Three Years (2)

The glass door opened, and the roar of voices from the tavern poured out.

The main hall was twice as large as it had been three years ago. Long wooden tables paired with high stools filled the room, while several maps of the East Blue hung on the walls alongside a flag of the Uchiha Trading Company.

Near the bar, seven or eight men who looked like sailors were drinking boisterously. One had his feet propped on the stool's crossbar as he told dirty jokes, and their laughter shook the room.

In one corner, a middle-aged man in Trading Company uniform drank alone as he read the newspaper. Three rows of bottles stood behind the bar—whiskey, rum, and locally brewed citrus wine. There were far more varieties than three years ago.

The moment Rosa stepped inside, the tavern suddenly fell quiet.

A red-faced sailor at a corner table let out a whistle.

Behind the bar, Joey was polishing a glass.

Three years ago, Joey had been Red Skull's bartender. Now, he was Red Skull's manager.

He had grown thinner, and the angles of his face were sharper than before. His stubble had been shaved clean, and he wore a neatly pressed white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

When he saw Rosa enter, his first reaction was to frown.

It was not out of malice. After the Uchiha Clan took over, Red Skull had undergone a major renovation. The floor tiles had been replaced, the wine cellar expanded, and new ventilation ducts installed. But the customers who came to drink had not changed: dockworkers, merchant ship owners, and sailors freshly returned from sea with money in their pockets and a desire for fun.

He had seen what happened next far too many times when a beautiful woman entered a place like this alone.

He set the glass down on the bar and said, "Ma'am, if there's nothing you need—"

Before he could finish, the door behind Rosa was pushed open again.

Mila walked in and asked, "What's going on?"

Joey's Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed the rest of his sentence.

"What would you ladies like to drink? That's what you should be asking, isn't it?"

Mila sat on a high stool by the bar and looked at Joey as she spoke.

Joey nodded.

Rosa sat beside her and placed the document tube across her lap.

"Two whiskeys," Mila said.

Joey took a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. He unscrewed the cap, poured two fingers into each glass, and pushed them toward the women.

Rosa held her glass in both hands and took a sip, wrinkling her nose at the burn.

Mila picked up her glass, swirled it once, but did not drink.

At that moment, the red-faced sailor stood up.

He was around twenty-two or twenty-three, wearing a linen shirt open at the collar. His cheeks and nose were bright red, and he clutched half a glass of rum in his hand. His steps were unsteady as he approached, and several drops of liquor splashed onto the floor.

He stopped in front of the two women, looked at Rosa first, then Mila, and flashed a grin.

That grin had initially been meant for Rosa, but seeing Mila only made it wider. He thought his luck was good tonight.

"Ladies," he said, his tongue slightly thick as the smell of rum mixed with the salty stink of the sea breeze poured from his mouth. "It's not safe for two pretty ladies to be drinking at Red Skull this late."

"Need someone to protect you?"

Rosa curved her lips politely. "Thank you for your concern, but that won't be necessary, sir."

Mila lifted her glass, took a sip, and did not say a word.

The sailor clearly did not take Rosa's rejection seriously.

Emboldened by his own courage, he set his glass on the bar, braced one hand against its edge, leaned toward the two women, and lowered his voice. "No need to be polite, no need. You two are all alone, and all kinds of people come here at night. What if something happens—"

"Get lost."

Mila did not raise her voice when she said it. Her tone was exactly the same as when she had asked Joey to pour the drinks.

The sailor's grin froze on his face. The alcohol slowed his reaction by half a beat, and only half a second later did he realize that he had just been publicly told to get lost.

The laughter and conversation from his companions' table stopped as well. Several pairs of eyes turned toward them in unison.

The sailor's face reddened even further, and the anger of having lost face overwhelmed his earlier frivolousness.

"Hey, do you know who I am? I'm giving you face by taking an interest in you. I do business with the Uchiha Trading Company. I'm someone important in Orange Town—"

Mila moved.

With her right hand, she snatched up an empty bottle from the bar. Her arm swung in a short, powerful arc, and the bottom of the bottle smashed precisely into the sailor's temple.

With a dull bang, the bottle shattered, spraying liquor and glass shards everywhere.

The sailor screamed, staggered back two steps while clutching his forehead, and blood seeped through his fingers.

All of the companions at the table behind him rose at once. Four chair legs scraped harshly across the tile floor.

A broad-shouldered man shoved aside the table, one hand already reaching for the short knife at his waist.

Clutching his bleeding forehead, the sailor's face twisted with pain and fury. He pointed at Mila with his other hand and roared, "You bitch! Grab her!"

His companions had only taken one step forward when Joey spoke.

He raised his voice, using the tone honed through years as a bartender, one that could cut through the noise of a tavern. "Diaz!"

