The Goldglint Trading Company, despite its grand name, was nothing more than a modest shop selling daily necessities and a few snacks. It was also the home where Sherlock and his family lived.
Even so, the emblem of the Goldglint Trading Company had been designed with an almost excessive flair by Sherlock's meticulous father. The golden iris flower gleamed brilliantly under the setting sun, catching the eye from a distance.
From far off, the two children could already spot the emblem shining radiantly. It was impossible to miss.
At the shop's entrance, Lisanna hummed a cheerful tune, skipping forward to open the door. Before her hand could touch the handle, the door swung open abruptly. A heavyset man staggered out, reeking of alcohol and swaying with each step. He nearly knocked the little girl off her feet.
Sherlock quickly reached out to steady Lisanna, who had almost fallen, then politely nodded to the man.
"Uncle."
"Hmph," Sherlock's uncle muttered, casting a glance at the two children before striding off without another word.
Lisanna immediately stuck out her tongue, making a face at her uncle's retreating back. Then, with clear indignation, she grumbled, "Hmph, that old drunk! He's definitely here to borrow money from Dad again—and he never pays it back! Yet Dad keeps lending to him every single time!"
Puffing out her cheeks in frustration, the silver-haired girl turned to Sherlock. "Honestly, Sherlock, why do you always bother greeting him? Why even give someone like that the time of day?"
"Well, he is Father's younger brother, after all," Sherlock replied calmly. "Basic courtesy is still necessary."
Watching his sister's adorable, pouty expression, Sherlock chuckled softly. "As for the money that old drunk borrows? I'll make sure to collect it from that fat slob Loki."
As he spoke, Sherlock's lips curled into a sly grin that seemed far too cunning for a boy his age.
"With interest, of course."
The family of four sat around the table, enjoying a warm and lively dinner.
"Lisanna, mind your manners. Eat smaller bites—be more ladylike," Sherlock's father said, his tone laced with exasperation as he watched his daughter's rather unrefined eating habits.
Sherlock's father had always lived by a single creed: elegance. No matter the occasion, one must maintain grace and composure, much like the language of the iris flower.
In his mind, to live the life of a noble, one must first embody the demeanor of a noble.
Thus, from a very young age, he had insisted that his two children learn aristocratic etiquette, hoping to raise them into a refined gentleman and lady.
The results were mixed. His son had turned out exceptionally well—perhaps too well. Watching Sherlock eat, one would hardly believe he was a boy not yet seven. His natural elegance, every gesture exuding the regal air of royalty, left even his father feeling somewhat inadequate.
His daughter, on the other hand, was a complete tomboy. Not only was she brash and carefree, but she also loved dragging her younger brother all over Loguetown for their little adventures.
His eldest daughter gave him endless headaches, while his youngest son was so obedient it left him speechless.
More than once, Sherlock's father had thought to himself, If only my son and daughter could balance each other out.
Swallowing a mouthful of food—perhaps too quickly—Lisanna suddenly choked, her face turning red. Before she could say anything, Sherlock, seated beside her, calmly passed her his glass of water.
Gulping it down, Lisanna felt much better.
"Thanks, Sherlock!" she said with a grin, then turned to her stern-faced father with a sheepish smile. "Hehe, it's just that Mom's cooking is so good…"
"Well, I'm happy to hear that," Sherlock's mother said with a chuckle. "If it's that good, eat as much as you like!"
It had to be said: both parents were strikingly attractive. Especially their mother, whose figure was so well-maintained it was hard to believe she'd given birth to two children.
Curiously, though both parents had black hair, Lisanna sported a dazzling head of silver hair—a trait the entire family found utterly fascinating.
"Oh, right, Sherlock," their mother said, turning to her youngest. "Your birthday's coming up in a few days. What gift would you like?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the silver-haired little girl beside him jumped in excitedly. "The gift? I've already picked one out for Sherlock!"
Raising her hand eagerly, Lisanna declared, "A pair of glasses! He's bound to go nearsighted someday!"
"Hmm, good point…" their mother nodded thoughtfully. "And I think Sherlock would look adorable in black-rimmed glasses."
"Wait, Mom, I think silver would be cuter!" Lisanna said, touching her own silver hair. "You know, like my hair color…"
And so, mother and daughter launched into a spirited debate about which color glasses would make Sherlock look cuter.
(Why is everyone so sure I'll go nearsighted? And why glasses, of all things? And why 'cute'? Am I some oversized doll?)
Sherlock swallowed his food with an unchanging expression, silently grumbling to himself.
When people think of the Celestial Dragons, the first images that come to mind are likely their bubble helmets, their arrogant tyranny, and their utter disregard for common folk. They live lives of debauchery and excess, committing every imaginable evil—truly the scum of the world.
