One Piece: King of the World

Chapter 120: Do You Take Off Your Shoes in Public?

Chapter 120: Chapter 120: Do You Take Off Your Shoes in Public?

Seeing Claudius suddenly freeze in place, Nia tilted her head slightly in confusion and asked softly, "Your Highness, is something wrong?"

"Wait a moment. I'm thinking," Claudius replied, his brows furrowed as he waved her off.

Nia nodded silently and stepped back, allowing Claudius the space he needed.

"Why does the name Stella sound so familiar?" Claudius muttered to himself.

After a few seconds, his eyes lit up, as if he'd stumbled upon something valuable. "If I remember correctly, isn't Stella the 'goddess' in Gild Tesoro's life?" Claudius thought, piecing the memories together.

The memories took a moment to resurface. Stella hadn't played a significant role in the stories he knew, but the details were there. A stunning girl with golden hair and a warm smile who had once brought light into Tesoro's dark world.

Before Tesoro became the notorious "Golden Emperor," he'd lived a life marked by suffering and misfortune. Born into a broken home, with a father who gambled their wealth away and died penniless, Tesoro's mother was left deranged and abusive, taking out her anger on her son.

Eventually, she, too, passed away, leaving Tesoro to fend for himself. He survived through petty thefts and scams, scraping by in the underworld just to live another day. That was until he met Stella at the Sabaody Archipelago, where she was imprisoned as a slave, on display like merchandise. Tesoro, with a passion for singing, would visit her and sing by her cage, bringing her moments of happiness amidst her captivity.

Their interactions grew into something deeper, and for the first time in his life, Tesoro found a reason to be better. He worked hard, enduring grueling jobs, all to save up enough money to buy Stella's freedom. He dreamed of building a life where they could be together.

But fate, always cruel, had other plans. On the day Tesoro finally amassed the funds to free Stella, she was purchased by a Celestial Dragon, someone who could easily outbid any commoner without a second thought. Tesoro arrived just in time to see her being dragged away.

In a rage, blinded by despair, he tried to fight back against the Celestial Dragon. But it was a fight he couldn't win. The guards made short work of him, and Tesoro was beaten down and captured, becoming a slave himself.

During his years of servitude in Mariejois, Tesoro's spirit was shattered piece by piece. The day he learned of Stella's death, something in him broke beyond repair. He blamed himself, convinced that if he had only been wealthier, he could have bought her freedom and led a happy life with her. Instead, she died, and he was left a slave.

From that moment, Tesoro swore an oath—poverty was the original sin. He resolved to become the richest man in the world so that he would never be powerless again.

Tesoro's escape came in the chaos when Fisher Tiger led the attack on Mariejois, liberating slaves and setting the city aflame. Tesoro, among the freed captives, took this as his second chance at life. In the years that followed, he clawed his way up from nothing, becoming the Golden Emperor and achieving his dream of wealth. Yet, the hole in his heart, left by Stella, could never be filled. That void, masked by riches and power, would ultimately lead to his downfall.

Claudius admired Tesoro. The man was talented and relentless, driven by a tragedy that shaped him. And while Tesoro eventually became a symbol of greed, his journey was born out of pain and loss. Claudius had always wanted someone like Tesoro on his side, someone who understood money and power. He'd thought about seeking him out in the future, but hadn't made it a priority.

But now that fate had placed Stella right in front of him, Claudius knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip by.

"Nia, organize the children and wait here for me," Claudius instructed.

Nia nodded briskly and set about her task. Meanwhile, Claudius turned on his heel and strode purposefully towards Stella.

If he wanted Tesoro's loyalty, he'd need to offer something in return. Helping reunite him with Stella seemed the perfect way to do that. Claudius didn't just see it as a strategic move; he found himself genuinely drawn to the idea of giving them the chance fate had cruelly stolen.

At that moment, Stella was chained by the neck, held by none other than Charlos, the future imbecile of the Celestial Dragons. The younger Charlos hadn't yet become the balding, middle-aged degenerate of later years, but the vacant, entitled look in his eyes was already the same.

He was known for snatching up beautiful women to serve as his "wives," only to discard or kill them when he tired of them. The scene Claudius stumbled upon perfectly fit that pattern.

Charlos stood in front of Tesoro's cage, holding Stella's chain tightly. His eyes sparkled with sadistic excitement.

"Take off my shoe and lick my toes in front of this man, or I'll kill him," Charlos sneered, lifting one grimy foot.

"No! Stella, don't do it!" Tesoro shouted, his hands gripping the cage bars so hard that his knuckles turned white. His eyes were wild with desperation.

Stella's face was filled with sorrow as she glanced at Tesoro. Just as he had once tried to save her, she would now do anything to keep him alive. Resigned to the humiliation, she knelt, reaching to remove Charlos's shoe. A pungent odor hit her as she worked, making her stomach turn.

As she bent lower, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"What the hell? You're taking off your shoes in public? And they reek too? You're polluting the whole place! Who do you think you are? I'll teach you a lesson!"

Before Stella could process what was happening, Charlos's foot suddenly lifted off the ground, and she watched as he was sent flying, the chain slipping from his grasp. She felt the collar around her neck tighten momentarily before going slack and dropping to the ground. When she looked up, Charlos was sprawled on the ground near Tesoro's cage, his nose bent at an awkward angle, a distinct footprint imprinted on his face.

He groaned in pain, writhing helplessly.

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