Multiverse Gourmet Hunter

Haruto wandered through the streets of Loguetown, watching as the town quickly returned to normal after the pirate attack.

He had to admit, people were remarkably adaptable.

Unfortunately, after taking several turns, the buildings around him became more tightly packed and the streets increasingly narrow.

The lively noise of the main district gradually faded until Haruto found himself walking through a quiet maze of old alleyways.

There was not even anyone around to ask for directions.

"Well, that settles it. I’m completely lost."

Haruto stopped, nudged a pebble across the ground with his shoe, and scratched his head helplessly.

He was about to turn around and retrace his steps when a wooden sign caught his attention.

It was extremely old. Most of the paint had peeled away, while years of exposure to wind and rain had darkened the wood.

The words carved into it, however, remained perfectly legible.

Gol D. Roger

Haruto paused.

A sign bearing the Pirate King’s name, hanging in some forgotten alley?

He looked more closely.

Beneath the sign stood an old wooden door with a tiny brass bell hanging above the frame.

Apparently, it was a tavern.

Something vague stirred in Haruto’s memory, but he could not quite recall the details.

After thinking about it for a moment, he decided there was no point walking this far only to ignore the place.

Haruto pushed open the wooden door.

Ding.

The brass bell above the entrance gave a crisp chime that sounded especially clear in the quiet alley.

The tavern was dimly lit, a complete contrast to the bright afternoon outside.

The air was thick with the harsh bite of cheap rum, burnt tobacco, and the faint mustiness that had seeped into the old wooden walls over the years.

The floorboards creaked beneath every step.

The tables and chairs had been polished smooth from decades of use, while rusted pieces of old sailing equipment decorated the walls.

The place had clearly been open for a very long time.

Only five men occupied the tavern, all seated around a table near the center.

Their shirts hung open, exposing chests darkened by years under the sun.

Scars crisscrossed their arms and shoulders—deep sword wounds, old bullet grazes, and plenty of other marks that strongly suggested they were pirates.

Each man carried a curved saber and a flintlock pistol at his waist.

Empty rum bottles lay scattered across their table while their coarse laughter and swearing drifted through the room.

When Haruto entered, the five merely glanced at him before returning to their drinks.

Apparently, they did not consider him worth paying attention to.

A long counter occupied the back of the tavern.

Behind it sat an elderly man so thin he looked like a piece of dried wood.

He wore a knitted cap over sparse, gray-white hair that clung messily to his scalp. Deep wrinkles covered his face, carved there by decades of age and experience.

His cloudy eyes were half-lidded as he absently rubbed a finger along the rim of the glass in his hand.

Haruto’s arrival earned only a slightly longer glance than usual.

What drew Haruto’s attention instead was the object displayed in the center of the counter.

A massive skull.

It was nearly twice the size of an ordinary human skull, its bone polished smooth and pale from years of careful cleaning.

Across the forehead ran a deep slash mark.

Haruto pulled out a high stool and sat down, the wooden legs scraping lightly across the floor.

He tapped the counter with his fingertips.

"Could I get a glass of water, please?"

After a brief pause, he added,

"And I’m trying to get to the execution platform, but I managed to get lost in these alleys. Mind telling me which way to go?"

The old man slowly raised his eyes and studied Haruto’s face.

He said nothing at first.

Instead, he lifted his glass and took a sip of the little rum remaining inside. A trickle escaped the corner of his mouth and ran along one of the wrinkles before dripping onto the counter.

Only after setting the glass down did he reply in a hoarse voice.

"We only serve rum here. No water."

"Then forget it."

Haruto waved it off casually.

He had already noticed what kind of liquor the tavern served the moment he entered.

Cheap rum.

Even the smell was unpleasant—sharp alcohol, sour fermentation, and the mustiness of old barrels all mixed together.

He had no desire to taste it.

The old man made no attempt to persuade him.

