Over the next few days, Shirakawa and the others returned to that restaurant for nearly every meal. The first reason was simple: the food was genuinely delicious. The second reason, naturally, was Salar himself.
It was also worth mentioning that during those days, they ran into Yuristin. Once again, the entire Silver Pirates crew found themselves gathered together in one place.
Ever since tasting Salar's cooking, Riddle felt like he had been wasting the first few decades of his life.
After spending so much time in this town, Shirakawa and his crew were starting to feel the itch to leave. There was nothing left here that truly piqued their interest.
So Shirakawa decided it was time to formally recruit Salar. They had been sharing meals together for a while now. They ought to be familiar enough with each other.
"Salar, come over here for a moment."
It was that awkward stretch of the afternoon, too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Salar's establishment was almost completely empty.
"Is something the matter?"
"Take a seat." Shirakawa casually pulled over a chair and gestured for Salar to sit beside him.
Salar complied without hesitation. It seemed there was something important to discuss.
"By now, you must know who we are, right?"
Shirakawa looked Salar straight in the eyes as he asked the question.
"Of course. The famous Silver Pirates. I recognized you the very first day you walked in."
Salar replied with the same genial smile he always wore.
"I have to say, your composure is impressive."
To know Shirakawa's true identity from the moment they met, yet remain completely unruffled, spoke volumes about Salar's mental fortitude. Either he possessed an iron will, or he was a man of considerable depth and cunning.
"Do you know why I'm asking you over here now?"
"I'm all ears."
"We're planning to leave in a few days. I was hoping you would consider joining us. Our ship needs talented individuals like you."
"Alright."
The answer came so swiftly that Shirakawa and the others were momentarily stunned. They hadn't expected Salar to agree so readily. The four of them had prepared themselves to take turns persuading him, and in the end, none of that was necessary.
It felt like throwing a punch at a ball of cotton. No sense of accomplishment, just a strange sort of anticlimax.
"I'll join you, but I have one condition."
"Name it." Shirakawa knew it wouldn't be that simple.
"I need your help to kill a man."
As Salar spoke those words, his perpetually narrowed, smiling eyes suddenly opened wide. A chilling, murderous intent radiated from his gaze.
"Who do you need to kill? Tell us. We'll help you."
"No. I will kill him with my own hands. All I need from you is to ensure my safe escape afterward."
"You? Are you sure you can handle it?"
The question came from Riddle. When it came to Salar's culinary skills, Riddle had nothing but praise. But killing a man? He found that hard to believe.
Salar did not reply with words. He answered with action.
A kitchen knife slid silently from the sleeve of his white chef's coat into his waiting hand. In the span of a heartbeat, the blade was pressed firmly against Riddle's throat.
If Salar willed it, he could slit Riddle's windpipe right then and there.
Granted, it had been a surprise attack. But it was more than enough to prove that Salar possessed the ability to kill, and that his martial prowess was far from ordinary.
Had Shirakawa sensed even a flicker of genuine bloodlust, he would have intervened.
"Alright, alright. I believe you have the skills. Just put the knife down first."
Riddle raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, his eyes fixed on the blade at his neck as he swallowed hard.
"Good. As long as you're willing to become our comrade, we will assist you."
"That's all I ask."
"Now, can you tell us who it is you intend to kill?"
"His name is Rille. He's a noble."
"A noble? Is he your father?"
The moment Salar mentioned a nobleman with a connection to him, Shirakawa recalled the conversation he'd had with the old man that night.
"He is not my father."
Salar's voice suddenly flared with anger. It was the first time in all their interactions that Shirakawa had seen Salar lose his composure like this. But that very outburst only confirmed Shirakawa's suspicion.
"He is a despicable wretch."
Salar's mother had always told him, since he was a child, not to resent his father. But her words fell on deaf ears. All Salar knew was that his mother had been bedridden for years because of that man named Rille. To spare his mother any worry, he had worn a mask of gentle serenity since childhood. Over time, that mask had simply become his face.
"When do you plan to make your move? We're ready whenever you are."
"The sooner, the better. If you're prepared, we can do it right now."
"Don't you want to say goodbye to the people of this town first?"
Salar paused at that.
"You're right. I should give them a proper farewell."
He was about to board a pirate ship. There was no telling when, or if, he would ever return.
The people of this town had been kind to him for as long as he could remember. When they came to his restaurant, they sometimes paid a little extra on the bill, just so he'd have enough money for his mother's medicine. The owner of the pharmacy often gave him a discount. Whenever he bought other necessities, people found ways to help him out.
Salar had always been deeply grateful to the residents of this town.
"Then let's throw a banquet tonight, for everyone here. Consider it the last supper I cook for them."
After thinking for a moment, Salar made his decision.
"That sounds like a good idea."
Shirakawa and the others nodded in agreement. They couldn't leave these people with anything tangible, but at least they could leave behind fond memories. This night would likely be etched into Salar's mind forever.
Before long, news of Salar's banquet spread throughout the entire town. Everyone who heard it was excited.
However, a few of the older residents received the news with thoughtful, solemn expressions. They seemed to be pondering Salar's true motives. A celebration on this scale was bound to cost money. Why would he do such a thing?
Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the local Self-Defense Force, they were still closely monitoring Shirakawa's movements.
"Are those men still at Salar's place?"
"Yes, Captain. And word has it that Salar is hosting a banquet tonight. He hasn't said why."
"Is that so?"
"Shall we attend tonight, Captain?"
"Attend? Of course we'll attend. This might very well be our last chance to taste Salar's cooking."
The captain of the Self-Defense Force was one of the few people who understood Salar's true nature. After all, Salar had come to him as a young boy, begging to be taught how to fight. And the captain had agreed.
/-\
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