Ethan stepped out of the dressing room, neatly dressed again, and noticed that aside from the store owner, another woman was still in the boutique — her face flushed and her eyes carrying a smoky allure.
He offered her a polite smile and nod, then casually began browsing the shelves as if nothing unusual had occurred just moments ago.
As she passed by him on her way out, the woman subtly slipped a folded note into his palm.
Ethan glanced back and saw her throw him a playful wink before strutting out of the shop.
The note contained her contact information.
He smirked and stuffed it into his pocket.
A married woman shopping alone in a store like this? Now that's intriguing.
Returning to his shopping, Ethan picked out several more items besides the nightgown from earlier — a few risqué uniforms, and some peculiar gadgets, like a glowing plug-shaped object and a vibrating egg-shaped one. He laid them all out on the counter.
"What's this?" 2B asked, picking up the metallic, conical plug and examining it with clinical curiosity. "It looks like it's meant to be inserted, but it doesn't seem to have any sealing mechanism."
Ethan gave her a light smack on the head. "I'll explain when we get home."
He was tempted to let her try it right away, but with things like this, sanitation came first. Always disinfect before use.
From the look she gave after that nudge, 2B seemed to instantly process its intended purpose. She nodded thoughtfully and placed it into the shopping bag.
"Interesting."
As they left the store and began looking for a café, a group of navy recruits suddenly rounded the corner ahead. Their leader spotted Ethan and shouted, "There he is!"
Ethan looked around.
No one else was nearby.
They meant him.
In the next instant, the recruits — armed with brooms, mop handles, and wooden poles — charged at him.
"Hold this," he said, handing the shopping bag to 2B and stepping forward.
He didn't even bother drawing a weapon. With minimal effort, he sidestepped, redirected, and grounded each attacker using fluid, almost lazy movements.
Tai chi, a martial art built on redirecting force and neutralizing aggression with grace.
Against ordinary fighters, it was more than enough.
He moved through them as if walking through a garden, and when he turned back, the entire group was sprawled across the ground, groaning and unable to get up.
"What is wrong with you people?" he asked. "You itching for a beating or something?"
"You damned bounty hunter!" one of them growled, pounding the ground. "How dare you bully Miss Dusky! We won't forgive you!"
"Bullying her?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You think I made her cry?"
"She ran back to her dorm in tears! Who else could it be?!"
He rolled his eyes. "Maybe she was overwhelmed... emotionally. Ever think of that?"
He ignored their hateful stares. "Don't start trouble with me. Go train. If I had a worse temper, you'd be in worse shape."
With that, he gestured for 2B to follow, and the two continued their search for coffee.
Wandering through a foreign town of this size without a local guide or a map app was no easy task.
They didn't find a café — but they did stumble upon something else.
A store selling amphibious motorcycles.
In a world of wooden sailing ships, the presence of high-powered, windless vehicles like these always felt out of place. Like someone had banned mechanical propulsion on ships but forgot to remove everything else.
Still, Ethan couldn't resist.
Motorcycles were every man's romance.
"Wouldn't be a bad idea to keep one on board the ship," he murmured, walking inside with 2B.
A cheerful salesperson greeted them at the door. "Welcome to Reha Motors, Loguetown branch! Looking for a specific model or just browsing?"
"Just looking," Ethan said, brushing past and heading straight toward the center display.
The motorcycle on the platform had a gritty, mechanical punk aesthetic — all chrome edges, heavy rivets, and raw industrial beauty.
"Excellent eye, sir," the salesperson rejoined him with renewed enthusiasm. "This is the latest from our Reha Dominator line — a beast of a machine. It supports up to 500 kilograms of weight, hits 30 knots in water, and can reach 80 kilometers per hour on land."
"All that power... and for only ten million berries!"
Not exactly fast compared to a tricked-out electric scooter, Ethan thought, but for this world's standards? Pretty impressive.
"I like it," Ethan admitted. "If only it weren't so pricey."
"We're currently offering a 20% discount for full payment," the salesperson whispered conspiratorially. "But if that's steep, we also have a very manageable financing plan."
"I'll pay in full," Ethan said. "But can I take it for a test ride first? I'm not dropping ten million without knowing how it handles."
"Absolutely!" the salesperson grinned. "I'll have someone prepare the test vehicle right away—"
"I'm here to pick up my bike!"
A booming voice cut through the showroom.
All heads turned.
A young woman stormed in, dragging a metal cashbox behind her. Her wild red hair was streaked with yellow, slicked back like a punk rocker's. Her open leather jacket revealed a chest bound in nothing but cloth strips, framing a sculpted waist and toned abs.
She looked like she'd walked straight out of an underground biker gang anime — fierce, sexy, and unapologetically bold.
Her name?
Dezaya.
Ethan vaguely recognized her — an original character from the Loguetown arc of some long-forgotten manga.
"Apologies," the salesperson said politely. "That bike's already been claimed by this gentleman..."
"By him?" Dezaya gave Ethan a slow, critical once-over. "You're saying some pampered pretty boy's riding off with my machine?"
"Pretty boy?" Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Wanna see how 'pretty' I look when we throw down?"
"Bring it, cupcake. I don't scare easy."
"Okay, okay, calm down," the salesperson said, stepping between them. "Dezaya, why not look at another model? Given your... um, financial situation—"
"My what?" she barked.
With a scowl, Dezaya flipped open her cashbox and upended it onto the showroom floor. Coins and crumpled bills spilled everywhere, even some old metal tokens rolled noisily across the tiles.
"That's my down payment. One million berries, cash. Don't act like I can't afford it!"
The salesperson flinched.
To be honest, he really didn't want to sell on a payment plan to someone like Dezaya — no fixed income, high-speed risk-taker, and a real possibility she'd wreck the bike (and herself) before finishing her installments.
Compared to Ethan, who hadn't even flashed a wallet but looked like he could pay in full?
There was no contest.
Dezaya, ignoring everyone now, stomped toward the bike like she already owned it — determination in her step and sparks in her eyes.
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