Chapter 14

He suddenly stood and walked over to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside lay a meticulously trimmed courtyard, its fountain shimmering with flecks of gold in the afternoon sunlight.

Farther away, layers of green trees completely separated the villa from the gray factory district below the hill.

Two worlds.

The boy turned around, his face indistinct against the light.

"We can keep wasting time, or we can make a deal.

Help me find that child, and I guarantee-"

He paused, something cold entering his voice for the first time. "Your son will still be sitting at this table eating breakfast tomorrow."

Wesker's breathing abruptly grew heavy.

The clock's hand advanced another notch.

Tick.

Tock.

"All right."

The merchant finally spoke hoarsely. "But first, you need to tell me what that child looks like."

The boy took a crumpled piece of paper from inside his clothes and gently set it on the coffee table.

"This is his portrait."

He said, "By the way, the combination to the safe in your study-you should change the last two digits.

Birthdays are too easy to guess."

All color drained from Wesker's face.

The movement of the second hand was almost audible.

The two people huddled in the corner had long since fallen silent. The young man trying to inch toward the door froze the instant the gun swung toward him, then shrank back into the shadows.

The man wearing gold-rimmed glasses adjusted his posture.

His tailored suit complemented the living room's mahogany decor, certainly fitting the townspeople's image of a "successful businessman"

perfectly.

"If I have been discourteous in any way, I beg your forgiveness."

Wesker leaned forward slightly.

A boy who could make Tony's gang obey him so submissively was no ordinary child.

More importantly-it had been quite some time since the gunshot, yet the street outside remained abnormally quiet.

His residence was only one street away from the constabulary. It should have been the second-safest location in town.

Unless all the patrolmen had gone deaf, they should have come to investigate long ago.

Ruling out the possibility that the other party controlled the constabulary-if he truly possessed that sort of influence, why come in person?-only one answer remained: some unknown deterrent.

"This is our first meeting."

The boy shook his head, his voice far steadier than his age warranted.

"My name is Rossi. I have no family.

I came today to discuss a business deal with you."

The gun remained lowered.

Wesker tapped his fingers lightly against his knee.

A deal brought to his doorstep at gunpoint... smuggling? **? Or something even more dangerous-

"Please don't misunderstand."

The boy seemed to have seen through his guesses.

"I'm not a pirate, nor am I on any wanted list.

Visiting you this way..."

The boy paused. "Was simply to give you a direct understanding of my bargaining chips."

So that was it.

Wesker leaned back against the sofa and raised a hand toward the maid who had just struggled to her feet.

"Two coffees, and some refreshments."

The faint clink of china came from the kitchen.

He picked up the white porcelain cup brought to him, its steam fogging his lenses.

In this world, violence had always been the undercurrent beneath the negotiating table.

Anyone who had accumulated as much wealth as he had was long accustomed to navigating threats of all kinds.

"Well, then,"

He blew aside the foam on his coffee. "What sort of business, exactly?"

Forged documents? **? Human trafficking? Or-

"Ore."

The boy sat up straight.

"Special ore shipped from the Grand Line.

Judging by this town's industrial needs, it should be a scarce resource."

Wesker set down his cup.

The porcelain base met the glass coffee table with a crisp "clack"

of sound.

"Noon tomorrow. Pier Three."

After agreeing on a time and place, Rossi rose with a certain deliberate formality.

"Sorry for the intrusion. I'll take my leave now-I still have to tell my companions the outcome of our discussion."

The door turned on its hinges with barely a sound.

A dampness brought in from outside lingered in the entryway, mingled with the smell of rust and sea salt.

Wesker stood by the window, watching that slender figure merge into the deepening dusk along the street, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the coarse weave along the curtain's edge.

The maid began clearing the untouched plates of sweets from the coffee table.

Amid the faint clinking of silver spoons, he removed his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with a velvet cloth.

Outside, the streetlights came on one after another.

After Rossi left, the figure huddled in the corner scrambled out the door.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. An elegantly dressed woman hurried down and took the gold-rimmed man's hand.

"Should we have Sophie fetch the sheriff?"

"No need."

The man gently pressed his wife's hand and turned toward the window.

On the street, the young man's retreating figure had already vanished swiftly into the shadows cast by the buildings.

"This Rossi is no ordinary person."

His speech had been clear and logical, his actions orderly. He was certainly no puppet pushed to the forefront by someone else.

During their conversation, Wesker had tentatively proposed a few minor conditions, and the boy had responded after brief consideration.

He had both courage and brains. He would certainly go far.

"He's worth cultivating a close relationship with."

That was Wesker's conclusion.

As for the armed intrusion into his residence-once his initial anger passed, he had been more concerned with weighing the proposed partnership.

When had business ever been smooth sailing? Even in that relatively peaceful world he remembered, the Morgan Family had private troops, and the DuPont Company was adept at **.

Large financial conglomerates used an endless variety of underhanded methods against their competitors, let alone in this age of the sea, which was several times more "free"

than the United States?

"He's shown his strength. Next, it's my turn to show my bargaining chips."

Pushing his gold-rimmed glasses back onto his nose, Wesker decided to inspect the goods at Pier Three the next day and give the young man a glimpse of his network of connections as well.

Deals were always contests of strength.

Only after accurately gauging each other's weight could they decide whether to split the proceeds fifty-fifty, thirty-seventy, or... swallow everything whole.

