Let it be said, When it came to cleaning up corpses, Kisame was nothing short of a professional.
Not just professional. Elite. Top-tier.
An industry legend.
Within moments, the ocean had swallowed every last trace of Spandam's CP5 entourage.
As long as Tom the shipwright kept his mouth shut, the world would never know a whole squad of government agents had just poof—vanished at sea.
That said, Tom had made one thing very clear:
Killing World Government intelligence agents? That's not just "trouble." That's big trouble.
How big?
Kisame had no idea and more importantly… he didn't care.
———
The next morning.
The weather was perfect.
Warm breeze, clear skies, no annoying sea kings.
Kisame had handed over all his money to the chubby fishman Tom.
His heart, no longer weighed down by treasure, felt surprisingly light.
"So that's why Kakuzu always looked so old," Kisame mused.
"The money stress aged him! Maybe his eyes turned green from staring at it too much..."
Ah… he was so clever!
No more hoarding! No more being a money goblin!
…Though…Now that he thought about it
Had he just fallen into an even deeper money pit?
I mean, let's be real.
His entire fortune?
Enough to buy maybe one single cannon barrel for Pluton.
"Wait, did I just get scammed? Or make an investment?"
The moment he started thinking about how much building Pluton was actually gonna cost, Kisame's face twisted in horror.
Sure, money should be spent wisely.
But was this… too sharp a blade to spend it on?
Two billion berries and he could barely afford the starter kit!
"What about Kakuzu…"
Giving up the treasure had been freeing, sure.
But now came the real dilemma.
He hadn't lied to Kakuzu—those funds were meant for him!
"…Should I summon him and just tell the truth?"
"…Would he punch me?"
"…Maybe I should find him a new body first? A proper one. Then he can help with fundraising. Building Pluton ain't cheap…"
Mulling it all over, Kisame wandered through Water 7, rejoining the others as they toured the city.
The whole crew had basically explored every inch of town by now, but Kisame's thoughts were elsewhere.
He stopped mid-step.
Eyes drifting toward the harbor.
At the docks, two navy warships had just arrived.
From one of them, waves of soldiers disembarked, each one sharp-eyed and crisp—clearly elite forces.
And then
Down came a man. Middle-aged. Cruel face. Eyes full of poison.
But none of that mattered.
What did matter was the way he walked.
That exact same arrogant swagger. That exact same "I'm the center of the damn world" strut.
Kisame's expression twisted with amusement.
He murmured:
"No way… don't tell me… that's his dad?"
There's a saying:
When the kid dies, the parent shows up.
Pretty much summed up the current situation.
Judging by the military-grade cleanup crew swarming the docks, the deaths of Spandam and his CP5 goons had clearly triggered alarms.
Otherwise, no way the World Government would've sent a squad like this.
Kisame hesitated for a moment, but only a moment.
His work had been flawless. No witnesses. No loose ends.
If that's the case, Then why worry?
But… Tom might be in trouble.
He wasn't a fighter, and if these people started snooping around, he could easily get dragged into the mess.
Best course of action? Create a distraction. Shift the heat somewhere else.
Once Tom finished his current tasks, Kisame planned to quietly whisk him away.
Out of Water 7. Out of sight.
That was the only plan Kisame could come up with.
Because when it came to Pluton, there were things he couldn't allow anyone—not even Revy and the others—to be part of.
It had nothing to do with trust.
It was about danger. Serious danger.
The fewer people who knew, the better.
———
"Hmm? What's going on over there? Why are there so many soldiers?"
Revy had noticed he'd stopped walking and followed his gaze.
She caught sight of the port and the soldiers flooding off the ships.
"Not soldiers. World Government agents," Kisame corrected.
"Ohh…"
Revy looked a bit closer. "Yeah, you're right. The uniforms are different from the Marines we've seen."
"Come on! What's so great about watching those stiff suits?
Aren't we technically part of the World Government now too?"
"I belong to myself." Kisame turned his head, a dry smirk playing at his lips.
"And for the record—we're Marines, not World Government lapdogs."
He made it clear that he had zero love for the people at the top.
As for why he'd joined the Marines in the first place?
Pure whim.
What was happening at the port didn't ruffle him one bit.
As long as it didn't interfere with his goals, he wouldn't stir up trouble.
Right now, priority number one was finding Kakuzu a proper body.
No more stitching him into whatever corpse happened to be lying around.
