The Tavern Was No Ordinary Place

Rubick had thrown his punch with all his strength and couldn't defend himself in time. He could only drop the Smoke-Smoke Fruit's power in an instant and take Macron's punch square in the body.

"Pfft!"

Rubick spat blood as he flew backward.

Macron snorted. "Too young. No technique to speak of, either. Just brute strength."

With that, he turned and left. It seemed he had come specifically to put Rabik in his place. Perhaps Rabik's decision to confront Clay head-on when he applied for the tavern job had rubbed Macron the wrong way.

If Macron didn't take Rubick down a notch, someone might challenge his position sooner or later.

Rubick hauled himself up against the wall. His stomach churned where the punch had landed. He wiped the blood from his mouth and gulped down air, trying to ease the pain.

After a while, he felt well enough to return to the barbell. Without strength, anyone could push him around. If he wanted to live in peace, he needed enough power to make everyone think twice before crossing him.

After sweating through more than an hour of training, Rabik dusted himself off and returned to the tavern as though nothing had happened.

A few tables were occupied by then, but the customers were all laborers. They were well-behaved, unlike the pirates from out of town who lost all sense of their limits after a few drinks.

The bartender saw Rabik come in and ignored his dusty, battered appearance. They had already heard from the sharp-tongued Macron that he had beaten Rabik with a single move.

But as servers, they were hardly in a position to mock Rabik for being weak.

"Captain, would you like something to eat? Get some nourishment?"

"A glass of whiskey."

Whiskey was strong liquor. It helped relax the muscles and open the pores.

The bartender made a mental note of Rabik's choice. From now on, he would have a glass ready whenever Rabik finished training. He was a nobody, and knowing how to read people mattered.

Rubick didn't care how disheveled he looked. In his previous life, he had worked in real estate sales and delivered food. Both jobs had taught him to put up with other people's looks.

He downed the whiskey in one gulp, then began patrolling the tavern again. Macron watched him from the second floor, gave a contemptuous laugh, and went into his office.

He remembered how defiant Clay had been when he first arrived, too. After Macron taught him a lesson, he had behaved himself.

Macron sat down and pulled open his desk drawer out of habit. A letter had appeared inside. His eyes widened.

"This... Is this a letter from the boss?"

Macron hurriedly opened the envelope. It contained only one sentence: On official business soon. Will inspect the properties.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. As the security captain here, he knew only a little about the organization he belonged to.

He knew the organization had many taverns across the East Blue and even the Grand Line. They gathered information and scouted recruits for the organization.

Macron had spent two years in Loguetown without sending a single recruit to the organization. Now someone from headquarters was coming. Were they here to settle accounts?

There wasn't much Macron could do about it. The Rose Tavern was no major operation, and he couldn't find anyone particularly capable to bring in. As for intelligence, nothing of value had turned up there, either.

"Wait. Rubick seems promising."

Macron thought back to their clash. Rubick lacked combat experience, but his physical abilities were good. If Macron gave him some intensive training at the last minute, he might pass for a decent fighter.

Thinking this, Macron immediately left his office. Someone from the organization had slipped the letter into his drawer without his noticing. He had no time to waste.

Downstairs, Macron kept a stern face. As he passed Rabik, he said under his breath, "Come outside."

Rubick tensed. Was beating me earlier not enough? Does he want another round?

At the training ground, Macron stood with his back to Rabik, frowning for a while. Fortunately, Rabik couldn't see his face and simply waited behind him.

"Rubick, were you unhappy with what happened earlier?"

"No. Not at all."

As if I'd admit it now.

Macron turned around and said gravely, "You're far too weak. I did that to show you there's always someone stronger."

Rubick frowned in disbelief. Were there really people that kind these days?

Macron said, "Starting today, I'll train you. I hope you become a formidable fighter soon and serve the organization."

"The organization?"

Macron gave a cold laugh. "That's right. I won't hide it from you. Our tavern belongs to a secret organization. We gather information and select exceptionally talented people. I used to think Clay had potential, but now you're the better choice."

Rubick's heart jolted. He felt as though he were walking a tightrope high above the ground. Macron had told him about the secret organization. That meant he no longer had a choice.

Damn it. If he hadn't deactivated the Smoke-Smoke Fruit's power, Rabik figured he could have fled right now. As things stood, he could only take it one step at a time.

Rubick composed himself and said earnestly, "There's no gain without sacrifice. If the organization is willing to train me, I'll give it my loyalty."

"A wise man knows which way the wind blows. Now that you've heard about the organization, you're already halfway in. Believe me, no one betrays the organization and escapes the hunt that follows. Now, let's begin training."

"Training? How?"

Macron burst out laughing. "Of course, by taking a beating!"

The moment he finished speaking, he leaped at Rabik, twisted in midair, and sent a kick straight toward his head.

Rubick cursed inwardly, trying to work out how to dodge and counterattack. But his mind was no Sherlock Holmes. Before he could decide what to do, his body had instinctively darted backward.

"Stop overthinking! Do you want to die?"

Macron landed and kept attacking, throwing several hooks in quick succession. "If you want to learn how to hit people, learn how to take a hit first. Defend yourself!"

Rubick struggled to block the blows. He was getting pummeled without a chance to fight back. Within minutes, he was bruised and battered, a pitiful sight.

"Huff... huff..."

Rubick breathed hard. Macron berated him again. "What strong fighter doesn't have a sturdy body? With stamina like yours, you'll collapse before your opponent does."

Rubick raised his fists to protect his head and forced out the words. "Again!"