The banquet began.
Nelson kept pouring drinks for Rear Admiral Gion, talking nonstop as he bragged about his "great achievements" at G-17.
"I'm not bragging—ever since I took over this sea five years ago, it's become a true safe zone!"
Nelson cut off a piece of premium steak dripping with fat and shoved it into his shiny, greasy mouth. Chewing, he spoke through it, words muffled.
"Pirates? Hah. Those filthy rats hear the name 'Nelson' and they're already scared enough to take a detour! Within a few hundred nautical miles, you can say it's so safe you could leave money on the street and no one would pick it up, doors aren't even locked at night! Merchant ships never need to worry about being robbed!"
Spit flew as he talked, his face flushed with pride.
Gion only took a polite sip of wine, but her eyes grew colder.
Money left on the street?
She'd read G-17's records before arriving—too perfect. Perfect to the point of having no blemishes at all… not even a single "unexpected pirate incident."
But in this chaotic Great Pirate Era, especially on a route that literally flowed with gold, how could pirates not covet it?
No problem was often the biggest problem.
At the far end of the table—
Rain and Smoker, treated as "followers," were seated in the most distant corner.
Smoker stabbed a bone-in chunk of meat with his fork like he was imagining it was Nelson's head, then lowered his voice and snarled:
"That fat pig… how much did this meal cost? And he says 'no one picks up lost money'? When we came in, I saw soldiers secretly collecting 'tolls' from merchant ships. The way they did it was as smooth as bandits!"
"Eat," Rain murmured. He was calmly peeling an enormous lobster. "Someone's paying—why complain?"
His movements were neat and elegant, shell slipping off in one clean piece to reveal crystal-clear meat beneath.
But he didn't eat it right away.
Ever since he'd stepped onto the dock, his Observation Haki had instinctively caught a faint sense of wrongness.
A tiny disturbance—minute electric fluctuations mixed into sea wind and floral scent.
Now, in the upper levels of the base, that sensation was far stronger.
The Rumble-Rumble Fruit had turned his brain into a precise radar receiver, catching every abnormal ripple in the air.
In his perception, the world lost its color—leaving only lines and sound.
Nelson's bragging, clinking glasses, soldiers murmuring… the surface "noise" peeled away layer by layer.
Rain's awareness spread through the banquet hall and the lavish corridors around it.
Deep under the hall—beneath the thick foundation—was a vast underground space.
And inside it were countless—
crystal statues.
From the electromagnetic feedback, Rain traced their texture:
Hard. Cold.
Dozens—no, scores—of transparent crystal figures packed the underground storeroom.
Some looked like they were running. Some looked like they were begging. Some were huddled together—
For some reason, looking at these cold "art pieces" made Rain's instincts recoil.
A nameless disgust warned him that behind this beautiful crystal lay something nauseating.
Rain slowly opened his eyes.
A flicker of lightning crossed his dark pupils—gone in an instant.
He finally put the peeled lobster into his mouth, chewing slowly. The meat was sweet, but somehow tasted dull.
…
The banquet dragged on into late night.
Nelson, flushed from drink, was held up by aides. Though his breath reeked of alcohol, everything he said carried an urgent "please leave" undertone.
"Rear Admiral Gion! I've issued strict orders about your ship's resupply and maintenance! We'll work through the night—everything will be loaded and serviced by tomorrow morning at the latest! We won't delay your important patrol mission!"
Nelson burped, smiling broadly, his narrow slit-like eyes fixed on Gion.
"Tomorrow morning you can weigh anchor and sail off to uphold justice again! I hate to see you go, but I wouldn't dare keep you and risk delaying official business."
He was practically pushing her out the door.
But Gion didn't take the hint.
She gently swirled her wine glass and said evenly, with an unmistakable edge.
"Rear Admiral Nelson is indeed efficient. However… there's no need to rush."
"Huh?" Nelson's smile stiffened. "N-not rush?"
"That's right." Gion set her glass down. Her tone stayed calm, but it brooked no refusal.
"This inspection isn't only about sea routes. I'm also evaluating branch performance along the way. I'll be conducting a routine multi-day inspection in G-17's jurisdiction, and verifying your chart data as well."
She lifted her eyes with a faint smile that wasn't a smile at all.
"So I'll be troubling you for a few more days."
"W-what?!"
Nelson's voice cracked.
His once rosy, glossy face visibly twitched. A sliver of panic and darkness flashed in his eyes.
These next few days were critical for his "business." If Gion stayed and started inspecting—
It would ruin him.
"Th-that might not be…" Nelson broke into cold sweat, forcing a smile uglier than crying. "You see, it's calm here. We hardly even encounter pirates. There's nothing to inspect—and you're busy with official—"
"What?" Gion's gaze sharpened, her pressure turning suddenly fierce. "Rear Admiral Nelson doesn't welcome Headquarters' inspection? Or… is there something in G-17 that I'm not allowed to see?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
The weight of that accusation jolted Nelson. He waved his hands wildly, fat shaking.
"W-welcome! Of course you're welcome! It's our honor!"
He clenched his back teeth, forced himself to agree, and began frantically calculating how to cover this up.
"Then please arrange our accommodations," Gion said coolly.
"Y-yes—yes—" Nelson wiped sweat and barked at an aide, "What are you standing around for?! Go prepare the Velvet Suite! Our most luxurious room, specifically for—cough—for honored guests!"
Then he pointed at Rain and Smoker and added absentmindedly, clearly irritated.
"As for the two accompanying personnel, just give them some officer quarters. Single rooms. Don't slight them."
"Wait."
Gion cut him off.
She glanced at Rain standing beside her with an unreadable face, remembering Tsuru's order: Do not let him leave your sight.
"Rear Admiral Nelson, no officer quarters," Gion said flatly. "Sergeant Rain must stay with me at all times. Arrange a suite with an outer room."
"Huh?" Nelson blinked, his tiny eyes darting between Gion and Rain twice.
Then a greasy, suggestive gleam flashed across his previously gloomy gaze.
"Oho—! Got it. I get it!"
As if he'd seized a "handle," Nelson wore an oily, knowing grin and nodded quickly.
"Young people these days, yes—close protection—cough—close protection. I'll arrange it, I'll arrange it! No one will disturb you!"
In his mind, this was an opportunity: if he could catch a scandal involving a Headquarters rear admiral, maybe he could shut her up and send her packing.
Gion's brows pinched at his disgusting look. She almost snapped an explanation—this is supervision—but then realized it would only make things worse with a worm like him, so she stayed coldly silent.
As for Smoker—
"What about me?" Smoker asked around his cigars, pointing at himself.
"You can sleep in the hallway," Rain replied casually, like he was commenting on the weather.
Smoker: (°A°)
"You—!"
A vein popped at Smoker's temple as he prepared to bite back.
"Smoker stays in the adjacent room," Gion cut them off and ordered, ending the argument on the spot.
~~~
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