The sailor named Diaz paused and looked toward Joey.

"That young lady is from the Uchiha Clan!"

Diaz blinked, unable to process it.

"She's Uchiha Barlow's sister!" Joey added.

Uchiha Barlow's sister.

Those words were like a bucket of ice water poured over Diaz's head.

His pupils shrank sharply, and the drunken redness of his face visibly drained into deathly white.

The hand covering his forehead trembled as blood dripped from his fingertips onto the floor, but he could no longer spare a thought for the pain.

The arm he had used to point at Mila and signal his companions forward stiffened in midair, then dropped like the arm of a puppet with its strings cut.

His companions reacted even faster. The burly man had already shoved his knife back into his belt, while the other three retreated a step at the same time, as though guns had been leveled at them.

"S-Sorry, miss," Diaz said, his voice trembling. The alcohol had completely left him.

His lips moved for a long time before he managed to force out a complete sentence. "I didn't mean it... I-I was drunk. I didn't know you were from the Uchiha family. I really didn't know. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Mila looked at him without any change in expression.

Her lips moved, and her voice was soft—so soft that only Diaz and the few people near the bar could hear it.

"Get lost."

That was the second time she had said those words tonight.

Diaz and his companions were like condemned prisoners who had been pardoned. The four of them scrambled toward the door. Diaz slammed his shoulder into the doorframe and grimaced in pain, but he did not slow down.

The glass door was shoved open hard, then bounced back. Their hurried footsteps faded down the stone-paved street and soon could no longer be heard.

The tavern was silent for three seconds.

Mila picked up the whiskey on the bar and drained it in one gulp.

She set the empty glass down, and its base made a crisp sound against the wooden bar.

"My second brother left this tavern in your care," she said to Joey. There was neither blame nor anger in her voice; she sounded as calm as if discussing the weather. "Is this how you run it?"

Joey folded the rag and set it on the bar. "Diaz only joined the Trading Company last month. He owns a small boat and transports fruit. The boys on his crew are all barely over twenty, on their first long voyage, inexperienced. They get off the ship and start guzzling booze."

He paused before adding, "They only acted stupid because they drank too much today. Back when the Sea Serpent Gang ruled the docks, they knew enough to be afraid."

"Good. They should be afraid," Mila said. "But that doesn't explain why a drunk can harass female customers in Red Skull. Today it was Rosa and me. What about tomorrow, when it's someone else?"

Joey was silent for two seconds before nodding. "It was my oversight. I'll keep my eyes open from now on."

Mila looked at him for two seconds and said, "I won't tell my second brother about this."

Joey's Adam's apple bobbed again.

He knew the weight of those words. If Mila said nothing, Diaz's ship could still dock at the harbor, the Trading Company would not cancel his contract, and Joey would not have to answer to Barlow.

If Mila did tell him, Barlow would not lose his temper. He would simply issue an order calmly, and Diaz's ship would be added to the list of vessels forbidden from docking the next day. Plenty of people eager to curry favor with the Uchiha Clan would gladly take care of Diaz once he had no business left.

And Joey himself...

Joey did not dare think any further.

Mila took out a thick stack of Beli from her pocket and placed it on the bar. The bills were bundled with a strip of kraft paper. She patted the stack, rose to her feet, and raised her voice to the people in the tavern.

"Sorry for disturbing everyone. The Uchiha Clan is buying today."

Applause rose in the tavern. Many people had yet to fully recover from the aftermath of the confrontation.

Mila did not look at their reactions. She turned and walked toward the door, while Rosa hugged the document tube and hurried after her.

After the two had walked halfway down the alley, Rosa suddenly said, "Miss Mila."

Mila did not stop walking. "Hm?"

"Will you tell Mr. Barlow about what happened today?"

"I said I wouldn't."

Rosa fell silent for a moment, then said, "I wasn't talking about the tavern. I meant the dock expansion plan. Mayor Ando seems very concerned about whether Mr. Barlow will approve it."

Mila stopped and turned to look at Rosa. Under her gaze, Rosa lowered her head slightly, thinking that she had asked something she should not have.

"You care about that?" Mila asked.

Rosa hugged the document tube a little tighter. "If Mayor Ando knows I spoke for him in front of Mr. Barlow, he'll probably feel that he owes me a favor."

Mila looked at her for two seconds, and the corner of her mouth moved faintly.

The motion was too small to count as a smile, but it was enough for Rosa to know that Mila was not angry.

"Rosa," Mila said, "you're not anyone's subordinate. You're one of mine. You don't need to do favors for Ando."

Rosa turned those words over in her heart, then nodded.

Mila turned and continued forward. Rosa followed, her steps lighter than before.

The evening sun filtered through the branches and leaves of an old banyan tree, casting their shadows onto the bluestone road—one ahead of the other, one long and one short.