(13/02/24 - 21:30) (Saturday February 13, 1524)
The grip on his shoulder anchored him completely to the floorboards. The fingers dug into his newly packed muscle, locking his entire skeletal structure in place.
He turned his head slowly. Shakky towered over his frame, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
"Why did you lie about me?" Shakky asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Uma felt a cold spike of adrenaline hit his bloodstream. The gamble had worked for now. He possessed an acute awareness of Observation Haki and its passive application by New World veterans. Buying the cheapest water, feigning a clumsy embarrassment, and deliberately dropping her name to the broker, it was a highly calculated sequence. He needed to force an interaction without appearing like someone with an ulterior motive. He wagered his life on her underlying temperament, knowing she would intercept him before he crossed the threshold. If he wanted to reach the absolute pinnacle, he required a connection to a Haki master. He needed Silvers Rayleigh.
He kept his posture entirely submissive.
"I possessed limited funds." Uma replied, keeping his voice steady to mask his racing heart. "I required a substantial discount to afford his intelligence. I used your reputation to secure it. I apologize for the disrespect."
Shakky stared at him for several seconds. The lethal tension in her grip slowly dissipated. The coldness in her eyes receded, replaced by a glint of sheer amusement. She released his shoulder.
"You have nerve, kid," Shakky said, pulling a cigarette from a sleek case and lighting the tip. "Information brokers charge high fees, but my name carries a much heavier tax. You owe me for the slander. You will stand in the corner until my paying customers leave. Then, you will scrub this entire bar from top to bottom."
Uma gave a sharp nod. He walked to the far corner of the room, leaning his back against the cool stone wall. He secured his remaining seven thousand Berries in his pocket and settled in for the long wait.
(14/02/24 - 03:00) (Sunday February 14, 1524)
The last drunken pirate stumbled out the front door, shouting a slurred song into the night air. Shakky locked the heavy iron deadbolt. She flipped the wooden sign in the window to indicate the bar was closed. She walked behind the counter, poured herself a glass of dark rum, and sat on a wooden stool.
She pointed a long finger toward a small closet near the kitchen.
Uma retrieved a heavy wooden mop, a bucket of soapy water, and a stiff scrub brush. He started with the latrines. The pirate bathroom resembled a biohazard zone. Pools of stale vomit, dried blood, and spilled ale coated the stone floor. The stench burned the inside of his nostrils. He dropped to his knees. He scrubbed the grime with brutal, methodical strokes, his knuckles aching against the hard stone.
He finished the bathrooms and moved into the back kitchen to tackle the mountain of dirty dishes. The scalding hot water irritated his skin. The sheer indignity of the labor crashed into his exhausted nervous system. He was a reincarnated soul, scrubbing the filth of bottom-feeding criminals in the middle of the night.
Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his dark cheeks. Thick snot ran from his nose. He sniffled loudly, wiping his wet face against his rough canvas sleeve. He forced his hands to keep washing the greasy plates.
'I am paying the toll,' Uma thought, furiously scrubbing a wooden mug until his fingers cramped. 'This humiliation buys the foundation for my power. I will endure this absolute garbage to secure my future.'
(14/02/24 - 03:45)
The back door of the kitchen creaked open.
A tall older man stepped over the threshold. He wore a simple, slightly frayed cloak and wire-rimmed glasses. Thick, shoulder-length silver hair framed his face. He carried a half-empty bottle of cheap liquor in his left hand.
Silvers Rayleigh walked past the iron sinks. He paused. His sharp eyes flicked toward the tall guy sobbing and sniffling over a tub of soapy water.
Rayleigh walked into the main bar area. He leaned over the counter and kissed Shakky on the cheek.
"You hired a rather emotional giant for a cleaner," Rayleigh noted, taking a seat on a stool next to her. "When did you acquire him?"
Shakky took a sip of her rum. "He walked in earlier tonight. He slandered my name to cheat a broker out of some Berries. He is currently working off his debt."
Rayleigh offered a mild hum of understanding. He lost interest in the crying cleaner instantly. He turned his attention back to Shakky, engaging her in a quiet conversation about the rising prices of coating resin in Grove Forty.
"Boy," Rayleigh called out, pitching his voice to carry into the kitchen. "Bring me a glass of the good ale from the bottom keg."
