When Sherlock was very young, he believed that his father was the most remarkable man in the world.
He had united local factions and established a trading association, working together to promote local products to the far-off capitals of other kingdoms, earning the admiration of local merchants.
But by the time Sherlock reached his teenage years, perhaps due to the male instinct to seek more social resources, a desire to rebel against the dominance of the same gender in his family began to stir in his mind. Or perhaps it was simply that after gradually coming into contact with more people and things, he realized that the man he once thought was so excellent also had moments of subservience. This made him feel both anger and shame, leading him to enter a period of rebellion. This could be compared to what William in his previous life called the "Chuunibyou" phase. If we consider his age at eighteen, it could be called an "older Chuunibyou."
By the time Sherlock truly left his father's protection and plunged into the thorny social jungle, after being pricked and bloodied, he might eventually return to his childhood view of his father. Unfortunately, Sherlock's privileged upbringing has meant that he has not yet reached that point and is still full of thoughts opposing his father.
His father, Sasarion, was cautious and conservative and could be said to have taken the traits of a businessman to the extreme—careful, polite, and focused on making profits. But Sherlock, with his bold ideas, believed that pursuing profit was the essence and nature of a merchant. He followed a philosophy similar to William's former life's proverb, "The bolder the person, the greater the reward."
After speaking with Tony on the phone, and learning some information about William and his proposal, Sherlock became interested. That very night, he stayed up late reading the news about the Kingdom of Navia and the alcohol prohibition law, and the next morning, with dark circles under his eyes, called Tony to arrange a meeting with William.
He did not tell anyone about the smuggling business and waited five days before having his family arrange a boat to send him to Red Leaf Village.
Though he was the only son of the president of the business association, Sherlock was not overly spoiled. He was proud of his identity as a businessman, always seeking efficiency and disliking unnecessary displays. He only brought along a male secretary to carry his luggage and had his family arrange for a small boat that happened to be passing by.
Looking at the arrangements, Sherlock couldn't say they were wrong. But when he boarded the boat and approached the cabin, he couldn't help but smile bitterly.
A few rugged, fierce-looking men were glaring at him inside the cabin.
Bang!
Sherlock stiffened. The secretary, who had been walking behind him, was shot in the forehead as he stepped closer to the cabin.
The secretary's face was left with a terrifying hole in the middle of his forehead. He fell to the ground, his face full of astonishment, as his brain and blood sprayed everywhere. Sherlock immediately felt the stifling smell of blood in the cramped space.
When Sherlock boarded the ship, he already felt that something was wrong. On the deck, besides the muscular sailors, there weren't many people. Normally, the supervisors sent by the merchant association should be on the deck, shouting orders to hasten the work.
Now Sherlock realized that these sailors were not law-abiding civilians working at the dock but probably pirates. As for the merchant ship's owner or his supervisors, they might have been killed, like his unfortunate secretary, or perhaps imprisoned by the pirates. The worst-case scenario was that the ship's original crew and the pirates were in cahoots.
Sherlock's mind raced, and he suddenly felt a jolt, which made his heart sink.
The ship had left the shore.
"Are the people on the ship still alive?" Sherlock asked. He knew he had to speak up, not wanting to meet the same fate as his secretary. In a very short time, he realized that they hadn't killed him immediately for a reason.
The cabin was a bit dark, and Sherlock squinted to make out the faces of the three men, who were either standing or sitting across from him.
Two had afro hair, one had a very large mouth, and the other had a face full of scars. The one in the middle seemed to be the leader, with dark skin and dreadlocks.
The dreadlocked man laughed when he heard Sherlock's words, "You still have the mood to care about others?"
"Since you gentlemen haven't killed me, I believe you must have your reasons. So, for now, I should be safe," Sherlock smiled reluctantly. "The people on this ship are all members of my family's association, and as the son of the association's president, I must inquire about their safety."
The scarred man pulled out a rope, walked behind Sherlock, and tied his hands behind his back while sneering, "So you're a rich man. Too bad you've got it wrong. The farther from shore we get, the closer we are to death. The people on this ship will definitely die later than you."
"So, you won't kill me right away?" Sherlock paled but still tried to remain calm. "The people on the ship are fine?"
"If that's the case, gentlemen, could we discuss something? I'd like to buy the freedom of my family's association members with money," Sherlock said.
The pirates looked at each other in disbelief, then they all laughed in unison as if they found it absurd that a prisoner would discuss ransoming people with them.
"Fifty thousand Belli for someone with a job, twenty thousand for others, and one hundred thousand for the captain!"
They stopped laughing. Belli was the standard currency in this world, roughly equivalent to the yen in William's previous life.
Looking at it this way, the amount Sherlock was offering didn't seem very much. However, multiplying it by the number of hostages the pirates had, it added up.
What mattered most was that this was unexpected money, and the pirates didn't seem to mind how ridiculous it seemed.
For Sherlock, the most important thing was that from the pirates' expressions, he could confirm that the people on the ship weren't part of the same group as the pirates.
Sherlock looked at the pirates considering his proposal and slightly lowered his eyelids. "Please forgive my bold question. Why do you want to kill me? I don't have any impression of you, and I enjoy making connections with great people. If I had met you before, I would surely remember, and I would never have offended you."
The leader hesitated but, since Sherlock's flattery was quite effective, he said, "Someone hired us to kill you."
"And make the scene look like a pirate ship hijacking," one of the pirates behind Sherlock casually added. They seemed to care little about him, the soon-to-be-dead man, knowing how much, and instead enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game.
"I see," Sherlock nodded. "May I ask one final question, since I'm about to die? How much did the person who hired you pay you?"
The men exchanged glances, and then the leader spoke, "Ten million Belli."
Sherlock gave a mock laugh. His hands were already tied, and the pirate behind him, upon hearing the laugh, viciously shoved his shoulder.
Sherlock, having never trained in self-defense and being a bit weak, stumbled and half-kneeled on the floor.
He was angry but showed no sign of it, just looking up with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry. I just feel that this price not only insults me but also insults you."
"What do you mean?" one of the pirates asked.
"The son of the president of the Goldflash Association is only worth ten million Belli? It's quite laughable. Moreover, the person who hired you to fake the pirate hijacking probably needs to kill more than just me and make a greater effort," Sherlock said, growing more composed.
"The Goldflash Association?" The leader of the dreadlocked men looked puzzled, clearly having never heard of this merchant association. The large-mouthed man next to him had a change in expression after hearing the name and leaned over to whisper, after which he looked enlightened. "No wonder."
"Have you heard of our association, sir?" Sherlock smiled at the large-mouthed man. "It seems that the person who hired you is a miser. He probably didn't tell you about my identity, fearing you'd raise the price."
Before the other man could speak, Sherlock, as if struck by a sudden idea, slowly said, "How about this? I'll offer three times the amount—thirty million Belli. You don't need to kill anyone or do anything else, just let me go, and this thirty million, including the ransom for my family's association members, will all be yours!"
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