Moreover, the Celestial Dragons, or World Nobles, are obsessed with bloodlines to an almost pathological degree. Claiming descent from the Twenty Kings who founded the world, their fixation on racial purity is so extreme it baffles outsiders.
Among the nineteen Celestial Dragon families, the Sasarian family is perhaps the most peculiar.
In the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, at the Sasarian family's estate…
Inside an opulently decorated room, an elderly man with silver hair lounged in a chair, holding a photograph. Not far from him knelt a mysterious figure dressed in a black suit.
"What dazzling silver hair," the old man murmured, his eyes gleaming with fascination, as if admiring a masterpiece. "It's been far too long since the Sasarian family has seen such beautiful silver hair among our kin."
After a moment of contemplation, he addressed the figure before him. "Mayne, is she truly one of my people?"
"Absolutely, you can be certain of it. Trust in our intelligence network," the mysterious figure replied, her voice clear and melodious—revealing her to be a woman.
"Our investigation shows that her lineage was exiled starting with her grandfather's generation. And her grandfather was your cousin, sir."
"Is that so?" The old man's cloudy eyes lit up with excitement. "Then she's practically my granddaughter! Wonderful, truly wonderful!"
With that, the silver-haired elder placed the photograph on the table.
The person in the photo was none other than Sherlock's sister, Lisanna.
"In that case, bring her back to the Holy Land," he declared. "The Sasarian family needs such fine blood."
"And since I'm in a good mood today, have the arena prepare a few extra deathmatches. Use some stronger slaves—make it as bloody as possible!"
"Understood, Saint Bartholomew!" Mayne replied respectfully.
On a starry night…
Sherlock lay in his bed, eyes closed, breathing steady. The little boy appeared to be fast asleep.
Suddenly, the "sleeping" Sherlock spoke in a low voice. "You're here again? Don't you have your own room?"
"Hehe, you caught me! I was being so careful this time!" Lisanna said with an embarrassed giggle. She promptly lifted Sherlock's blanket and slipped inside with practiced ease.
Sherlock opened his eyes, glancing at Lisanna as she snuggled up beside him. With a helpless sigh, he said nothing.
The silver-haired girl clung tightly to his arm, rubbing her soft cheek against his shoulder like a spoiled kitten. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "Sherlock, you smell so nice." She gave a little sniff. "It's like… Mom's chocolate pie!"
Sherlock was utterly baffled, once again defeated by his sister's whimsical train of thought. "Is that so? Then why don't you just eat me?" he retorted dryly.
"No way!" Lisanna giggled, her bright eyes sparkling as she hugged his arm even tighter. "You're my most precious little brother, after all!"
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, caught off guard by her earnest words. He didn't know how to respond.
"Dummy, just go to sleep," he mumbled.
The two siblings fell silent for nearly twenty minutes.
"Hey, Sherlock," Lisanna piped up again. "Do you think silver's cuter, or black—"
"If you bring up glasses again, you're going back to your own room. I'm not wearing them, silver or black," Sherlock interrupted, exasperated.
"…" Lisanna blinked her wide, bright eyes, at a loss for words.
"Just go to sleep!"
Another twenty minutes of silence passed.
"Hey, Sherlock!" Lisanna turned to him again.
"What now?" Sherlock asked, his patience wearing thin.
"My dream is to become the Pirate King. What's your dream?"
Dream?
The sudden question caught Sherlock off guard.
A great man once said, What's the difference between a person without a dream and a salted fish?
His father's dream was practical: to grow the Goldglint Trading Company and live like nobles.
His mother's dream was romantic: to take the family to the legendary Sky Island, listen to angelic harps, and taste the unique delicacies of the heavens.
His sister's dream was downright terrifying: to become the Pirate King. Who would've thought a ten-year-old girl could have such an ambition?
So, what was his dream?
Sherlock fell into deep thought.
After a long pause, he spoke softly. "My dream is to make the Goldglint Trading Company the greatest in the East Blue—no, in the entire world!"
Sherlock felt his dream was a bit silly, but he couldn't think of anything better.
"That way, you can eat as many chocolate pies as you want!"
He couldn't help but chuckle softly at his own words.
"How's that? Isn't it way more realistic than becoming some Pirate King?"
Lisanna didn't respond.
Curious, Sherlock turned to look at her, only to find the silver-haired girl fast asleep, her gentle breathing accompanied by faint snores.
"She's actually asleep…" Sherlock muttered, a vein throbbing on his forehead as he realized how foolish he must've sounded talking to himself.
Gazing at Lisanna's adorable sleeping face, Sherlock felt an unusual calm settle over him. His eyes softened, and a gentle smile curved his lips. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
(Honestly, as long as our family can stay together, living happily forever… that's enough.)
(Together, always.)
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