As night fell, the streets of Flevance were patrolled by uniformed, disciplined Marine squads moving in perfect formation—a far cry from the lawless state of just weeks before.
Rosinante sat atop some ruins where numerous homeless people had gathered.
It wasn't that Jake hadn't arranged shelter for them—they simply didn't want to burden others.
Every extra mouth meant more food and bedding to provide, increasing the workload for already exhausted staff.
These homeless individuals only came at noon to collect meals.
The rest of the time, they helped with manual labor or assisted Jake's people in maintaining order and searching for other survivors.
More importantly, they were paid for their work—Jake made sure they weren't shortchanged, even deliberately steering them toward profitable business opportunities.
Rosinante had witnessed it all—how this collapsed nation had transformed from a living hell to its current state.
Deaths had ceased long ago; even violent incidents had disappeared entirely.
In the week since his arrival, Rosinante had scarcely heard any arguments.
The sole quarrel he'd seen?
Two men fighting over who got to carry bricks for Jake-sama's new dormitory construction.
Apart from that, almost everyone wore smiles on their faces, even though most of them still hadn't eaten their fill.
Yet no one fought or quarreled over food.
In fact, those with smaller appetites would voluntarily share their portions with those who ate more, while those who did heavier work would sometimes share their earnings with lighter eaters.
In Rosinante's memory, such scenes only existed in fairy tales.
He knew better than anyone that witnessing this in reality was nearly impossible.
But when this scene truly unfolded before his eyes, Rosinante felt that this was how the world should have been all along.
Amidst this beautiful sight, Rosinante also understood the fundamental logic behind this happiness.
The answer was simple—everyone believed that under Jake's leadership, the future would be far better than the present.
If tomorrow would be much brighter than today, then today's food would multiply tomorrow, and today's shelter would expand into more homes tomorrow!
This was the root reason why no one fought or snatched—because everyone knew the future would be better.
Operating on this foundational logic, Flevance was recovering its vitality at an almost terrifying speed.
Late that night, Rosinante rose and slowly made his way toward Jake's location.
He cast a thin soundproof barrier around himself, ensuring no one could hear his footsteps.
Combined with the Six Styles he had mastered during his time in the Marine elite training camp, he remained undetected until he reached the door of Jake's office.
Of course, Rosinante stopped at the doorway—not by choice, but because his legs had unknowingly been encased in thick ice, freezing him in place.
At that moment, Jake's voice drifted over, laced with amusement.
"Monet, stand down. He's one of us. It's a bit odd for him to visit at this hour, but that's just like him. Just as Fleet Admiral Sengoku said, right? Corazon? Or should I call you Rosinante—alumnus of the earlier Marine elite training batches and Fleet Admiral Sengoku's adopted son?"
Hearing Jake lay out Rosinante's entire background, Monet relaxed.
She released the ice trapping his legs and gently opened the office door, offering an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, I didn't know who you were, so I—"
Before she could finish, Rosinante waved his hand with a chuckle, admiration in his voice.
"No need. Visiting at this time was my mistake. To see someone as strong as you makes an old man like me feel ashamed."
With that, Rosinante strode toward Jake, a genuine smile on his face.
As he did, he instinctively cast a barrier, enveloping the entire office in silence.
Monet studied the thin veil of the barrier, her expression flickering with curiosity.
Rosinante looked at Jake, took a deep breath, and said with relief.
"It's been so, so long since I've been able to relax like this or speak normally. Being a spy is truly difficult, though I suppose it's my own fault for stubbornly coming here against Fleet Admiral Sengoku's advice."
Rather than discussing serious matters right away or explaining why he'd come so late, Rosinante began pouring out his grievances to Jake and Monet as if they were old friends he hadn't seen in years.
Neither Jake nor Monet showed the slightest impatience at Rosinante's complaints.
Everyone knew that within the entire Marine system, being an undercover agent was the most painful, dangerous, and least appreciated role.
Danger, darkness, helplessness, revenge, death—these words were inseparable from undercover work, even for a minute.
Marines who dared to infiltrate pirate crews or underground criminal organizations as spies always commanded absolute respect from their fellow Marines.
Most of the time, they received no respect from society or official recognition for their service.
What they faced daily was endless darkness, oppression, and the constant fear of being exposed and subjected to brutal retaliation.
That Rosinante could vent his frustrations here even brought Jake some comfort, as it meant this kind-hearted Marine had truly come to see him as one of his own.
After about ten minutes, Rosinante finally stopped venting.
He looked at Jake and asked with some confusion:
"Did Fleet Admiral Sengoku send you to a place like Flevance? This isn't a good area. With your abilities, the two of you could have gone somewhere much better. Why come here?"
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