Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 940: A Friend from Afar, Must Be Trapped If They Come

Bucky actually felt his cooking skills had improved significantly lately, especially in grilling steaks.

Most of the time, the meat he bought from the maid was raw. While he couldn’t deny the allure of raw meat, his refined taste urged him to enhance his experience further. Even though the maid often left, he now had a Club Pad, which allowed him to order whatever he wanted, albeit with a slightly higher delivery fee. But as Bucky’s finances grew, he felt less pained by the extra cost.

Moreover, the mobile device enabled him to limit contact with the unsettlingly dark-hearted maid, which brought him relief. Feeling cheerful, Bucky went into his private kitchen after the maid left, fired up the stove, and placed a cut of meat into the frying pan. Humming to himself, he seasoned the meat with a dramatic flourish, tossing salt onto it and flipping it skillfully in the air.

At that moment, the phone rang, but he didn’t budge, focused on his cooking. One of the young maids nearby answered it for him and brought it to his ear.

“Oh... Besong, what’s up?” Bucky asked casually. He’d grown fond of Mr. Besong, especially of his alluring wife.

Despite increasing demand for his attention, Bucky still found time to enjoy an occasional friendly "match" with Mrs. Besong.

“A visitor?” Bucky paused, recalling, “Oh right, I agreed to meet... Are they here already? Very well, let them wait; I’ll be there shortly.”

As Bucky continued cooking, he pondered the visitor—someone named Saint Francis, supposedly a dual Ph.D. from abroad with considerable wealth. According to Besong, this Dr. Saint Francis planned to enter the presidential race and had secretly met several party leaders, though he hadn’t yet aligned himself with any specific party.

With Mr. Alfie’s covert support, Bucky’s sect was thriving. If he could also sway a future president...

“Haha!” Bucky chuckled, feeling he’d truly reached the pinnacle of life.“Ladies, let’s prepare to meet our guest!” He turned off the stove and held out his arms, as two young maids untied his apron, and a third plated his steak.

However, Bucky’s good mood soured as if he’d bitten into an expired French snail. Even his favorite dish, the “Mystic Meat,” lost its appeal.

...

Seated at the table with a white scarf around his neck, Bucky extended his hands to receive his utensils and had half of his mask removed by the maids, allowing him to eat. Just as he cut into his steak, Mr. Besong entered, bringing their guest.

“Pardon me, I was a bit busy,” Bucky greeted courteously, aware that this stranger wasn’t yet initiated into his sect.

“No need to apologize; I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal,” replied a polite voice.

But the voice gave Bucky chills, like being encircled by a snake. Slowly turning his head, he recognized Saint Francis—the so-called doctor—was his old prison buddy, Doflamingo!

“Hello, Divine Messenger.” Saint Francis looked over Bucky’s “Divine Messenger” persona, then placed a hand on his chest and bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

It didn’t quite resemble Bucky—the Divine Messenger was fit and solid, unlike the corpulent, debauched Bucky last seen at the opera house reunion.

After bowing, Saint Francis remained bent over, adhering to etiquette Mr. Besong had briefed him on: the Divine Messenger's aura was not for mortals to behold freely without permission.

Saint Francis complied, as did his companion Cossini, elegantly dressed. Bucky, meanwhile, had a mind to kick his old “friend” who’d nearly ruined his life.

As he snapped out of it, Mr. Besong’s voice whispered beside him, “Messenger, Dr. Saint Francis came with sincere intentions. Should we?”

“Hmm, noted.” Bucky nodded, acknowledging Saint Francis.

Mr. Besong cleared his throat, “Dr. Saint Francis, you may lift your head. The Messenger has granted permission for the meeting.”

“Thank you,” Saint Francis replied, lifting his head with a smile.

Bucky, however, ignored him and continued eating his steak, intentionally leaving him hanging.

Saint Francis, unfazed, waited patiently. His life in prison had trained him well in patience.

After finishing half of his steak, Bucky finally paused and asked, “I hear you’ve been seeking an audience with me for some time. What brings you here?”

“I want to witness the power of divine miracles,” Saint Francis replied bluntly.

“Oh? The power of miracles?”

Bucky put down his knife and fork, and a maid immediately brought a new napkin to wipe his mouth. He then said calmly, "I heard from Besong that you have dual doctorates, making you quite the intellectual. So, what’s this? You don’t believe in science anymore?"

"I believe in science and also in miracles," Saint Francis replied with a serene smile. "Because I believe that divine acts are also a form of science—just a field we humans haven't deciphered yet. Everything exists for a reason, so rather than asking why we believe in miracles, the question should be: why wouldn’t we?"

"Interesting answer," Bucky smiled slightly... though in his mind he was thinking, What nonsense is he saying? This is so convoluted.

"Thank you for the compliment," Saint Francis responded humbly.

