Chapter 206: Chapter 206: Stop!
Chapter 206: Stop!
In the bustling city of Saki,
a fat gray cat darted nimbly through the crowded streets.
His mind was a storm of confusion. The old cat didn’t even know what he was feeling anymore.
He ran forward purely on instinct, eager to escape the city and reach the young man who brought him peace, the one he needed to deliver Hoshicai’s message to.
"But should I really just run like this? When I go back, will Ryosuke and the others accuse me of abandoning my comrades?"
"No... I’m following the mission. I’m just carrying out orders!"
"Excuses. That’s all it is. You’re avoiding the fight."
"What a joke! I’m just an old cat, one paw already at the gate of the underworld. What is there to be afraid of..."
He was speaking to himself, questioning, answering, debating in a private war inside his head.
Once he burst through the city gate and entered the quiet wilderness, the absence of human noise allowed his heart to slowly settle.
Was he afraid of dying?
Of course he was. But not that afraid.
He was more... lost.
His thoughts tangled in confusion, circling over themselves like a broken compass.
That red-haired warrior back in the city, he was strong. In an instant, he’d subdued even the most seasoned among them. No extra movements, no struggle, no chance to transmit information. Just silence.
And yet, the old cat wasn’t afraid.
No matter how terrifying the opponent, fear didn’t rule him.
Not because of arrogance. Not confidence in power. But because he had come to terms with death.
"Haven’t I already grown used to the fear and pain of dying?"
His run began to slow.
Snow clung to his paws, the cold biting deep into his bones, reminding him of those lonely days as a stray.
And with that cold, clarity returned.
Panic had driven him to flee during his first real mission.
That may have been a mistake.
Some fear death once and cling tighter to life.
But those who brush against death again and again... they go numb.
The old cat was one of the numb ones.
He’d already lost his life once, saved only by the strange power of a Devil Fruit.
This second life felt like a bonus round. A victory lap.
And then there was Ryosuke’s training... brutal, merciless. He couldn’t count how many times he felt like he’d died under that hellish routine.
Each time he collapsed, pain would give way to sheer exhaustion. He could feel his soul drifting, only to be yanked back. Again. And again.
Through this, the old cat had come to understand death all too well.
He had no dreams, no ambitions. No deep reason to cling to life.
He was the only one of his kind. No family. Perhaps a few friends, Ryosuke’s family, and Hoshicai, whom he’d just parted from. But did they truly consider him a friend?
For him, death was a fleeting sting. Close his eyes, fall into sleep. Nothing more.
"Should I go back now?"
He halted.
Even with death no longer a fear, panic still gripped him.
Because it wasn’t about dying.
It was about not knowing what to do.
His first mission and the conflict between duty and heart was tearing him in two.
Hoshicai had taught him well:
From a rational point of view, as the last survivor of the team, he was responsible for reporting the incident. That was his mission. His duty.
But emotionally... the old cat wasn’t one to abandon comrades.
Even back when he hunted with wild strays, he’d never left an injured ally behind.
"But if I go back now... isn’t it already too late?"
He looked back at the distant silhouette of Saki Castle.
The internal tug-of-war between mission and emotion left him paralyzed.
When they’d first arrived at that gate, there were two of them.
He’d sat on Hoshicai’s shoulder, entering side-by-side.
Now, he was alone.
"Alone..."
His thoughts stopped.
No more hesitating.
The old cat turned around and ran back into the city.
Because the truth was, he still cared.
There were things in this world he couldn’t let go of.
He didn’t want to die forgotten. Unmourned. Alone.
That, to him, was the real death.
He’d already felt that once before... back in that cold, lifeless shelter.
And he would do anything not to experience it again.
Only one thing scared him more than Ryosuke’s training, and that was vanishing without meaning.
The wind howled in his ears as he sprinted.
This time, his stride carried purpose.
He’d run out in a blur of panic but now, he returned with clarity.
The guards didn’t bother stopping him. After all, he was just a cat.
As the noise of the city returned, and the familiar streets of East Street came into view, he slowed and grew cautious.
The street was just as he’d left it.
People moved along, unbothered, unchanged as if the chaos he’d witnessed never happened.
There were no screams. No signs of battle.
Hoshicai had said he’d go check things out so maybe he was still hidden.
Two possibilities:
Either he was still lying low...
Or he’d been taken silently, like the others.
The second felt more likely.
The old cat’s chest tightened.
He padded cautiously down East Street.
Unlike the more secluded roads, East Street housed both nobles and commoners. It was always crowded and that made the threat harder to spot.
It was too normal. Too peaceful.
If their enemy could move like that, silently taking allies without alarming a soul, it meant danger was already here, hiding in plain sight.
The old cat’s entire body tensed, ready to strike or flee at any moment.
The middle of the street...
That’s where Hoshicai had said the signal was lost.
Maneuvering through the traffic of human feet, the old cat advanced, silently weaving around boot and sandal.
Snippets of conversations floated above him:
"In winter, it’s best to eat hot pot in a warm room."
"You’re silly. You should go out more, feel people’s warmth. It’ll chase the cold away."
