If it were before the soul transfer, Maud could've easily reacted to a bullet. Whether through [Ken] reinforcing his body or simply reading intent with [En], he wouldn't have even flinched.
But now…
The dark muzzle resembled a Reaper's scythe hanging above his head—one twitch, and death would strike instantly.
"I have no malice."
Faced with the gun, Maud spoke instinctively, leaving no room for thought.
The weapon had been raised and aimed at him the moment the door creaked open—proof that the person on the other side had noticed even his subtle shift against the wall.
In this fragile body, with no aura defense, no Nen abilities at the ready, Maud had no choice but to surrender initiative and signal submission.
Silence followed from outside the door. The muzzle didn't waver.
After a breath's pause, a hoarse female voice cut through the tension.
"Stand in front of me."
"…Okay."
Maud responded without hesitation. He stepped slowly in front of the doorway, and the muzzle tracked him smoothly.
Once in clear view, he finally laid eyes on the gun-wielder.
A girl. Thin. Worn cloth.
She had cropped, bristly hair, and three jagged scars ran diagonally across her face—like claw marks, stretching from her left eyebrow to the right edge of her lips.
If Maud hadn't heard her voice earlier, he'd have mistaken her for a young man.
"I have no malice," Maud repeated calmly. Slowly, he raised both hands in the air to show he was unarmed.
His eyes flicked downward, noting the heavy burlap sack clutched in her left hand.
That sack made his skin crawl far more than the expertly-aimed flintlock pistol.
Sunny stared coldly into Maud's eyes and spoke flatly.
"Don't move. If we wanted to kill you, do you think you'd still be standing here talking?"
It was a warning, sharp and honest. Then, without another word, she lowered the gun and holstered it.
Sunny had read his body language and judged that his reaction was instinctive—rooted in fear and self-preservation. If she'd felt a trace of aggression, she would've shot without hesitation.
Relieved the tension had diffused, Maud exhaled slightly.
"Since you're awake," Sunny said flatly, "this is no longer needed."
She tossed the sack carelessly to the ground.
Including the time it took to return here, Maud had been unconscious for seven days.
According to Sol—the presumed leader—if Maud remained comatose, he'd be considered a loss, and they'd recoup what they spent on his medicine and supplies.
No one expected him to wake up.
Maud glanced at the sack, his expression stiff.
He licked his lips and asked, "If I hadn't woken up… that sack. Was it for me?"
"Yes," Sunny answered without flinching. "If you stayed unconscious, I'd have stuffed you inside, sold you on the black market. The 'Undertaker' would've carved you up into a dozen pieces. Each part gets tagged, labeled, and sold off—organs, tendons, eyes… whatever the buyer wants."
She offered a chilling smile, lips barely curling.
Maud fell into silence.
"Dismantled," "parts," "sold."
Her words weren't blunt, but the implication was disturbingly clear.
There was an organized market—likely with brokers and bidders—trading in human remains.
The earlier gunfire made more sense now. This place had no resemblance to peace.
And Sunny wasn't joking.
But she'd also made it clear: if they wanted him dead, he wouldn't be conscious now.
In other words, as uncertain as the situation was… he was, for the moment, safe.
That alone was enough. As long as he could survive, he could rebuild Hunter's Note and start hunting anew.
"What should I call you?" Maud asked, shifting focus and meeting her gaze.
Sunny narrowed her eyes slightly. The corner of her mouth tugged upward, forming a half-smile.
"You're a calm one. Call me Sunny," she said. "As for your name—shouldn't I be the one asking that?"
Maud was momentarily stunned, uncertain why, until he saw Sunny pull a bronze pocket watch from her tattered pocket.
The sight of it—both familiar and unfamiliar—caused Maud's eyebrows to lift slightly.
That was his.
No, more accurately, it belonged to this body's predecessor.
Yet when the boy had been transferred onto the slave ship, Maud distinctly remembered that a burly man in a leather coat had confiscated the pocket watch during the initial inspection.
But now, the watch was in Sunny's possession.
That meant one thing: the group that had attacked the slave ship… must've been Sunny's people.
Maud mulled over the conclusion silently.
