I woke in warmth, enveloped in something soft. It felt as though I’d woken from a very wonderful dream, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Bit by bit, my awareness sharpened. My eyes flickered open, and I found that I was in a bed, staring up at an unfamiliar wooden ceiling.
Where am I? I sat up and looked around. In the room around me was a desk, a chair, a shelf stuffed with books, a fish tank with goldfish swimming around inside of it, and a hearth with a roaring fire going. Someone had brought me to their home. Just then, I heard a metallic click, and the door opened.
“Ah, you’re finally awake,” said an old man who was completely unfamiliar to me. He was carrying a tray with a bowl of soup. I guessed the man was about sixty. His white hair was slicked back behind a bright red sun visor, and he wore a strange tropical-patterned shirt and shorts with sandals. He seemed to me to be a very odd and suspicious character. And of course I wondered if he wore those clothes outside in the snow in the dead of winter.
But none of that mattered; the pressing question now was the identity of this person. Thanks to Cora’s covering for me, Doflamingo and the rest of the Donquixote Family believed that I’d been taken into naval custody. But if they found out that the boy the Navy took in wasn’t actually me, they would search the entirety of Swallow Island to find me. My identity must be kept secret.
Doflamingo was desperate to get the powers of the Op-Op Fruit. If the Donquixote Family put a bounty on me, then anyone might decide to sell me out to Doflamingo.
This old man might have already called the Family, and now it’s just a matter of time before they arrive.
“You must be hungry,” the old man said.
He set down the soup on a table by the bed. The fragrant smell tickled my nostrils, and I swallowed hard. I hadn’t eaten anything in days and wanted to hurl myself at the bowl and gobble up every last drop. But I didn’t—instead, I leapt behind the old man, scalpel in hand. I got my left arm around his throat and pointed the edge of the scalpel at the defenseless skin there.
“What do you want, old man?” I yelled. I wasn’t fully recuperated, but I could still get the better of an elderly man. I needed to know what his intentions were. But the old man barely reacted.
“Oh, come on, now,” he said. “Hmph!”
“Whaa—?!” I called out, finding myself suddenly flying through the air. The next thing I knew, my back slammed on the floor. What just happened?
“I might be old now, but I was a peak physical specimen in my day,” said the man. “Some kid jumping on my back won’t be the end of me. Not by a long shot.”
I realized the old man had thrown me to the floor. Yes, I was a boy, but in the Family I’d had proper combat training. Maybe that confidence was my undoing. I jumped to my feet and faced the old man. I kept my eyes open wide and glared at him, doing whatever I could to maintain my edge and keep from collapsing in fear.
“Wild one, aren’t ye? Got eyes like a ravenous beast,” said the old man. He did not attack me, but picked up the bowl of soup and the spoon and approached. “Eat. Your body was practically frozen through. You’ve not had any proper nutrition in too long.”
Oh, but it looked so tasty. The thick broth had some kind of meat in it, either poultry or beef, and chunks of bright vegetables stimulated my appetite. Still, I was afraid. Maybe this old man was planning to knock me out with tranquilizers in the soup, to buy time until Doflamingo showed up. I couldn’t let my guard down or let myself be at ease around him.
“You’re worried I put something in it? Hmph,” the man said. “So you can’t trust anyone. I see how it is.”
I kept my eyes on him, not saying a word in response. The old man leaned down and sipped from the bowl. Twice he slurped at the brim, then exhaled with satisfaction.
“There. Now you know it’s not spiked,” he said. “You’re safe here. I’m not your enemy. I don’t consider myself some kind of hero, either, but I’m not so low-down that I would play mind games with a dying boy.”
He offered me the soup again, and before I knew what I was doing, I was holding the spoon. I kept my scalpel trained on him with the other hand and carefully took a spoonful of the soup. Its delicious flavor filled my mouth, and it was as though I could feel the nutrients seeping into the very core of my being.
The next thing I knew, I was crying. The soup was so good and so warm, and I finally realized that my life was being saved. All the emotions swirled in my mind until I could no longer hold back the tears.
“Dammit. It’s so good. It’s so good!” I sobbed.
Once I started eating, I couldn’t stop. I set down the scalpel and shoveled the soup into my mouth—the delectable meat and vegetables and rich broth—until there was no more. Perhaps it was because I was starving, but that soup tasted like the best and most important meal I’d ever have in my life.
“I’ll bring you some more,” the old man grinned. He seemed happy to see the alley cat he’d taken in finally letting down its guard.