The Hunter of Pirates

Using a bathroom excuse, Mobin successfully slipped away.

Once inside, he locked the door immediately.

[Hunter's Notebook]

A notebook, black as ink and exuding a mysterious elegance, appeared out of thin air.

At the spine of the notebook, the black tail feather of a quill trembled slightly, as if awaiting Mobin's attention.

During the initial development of this ability, Mobin had envisioned a sleek black pen as the writing tool. However, creating such a detailed structure would have significantly increased the complexity of the development process.

To ease the strain on other aspects of the ability, he settled for a simpler construction—a quill, though harder to write with.

Mobin drew the quill from the notebook's spine and, without hesitation, neatly wrote the word [Physique] in Chinese on the first silver line.

Improving his physique was his highest priority.

There was no need to deliberate over this decision.

Only by enhancing his physical condition could he have the foundation to pursue more ambitious goals.

After all, in this world, a strong physique was the cornerstone of any powerful individual.

Thinking of the monstrous constitutions of beings like the Four Emperors, Mobin could only marvel. Figures like Big Mom and Kaido possessed physical strength so unparalleled that Mobin didn't dare to dream of reaching their level.

Having written his need, Mobin flipped open the notebook to its first page.

The page was as blank as fresh snow.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw twisted, illegible scrawls crowding the page.

He blinked, and the marks vanished like shadows.

Mobin hesitated briefly, then muttered softly, "A fresh start..."

It was as though he were starting over in a new game server after having his old account wiped. The advantage? He retained experience and knowledge.

Quill in hand, he quickly sketched the likeness of Evan Watt in his mind and jotted down the sparse information he had about him.

[Evan Watt]

[Skilled with Blades]

The information, overheard from Sunny, was absurdly minimal.

But every bit counted, no matter how small.

Considering his current fragile condition, even the smallest gains would likely yield noticeable effects.

Feeling as if he had accomplished something significant, Mobin ceremoniously closed the Hunter's Notebook.

"Thank you, Evan Watt."

"Thank you, Kid, for bringing him here."

Mobin dismissed the notebook and turned to the mirror.

He lightly pressed a bloodstained bandage on his forehead, wincing as pain flared.

If the notebook worked as intended, his wound should show some noticeable improvement post-hunt.

The only regret was that Watt was not a master of physical combat techniques.

"Preparation complete."

Mobin grabbed the small knife resting on the sink and exited the bathroom.

In the shop, Sol and Sunny were waiting, though the delay had only been a matter of minutes.

Without wasting time, Mobin approached the unconscious Watt.

Under their watchful eyes, Mobin knelt, gripped the knife, and stabbed Watt directly in the chest, aiming for his heart.

Splurt!

Blood splashed onto Mobin's hand.

To his dismay, the blade only penetrated halfway before nearly slipping from his grip.

Sol's brow twitched.

Sunny lowered her gaze.

"Damn it."

Mobin cursed inwardly but reminded himself of this world's robust physiques and his own feeble strength.

Without hesitation, he pulled the knife out and delivered several more stabs, ensuring Watt's swift demise.

The entire process, from start to finish, was as straightforward as slaughtering a chicken.

After all, Mobin was no stranger to this kind of task.

In his previous life, his Hunter's Notebook bore nearly a thousand names. Most were death-row criminals he had executed personally in a professional capacity.

The process was as simple as pressing a button to administer a lethal injection—effortless.

Such ease in harvesting results led to his extended tenure at the correctional institution, though it left him with little experience in direct combat.

Technically speaking, Mobin wasn't a combat-oriented Hunter.

Over time, as the number of executions he carried out increased, he developed a detached perspective on life.

More precisely, he grew indifferent to the lives of criminals. To him, most pirates in this world were no different from the felons he had executed in his past.

Killing them felt no heavier than squashing an ant.

Reflecting on correctional facilities, the only equivalent Mobin could think of in this world was Impel Down.

However, the approach here seemed more humane.

Even criminals deserving of multiple death sentences were merely imprisoned.

The rationale likely involved controlling the circulation of Devil Fruits. However, not all prisoners in Impel Down were Devil Fruit users.

Regardless, Mobin's ability would have been well-suited for the Marines.

Unfortunately, given the chaotic circumstances of his awakening, joining the Marines now seemed impossible.

As these thoughts churned in his mind, Mobin released the knife handle and stood, closing his eyes.

In the darkness behind his eyelids, the Hunter's Notebook hovered, its edges emitting a soft glow, akin to a solar eclipse.

The light rapidly absorbed into the notebook, leaving a faint white star on its black cover.

With that, the glow vanished, and darkness returned.

In a short span, a faint flush of color returned to Mobin's pale face.

He opened his eyes, feeling a faint itch where his wound had been.

The frailty that had made him feel as if a strong gust could knock him over had noticeably diminished.

These subtle improvements were the hidden gains tied to his prioritized need for a better physique.

Visible enhancements, like muscle growth or increased durability, would require far more substantial targets and better preparation.

Nonetheless, the Hunter's Notebook worked!

Mobin's eyes glimmered with hope.

Sol and Sunny, having witnessed the killing and Mobin's subsequent visible relief, found nothing strange about it.

After all, merchants hated pirates more than anything, especially those who looted without restraint.

Besides, Mobin's current predicament was entirely the pirates' fault. Venting his anger on Watt seemed perfectly normal to them.

Even so, Sol wasn't keen on seeing his future helper spiral into extremism.

He retrieved the knife from Watt's corpse and wiped it clean with Watt's clothes.

"Don't get too carried away. I want you to leave your past behind, not lose yourself."

"Understood," Mobin replied quietly.

He knew where Sol was coming from and saw no need to explain further.

His immediate goal was to secure Sol's favor and integrate himself into the chaos of Mad Hatter Town, where life was often cheap.

Sol glanced at Mobin's bloodied right hand. "Good. Now go wash up."

Then, turning to Sunny, he added, "Sunny, go fetch Arthur to deal with the body."

"Got it."

Sunny left promptly.

Mobin returned to the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands.

Looking into the mirror, he pressed his wound again.

Where it had hurt minutes ago, there was now no pain.

The results were promising, albeit indicative of just how frail his body had been.

He wondered how many hunts it would take to achieve a recovery rate like Luffy's.

Breathing deeply, he allowed himself to relax.

Successfully completing his first hunt had given him a sliver of confidence.

Still, the road ahead was daunting, and finding his next target seemed a distant prospect.

"Mad Hatter Town…"

"Dangerous, yes, but also an ideal hunting ground."

"Step by step."

He splashed his face with cold water, wiped it dry, and left the bathroom.

Back in the shop, an imposing figure had arrived.

The newcomer wore a utility outfit resembling workwear, with a black armband bearing the character for [Death] tied to his left arm. His face was obscured by a white mask that revealed only his eyes and part of his mouth.

Mobin assumed this was Arthur, whom Sunny had summoned to handle the body.

Arthur had been inspecting the corpse but raised his head at the sound of Mobin's footsteps.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, surprised.