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The man in the chef's hat was just a civilian with some military training—no Haki, no Devil Fruit powers. One brutal punch left him bloodied, his internal organs seemingly ruptured, yet he gritted his teeth and glared at the owl without uttering a word.
"Tch. What a hassle! Pah! You cockroaches never learn. Say it—where is the Eastern Army commander?"
"Tell me! Who is the commander working with?! Bah!"
"Owl of the Soundless," a CP9 operative, slammed his fist into the chef's left hand, then his left arm, right hand, and right arm in succession. What began as tactical torture soon turned into unrestrained rage.
"Still won't talk? Then drop dead! Baba!" He raised his fist, aiming to crush the man's skull.
Suddenly, his vision went pitch black.
As a senior agent of the World Government, Owl had trained for every scenario. He knew the room lights were always on—yet now, he couldn't see a thing, not even his own fingers. There was no doubt: an enemy had arrived.
They were using a Devil Fruit—but what kind?
A thick, inky mist swirled around him, sticking to his skin like syrup.
Owl let go of the unconscious chef and dropped into a defensive stance, senses on high alert.
Normally loquacious, he now fell silent, betting that the darkness might hinder his foe as much as it hindered him.
Weiwei's voice rang out in his tone, mocking, "Why so quiet? Cat got your tongue? Bah!"
Before the last syllable of "Bah" had left her lips, Owl sprang into action.
Activating Tekkai (Iron Body) to harden his frame, he used Soru (Shave) to launch into a high-speed spin, a move combining velocity and defense—his signature attack: Super Spin: Tekkai Gyoku (Iron Body Jade).
A loud boom echoed as he tore through the wall of the cake room. But he didn't even graze his target. He crashed straight through the wall, expecting light—yet darkness still cloaked the area.
Neither objective achieved, he kept his composure and barreled off in another direction.
As he slammed into the third wall, only ten meters in, his spinning body was abruptly halted—by a single hand.
The figure stood firm, unmoved, effortlessly absorbing his full-force impact.
"You?! Who the hell are you?!"
"Idiot." Weiwei blocked him with one hand, then twisted her waist and unleashed a spinning kick, her leg coated in Busoshoku Haki (Armament Haki). It crashed into his head like a hammer on a watermelon.
"Iron Body!" Owl reacted in the nick of time, reinforcing his defense.
His Tekkai was solid, but compared to someone like Binz—Zeffa's student—it was inferior. Weiwei had defeated Binz before gaining her Devil Fruit. Now, her power had skyrocketed.
Her Haki-imbued kick shattered his defense instantly.
Bang! A heavy thud.
Owl flew back more than ten meters, slamming into the cake room's refrigerator. Plates and utensils tumbled out, clattering across his face. Something like ketchup trickled from his hair.
He looked pathetic. Nearly all the teeth on the right side of his jaw had been knocked loose. His once-round face sagged on one side. But injuries aside, his mind was racing—calculating her power from the blow.
"My Doriki was just measured at 750… but hers… 5100?!"
Weiwei chuckled. "5100 Doriki? Your measurement trick is neat, but numbers alone don't define combat power."
Owl shouted, "Who are you?! This Devil Fruit… is the Yami Yami no Mi back?!"
"Who am I? Back at Enies Lobby, didn't you take my monthly salary of 50,000 Berries?"
Salary? Fifty thousand? Owl's brain spun—completely lost.
With that kind of strength, why would anyone care about 50,000 Berries?
For Owl, bribery had always been a little game—killing dozens or hundreds meant nothing to him. He had extorted so often he couldn't even remember who she was.
And that suited Weiwei just fine. Let him stay confused.
Owl's hunch about the mist being sticky was accurate. It wasn't mist—it was blood, atomized into a fine haze.
Unbeknownst to him, it had already encircled him completely, layer upon layer.
Weiwei extended her right hand. The mist responded.
Owl's body jerked—completely paralyzed—and flew toward her palm.
"Blood Bind."
Weiwei clenched her hand, and dozens of wounds burst open across Owl's body. Blood gushed like fountains, drawn forcibly from his veins.
She turned to the unconscious chef, her left hand channeling life energy conversion into his chest. The blood flowed into him—not directly, as their types didn't match—but transmuted into vitality. It would keep him alive until he received proper medical care.
Boom! Owl collapsed, his blood nearly drained.
Despite his impressive physique and Rokushiki training, he could barely breathe.
A moment ago, he looked like a man in his twenties. Now, he resembled someone in his sixties—gray-haired, sagging-skinned, hollow-eyed.
That night, Weiwei contacted the Revolutionary Army's upper ranks. Belo Betty, the fiery Eastern commander known for her plunging neckline and ever-present cigarette, rushed to the scene.
The cake room was trashed. Both Owl and the chef were unconscious. Weiwei was calmly enjoying a slice of cake.
Licking cream from her fingers, she spoke casually: "Shame about the mess. The chef's yours, right? His arms are shattered. I kept him alive, but he needs a doctor. I came a bit late—two of your people were already dead. The one over there did it. Looks like an old CP9 agent... Owl, I think? I'll leave him with you."
Even in the dead of night, Belo Betty rocked her usual look: sunglasses, cigarette, exposed cleavage.
She examined the chef first. His arms were mangled, but his breathing was steady. If treated soon, he'd survive.
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