Trading Company

The next day.

The Uchiha Trading Company stood on the central avenue of Orange Town, occupying an entire three-story stone building.

Three years ago, this had been a row of abandoned warehouses where Melton stored smuggled goods. After Barlow took the place, the first thing he did was tear the warehouses down. He drew up the plans himself, shipped blue-gray granite from the Konomi Archipelago, hired six stonemasons from the Goa Kingdom, and spent four full months on construction. When it was completed, people at the docks muttered that the place looked less like a trading company and more like a fortress.

It really did not look like one. The double doors were made of oak and set with cast-iron fan crests. There was no sign above the entrance, only an Uchiha clan crest, red on top and white below. The windows facing the street were narrow and tall. No one outside could see the furnishings within, but anyone standing behind those windows could take in the entire street.

When Mila and Rosa reached the entrance, two young men in trading company uniforms were coming out with ledgers in their arms.

The moment they saw Mila, they both stepped aside to the bottom of the stairs and lowered their heads.

"Miss Mila."

Mila nodded and pushed the door open.

The entire first floor had been opened up into one vast hall. Sixteen long oak tables stood in two rows, with a scribe or accountant seated behind each one. Bills of lading, contracts, and route maps were piled before them.

The shelves along the walls held categorized scrolls: berth prices at East Blue's major ports, seasonal wind directions around each island, and the quarterly catches of more than twenty islands in the Konomi Archipelago, all filed away in order.

When Barlow found more than eight hundred old cargo manifests in the Sea Serpent Gang's warehouse three years ago, the first thing he did was not audit the accounts. Instead, he had every yellowed sheet recopied, organized, and cataloged, then used those figures to renegotiate shipping rates with every shipowner at the docks.

Now, those records filled an entire wall.

When the scribes saw Mila enter, they did not stop working like the two men outside had. They merely dipped their heads slightly, their pen tips continuing to scratch across the paper as they dared not look up.

It was not because they feared Mila. Barlow had established a rule: no matter who entered the trading company, scribes were not to stop writing, speak, or gather to watch.

The rule was for the scribes, but it was also for everyone else. The Uchiha Trading Company would not cease operating for anyone.

Mila crossed the hall and climbed the stairs, with Rosa following behind, her footsteps so light they were nearly silent.

The second floor was divided into private rooms for the various departments to handle specific matters.

A brown wool carpet covered the corridor, with wall lamps hanging every few paces. A middle-aged man emerged from around the corner holding a document. The instant he saw Mila, he stopped and moved back against the wall.

"Miss Mila."

Mila did not stop. She went straight up the stairs leading to the third floor.

The third-floor corridor was completely different from the second. There were no partitions, no carpet, and no wall lamps—only a straight hallway ending at a black door.

The windows along one side of the corridor were open, letting in a sea breeze carrying the scents of lumber and tung oil from the docks.

Rosa stopped at the third-floor stairway.

Mila walked up to the black door and pushed it open.

Barlow's office occupied the entire third floor.

Directly across from the entrance stood a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the docks and the distant horizon.

The curtains were dark gray blinds, half-open at the moment, cutting the light into neat strips across the floor.

The entire wall to the right was a bookshelf stretching from floor to ceiling, packed with ledgers, route maps, and local chronicles from the various islands.

On the left stood an enormous chart table. Spread across it was a hand-drawn map of the entire East Blue, marked with the Uchiha Trading Company's existing routes and three planned extensions. A translucent tracing sheet covered it, filled with revision marks in different colors of ink.

At the center stood a massive ebony desk.

The desk had no decorations, no carvings, no trim, and no varnish. Its surface was thick enough to serve as a chopping block, and its four legs were absurdly thick.

Barlow had personally selected the wood three years ago, then returned to White Wax Island and spent an entire day sawing it in the courtyard with Marcus.

Mila walked around the desk and sat in Barlow's chair.

She leaned back. The angle of the chair allowed the back of her head to rest perfectly against the leather cushion. She propped her legs on the edge of the desk, knocking some dried mud from the soles of her boots. The crumbs of dirt fell onto an unsigned purchase order on the ebony surface, but she did not care.

Rosa stood outside the office door.

She kept her head lowered, her hands clasped before her, her knees drawn slightly together.

The black door stood half-open. She could see the strips of light on the office floor, the book spines piled up to the ceiling, and the soles of Mila's boots resting on the desk.

But she remained perfectly still, as though someone had drawn a line on the floor.

She had been with the Uchiha Trading Company for three years. She had entered the first-floor hall countless times and gone up to the second floor to deliver documents on several occasions, but she had never once entered the door on the third floor.

No one had stopped her. The rules had.

Only members of the Uchiha family could enter Barlow's office without being announced. Everyone else needed Barlow's personal permission, one request at a time, one entry at a time.

Even Koldo, the secretary Barlow had personally brought back from the docks, usually stood outside the door to report on work.

Rosa took a deep breath, edged closer to the doorway, and stood properly with her back against the corridor wall.

Footsteps came from the stairway.

Barlow came up first.

Barlow had grown noticeably taller than he had been three years ago, and his shoulders had broadened. His jawline was hard, as though carved with a blade.

He wore a dark blue coat without any markings, with a black high-collared shirt beneath it. A straight sword without a guard hung at his waist. Its sheath bore no decoration, while the grip had been polished smooth from use.

His features were far more mature than those of an ordinary twenty-year-old. His brow ridge was high, his eye sockets deep, and his brows were habitually furrowed, as though he were always calculating something.

Roy followed behind Barlow.

Roy had changed just as much as Barlow, but in the complete opposite direction.

He was half a head shorter than Barlow, but his frame had grown far sturdier. The lines of muscle in his shoulders and arms were visible even through his coat.

His hair was shorter than it had been three years ago. His steps were light and quick, carrying an eager, restless rhythm.

A sword also hung at his waist. Its sheath bore several fresh scratches, and it had clearly seen far more real combat than the one at Barlow's side.

Koldo walked last.

His tall, thin frame looked especially elongated in the corridor. He carried two leather folders under his arm, his face wearing its usual expression somewhere between respectfulness and shrewdness.

The information broker who had knelt at the docks and pledged submission three years ago now wore a tailored shirt and black vest, with his hair neatly combed and his nails carefully trimmed.

He claimed that the outfit was meant to uphold the trading company's image. Barlow did not object, so the expense was reimbursed.

As the three approached, Rosa turned sideways and bowed deeply, her forehead nearly touching her knees.

No one looked at her.