Uma wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He rinsed the thick soap from his fingers. He walked to the heavy wooden kegs lined against the wall and poured a tall glass of dark ale. He carried the glass into the main room.
He approached the two legends. He observed the Dark King directly. Rayleigh looked exactly like a retired, heavy-drinking gambler. He projected absolutely zero bloodlust. The suffocating, world-ending pressure of a Conqueror remained completely buried beneath the facade of an old man.
Uma understood the terrifying reality beneath that relaxed posture. He placed the glass gently onto a wooden coaster in front of Rayleigh.
"Your drink, sir," Uma said softly. He bowed his head in a display of total respect.
He retreated to the kitchen. He finished washing the last row of plates and wiped down the wooden counters. He dumped the dirty mop water out the back door.
He walked back into the main room. He stood rigidly near the stone archway of the kitchen, folding his arms behind his back. He remained perfectly silent, waiting for Shakky to issue his formal dismissal while the two lovers continued their quiet conversation.
(14/02/24 - 05:45) (Sunday February 14, 1524)
The conversation between the two legends stretched for two solid hours. They discussed the shifting tides of the New World and the rising prices of basic commodities. Uma remained standing by the stone archway, his hands clasped behind his back. His legs throbbed from the prolonged standing but he kept his posture rigid.
Shakky finally turned around on her wooden stool. She raised a dark eyebrow, her expression displaying genuine surprise.
"You are still standing there," Shakky observed. "You scrubbed the floors. The front door is unlocked. You had every opportunity to run."
"I possess my pride," Uma stated, meeting her gaze directly. "I refuse to run from my debts. I will run from nothing."
He meant every single syllable. The absolute conviction behind his words bled into the physical space of the room. The two former pirates paused. They felt the heavy, unbending weight of his will radiating from his exhausted frame.
Rayleigh looked over his shoulder. The old man offered a slow, approving nod.
"You carry the right mindset, boy," Rayleigh said, taking a final sip from his glass. "You are dismissed."
Uma bowed his head slightly. He felt a deep surge of satisfaction. He successfully established a baseline of respect with the Dark King. He turned toward the kitchen to exit through the back door.
"Be on time today at six in the evening," Shakky called out to his retreating back.
"..."
Uma stopped walking. He let out a long, heavy sigh. He pushed the back door open and stepped out into the humid pre-dawn air, beginning the long walk back to the clinic.
(14/02/24 - 14:24)
Uma opened his eyes. The afternoon sun filtered through the small clinic window, casting a warm glow across the wooden floorboards. He pushed himself off the narrow cot.
He felt entirely refreshed. The deep, faint ache in his fused radius and tibia had vanished completely. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. His muscles moved with a smooth, fluid power. He looked down at his chest and arms. The skin was flawless. He reached up and traced his fingers across his throat. The blistered, raised ring from the explosive collar was entirely gone. Only the dark musket scar on his abdomen remained. His hyper-recovery had finalized the biological restructuring. His body was completely healed. His physical strength had multiplied significantly.
Doctor Vance walked out from the small storage room, carrying a stack of clean linen bandages. The doctor stopped and looked at Uma's unblemished skin.
"You healed up well," Vance noted, tossing the bandages onto his desk. "How did the intelligence gathering go yesterday?"
"I acquired the layout of the shipyard and Gator's location," Uma replied. "I also acquired a debt. I am currently employed as Shakky's cleaner. I start my shift at six."
Vance shook his head slowly.
"You shot yourself in the foot," Vance grumbled. "Working for that woman is a trap. She will bleed your labor dry."
Vance let out a long sigh and walked out the front door to smoke his cigar on the porch.
Uma scratched his messy, overgrown afro.
'Working at the bar is the perfect cover,' Uma thought. 'It guarantees frequent contact with Rayleigh.'
He realized his thick hair was becoming a liability in close-quarters combat. An enemy could easily grab it to control his head. He walked over to Vance's desk and picked up a pair of heavy, iron surgical shears. He stood in front of a small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. He grabbed handfuls of his hair and cut it down to a short, manageable length.
He brushed the loose hair off his shoulders and set the shears down. His reflection showed a hardened, dangerous young man. He grabbed his canvas shirt and pulled it over his head.
It was time to take care of the pirate.