This even made Bucky wonder if this guy was actually the Doflamingo he knew, or... perhaps Doflamingo had a twin brother? No, that wouldn’t make sense. The core members at the imperial capital’s headquarters would surely have known if Doflamingo had a twin brother.

"Hmm... So, you want to witness a miracle. It's actually possible," Bucky stood up as he spoke.

The maids immediately stepped forward to remove the napkin from his collar. At that moment, Saint Francis’s gaze fell on Bucky’s neck, where a small pendant was strung on a black cord.

—That’s the key to a nuclear warhead. It’s right here on him!

A sudden flashback hit him: the scene at the opera house where Roger had boldly displayed the key when recruiting him and Moria. Saint Francis’s pupils contracted sharply.

Why is it here? No, this man must be Bucky. Even if he’s not, he’s someone closely connected to Bucky—plus, he knows I’m here.

But why is this so-called messenger carrying the key around so openly, as if he’s not afraid anyone will notice... No, it's not that he's unafraid of others knowing; it’s more likely that he doesn’t even know himself!

"Is there something on me?" Bucky asked, noticing that Saint Francis seemed a bit off.

Saint Francis quickly smiled and replied, "No, it’s just that I’m surprised. I initially thought the ‘Divine Messenger’ might be a frail elderly man, but I see now that you’re actually quite robust."

"Really?" Bucky chuckled proudly, straightening his back and flexing slightly, "A lot of people say that about me."

"You just mentioned that letting me see a true miracle isn’t out of the question..." Saint Francis took the opportunity to move a couple of steps closer. "Might I ask..."

But he was soon stopped by the maid beside Bucky.

"My apologies. I got a bit too excited. I hope you can forgive my intrusion," Saint Francis backed off to his original position with an apologetic smile.

It was definitely the same key; he hadn’t mistaken it… Saint Francis thought quietly.

"If you want to see it, then show me your devotion!" Bucky suddenly intoned in a low voice, "The Lord’s glory shines only on those who praise and love Him day and night."

Saint Francis wasn’t too surprised by this response—after all, he suspected this church had a reputation for aggressive fundraising. What puzzled him was why followers would donate so much, seemingly without any coercion.

However, Besong’s reaction was different—he knew that normally the Messenger would bless those who wanted to join, allowing them to experience divine power directly.

"Of course!" Saint Francis replied with a slight smile. "However, I’m not fully prepared today. How about this, Messenger? To show my respect, I’d like to host a banquet at my home. At that time, I’ll display my utmost devotion to you."

"A banquet?" Bucky asked curiously, "What kind of banquet?"

Saint Francis glanced at Cossini beside him. "It’s my daughter’s birthday banquet. In two days, she’ll be turning twenty. I thought if she could witness a miracle on her birthday, she would have a lifetime of happiness. I hope you can fulfill this humble wish, Messenger."

Hearing this, Bucky took a closer look at the young woman beside him.

With just a glance, he felt drawn to Cossini's beauty. She was both enchanting and elegant, like a white rose with thorns.

Clearly, she had been meticulously made up, with an elusive allure that could easily pique a man’s curiosity.

"Is this your daughter?" Bucky asked slowly... He remembered that this guy had numerous women but was a lifelong bachelor. Doflamingo had once said that offspring could sometimes be a hindrance.

"Her name is Cossini; she’s my adopted daughter, Messenger," Saint Francis explained with a smile.

Bucky nodded, considering whether he should attend the banquet. He knew Doflamingo’s true nature well—his feasts were never just feasts.

Then again, after all these years, it was refreshing to see Doflamingo, who was usually so arrogant in front of him, now appearing so submissive. It was like eating ice cream on a hot July day—deeply satisfying. Besides, he had the club’s tablet with him. He could always buy some life-saving items just in case. There were plenty of useful treasures even on the general merchandise list.

So really, there was no need to back down...

"Messenger, what do you think?" Saint Francis asked gracefully.

Bucky cleared his throat and replied, "I appreciate your invitation, Mr. Saint Francis. However, I can't make a commitment right now… But I would love to bless the lovely Cossini. It’s just that church matters keep me very busy… Let’s do this: if I can make it, Besong will be the first to inform you."

"That’s wonderful!" Saint Francis nodded, expressing his 'gratitude.'

...

Once they left the lavish estate and got into the car, Saint Francis’s smile faded as he loosened his collar.

Cossini remarked, "So that’s the so-called Divine Messenger? He doesn’t seem impressive, and his desires are blatant. I could smell his vulgarity from a mile away."

Saint Francis replied calmly, "Did you see those so-called believers in the estate?"

Cossini nodded.

"This Messenger is not simple," he shook his head. "Otherwise, his followers wouldn't appear so fanatical, almost willing to die for their god."

Cossini fell silent.

Saint Francis suddenly said, "At the banquet in two days, if he attends, I need you to obtain something from him for me... by any means necessary, but without him noticing. I’m still uncertain who’s supporting him and what their true intentions are."

By any means…

Cossini nodded.