Thanks to his modified Impure World Reincarnation, he no longer even needed a piece of the dead—just a leftover trace of chakra from the target.
And that, he had plenty of.
Hell, that shuriken he used last time? Belonged to Itachi.
Yet it still summoned Kakuzu.
Which just went to show:
Kakuzu had his nasty little copper-scented fingers on 70% of everything in Kisame's gear bag.
Financial minister of Akatsuki, indeed.
And the more he thought about it, the weirder it got:
Why could ninja from his world even be summoned here?
Could it be,
That the afterlife in both worlds was the same?
A shared paradise? Some kind of universal Valhalla?
Questions for someone smarter than him.
Like Orochimaru.
That guy was the type to have answers to questions you didn't want the answers to.
Unfortunately, Kisame didn't exactly have Orochimaru on speed dial.
So much for figuring that out.
———
Night fell.
Revy and the others returned to the inn for some rest.
Kisame wandered the streets solo.
Tom had the treasure situation handled—no need for him to worry.
"Hmm?"
A dimly-lit alley. A glowing sign. A small, quiet bar tucked between crumbling buildings.
What caught his attention, though, wasn't the bar
It was the guy standing outside.
Why?
Because the man had horns.
And not like fake party horns. Real ones.
He was the second horned man Kisame had ever seen.
The first being Kaido.
"Evening, sir. Care for a drink?" the man said, with a small smile.
Out front, after hanging the crooked new signboard, the horned man turned around.
His eyes landed on Kisame, who was still staring at the horns like they were gonna fall off any second.
Then, in a serious deadpan voice, the man asked:
"Something wrong?"
Kisame blinked.
Was this guy… really running a bar?
He looked the part—crisp outfit, upright posture, expression carved from granite.
But that was the problem.
What kind of bartender had the emotional range of a gravestone?
Business owners usually wore smiles.
This guy looked like he specialized in funerals.
"Can you actually serve alcohol?" Kisame asked, squinting at the barely furnished interior.
The bar was so new, it practically smelled like sawdust. Even the sign had just gone up.
"Mm," the horned man grunted.
Zero inflection.
His tone was so dry it could start fires.
That expression
Kisame recognized it instantly. Kids from the Blood Mist Village.
Back in the day, half of them looked exactly like this.
Cold, dead eyes.
Aura screaming Do Not Engage.
Kisame hadn't even planned on drinking tonight, but before he knew it, his feet had carried him up the steps.
And yep, It really was brand new.
The inside was half-built. Chairs weren't even set up yet.
Dust on the counter, boxes half-unpacked.
And he'd just walked in like a moron.
"This is…" Kisame muttered, halfway turning around.
He could probably still pretend he mistook it for a storage closet and make a smooth exit.
But the horned man didn't give him the chance.
He silently pulled a sealed bottle from one of the crates, popped the cork, grabbed a cup, wiped it down, poured a full glass and slid it across the bar with all the warmth of a vending machine.
"First customer of opening night. It's on the house."
"Alright then."
Kisame wasn't the type to be bribed by free booze.
He just figured—what the hell.
He sat at the bar, picked up the glass, gave it a sniff
Damn.
The scent was rich. Deep. Smooth.
Like old whiskey mixed with something else. Something… exotic.
He'd had a lot of drinks since coming to this world, but nothing like this.
He took a sip, let it roll over his tongue, and then raised an eyebrow.
"Not bad. But your bar? Terrible location."
The horned man didn't even flinch.
"Doesn't matter."
That blank face, monotone voice, It practically screamed:
Money isn't a concern. This is just my side quest.
Kisame let out a short breath.
He was defeated.
There was no winning against a guy who didn't care about profit, customers, or basic hospitality.
So he sipped his drink in silence, watching the guy shuffle around behind the bar.
And for once, Kisame felt something weird.
Content.
Just watching. Just sipping.
———
Ding-ling-ling…
The bell on the freshly-hung door jingled as someone pushed it open.
Kisame glanced up in surprise.
Wait. Someone else actually came in?
The door creaked wide, and a trio of young people stepped through—
Two guys and a girl, all of them barely in their twenties.
The one in front caught sight of Kisame at the bar and blinked, surprised.
Then they filed in, one after the other, casual as could be.
"Boss, three drinks!"
Kisame squinted.
Wait a minute…
What was up with their expressions?
(End of Chapter)