NenMaster
patreon
Chapter 10: Proof
🕑 Added 2024-12-19 11:32:08 +0000 UTCThe sudden arrival of "Red-Haired" Shanks caught Mobin completely off guard.
Despite Shanks’ friendly demeanor from the moment he stepped into the shop, Mobin had initially resolved to stay silent and observe until the group left.
However, after overhearing the conversation between Yasopp and Sunny, his composure wavered.
Guns were an essential tool for his current plans and progression.
Originally, Mobin had intended to obtain a firearm from Sol, but as a newcomer to this world, he understood it would take time to earn enough trust to make such a request.
Then Yasopp appeared and unknowingly presented an opportunity.
At this moment, how could Mobin continue as a passive observer? He decisively spoke up, seizing the chance to ask Yasopp for the aging flintlock musket.
He had nothing to lose by being refused.
But if Yasopp agreed, it would be a significant gain.
That was the thought that propelled Mobin to step forward.
“Who’s he?”
Shanks tilted his head curiously toward Sunny, who frowned slightly as she regarded Mobin.
From their earlier encounter, Shanks could tell that Mobin recognized him, though he didn’t mind.
What interested Shanks now was the unexpected boldness of this young man, who had been trying so hard to minimize his presence earlier.
Sunny, noticing Shanks’ gaze, explained, “He’s Mobin, Sol’s newly hired... employee.”
Shanks nodded slightly, turning his attention to Yasopp, who was scrutinizing Mobin.
“Do you know how to use a gun?” Yasopp asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.
“Yes!” Mobin replied without the slightest hesitation.
Yasopp’s eyes narrowed sharply, his gaze piercing like a loaded rifle.
He wasn’t just any sniper from a run-of-the-mill pirate crew; Yasopp’s skills made him unparalleled, and he could see clearly that Mobin was nothing more than a frail youth who likely hadn’t even held a gun before.
“But I don’t believe you,” Yasopp said, smirking. His gaze radiated the kind of confidence that could unsettle most people.
Yet Mobin met Yasopp’s eyes head-on, his expression resolute. “What do I need to do to make you believe me?”
Yasopp blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
The boy’s demeanor wasn’t that of someone lying.
Still, Yasopp trusted his instincts.
He reached for the flintlock pistol resting on the counter—the one priced at 3.8 million berries—and, in an instant, loaded it with the ease of a master.
“Prove it to me,” Yasopp said, handing the weapon to Mobin, fully loaded and ready to fire.
Mobin didn’t immediately take the gun. Instead, he pointed at the worn musket on the counter. “If I prove myself, will you give me that gun?”
“Sure,” Yasopp replied with a chuckle.
Mobin nodded, stepping forward to accept the pistol.
He understood that his success or failure rested entirely on this single shot.
Now, how to prove himself?
His thoughts raced as he scanned the shop and noticed the slightly ajar front door, its narrow crack creating a perfect target.
Without warning, Mobin strode to the farthest wall from the door. Turning sharply, he raised the pistol with fluid precision and fired in one seamless motion.
Bang!
Flames erupted from the barrel, and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room as the lead bullet shot through the air and cleanly passed through the crack in the door.
Mobin maintained his shooting stance, unmoving, the faint trail of smoke curling from the pistol's barrel.
He wasn’t worried about accidentally hitting someone outside—there hadn’t been anyone near the shop earlier.
Shanks and Yasopp exchanged glances, their sharp eyes noticing the intact wooden door and the exact trajectory of the bullet through the narrow gap.
For an untrained individual, the shot would have been nearly impossible, even at such a short range.
But for Mobin, it was as if he had been born with a gun in his hand.
Sunny, standing behind the counter, stared at Mobin in shock. She hadn’t expected him to have such skill with firearms.
“Not bad,” Shanks said with an approving nod.
While the feat was far from impressive on the Grand Line, it was remarkable in this context.
Yasopp said nothing but silently picked up his old musket and approached Mobin.
“This is yours,” he said, handing over the weapon.
“Thank you,” Mobin replied sincerely, first returning the pistol to Yasopp before accepting the worn musket.
Finally, a gun...
“Yasopp, it seems even you can be mistaken sometimes,” Shanks teased, clapping his sniper on the shoulder.
Yasopp smirked but didn’t respond to his captain’s needling.
Had he truly misjudged?
He looked again at Mobin, who was now examining his new weapon. The boy’s earlier frailty and inexperience clashed with his undeniable precision and innate “gun sense.”
“Eh, whatever,” Yasopp muttered, shaking his head.
“Captain, the barrels are loaded,” came Lucky Roux’s voice from the back room.
“Good.”
Shanks turned to Sunny with his usual grin. “Remember to give Sol my regards, Sunny!”
“You don’t need to—”
Before Sunny could reply, Sol’s booming voice rang out from outside the shop.
“Shanks, you scoundrel! Stealing my booze again?!”
Hearing Sol’s shout, Shanks sighed dramatically. “Now it’s a problem...”
The sound of rapid footsteps grew louder as Sol stormed into the shop, his face red with fury.
Lucky Roux, holding a barrel of ale, froze mid-step as Sol’s glare landed on him.
“You thief! I told you my liquor is not for sale!”
“We paid, I swear!” Shanks said, feigning innocence.
“You paid for half! Now get out of my shop before I throw you out myself!”
“Haha, come now, Sol. Unless you’re selling the location of your secret stash, I’ll keep coming back!”
The heated exchange continued as Yasopp, Lucky Roux, and Sunny watched in exasperation.
Mobin, meanwhile, had retreated to the staircase, quietly observing the chaos.
It was hard to believe, but Sol and Shanks seemed to have a long history together.
