Testing the Sails (1)

The Sail Restaurant stood at the end of the newly paved stone road in the dock district, a two-story building converted from an old shipyard.

Its owner was an old ship's cook retired from Loguetown. After sailing the Grand Line for thirty years and saving enough money, he had returned to the East Blue to open this place.

He had kept the old shipyard's gantry crane frame, painted it white, and turned it into the restaurant's porch.

Above the porch hung an old canvas sail that had weathered a lifetime of sea winds, embroidered in dark blue thread with the words—"The Sail Never Falls."

Barlow had reserved a private room by the window on the second floor.

The room was not large, with just enough space for a round table for six. One entire wall was fitted with porthole glass, offering a direct view of the docks and the distant horizon beyond.

A rough ceramic vase stood in the center of the table, holding two branches of white wax tree. They were not part of the restaurant's usual setting; Barlow had arranged for them to be sent from White Wax Island the day before.

Barlow arrived first.

He sat by the window, his chair pulled a few inches farther back than necessary, his back not touching the backrest.

His right hand rested on the table's edge, his index finger unconsciously tracing the curves of a nautical chart across the tablecloth.

Koldo stood outside the private room rather than entering. He held a leather-bound notebook, ready at any moment to record anything requiring follow-up.

Barlow had told him to wait outside, so he waited outside.

Roy and Mila arrived next.

Roy was still smiling when he pushed open the door, clearly having discussed something with Mila on the way over.

Mila entered without expression. She pulled out her chair in one crisp motion, sat down, leaned against the backrest without looking at anyone, and crossed her hands over her chest.

Roy sat beside her, elbows on the table and chin resting on the backs of his hands, his eyes darting toward the door.

He had changed into a dark gray short shirt with tightened cuffs, making it easier to move.

Damian arrived last.

He stood at the door without entering immediately, his right hand holding the handle as he turned sideways and said something into the hallway.

Then he stepped inside, released the handle, and made way for the person behind him.

When Gwen entered, the light in the room seemed to change.

She wore a deep blue dress, its neckline subtly widened to either side, revealing just enough of her collarbones and not a fraction more. The hem fell to the middle of her calves, with a strip of pale boots visible beneath it.

Her golden hair was not pinned up but fell over her shoulders, with a shell hairpin clipped above her left ear.

She did not lower her head or glance around as she entered. Her pace was neither fast nor slow, and her eyes fell on Mila first.

"Gwen, this is my second brother Barlow, my third brother Roy, and my younger sister Mila."

"Everyone from the Uchiha family." Gwen gave a slight nod, her lips curving into a smile—not too broad or too slight, enough to qualify as a proper smile without crossing the line into flattery.

"Damian has told me a great deal about all of you. I'm very glad to finally meet you."

"Please, sit." Barlow gestured toward the empty seat opposite him, directly facing both the window and himself.

Gwen sat down and gently gathered her skirt to one side of her knees.

Her back did not touch the chair, nor were her shoulders tense. Her breathing was even, and neither the rhythm nor the slight rise and fall of her collarbones changed at all.

Her gaze moved from left to right across Barlow, Roy, and Mila before returning to Barlow. Then, with natural slowness, she lowered it to the tableware before her.

The owner came upstairs personally to take their orders. Fish scales clung to his apron, and he held four handwritten menus, the scrawl as messy as a ship's log.

He handed the menus to the five of them, then stood beside Barlow and tapped the day's recommendation with a rough finger. "Red sea bream delivered from the Konomi Archipelago this morning. Alive. They're still swimming in the tank downstairs."

Gwen opened the menu. She read it differently from everyone else. Rather than scanning line by line, she flipped through it from beginning to end, then flipped back, stopped on a page in the middle, and tapped a dish with her index finger.

"Sir, are the spices in this baked red sea bream made with a Loguetown recipe?"

The owner froze for a moment, then laughed. "You know your stuff, miss. It's an old Loguetown recipe, with special black pepper and a touch of orange peel. No one in the East Blue makes it like that."

"I'll have that, please. Half the sauce."

The owner wiped his hands on his apron and gave her an approving look.

He turned to ask what Barlow wanted. Barlow did not look at the menu and simply said, "The same as her."

Roy and Mila each ordered a fried fish steak, while Damian ordered the red sea bream main dish along with a seafood soup.

The owner's footsteps were heavy as he went downstairs, making the staircase creak beneath him.

Mila lifted her napkin from the table, shook it open, and spread it over her lap. "Where is Miss Gwen from?"

Gwen closed the menu and set it at the edge of the table. She looked at Mila without avoiding her gaze, but neither did she stare directly into her eyes.

"I've traveled through all the Four Blues a little. I don't have a fixed hometown."

"All the Four Blues." Mila repeated the words in an neither warm nor cold tone.

"Then you must have had a great many experiences. What did you do in the Four Blues before this?"

"A little of everything. I helped people with their accounts, taught children to read, and worked short jobs aboard merchant ships." Gwen's fingers lightly brushed the edge of the tablecloth, a faint motion like an unconscious habit checked in time.

"Only after these three months in Orange Town did I realize that what I liked most was working in a clothing shop."

"Gwen helps out at the shop," Damian added.

"The shop owner said her redesigned neckline was more practical than the catalogues from the Goa Kingdom."

"You're exaggerating, Damian." Gwen glanced at him.

"I never exaggerate," Damian said.

When their eyes met, the curve at Gwen's lips relaxed slightly, only to return to its former position at once.

Roy nudged Mila with his elbow and asked, "You've taught children to read? Can you teach arithmetic too?"

"Yes. I can teach the arithmetic used in commercial ledgers too."

"Nice." Roy grinned and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table.

"Big brother, she can even do accounts. She's more useful than you. Haven't you gotten the dock accounts wrong several times?"

Damian could not be bothered to respond.

Mila did not follow Roy's remark. She looked at Gwen's fingers resting on the tablecloth. They were pale, and her nails were neatly trimmed, but there was a small callus between her index finger and thumb.

"You use a knife?" Mila's voice suddenly lowered, like a blade silently drawn an inch from its sheath.

Gwen noticed Mila looking at her right hand as well. She did not pull it back. Instead, she opened her palm over the white tablecloth, her five fingers relaxed and spread.

"I used to help clean fish on ships. If you use a small knife often enough, calluses are inevitable."

After saying that, she lifted the glass of water before her with her left hand and took a sip.

The way she held the glass was standard merchant ship etiquette. Her fingers did not touch the curve of the bowl; her thumb and index finger pinched the handle, while her other three fingers curved naturally without touching the glass wall.

Barlow had not spoken the entire time.

He sat directly across from Gwen, his back to the window, right hand resting on the table's edge and left hand on his knee. His posture had not shifted in the slightest.

Since Gwen entered, his gaze had lingered on her for more than three seconds three times: first when she entered, second when she opened her palm to explain the callus, and third when she lifted her glass.