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Chapter 11: Should I Name It First?
🕑 Added 2024-12-19 11:33:07 +0000 UTCListening to the conversation coming from the shop, Mobin couldn't help but grow curious about Sol's background.
To be familiar with a major figure like Shanks and be addressed respectfully by someone like Yasopp meant Sol couldn't possibly be an insignificant character.
In just two days in this world, Mobin had grasped one truth:
In this age of great seafaring and fierce competitors, there were surely many formidable figures the original story never mentioned.
To find a foothold in such a world...
The difficulty far surpassed that of the Hunter world.
Mobin unconsciously tightened his grip on the flintlock musket he’d acquired from Yasopp.
He had a weapon now, but the next step was finding a second target.
But before he could hunt, he needed the freedom to walk the streets safely.
The deterrence of just a single musket wasn’t nearly enough.
After all, while he had shooting skills, he didn’t possess Yasopp’s near-instantaneous reload speed.
In a fight, it was likely he'd get off only one shot with no follow-up.
“Hmm?”
Mobin's eye twitched as a sudden realization hit him.
“I don’t have any bullets...”
In his rush to leave the scene earlier, he’d forgotten to ask Yasopp for gunpowder and lead bullets.
Mobin sighed deeply.
That Evening
The dining hall was brightly lit, the table brimming with dishes, and the aroma of wine filled the air.
Shanks swirled the remnants of wine in his wooden cup, sighing wistfully, “I’ve tasted countless fine wines, but nothing compares to the wine from my hometown.”
“Why are you still here?”
Sol dRouxped his eyelids, his expression full of disdain, as if his annoyance were about to be sprinkled onto the dishes as seasoning.
“Don’t be so cold. It’s been a while since we’ve met, hasn’t it?”
Shanks’s grin was unbothered, as if the tension from earlier in the day was a thing of the past.
While Sonny poured more wine for Shanks, Yasopp focused solely on eating and drinking.
As for Lucky Roux, after transporting the wine back to the ship, he hadn’t returned.
Mobin sat by the wall, pondering the best time to ask Yasopp for gunpowder and bullets, grateful the man hadn’t left yet.
It was obvious this wasn’t a request to make at the dinner table.
After much deliberation, Mobin found the perfect moment:
Go to the Bathroom, go to the Bathroom, go to the bathroom...
Mobin silently chanted.
Drinking his wine, Yasopp suddenly shivered for no apparent reason.
Huh? Is it the temperature drop at night?
Shaking it off, he resumed drinking.
Sol glanced at Shanks’s empty left sleeve with a cold expression.
“What I said earlier wasn’t a joke. Big shots like you, constantly coming here just to buy wine, are bound to bring me unavoidable trouble.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Shanks gazed at his wine with a faint smile.
“Have you ever considered... joining my crew?”
“Joining your crew?” Sol sneered. “I’m an old man on his way to the grave. What, do you want me to retire on your ship? Besides, one Yasopp is enough for you.”
“Uh, I need to use the bathroom,” Yasopp muttered, unable to endure Sol’s pointed remark any longer.
Seeing this, Mobin silently cheered, slipping out of his seat to follow.
The departure of two people didn’t hinder Shanks and Sol’s conversation.
“You’re probably right...”
Shanks chuckled, leaving Sol's rebuttal unchallenged.
Sol emptied his cup in one go, his tone calm.
“For decades, pirates have been as plentiful as fish in the sea, but how many of them meet a peaceful end? For someone like me, left behind by the times, living another day is more than enough satisfaction.”
“...”
Shanks stayed silent.
Sonny murmured softly, “Old, but he still visits Flower Street every day...”
Shanks couldn’t help but laugh.
“Eat more, talk less,” Sol snapped at Sonny before glaring at Shanks.
“And you, what are you laughing at? If you understand what I’m saying, don’t come back again.”
Shanks replied earnestly, “Then why not share where you hide your stash of wine?”
“Get out!”
In the Hallway
“Do you need something?”
Yasopp stood at the bathroom door, glancing at Mobin, who had followed him.
Mobin nodded and lowered his voice. “I wanted to ask for some lead bullets and gunpowder.”
“Huh?” Yasopp stared at him, confused. “This is a weapons shop.”
Asking for a gun during the day was one thing. But asking for ammo at night?
“Well, yeah, but...”
Mobin faltered, struggling to come up with an excuse. He didn’t have Sonny’s knack for pinning everything on Sol with ease.
Seeing Mobin’s hesitation, Yasopp didn’t press further. Instead, he reached into his ammo pouch and handed over a small portion of bullets and powder.
“Will this do?”
“Perfect!”
Mobin nodded enthusiastically, snatching the ammo with lightning speed as if Yasopp might change his mind.
Yasopp was speechless. It was just a few bullets. What was with the urgency?
He glanced back toward the dining hall lights, figuring Shanks and Sol would be chatting for a while longer. Shrugging, he leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, and took a drag.
Mobin had no intention of lingering. He tucked the ammunition safely away and prepared to head upstairs.
But before he could leave, Yasopp extended a cigarette toward him.
“Smoke?”
“Uh...”
Not wanting to seem rude, Mobin carefully stored the ammo before accepting the cigarette.
Blowing out a puff of smoke, Yasopp, perhaps bored, decided to strike up a conversation.
“Have you thought about naming your gun?”
Mobin pondered for a moment and was about to reply when Yasopp interrupted, “Ah, I always called mine ‘Old Pal,’ but we didn’t get to see things through together. Guns, you know, they’re not like swords. People don’t remember their names as easily.”
“Even if a gun has a flashy name, people are more likely to remember the person who wields it. But still, a good gun makes a good marksman. So, what will you name Old Pal?”
“I...”
Mobin tried to speak, only to be interrupted again.
“Actually, leaving Old Pal behind felt bittersweet. But strangely, giving it to you brought me some relief I can’t quite explain.”
“I...”
“Still, as a marksman, your body needs to keep up too. Right now, you’re too weak.”
“I...”
“Ugh, what am I doing? With Sol around, it’s not my place to give you advice. Haha! Anyway, have you decided on a name yet?”
“I...”
“Maybe you could call it Usopp. Isn’t that a cute name? Actually, that’s my son’s name. Come to think of it, he’s probably about your age.”
“...”
Thick smoke filled the hallway.
Mobin understood.
When dealing with a drunken chatterbox, it was best to just listen.