Business on the seas had always been that way.

Early the next morning, Pier Three.

As a town engaged in both manufacturing and shipping, its docks were already packed with merchant vessels.

Workers had started early, loading and unloading cargo.

"Rest assured, Mr. Wesker."

A small group passed through the docks, and the porters instinctively cleared a path-if they dirtied those immaculate clothes, they could never afford to pay for them.

Several short-haired men now accompanied the man in gold-rimmed glasses, dressed in black suits, white shirts, black bow ties, and sunglasses.

"Whether they're pirates or merchants, we'll keep you safe."

These men in black all belonged to the "Blackwater Security Company"

and protected their employer in a semicircular formation, keeping him in the **.

Despite their professional appearance, they were merely the company's D-rank employees.

But even D-rank employees were far beyond anyone street thugs could afford to provoke.

Unfortunately-

"Right on time, Mr. Wesker."

The voice came from the shadows of the shipping containers.

The sound behind them made the formally dressed men in sunglasses whip around.

Their leader, who had just made that bold assurance, instinctively reached toward his waist, only to touch empty fabric.

He froze.

"A nicely made little thing."

Rossi twirled an old-fashioned ** between his fingers and raised his eyelids, sweeping his gaze over the suited men hurriedly turning and drawing their guns.

A faint, almost imperceptible curve rested on his lips.

"I hate guns being pointed at other people, and I hate having them pointed at me-"

"Lower them!"

A sharp, low command stopped the guards.

The merchant named Swick pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, a mild smile quickly spreading over his face.

"Mr. Rossi, I'm afraid this is a misunderstanding."

"Someone like you can naturally go wherever he pleases.

But I'm merely a respectable businessman. Coming alone to a place like Pier Three without a few men would leave me rather uneasy."

"Is that so?"

Rossi nodded noncommittally and casually tossed the stolen ** back to the man in sunglasses leading the group. "The ship is this way. Please follow me."

As he turned to lead the way, an amused thought crossed his mind: Did these fellows wear sunglasses because they thought hiding their eyes would keep anyone from noticing their embarrassment?

He had expected Swick to bring men.

He had lain in wait early along the route they had to take to the pier. Concealed by the passing crowds and aided by his ability to erase all sound, he had silently slipped behind them.

He had even helped himself to their leader's gun.

Of course, this was also because they were hardly formidable opponents.

"This ship has a carrying capacity of a hundred and forty tons. Everything in the hold is..."

"Sake Iron Ore shipped from the New World."

After quietly putting them in their place, Rossi led the merchant Swick and his guards aboard the sailing vessel named "Pinta"

.

They had barely climbed the creaking wooden steps onto the deck when a boy's distinctly arrogant voice struck them.

"Just these people?"

"They're the ones we're partnering with?"

A boy in sunglasses sat on wooden crates piled in the ** of the deck.

Though he too wore a suit and sunglasses, when this boy stood alongside the "professionals" behind Swick,

the contrast was as stark as that between a master and his servants.

The sight of those uniformly dressed black-clad guards suddenly sent a nameless anger surging through Doffy's chest.

Once, he too had been surrounded by subordinates like these.

But his foolish father had personally dismissed them.

When he returned to the Holy Land, those former "servants"

had long since adopted condescending expressions and even turned around to bully him...

"Pathetic."

A cold snort escaped the boy's nose.

Immediately afterward, an uncanny pressure erupted outward from him!

Whooo-

The aura was so intense it seemed almost tangible. In the eyes of the black-clad guards who had just boarded, it took the shape of a hideous demonic face, roiling with black-and-red mist filled with distortion, brutality, and destruction as it bore down on them.

The wind on deck suddenly stopped.

The first to fall was the tall man at the front.

Before he could steady the gun in his hand, his knees struck the planks with a dull thud.

The two beside him followed. One clutched his chest, while the other fell flat, his fingers digging into the gaps between the planks, his knuckles frighteningly white.

Their mouths were open, but no sound came out, as though invisible hands had clamped around their throats.

Wesker backed away, his back hitting the gunwale.

A wave of dizziness swept over him. His vision darkened, and his ears buzzed, as though his whole body had been pushed into deep water.

Breathing grew difficult. Every breath felt like swallowing grit.

Then someone stepped in front of him.

It was a small, short figure, standing with his back to him, between him and the people who had collapsed.

The oppressive sensation began to fade, slowly receding like the tide.

Wesker gasped for air. Sweat had already soaked his shirt collar, leaving it cold against his skin.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Several sounds came in succession: knees striking the deck.

The people he had hired were now all kneeling or down on one knee.

Some bowed their heads, their shoulders trembling; others were deathly pale, their foreheads covered in beads of sweat, as though they had just been pulled out of the water.

"Boring."

The voice came from over by the crates.

The boy wearing sunglasses jumped down, his hands in his pockets, then turned and walked toward the cabin without so much as looking back.

"You handle the rest."

The deck fell silent for a few seconds.

Wesker watched the retreating figure, then looked at the other boy still standing where he was-the one who had appeared behind them at some point.

He was toying with a pistol that had originally belonged to the guard captain, his movements as casual as if he were handling a toy.

"...Monster."

Someone among the kneeling crowd muttered the word.

They immediately shut their mouth afterward and lowered their head even further.

"Monster?"