If he recalled correctly, there were two photos inside that watch.
One was a full-body portrait of the predecessor at age sixteen, standing stiffly in a suit. The lower right corner held a neat cursive signature. No wonder Sunny had seemed to recognize him so easily.
The other was a family photo…
Wait.
Was it a family of three—or a family of four?
A sudden sharp pain surged in his head.
Maud winced and frowned.
Sunny, absorbed in the pocket watch, didn't notice his expression.
"This watch was yours," she said, eyes on the dial. "But it's my 'trophy' now. Still, since we might be working together soon, I'll reluctantly return it to its original owner."
With a casual flick, she tossed the watch to Maud.
He caught it and, with a slight sting of foreboding, popped open the cover.
The dial was frozen at 6:19. The two photos inside were undisturbed.
His eyes slid past the younger version of himself… and landed on the family photo.
There were four people.
Four?
He had thought it was just the predecessor and his parents.
But now, there was a younger child in the corner—smiling brightly, holding onto his older brother's sleeve.
The hazy fragments of memory began to resurface, triggering another sharp headache.
Maud shut the cover with a snap, expression unreadable.
This body had given him a second life. He owed it that.
But that didn't mean he was ready to let the predecessor's memories cloud his new path.
Sunny finally looked at him. She noted the shift in his aura but didn't press.
"As someone who's been here longer than you," she said, her voice dry, "you might want to destroy the photo with your name on it. Then give yourself a new alias."
Maud met her gaze. He didn't ask why. He understood. In both Hunter x Hunter and One Piece, identity could be both a shield and a death sentence.
"Thanks. I'll consider it seriously."
Sunny nodded, then glanced briefly at the blood-stained bandage wrapped around Maud's forehead.
Without another word, she moved straight to the point: "Let's go. Time to meet Sol."
Maud had no grounds to refuse. He tucked the watch into his pocket and obediently followed.
They moved in single file down a dim corridor and descended a set of creaky stairs to the first floor.
Just as they reached the base of the stairs, a loud bang echoed from the front hall—like a wooden door being kicked violently, rebounding off the wall with a crash.
Sunny stopped abruptly. Maud followed suit, glancing down the hallway toward the commotion.
A second later, a gravelly voice erupted—a hoarse, irritable tone that rasped like sandpaper.
"You bastard brat! Kick my shop door again and I'll rip out your hamstrings!"
A younger, brasher voice shot back. "Chill out, old man. I brought the money. Give me Keanu's gun."
The voices clashed. One temperamental elder. One arrogant youth.
"You can piss off. I'd rather tear that gun apart and feed it to the sea rats than sell it to you."
"Fine. Throw it out. I'll still find it."
"SCRAM!"
As the verbal battle raged, Sunny sighed in exhaustion.
"Follow me," she said, speeding up her pace.
Maud kept quiet and followed her down the hall.
It wasn't long before they reached a shabby storefront—clearly the source of the voices.
Maud didn't get a chance to take in the shop's layout or inventory. His eyes locked instantly on the source of the argument: a wiry old man with smoke-stained fingers and a furious scowl, and a teenager with wild red spiky hair, a leather belt slung diagonally across his chest, and a pair of tinted goggles pushed up onto his forehead.
Exactly like the voice suggested—one old, one young.
Maud's gaze landed on the teenager's striking crimson hair.
Then the goggles.
Then the face—sharp, full of untamed arrogance.
A jolt of recognition struck him.
"Kid…"
He muttered under his breath, stunned.
Eustass Kid.
The future captain of the Kid Pirates. One of the Worst Generation. The man whose name would be known across the New World.
He'd heard the name earlier, but it hadn't clicked. Not until now.
But this Kid was clearly younger. Not the hardened pirate of the Sabaody Archipelago, but a rough-edged version—still volatile, still rising.
Still… prey.
Maud's pulse quickened.
He didn't need to think twice. With his Hunter's Note, targets like Kid—whose data, backstory, and abilities were all laid bare in the original manga—were ideal.
And now that he was sure he was in One Piece's world, he finally had a foundation to rebuild his hunter's path.