Chapter Thirty-Eight: Hidden Motives

The tavern was noisy and bustling, nearly filled to capacity; even the seats at the semicircular bar were packed so tightly there was hardly a gap between patrons. The prosperity of the establishment was evident at a glance. After circling the room, only a few inconspicuous seats near the corners remained. Mod sat at one of these, a small round table before him bearing a glass of rum and some snacks just delivered by the waiter. He didn’t touch the food or drink, instead focusing intently on the cacophony of conversation around him.

“Did you hear there was trouble at the auction last night?”

“What, you didn’t know?”

“I drank too much last night—if I hadn’t overheard it on the way here, I’d have never known. So, what happened?”

“Apparently, several major gangs caused a stir trying to snatch a Devil Fruit. Well, it’s a Devil Fruit—who wouldn’t want it?”

“Oh, did they get away with it?”

“No, the troublemakers were all slaughtered by the gang, and the Devil Fruit was bought and eaten by the gang leader, Bege.”

“Tsk, how much did it go for?”

“I heard it was over a billion, though who knows if that's true.”

A sharp intake of breath.

“That much? If I had a billion, I could go anywhere in the world!”

“Idiot, if you had that much money, I’d be the first to rob you.”

“What did you say?”

Bang.

The sound of a wooden mug slammed forcefully onto the table. Immediately after, fists began to fly, striking faces and bodies with dull thuds. Words quickly gave way to fists—a uniquely masculine kind of romance.

Mod withdrew his gaze, silently musing, “Gang leader Bege? He’s here in Mad Hat Town? But Sunny’s notebook held no information about him. Did he come here specifically for the Devil Fruit?”

“So, it was at this point in time that he ate the Devil Fruit.”

In his mind, information about Bege and the Devil Fruit's abilities flashed vividly. Listening as most of those nearby discussed the Devil Fruit incident, learning of Bege’s reputation and status, Mod found himself uninterested in him for the moment. It was hard to imagine a man of such status and power would ultimately choose to set sail. People had their own ambitions, after all.

“Did that fish-man slave escape in the end?”

At a nearby table, a few pirates were discussing the fate of the fish-man slave. Mod couldn’t help but discreetly glance at the guests.

“No, he died in an alley. I heard he was killed by an undertaker.”

“An undertaker? What, is their clientele now extending to fish-man corpses?”

“I don’t know about that, but when the auction house found the fish-man’s body, not a single piece was missing.”

“So, that means...?”

“Hey, these stories get exaggerated as they spread. I might as well say the fish-man slave was killed by a prostitute—would you believe it?”

“Hahaha, drink up!”

As he listened, Mod’s brows furrowed slightly; he sighed inwardly.

He wasn’t surprised to have been noticed. There were plenty of people in the streets and buildings near the alley at the time. What bothered him was that after killing the fish-man slave, he’d been so absorbed in the joy of a hefty reward that he neglected to remove a few “parts” from the body to fit the undertaker persona he was impersonating. He’d need to be more careful next time. Mod took this lesson to heart, unconsciously picking up his glass and taking a light sip. He realized that, as a tavern guest, not drinking for long would seem odd.

Mod was unaware that, because of the fish-man slave incident, the auction house had traced clues to Arthur, who wore a similar work mask. Had Arthur not been at the auction himself at the time, he might have been invited for tea and a chat. Still, Arthur now knew someone had been impersonating him to carry out shady deeds.

Setting down his glass, Mod covertly observed the surrounding patrons. With limited sources of information, this was his only method to glean anything useful. Each time the tavern door opened, he couldn’t help but glance over.

Creak—

The aged wooden door was pushed open. Mod instinctively looked, and upon recognizing the newcomer as Rat Wolf, quickly withdrew his gaze.

“That neurotic guy from last night who seemed desperate for friends?”

Looking down at the food and drink, Mod was slightly startled. He’d shot him last night, yet he looked perfectly fine now, even dressed flamboyantly. This must be the resilience of a Zoan-type...

Mod’s heart burned slightly. He’d fled quickly last night for lack of confidence. But now, after profiting from Fish-man Sam, he was at least fifty percent sure he could handle it, given adequate preparation. He calculated silently.

At the tavern entrance, Rat Wolf scanned the room and soon spotted Mod in the corner. Compared to the rough men drinking and shouting, Mod looked young and tender—even in the corner, he stood out.

“Found you—and luck’s on my side.”

Rat Wolf walked toward Mod in a casual manner. With only a few seats left, Mod’s small table, designed for two, made sitting beside him seem less intentional. Otherwise, if more spacious seats were available and Rat Wolf still chose to squeeze in with Mod, strangers might suspect he was interested in him.

“He’s coming over?”

Noticing Rat Wolf’s approach, Mod glanced at the empty seat before him and felt a twinge of frustration. Last night in the tavern, the situation had been much the same. The difference was that Lafitte’s reputation and aura had drawn most pirates’ attention. This time, the Zoan-type user, with a sinister air and an overall impression tending toward sleaziness, attracted little notice.

“Fortunately, I wore a mask last night and deliberately lowered my voice. But I’ll never come to a nearly full tavern again.”

Mod thought silently.

Though his attire last night wasn’t the undertaker’s uniform, he’d dressed bulky to hide his shape. He figured Rat Wolf was unlikely to recognize him.

Footsteps approached. Mod looked up as Rat Wolf came over and calmly sat across from him. Seeing nothing amiss in the other’s reaction, Mod was even more certain he hadn’t been recognized.

“Hey, you’re a handsome fellow.”

Rat Wolf, adopting a stranger’s manner, gazed at Mod with exaggerated admiration, as though he’d never seen such a good-looking man. Inwardly, he thought: Start with a compliment—build an unbreakable bridge for conversation!

Hearing this awkward remark, Mod gave Rat Wolf a polite smile, not intending to respond. This guy... really is desperate for friends.

Rat Wolf, pleased with the start, raised his hand to signal the waiter, then looked at Mod again, forcing a smile he’d practiced to be approachable. He believed this smile was irresistible for winning favor—unaware that to others, it looked as if he was about to have a seizure.

“Hey, let’s get acquainted. I’m Rat Wolf. What about you?”

“...”

Looking at Rat Wolf’s indescribable smile, Mod’s eyelid twitched slightly before simply replying, “Usopp.”

“So you’re Usopp—what a name! Really, it’s brilliant.”

Rat Wolf clapped his hands in amazement.

“What’s brilliant about it?”

“...”

Rat Wolf was momentarily at a loss for words.

Just then, the tavern door opened again. Rat Wolf turned to look.

A tall woman entered, dressed provocatively, lips painted bright red, holding a white skunk by a leash, followed by a dozen strong men.

“Tsk, Usopp, look—a beauty.”

Rat Wolf’s eyes narrowed as he seized the chance to shift the awkward moment. Mod’s lip curled slightly, letting the earlier question drop as he followed Rat Wolf’s gaze.

At the same time, he keenly sensed the tavern’s atmosphere changing.

Another pirate, famous like Lafitte—and a woman at that.

Could it be...?

Mod recalled the intelligence from the journal.