The Hunter of Pirates

If it were before his transmigration, Mobin could have easily shrugged off a bullet.

But now...

The cold, dark muzzle of the gun before him felt like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, suspended above his head. Should it fall, it would be the end.

"I mean no harm."

Facing the muzzle, Mobin immediately clarified his position without hesitation.

The moment the gun entered the room, it was trained on him, indicating the gun-wielder had detected his subtle movements before even pushing the door open.

Given the circumstances, Mobin had no other option but to declare his harmlessness.

Ultimately, it was because this body's current state couldn't support any form of resistance or counteraction.

Outside the door, it was silent, and the gun remained steady.

A few moments later, a slightly hoarse female voice sounded, "Step in front of me."

"Alright."

Without hesitation, Mobin moved to stand in front of the door, the gun following his every movement.

When he reached the door, he finally saw the person holding the weapon.

It was a thin, wiry young woman clad in coarse fabric.

She had short, pragmatic hair, and her face bore three scars, claw-like, slashing from her left brow to her right cheek.

If it weren't for the hoarse female voice earlier, one might easily mistake her for a young man at first glance.

"I mean no harm," Mobin reiterated, raising his hands slowly to show he was unarmed.

At the same time, his gaze flicked to the burlap sack in her left hand, causing his eyelid to twitch slightly.

Compared to her practiced, steady handling of the gun, the presence of that sack unnerved Mobin even more.

The girl, Sunny, locked eyes with Mobin and said flatly, "Stay honest. If we meant you harm, do you think you'd still have the chance to speak here?"

After issuing a mild warning, Sunny deftly stowed the flintlock pistol.

She understood that Mobin's earlier movements were more out of self-preservation than hostility.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have hesitated to pull the trigger.

Seeing the situation stabilize, Mobin let out a breath of relief.

"Since you're awake now, we don't need this anymore."

Before Mobin could react, Sunny casually discarded the burlap sack.

Counting the time spent returning, this guy had been unconscious for seven whole days.

According to Sol's instructions, if he didn't wake up, they'd repurpose him for "waste recovery" to recoup part of the medical expenses spent on him.

Who would've thought he'd wake up at the last moment?

Mobin glanced at the burlap sack, his lips twitching as he asked, "If I hadn't woken up, was that sack… meant for me?"

"Yes. If you hadn't woken up, I would've stuffed you into it, sold you to the black market, and you'd be dismantled by a 'mortician' into a dozen parts to be sold as commodities to whoever had the money."

Sunny's smile turned icy.

Mobin remained silent.

Dismantled, parts, sold.

The phrasing was reserved, but it wasn't hard to glean the nature of the black market trade.

The earlier gunshot also hinted that this place was far from any semblance of safety.

He could tell Sunny wasn't joking, but as she had said, if they wanted to harm him, he wouldn't even have the chance to wake up.

In other words, though his future was uncertain, he was safe for now.

As long as his situation wasn't dire, he still had the chance to grow stronger using the Hunter's Journal.

"What should I call you?"

Mobin asked for the girl's name.

Sunny narrowed her eyes slightly, smiling. "You're pretty calm, huh? Just call me Sunny. As for your name, I think I already know it."

Mobin blinked, puzzled, as Sunny pulled out a bronze pocket watch from her pocket.

Seeing the familiar yet foreign watch, Mobin raised his eyebrows.

It was his.

Or rather, it belonged to his predecessor.

When his predecessor had been taken onto the slaver's ship, the watch had been casually swiped by a man.

Now, it was in Sunny's hands.

So, it was Sunny's group that had attacked the slaver's ship?

Mobin pondered silently.

If he remembered correctly, the pocket watch contained two photographs—one was a full-body shot taken during his predecessor's coming-of-age ceremony at sixteen.

The bottom right of the photo bore his predecessor's handwritten signature, which explained Sunny's earlier comment.

The other photo was a family portrait of three... no, was it three or four?

A sudden, stabbing pain shot through his head.

Mobin frowned.

Sunny, absorbed in examining the pocket watch, didn't notice his expression.

"This watch is yours, but it's now my 'spoils of war.' However, considering we might be working together in the future, I'll reluctantly return it to you."

With that, Sunny tossed the pocket watch to Mobin.

Mobin caught it, enduring the pain, and opened the cover. Inside was the stopped watch face and the two photographs embedded in the cover.

His gaze skimmed over his full-body shot and landed on the family portrait of four beaming individuals.

Four?

Wasn't it just his predecessor and his parents?

Fragmented memories stirred, and the stabbing pain in his head worsened.

Mobin quickly shut the cover, saying nothing.

He was grateful to this body for granting him a second chance at life but unwilling to be influenced by its lingering memories.

Sunny noticed Mobin's discomfort but showed no interest in probing further. She simply advised, "As someone who's been through this, I suggest you destroy that signed photo and come up with an alias for yourself."

Mobin looked at Sunny, refraining from asking why. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

Sunny nodded and glanced at the bloodstained bandages on Mobin's forehead. Without further words, she got straight to the point.

"Come, let's go see Sol."

Mobin had no choice but to comply. He pocketed the watch and followed Sunny obediently.

The two descended the stairs to the first floor.

As they reached the bottom, a loud crash echoed from the corridor ahead. It sounded like a wooden door being violently kicked open and smashing against the wall.

Sunny halted at the sound, and Mobin stopped as well, glancing toward the hallway ahead.

As the crashing sound faded, a raspy, elderly voice erupted.

"Kid! You brat, kicking my shop door again? Want me to rip out your tendons?"

"Shut up. I brought money. Now hand over Keanu's gun," came a brash young voice.

"Get lost! I'd rather dismantle that gun and toss it in the junkyard than sell it to you."

"Oh? Then toss it. I'll just dig it up myself."

"Scram!"

The heated exchange echoed from the shop at the end of the corridor.

Sunny sighed wearily at the escalating argument.

"Let's go."

She quickened her pace.

Mobin silently followed.

The hallway wasn't long, and they soon arrived at the front of the shop.

Before Mobin could observe the shop's layout, his attention was drawn to the tension between an old man and a young boy, who seemed ready to clash at any moment.

As expected from their voices, it was an old man and a teenager.

Mobin guessed the old man was Sol, as Sunny had mentioned, while the unruly boy seemed to be a customer.

"Hm?"

Mobin's eyes caught on the boy's distinctive spiky red hair. His gaze shifted to the goggles on the boy's forehead before finally resting on his familiar face.

A rush of memories surfaced.

"Kid?"

Mobin's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the red-haired spiky-haired youth.

He hadn't made the connection earlier upon hearing the name, but now, seeing him in person, Mobin realized he was in the One Piece world.

However, compared to the images in his memory, this Kid looked much younger and more inexperienced.

Mobin instinctively marked Kid as a future target.

After all, the Hunter's Journal's abilities were designed to prey on characters with detailed intel from the original story.