Chapter 78: Vivi’s Expectations

At this moment, Buffon was performing a skin incision and bone-setting for a patient with a fractured leg. Seeing that the patient was fully conscious yet showed not the slightest trace of pain on his face, Crocodile’s brow involuntarily furrowed.

“For such an operation, the patient’s face betrays not a hint of pain—could it be that some new type of anesthetic was used, one that renders a person insensible to pain while fully awake?” Crocodile wondered to himself, continuing to observe.

Buffon’s suture needle danced swiftly in his hands, and in just a few moments, he had joined the broken bone together so seamlessly that even with Crocodile’s sharp eyes, he could not discern the faintest line where the fracture had been.

Next came the muscle, then the skin. The entire procedure took less than ten minutes, and at neither stage—muscle nor skin—could Crocodile spot even the slightest imperfection.

As Buffon finished the final stitch, Crocodile instinctively touched the scar that ran across his own face.

But when the patient got off the bed, hopped a few times on the ground as if nothing were amiss, and then handed Buffon a hundred Beli coin, Crocodile found himself unable to remain calm. Bone-setting and skin incision completed with no need for recovery time—except for a slight pallor, one would never have believed this person had been a fracture patient just ten minutes ago.

Such miraculous skill—and the fee was but the price of a single newspaper!

“If this man were to become an enemy, that would be troublesome indeed.”

With this thought, Crocodile spoke up: “Miracle Doctor Buffon, would you be willing to come to my casino and continue treating these people?”

Before Buffon could answer, the long line behind Crocodile began to stir.

“Sand Croc truly deserves to be called the savior of our nation, willing to provide a venue in his luxurious casino for the Miracle Doctor to treat us common folk…”

“Long live Sir Sand Croc! Long live the Miracle Doctor!”

Hearing the shouts, Crocodile’s face remained calm, but a sliver of wariness began to creep into his heart. Such acclaim, in Alabasta, had once been reserved for the king or for himself alone. Now, the appearance of Buffon, this Miracle Doctor, was beginning to threaten his standing.

Regardless of Buffon’s combat strength, this alone meant that if Buffon could not be made to serve his interests, he could not be allowed to remain here.

Of course, “not allowed to remain” did not mean merely driving Buffon away—it meant his complete disappearance from this world.

“Buffon?” Crocodile prompted again.

Buffon replied calmly, “Prepare the place. I will come over once I am done here today.”

Crocodile was satisfied with this answer. Had he tried to force Buffon to go immediately, he might have attracted unwanted attention.

“Very well, then. I shall wait for you at the casino,” Crocodile said, turning to leave without a moment’s pause.

Buffon gave no reply, simply calling the next patient forward.

Though Crocodile departed with an air of nonchalance, the shock in his heart was no less than that felt by any of the commoners present.

In his view, even if he slaughtered countless pirates, all he brought was a sense of safety to the people. But Buffon’s actions gave these commoners the courage to resist death itself!

Moreover, beside him stood the princess of the Vinsmoke family—a presence even Crocodile was reluctant to provoke. This, too, troubled him greatly. As for Buffon’s combat strength, Crocodile instinctively dismissed it as unimportant.

In his eyes, in this land of endless sands where he had operated from the shadows for three years, even if a Navy admiral were to set foot here, he would still possess the power to fight!

“If this man stands with either the royal army or the rebels, my entire plan could be undone by his hand!”

With this thought, Crocodile tossed his half-smoked cigar to the ground and crushed it underfoot.

Among the crowd, two figures slipped away into the crowded streets of Rainbase after Crocodile left.

The first was Mr. 3, who had hidden himself in the city since entering. Until the other senior agents arrived to meet Mr. 0, he dared not reveal himself—and at this point, he did not even know that Crocodile was Mr. 0.

So Crocodile’s invitation to Buffon, this “gesture of goodwill,” left him deeply uneasy.

If Crocodile openly sought to protect Buffon, he could not be sure that Mr. 0 possessed the strength to face these two formidable individuals at once.

Should such a situation arise, the intelligence he had so painstakingly gathered—his only hope for survival—might not be enough to win him his life from Mr. 0.

And as for Buffon, such a terrifyingly powerful individual—what was his true purpose in coming to Alabasta? The pretense of healing the sick and saving lives was, to someone as ruthless as Mr. 3, nothing but a joke.

“If he stands opposed to Baroque Works, would the unseen Mr. 0 have the power to defeat him?”

His battle with Mihawk had left an indelible shadow in Mr. 3’s heart, so much so that he now regarded Buffon as an insurmountable peak, one that even his resourceful but faceless boss could only stand aside for.

The other figure was a rebel intelligence officer in Rainbase named Szczesny.

He had received word from Port Canola that a Miracle Doctor named Buffon would be coming to Rainbase. If there was any chance to approach him, he was to do everything possible to draw him into the ranks of the rebels. With Buffon on their side, victory over the royal army would be assured—even with Crocodile’s formidable support.

Having witnessed Buffon’s medical skills firsthand, Szczesny immediately elevated the importance of this mission to the highest level.

But now that Crocodile had invited Buffon to the casino, Buffon’s every move would be watched closely by Crocodile’s men. Not only would it be far more difficult to approach him, but Szczesny’s own identity—hidden for years—would be at risk of exposure.

This would be his last chance. Whether he succeeded or not, he had to give it his all.

Steeling himself, he drew the dagger from his belt and plunged it into his own abdomen, then dragged it sideways. With the last of his strength, he cried out, “Someone’s been attacked!”

Moments later, Szczesny, unconscious in a pool of blood, was brought before Buffon.

Seeing the wound, Buffon’s lips curled in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Shaking his head, he sighed inwardly, “Was this truly necessary?” There was no need to check the fingerprints on the dagger—he immediately realized the injury was self-inflicted, with the intent of getting close to him.

As for the true reason for this, not even the all-knowing Buffon could guess.

“It’s hardly likely he’s an assassin. Then what could it be?”

Even if he were, Buffon would feel no fear. With that thought, he shifted into his Horm-Horm Fruit state and administered a dose of Excitement Hormone to Szczesny.

Then, under the pretext of needing a quiet environment for surgery, he closed the door to the room, which had previously stood open.