He had run a tavern in Loguetown his entire life and had seen every sort of customer imaginable.

Arrogant pirates.

Rigid Marines.

Whether some stranger drank his rum or not meant very little to him.

He cleared his throat, preparing to explain how to reach the execution platform and send Haruto on his way.

Bang!

A heavy crash interrupted him.

One of the five pirates—a bald, heavily muscled man—slammed both hands against the table and stood.

He was nearly two meters tall and built like a bull.

The force of his movement rocked the table, knocking a half-empty bottle of rum onto the floor where it shattered into pieces.

The bald pirate did not even look down.

He stomped toward the counter and slapped one enormous palm against the wood, making several empty glasses jump.

"Old man! Bring us more rum! Hurry it up! Can’t you see we’re almost out?!"

The elderly bartender remained expressionless.

He had clearly dealt with this sort of customer many times before.

If anything, there was almost a nostalgic quality to his indifference.

Thanks to Smoker, his tavern had nearly gone out of business.

Now that the Marine captain had left Loguetown, customers like these had finally started returning.

The old man bent down, pulled out a crate of bottled rum from beneath the counter, and pushed it toward the pirate.

The bald man grabbed it in one hand.

He was about to turn around when the enormous skull displayed in the center of the counter caught his eye.

He stopped.

Leaning closer, he stared at it for several seconds.

"I noticed this thing earlier. What kind of skull is that?"

For the first time, the old bartender’s numb expression changed.

A smile appeared on his weathered face.

There was nostalgia in it.

He reached out with one withered finger and lightly tapped the polished bone.

Knock. Knock.

"This is what remains of a man once known as the ’Giant Slayer.’"

His voice suddenly carried a vitality that had been absent before.

"That bastard was infamous back in his day. Throughout the East Blue, civilians and pirates alike would tremble just hearing his name."

"He killed a hundred pirates that we know of."

The bartender paused to sip his rum, clearly enjoying himself now.

"And yet that terrifying man eventually came here to Loguetown and crossed paths with Gol D. Roger."

"One strike."

"That was all Roger needed to kill the Giant Slayer."

He tapped the scar across the skull’s forehead.

"This cut right here? Roger left it himself."

When he finished, the old man raised his glass and looked expectantly toward the bald pirate.

For decades, everyone who entered his tavern and heard that story had reacted the same way.

Shock.

Awe.

Then endless questions about Roger and the legendary era he had lived through.

Those stories were the old man’s greatest pride.

They were the final thread connecting his small, forgotten tavern to the magnificent age he had once witnessed.

The bald pirate did not disappoint him.

His eyes widened in amazement, and even his voice rose.

"You mean this guy actually fought the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger?!"

The other four pirates had also stopped drinking.

They crowded around the counter, staring at the skull and muttering in amazement.

Their expectant gazes turned toward the old bartender.

His smile grew even more pleased.

He cleared his throat, preparing to tell them how Roger himself had once drunk in this very tavern, along with more stories from that legendary age.

Haruto, who had been sitting quietly beside them, suddenly spoke.

"Hold on."

"If this ’Giant Slayer’ killed a hundred pirates... wouldn’t that make him a pretty good guy?"

The tavern fell completely silent.

The proud smile froze on the bartender’s face as though Haruto had punched him squarely in the nose.

The five pirates also turned toward Haruto in complete disbelief.

Several seconds passed before the old man finally recovered.

His smile vanished, his brow furrowed deeply, and he glared at Haruto in irritation.

"What nonsense are you talking about?! That man killed a hundred pirates! He was a vicious murderer—a complete monster! And you’re calling him a good man?"

"What’s wrong with that?"

Haruto spread his hands and leaned against the counter, resting one elbow on the polished wood.

"No matter how I look at it, pirates are the actual bad guys here."

"Don’t tell me you seriously think pirates are good people."

"If anything, killing a hundred of them sounds more like he was cleaning up the seas."

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