Chapter 8 - Burying the Past

Chapter 8 - Burying the Past

If there was one thing Rosha despised most in this world, it was his strange affliction.

This illness, which he had named 'Hyperphagia,' was similar to the illness that afflicted Charlotte Linlin in the comics, except hers was a craving for sweets.

Rosha's hyperphagia, on the other hand, was a craving for anything edible.

The complete opposite of anorexia.

From his earliest memories, this constant, burning hunger, like having his stomach seared by sulfuric acid, had been his companion.

It seemed he was never complete.

In reality, his parents, Old John and Mrs. Elizabeth, gave him 99% of the food they managed to obtain each day.

Old John worked from dawn till dusk, fishing in the sea.

Mrs. Elizabeth weaved bamboo baskets tirelessly to trade for some grains.

These combined efforts would have been more than enough for a normal family of three, with some surplus to save for taxes and the Heavenly Tribute.

But due to Rosha's bottomless appetite, the family never had any surplus.

No money, no food, and thus no way to pay taxes.

And the kingdom's tax collectors were far from understanding.

Old John had been beaten numerous times over the years, and their wooden house was essentially torn down annually.

Because of this unending hunger, his father scrimped and saved, often going without food himself to leave enough for Rosha. He'd then continue fishing intensely the next day, causing his health to deteriorate year after year.

Due to this ailment, his mother, Mrs. Elizabeth, succumbed to a common cold because they couldn't afford treatment in Spider Miles.

Charlotte Linlin's wealthy noble parents couldn't sustain her enormous appetite and chose to abandon her.

Rosha's parents, simple civilians, never gave up on him, even as they were dragged down by their son's needs. Instead, they encouraged him, giving him the strength to continue.

He once thought his unique condition was a gift from the heavens.

But this so-called gift had destroyed his life.

In the rest area, Rosha stopped his crazed actions, sitting quietly on the broken bed.

Only his stomach continued to growl loudly as if mocking him.

Hibari, hiding behind Akainu, looked at Rosha with sympathy.

"He must be in so much pain. His village was wiped out by pirates. I wonder if any of his family are among the survivors. Why is he hitting his stomach? Hunger isn't something to be ashamed of. Everyone gets hungry. Oh, food!"

Hibari glanced once more at the silent, head-bowed Rosha and then ran out.

Akainu stood silently for a long while before speaking in a low voice, "Have you calmed down?"

Hearing his voice, Rosha's empty eyes slowly focused.

He raised his head, looking up at the man standing before him.

A square face, a cold demeanor, a towering physique.

Standing over three meters tall, exuding immense pressure.

Wearing a red military uniform, black gloves, and a white cloak.

Just standing there, he exuded a suffocating presence.

So this was Akainu, Admiral of the Navy Headquarters?

Rosha took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, ignoring the gnawing hunger, and stood up.

Before he could speak, Akainu turned and walked out.

Rosha silently followed.

The two exited the cabin and stepped onto the deck.

The sky outside was just as dark as it had been, indicating it was evening.

The deck of the warship was spacious, easily accommodating over a hundred soldiers.

Three large masts stood tall, with thick ropes hanging down from their tops, slanting toward the sides of the ship.

The white sails were rolled up and tied with ropes, with the seagull emblem faintly visible.

The evening sun shone from the front of the warship, making the sea sparkle. The horizon was a tapestry of sunset hues.

Akainu stood with his arms crossed at the bow, the sea breeze flapping his white Justice cloak.

"Your family is buried where they were found. Go and say your final goodbyes. I've stayed here long enough."

Rosha pressed his lips together, saying nothing, and descended the gangway from the warship to the small island where he had lived for twelve years.

On the way, he checked his body and found all his wounds had scabbed over.

The stitched wounds were covered with new granulation tissue, tightly stretching the stitches.

Scars covered his body, like centipedes crawling all over, looking rather unpleasant.

The cross-shaped wound on his chest was particularly prominent.

The puncture wound on his left side had been well-treated. Pressing it, Rosha felt no pain, just a slight itch.

This indicated that the doctor who treated his wounds was highly skilled.

In a world where a simple cold could be fatal, Rosha had been on the brink of death that day.

The village houses, mostly wooden, were reduced to ruins by the pirates' rampage, with charred planks and doors everywhere.

The ground was covered in dark brown mud, with no corpses in sight.

Whether they were pirates or villagers, the Navy soldiers had dealt with the bodies.

Rosha didn't know if they were thrown into the sea, buried elsewhere by the Navy, or burned by Akainu's magma.

He saw no signs of fresh earth, except in front of his house, where a small mound had been raised.

Rosha stood silently before this small mound for a long time before kneeling and starting to dig.

The soil was compact, forcing him to use a charred piece of wood to dig.

Hunger gnawed at him, not knowing how long he had been unconscious or how many days had passed without food.

He had little strength, and even this simple task made him sweat profusely.

Thankfully, Old John's body wasn't buried deep, and after nearly an hour, Rosha lifted him from the ground.

By now, the body showed signs of decay, emitting a foul odor.

But Rosha remained expressionless.

Silently, he carried his father's body away from the house towards the distant beach.

His mother, Elizabeth, often gathered bamboo shoots and materials in a sparse bamboo grove there.

It was also where she was buried after her death.

Rosha was grateful to the Navy soldiers for burying his father, but he wanted his parents to rest together.

This way, they may meet again in the afterlife.

He hoped his mother's soul hadn't wandered far.

With the last handful of soil, the bamboo grove, now shrouded in twilight, had a new mound next to the old one covered in weeds.

Rosha sat quietly before the mound, holding an old piece of wood, carving words into it.

He wrote in Chinese characters.

The grave of Mother Elizabeth and Father John.

Son Rosha.

They were a kind wife, a gentle husband, and great parents.

Marine Calendar 1515, July 6th.

"What script is that? It looks beautiful."

A slightly magnetic male voice suddenly sounded from behind.

Rosha didn't turn around immediately. After placing the carved wooden marker in the ground, he turned to see the newcomer.

Not far along the forest path stood a man in a white coat, wearing glasses, looking to be in his thirties. Beside him was a girl, looking around nervously, with a slight smile on her face.

"Hehe, did we scare you? We were worried since you hadn't returned, so we came to check on you."

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