Maude woke the next morning, a heavy weariness clinging to him. He had spent most of the night meticulously organizing the flood of One Piece knowledge surging through his mind, finally succumbing to exhaustion in the wee hours of the night. He had slept less than two hours, but thankfully, yesterday's successful hunt seemed to have bolstered his frail body somewhat; otherwise, this kind of strain would have been unbearable.
Now awake, sleep felt impossible. He threw off the thin quilt and swung his legs out of bed. He wondered what tasks Sol would assign him today. Resignedly, he'd already mentally accepted the role of 'errand boy' as the price for shelter and a chance to establish himself.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Maude opened the door and stepped into the quiet hallway. The silence was profound, amplifying the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. At the far end of the corridor, a wood-paneled window allowed shafts of early morning sunlight to pierce the gloom, dappling the floor in patterns of light and shadow. He glanced briefly at the other closed doors lining the hall, then made his way towards the stairs.
Downstairs, the layout became clearer. The corridor branched – right led to the storefront, left to a living area and kitchen. It was still early, the shop seemingly not yet open for business.
Sunny, however, was already awake, sitting alone at a simple dining table, eating breakfast.
Maude quickly washed up, then entered the dining area, which connected openly to the kitchen. Hunger gnawed at him fiercely. He'd managed to endure it yesterday, fueled by adrenaline and uncertainty, but today the hunger felt insistent, perhaps a sign his body was actively recovering, demanding fuel.
Sunny looked up as he entered, her expression neutral. She pushed a glass of milk towards an empty place setting opposite her, silently indicating he should sit and eat. Maude didn't hesitate, pulling out the chair and sitting down gratefully. He noticed another plate with leftover food residue at a third empty spot – likely Sol's.
He picked up the wooden cup and took a tentative sip of milk. He frowned slightly; the distinct tang-y-ness of raw milk filling his mouth. Yet nevertheless, he forced himself to drink it down, eagerly grabbing a piece of meat from the plate set out for him afterwards. Taking a large bite of meat, Maude chewed with gratefulness and slight satisfaction, the feeling of being alive washing over him.
The shop might look dilapidated but the food was substantial and of good quality.
What Maude appreciated most, however, was the casual, almost indifferent attitude of both Sol and Sunny. It was far removed from the violent, unpredictable behavior he might have expected from people operating on the fringes of pirate society. And, in a strange way, Sol was his savior.
After devouring several more pieces of steak, Maude consciously slowed his eating pace. He glanced across at Sunny, who had nearly finished her own meal. Recalling the written instruction forbidding him from going outside, day or night, a question formed in his mind.
"Sunny," He began, trying to sound casual, "Mad Hatter Town… what kind of place is it, exactly?"
Sunny looked up, her expression unchanging. "Why don't you go outside and see for yourself?"
Maude blinked. "???" The contradictory instruction left him momentarily speechless. Was she messing with me? Payback for dodging her question yesterday?
Scrape— The sound of Sunny pushing back her chair interrupted his thoughts.
"Clean this up when you're done," she said, standing. "Then tidy the shop. You have half an hour." Without another word or backward glance, she walked off, heading back towards the stairs.
Maude shook his head slightly, bemused by her unpredictable nature. He finished the remaining breakfast quickly, then began clearing the table.
'If cleaning is the extent of my 'errand duties', this might be easier than expected.'
Table cleared, Maude gathered the cleaning supplies and moved into the storefront. He approached the display shelves with caution, remembering Sunny's explicit warning: Don't touch the merchandise.
He couldn't touch, but he could look. Three main shelves dominated the small space. One held an assortment of swords – katanas, cutlasses, rapiers. Another displayed flintlock pistols and rifles of varying lengths and designs. The third shelf was a jumbled mix of both swords and firearms. He remembered Sol wiping down Watt's bloody machete yesterday and placing it unceremoniously on that third shelf.
Looking at the crowded third shelf, Maude recalled Sol's practiced, almost casual handling of the weapon. A thought occurred: Is this the 'second-hand' shelf? The source of such goods in a place like this was grimly obvious. Still, for sturdy weapons like swords, second-hand goods hardly mattered as long as the blade was sound.
His gaze shifted from the blades to the shelf dedicated solely to firearms. There were perhaps a dozen or so guns displayed, but the shelf itself looked oddly spacious, as if it could hold many more. Maude studied the flintlocks. Whether on Earth or in the Hunter x Hunter world, firearms generally offered advantages over melee weapons, at least initially. He knew his way around guns better than swords. Even when his Nen had progressed beyond needing them, he'd often carried a pistol out of habit. He wasn't a master marksman, but he could handle a gun competently.
However, he also knew that in the world of One Piece, swordsmanship often seemed to hold greater prestige and potential at the highest levels. Most of the true powerhouses favored blades or fists over firearms. That didn't mean guns were inherently weak, just that mastering their ranged advantage to its fullest extent seemed rare.
"Is Keanu's gun one of these?" He wondered aloud, thinking of Kidd's objective yesterday. A gun capable of inspiring such persistence in someone like Eustass Kidd must possess exceptional quality. Maude scanned the displayed flintlocks again. His knowledge was primarily of modern firearms; these archaic mechanisms were largely alien to him. He couldn't discern quality from appearance alone, let alone identify a specific, named weapon like 'Keanu's gun.'
"Need to get my hands on one, soon," He resolved silently. Even if less advanced than modern weapons, a reliable firearm would be invaluable in the early stages of his hunting, a straightforward tool for dispatching targets. He resisted the urge to simply grab one of the likely second-hand pistols from the third shelf and quickly finished cleaning around the displays.
Returning the cleaning supplies to the storage closet, Maude noted that exactly half an hour had passed. Right on cue, Sunny descended the stairs and entered the shop. He noticed, with mild surprise, that she seemed to be in a subtly better mood than before.
(He couldn't know this was because she was anticipating offloading tedious chores onto him indefinitely, assuming he survived, of course.)
Under Maude's curious gaze, Sunny retrieved a ruler from behind the counter. She walked over to the shelves and began meticulously measuring the placement of each item, making tiny adjustments. The sheer precision of her actions sent an odd prickle across Maude's scalp. 'Seriously? Why is this level of precision even needed?'
He initially thought she was checking if he'd disturbed anything, but quickly realized her focus was on achieving some perfect, specific arrangement. The intensity of her concentration made his scalp tingle even more.
Not daring to interrupt whatever ritual this was, Maude waited patiently. It took nearly an hour before Sunny was finally satisfied. Only then did she unlock the front door, officially opening the shop for the day's business.
"Where's Sol?" Maude asked, realizing the old man still hadn't appeared.
Sunny, now seated behind the counter, glanced at him, her expression returning to its usual blankness. "Sol went to the Flower District for his 'morning exercise.' Usually gets back before lunch."
"'Morning exercise'..." Maude repeated, nodding slowly. 'Ah, that explains how he stays so spry despite his age.'
Then the implication hit him.
'Wait. Flower District?'
Something about that didn't sound quite right.