"Ugh, that’s nonsense. Popularity? That’s just empty talk."
...
Chaotic and tangled voices came from every direction, echoing in the old cat’s ears.
Though it irritated him, he still tried his best to extract any useful information from the noise.
But they were already nearing the end of the street...
The old cat leapt from the ground and landed lightly on the edge of a nearby roof, perched atop someone else’s home.
None of the pedestrians’ conversations revealed anything useful. He was even about to follow the crowd out of the area, but still nothing worth noting.
Have they been taken away?
He forced himself to calm down. From the rooftop, the old cat scanned every corner of the street carefully.
But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t spot the red-haired warrior, much less any trace of his companions. No signs of battle, either.
Damn it!
Just then, his gaze froze.
In the distance, tucked into the corner of the street, was a small tea stall sheltered under a cloth canopy.
Teapots of all shapes and sizes sat atop electric boilers, steam constantly rising from their spouts.
Passers-by occasionally stopped to buy a cup of hot tea, sipping from paper cups as they walked or sitting at one of the three simple tables available.
But what caught the old cat’s attention wasn’t the stall, it was the people sitting there.
At two of the three tables, several individuals lay slumped, as if asleep.
It was winter. That alone made it strange, who would just sleep in the open like this?
They were all bundled in black coats, making them quite conspicuous.
However, one person among them, also in black remained awake, which perhaps explained why no passers-by bothered to intervene.
Despite the heavy coats, the old cat noticed several familiar details and quickly realized they were his companions.
More importantly, the man who was still awake... was the red-haired warrior he had seen earlier.
Though his appearance had changed slightly, he now wore a black hat covering his signature crimson hair there was no mistaking him.
No wonder the old cat hadn’t recognized him at first.
After all, perception techniques weren’t his strong suit. In fact, he knew almost nothing about them.
So... what now? Think, think. You’re supposed to be the smartest cat in the entire clan.
The old cat kept his eyes on the tea stall, racking his brain to figure out a solution.
Meanwhile, the red-haired warrior was crouching and playing with a puppy, one that a disguised companion had brought along, posing as a dog walker.
Oddly enough, that puppy was how the old cat had managed to recognize the warrior amidst the crowded street.
Wait... a puppy?
Alarmed, the old cat’s eyes widened, and he swiftly looked away.
But it was too late. His focused stare, typical of a cat had already drawn attention.
The red-haired warrior glanced up.
Their eyes met.
Run? But if I bolt now... wouldn’t that be too obvious?
The old cat froze.
His instincts screamed: He noticed even the puppy. If he’s that sharp, even a disguised kitten like me won’t fool him.
But reason argued: The more dangerous it gets, the more I need to stay calm.
Trapped between survival instinct and rational thought, he hesitated, paralyzed.
"Oh my, what a fat cat," came a voice, unexpectedly gentle and close.
The old cat blinked. What?!
He turned his head slowly toward the sound.
At some point, the red-haired warrior, who had just been sipping tea a moment ago, had silently climbed to the rooftop and was now standing right beside him.
"Kitty, you look familiar," the man said with a smile. "Is your master that noble lady with all the makeup?"
As he spoke, he reached out and extended to grab him.
Danger!
Without hesitation, the old cat transformed.
His body surged and twisted, turning into a tall, muscular humanoid form, brimming with divine presence.
He launched a punch straight at the red-haired warrior.
The moment he entered this divine state, all confusion and hesitation vanished.
What replaced them was a single, clear emotion, battle-lust.
"Oh?"
The red-haired man raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the sudden transformation.
He felt the power behind the punch, but instead of dodging, he countered.
He threw his own punch, bronze-skinned fist cloaked in a dark, swirling aura.
Under the sunlight, his fist gleamed like forged iron.
Bang!
A thunderous boom shattered the silence of East Street.
Down below, startled by the explosion-like sound, the entire crowd froze.
They all looked up toward the rooftop.
Beneath the winter sun, a massive cat-faced figure was sent flying backwards.
Across from him, the red-haired warrior in the black coat stood calmly, glancing at his own fist.
Screech
The old cat, blown back by the tremendous force, could hear the distinct crack of his own bones shattering.
Then his back slammed into a nearby wall hard causing deep cracks to spread through the stone.
His fist was only the size of an egg... while mine was as big as a damn casserole! And I still lost?!
Impossible!
The old cat had expected to lose... but not this quickly.
Maybe the divine aspect of his transformation had stirred his emotions, but there was no fear, only shame.
He couldn’t accept such an easy defeat.
Blood boiling.
With a snarl, the old cat stomped the ground and surged forward again, massive frame rushing like a thunderous avalanche.
The red-haired warrior, still calm, frowned. He’s still coming?
Then, with a sharp breath, he barked, "Stop!"
A heavy, invisible force burst from him, an overwhelming aura that swept out in every direction.
But strangely, it only targeted the old cat. None of the passers-by were affected.
In that instant, the charging beast felt as if something slammed against his skull.
A brief dizziness clouded his mind... but it wasn’t enough to stop him.
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