You're dogs to a fish! You humbly kneel at the feet of a fish!"

The Colombo Family's new leader was a fish-man who had usurped power through bloody means. In this human-dominated world, that alone was a brand of shame.

The clown leader's makeup seemed to twist even more violently with rage.

"What's wrong with a fish-man? At least he's better than you! The Bernano Family only knows how to peck at the weak like vultures. Who in the entire West Blue doesn't know that you're worms who rose through extortion and blackmail?"

"Bastard! Do you want to start a war right now? Here?!"

Veins bulged on the hooked-nosed man's forehead as his hand abruptly gripped the handle of the gun at his waist.

"Come on, then! Who's afraid of whom?!"

The clown did not back down. His hand also reached beneath his loose costume toward the bulging weapons hidden there.

Swords were drawn! Two hundred men were taut as bowstrings, fingers quietly tightening around triggers as vicious eyes locked onto their opponents.

The air froze, leaving only heavy breathing and suppressed killing intent. All it would take was one spark, and the docks would instantly become a bloody slaughterhouse.

Just as the tension reached its peak, a voice cut in.

"This is not a place where you can run wild."

The voice was not loud, but it was like an ice-tempered blade, completely devoid of emotion as it cleanly cut through the clamor and killing intent at the docks.

Everyone—the Bernano Family's men in black suits and the Colombo Family's circus clowns alike—turned toward the source of the voice.

Under the moonlight, fifty figures stepped soundlessly out of the deep shadows, moving in rhythm with the waves. Their footsteps were perfectly uniform, like puppets controlled by invisible strings.

Every one of them was wrapped in a pure black uniform, tall and powerfully built, their muscles seeming ready to burst through the fabric.

The moonlight outlined the lifeless contours of their faces, while the muzzles of the rifles in their hands glinted with a dark metallic chill.

TO BE CONTINUED