Miss Valentine's mood was downright foul right now.
And who could blame her? As an assassin, she'd first run into an enemy she couldn't hope to match while on a job. Not only did the mission fail, but she'd been captured alive. Then, to make matters worse, she'd somehow learned her boss's true identity, and now her former colleagues were hunting her down. Talk about the worst luck in eight lifetimes!
"Has this world abandoned me?" Miss Valentine slumped over the table, utterly dejected.
Just then, the door creaked open, and a flood of dazzling sunlight poured into the dimly lit cabin. But it vanished almost as quickly, replaced by a new shadow in the room.
Miss Valentine shot upright, glaring daggers at the man responsible for her current misery.
Sherlock slid into the seat across from her. Noticing her disheveled hair and the glaring dark circles under her eyes, he smirked. His long fingers tapped the table in a steady rhythm, adding a fresh layer of irritation to the already haggard assassin.
"Looks like you slept well last night…" Sherlock said in a flat tone.
"…" Miss Valentine gritted her teeth, her bloodshot sapphire eyes boring into the infuriating bespectacled man. If looks could kill, Sherlock would've died a thousand times over.
Sherlock ignored her venomous stare and adjusted his glasses. "I have a few questions for you. You can choose to answer… or not."
"Hmph!" With a scornful snort, Miss Valentine turned her head away, closed her eyes, and adopted a defiant, ready-to-die expression. She clearly had no intention of answering.
Her uncooperative attitude was exactly what Sherlock expected. He sighed, reached into his Mirror Space, and pulled out a covered dish, setting it on the table. Then, with a gentle motion, he lifted the lid.
A refreshing, mouthwatering aroma instantly filled the cabin.
(That familiar scent… Could it be?)
Miss Valentine sniffed lightly, her eyes snapping wide open as she whipped her head toward the source.
The culprit was a pale yellow pie, two fingers thick, with a ring of dark, ornate crust around the edge. In the center, a deep red jam formed a large heart shape, making it utterly irresistible.
"Lemon pie!" Miss Valentine blurted out, her heart racing. For an assassin who hadn't eaten in a day, this was pure torture.
"Wrong!" Sherlock corrected. "This is the secret lemon pie, crafted with the overflowing love of Sanji, the sous-chef of the Baratie, the East Blue's premier ocean-going restaurant!"
With a flourish of his right hand, a gleaming knife appeared. As he began slicing the pie, he explained in a casual tone: "The lemons come from the Goldglint Orchard, exclusive to East Blue nobility. The eggs and flour are top-tier, and the chef? He's this year's East Blue Culinary Competition champion. Most importantly, this is his personal secret recipe! A pie like this would fetch at least ten thousand Berries at the Goldglint Trading Company…"
Like a machine calibrated for precision, Sherlock cut the pie into six perfect portions. The aroma grew even more enticing, the rising steam and vibrant red-yellow filling creating a dreamy, almost ethereal beauty.
Miss Valentine's eyes locked onto the pie, swallowing hard as her mind churned.
(What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?!
This glasses-wearing jerk is too despicable, pulling out something this tempting! How does he know I love lemon pie? Damn it! I want to eat it so bad! But I can't bear to spill any intel to this creep…)
(Wait!) An idea sparked in her mind.
(I'll pretend to cooperate, eat the pie, then double-cross him! He wouldn't dare do anything to me anyway. Haha, I'm a genius!)
With that, Miss Valentine sat up straight, a faint blush on her cheeks, striking a coy, hesitant pose.
"Heh, you think a little pie is enough to make me talk?" she said, feigning disdain. But the excitement in her voice was obvious to anyone.
Sherlock gave her a puzzled look, his brow furrowing slightly. "Huh? When did I say I was giving it to you?"
(?!)(Hold on, director, this script's all wrong!)
Miss Valentine froze, staring at Sherlock in disbelief.
But Sherlock ignored her, dismissing the knife with a flick of his wrist. He picked up a slice of pie, took a delicate bite, and chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing in bliss as he murmured, "Ah… the way this lemon pie melts in your mouth… such refined, elegant texture…"
"…The crust is perfectly flaky and rich, baked to perfection. The sweet-tart filling captures the pure, natural flavor of the lemon!"
"…Outstanding. This lemon pie is truly outstanding! As expected of Sanji!"
"..."
Miss Valentine watched Sherlock revel in his culinary bliss, feeling as if ten thousand Sea Kings were stampeding through her heart.
(So all that talk was just to taunt me?! How can someone be this shameless?!)
Sherlock's elegant eating was a sight to behold, practically textbook noble etiquette. But to Miss Valentine, it was the most infuriating display on the entire Grand Line.
He took small, deliberate bites, and soon the first slice was gone. Then he reached for the second…
Miss Valentine's lips twitched. To her, this bespectacled fiend wasn't eating pie—he was gnawing at her soul.
He bites the pie; my heart aches.
When Sherlock picked up the third slice, Miss Valentine, seizing the moment he looked away, shot her hand toward the plate.
—Infinite Gun System!
Dozens of loaded muskets materialized in the cabin, their dark barrels trained on Miss Valentine. Sherlock tilted his head slightly, his glasses glinting with a chilling, murderous light.
Miss Valentine's hairs stood on end. Reluctantly, under the threat of the guns, she withdrew her hand.
When Sherlock took the fourth slice, a dark, menacing aura seemed to seep from Miss Valentine.
By the fifth slice, she was numb, her lifeless eyes fixed on the lone piece of pie left on the plate.
And when Sherlock reached for the final slice, Miss Valentine finally snapped.
Meow dammit, does he think I'm a pushover?!
If I don't explode now, I'll perish in silence!
In a flash, Miss Valentine yanked the plate toward her, moving so fast Sherlock only caught a blur. Ignoring the primed muskets around her, she snatched the last slice and shoved it into her mouth with a gaping, unladylike chomp.
Sherlock shook his head at her appalling manners.
Miss Valentine chewed with ferocious intensity, as if she were tearing into Sherlock's flesh instead of soft pie.
She'd forgotten her original plan. Instead of savoring the flavor, she stared at Sherlock's face, brimming with anticipation.
I'll gross you out, no matter what!
When she saw the shocked expression on that infuriating man's face, Miss Valentine felt a surge of vindictive joy, as if she'd avenged a blood feud. The satisfaction was almost euphoric! Even the hellish, fiery spiciness in her mouth…
Wait, spiciness?
In an instant, Miss Valentine's face turned beet red, as if flames were erupting inside her.
"Utterly foolish…" Sherlock said, watching the assassin who looked ready to breathe fire. He pushed up his glasses, his expression as calm as ever.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze