West Blue.
An unnamed island.
The sea breeze carried a faint salty tang as it swept through the bustling market.
Sunlight poured over the bluestone-paved streets.
The vendors' cries rose and fell one after another.
"Freshly caught fish! Going cheap!"
"Hot grilled meat skewers, only fifty Beli!"
Momousagi wore a simple linen dress.
She stood before a fruit stall, her slender white fingers holding a ripe red apple.
Crystal-clear droplets clung to the apple's skin, reflecting specks of light.
Berries of this quality—
If they were in the Sabaody Archipelago, those noble lords would have driven the price up to the heavens long ago.
But here—
They cost only a few of the cheapest copper coins.
The stall owner was an elderly woman with a head full of silver hair.
Smiling warmly, she pulled over a kraft paper bag and swiftly packed the apples inside.
"Here you go, miss."
"This shabby little place hasn't been this comfortable in decades."
The old woman smiled so broadly that even the wrinkles on her face relaxed.
Momousagi handed over the coins.
It felt as though a ball of wet cotton had clogged her throat, making even breathing difficult.
She slowly turned around and looked toward the end of the street.
Several ninjas wearing Empire forehead protectors were climbing the tall tower at the town entrance.
They were helping the townspeople repair the clock tower that had been overturned by a typhoon.
There was no barking of orders.
No demands for tribute.
And certainly none of that lofty arrogance.
Those powerful people who possessed strength capable of destroying heaven and earth were doing manual labor that ordinary Marines would disdain.
Beside her—
Hōshō had an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth, yet he had not taken a puff from it for a long time.