The night in Water 7 begins to light up from the waterways.
The small, pointed boats that were busy transporting goods during the day lit their bow lamps as evening fell, forming ribbons of light in the crisscrossing waterways. One by one, the gas streetlights on both sides of the stone-paved road were lit, and the lamplighters wearing white gloves walked along the shore carrying long poles. Children would follow behind and clap their hands as they passed each lamp.
Damian sat inside the waterwheel, looking out through the small window on the side of the carriage.
Nightlife in the Water 7 is just beginning, and the streets along the water are already busier than during the day.
After finishing their work, the boatmen gathered at the entrance of the tavern, each holding a bottle of beer and chatting loudly.
Fruit vendors piled unsold oranges on the bow of the boat and sold them off at discounted prices. Their shouts carried across the water, their volume varying as the sound of the water was filtered out.
The waterwheel turned into a slightly narrower waterway, and the shops on both banks changed from general stores to taverns and dance halls with larger signs.
Neon lights hadn't been invented yet, but the merchants of Water 7 had their own way of doing things. They covered gas lamps with stained glass, red, blue, and green, and the light shone through the stained glass onto the stone walls, making the entire waterway look like a flowing river of paint.
"We're almost there." Barlow sat opposite him, flipping through a folded document, writing annotations at the end of the pages in the dim light of the carriage's overhead lamp.
His reading speed was unaffected by the shaking of the waterwheel, and the Fountain Pen nib made a uniform scratching sound as it glided across the paper.
Damian turned his gaze from the window. "You even need to look at documents while riding in the car?"
"This is a forecast of customs policy changes sent by Koldo from Loguetown."
Barlow finished writing the last line, folded the document, and stuffed it into his coat pocket, Fountain Pen back into his shirt pocket. "If I don't look at it today, tomorrow there will be three documents waiting for me. Procrastination is not a good habit."
He said this with a very serious expression, as if he were stating a Four Blues truth.
Damian knew him well; Barlow's list of "good habits" was probably as long as a roll of White Wax Wood, and it grew longer every year.
The waterwheel docked in front of a five-story building.
This building is wider than the surrounding buildings, occupying half a block of the waterfront. Ivy climbs all over the gray-white stone walls, and the vines are carefully trimmed, just enough to reveal a brass sign above the main entrance that reads "Sea Market," positioned so that all the boats on the waterway can see it.
The Sea Market is one of the most bustling nightclubs in Water 7. Its main entrance faces the waterfront and leads to a two-story lobby with crystal chandeliers hanging from the dome. Every night, a band plays on the second-floor terrace.
In the lobby, well-dressed merchants and leisurely ladies sat around round tables, while waiters carried wine trays among the tables.
Any respectable person who comes to the Water 7 to do business will stop by the Sea Market in the evening.
But Damian and Barlow did not use the main entrance.
Barlow led Damian around the main entrance and into the narrow alleyway on the side of the building.
The alley was very dark; the gas lamp's light only illuminated a few steps from the entrance, after which it was pitch black.
The two people walked through the darkness and stopped in front of an inconspicuous iron gate.
The iron gate was old, with half of the paint peeling off and even cobwebs growing on the doorknob, making it look like the entrance to a storage room that had been abandoned for many years.
Behind the door is a staircase that extends downwards.
The steps are made of off-white marble, creating a deliberate contrast with the rusty iron gate outside.
Every few steps along the walls on both sides of the staircase is a wall lamp, dimly lit just enough for you to see the edge of the step.
The air outside, smelling of damp sea breeze, transformed into dry, warm indoor air, carrying a very faint scent of White Wax Wood.
Barlow went in first, followed by Damian. The iron gate closed silently behind them, and the darkness of the alley swallowed everything up again.
The staircase was very long, much longer than the building's foundation appeared to be from the outside. They descended about two floors, and at the top of the staircase was another door.
The door was no longer disguised; it was made entirely of White Wax Wood, with a red-and-white Gunbai pattern carved on its surface. The texture of the fan ribs was so clear that each one could be counted.
Barlow placed his hand on the Gunbai, and the door slowly opened inward.
Behind the door lies a completely different world.
The first underground level, which Barlow calls the "Hall".
However, this term is not quite accurate. It is a huge space with a ceiling at least three stories high, and the dome is made of a single piece of black stone with countless tiny lights embedded in its surface, simulating a starry sky pattern.
The floor was covered with dark hardwood flooring, which produced a dull, heavy sound when walked on.
In the very center is a circular leather sofa, large enough to seat twenty people.
To the left is a bar, and the liquor cabinet stretches from the floor to the bottom of the dome, filled with bottles of liquor from all over the West Blue and the Grand Line.
On the right is a snooker table with a slate bottom and a brand-new dark green cloth, without a single scratch.
Next to the pool table is a dart wall, with a few darts still on the dartboard.
Further away is a small, sunken music pool, with a grand piano standing quietly in the center.
There was no one on the piano bench, but the piano lid was open.
"Uchiha Exclusive Passage" is the name Mila gave to this route.
From the disguised iron gate in the side alley of the Sea Market to the White Wax Wood Gunbai at the end of the stairs, every step was designed by her personally.
The mechanism on the door only reacts to Chakra; if anyone else tries to grasp the doorknob, it will just be an ordinary, rusted iron door.
The entire three-story underground space belongs to the auxiliary underground structure of the Sea Market building, but it is only marked as "storage room" on all the drawings.
In fact, no one at the city hall knew what was down there.
This place is not open to the public, does not receive guests, does not host parties, and does not conduct business.
This is the exclusive territory of the Uchiha Clan.
No matter how high-ranking the nobleman, how generous the merchant, or how high the naval commander, they can enter the main gate of the Sea Market, but they cannot enter through this White Wax Wood.
Mila's exact words were, "Those places outside are business, this is home."
Damian stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the soft lighting of the underground space.
The aroma of White Wax Wood mingled with the scent of leather sofas and old wood floors, filling his nostrils—a scent he hadn't smelled in a long time.
Then he heard sounds, some more primal, more chaotic noises, like the muffled thuds of two young animals fighting over the same territory, the rustling of clothes, the stomping of bare feet on the floor, the short, acrid syllables of the man beneath him cursing, and the smug breaths of the man on top.
The sound came from behind the sofa.
Damian took two steps to the right, his gaze passing over the sofa.
Roy and Mila were lying on the floor, wrestling.
Mila's right hand was gripping Roy's collar, the veins on the back of her hand bulging, and the collar of his shirt was distorted from her grip.
Roy pressed Mila's left hand against the back of her head, shoving her face toward the floor, while his other hand tried to reach under her armpit and pin her shoulder. The grappling move was standard, but it was completely ineffective as Mila held on tightly to his collar.
The two men fell to their sides, their legs intertwined, kicking wildly, but neither used any real Taijutsu techniques.
This wasn't a fight; it was more like two kids fighting over the last cookie.
"Let go."
"You loosen it first."
"Last time I let go, you hit me with a pillow."
"That was the time before last. You stepped on my foot first."
"You put your foot there, don't you have eyes?"
As Roy spoke, he tried to roll over and pin Mila down. Mila took the opportunity to pull back the leg he was pinning down, and her knee struck Roy's stomach.
Damian stood beside the sofa, looking at the two people on the floor, his tense shoulders instantly relaxing.
These two individuals are: one is the Queen of the Underworld, who controls all underground businesses in the East Blue and the first half of the Grand Line, and whose words can shake both the legitimate and criminal worlds; the other is the top combatant of the Uchiha Patrol, whose elite trainees can take on an entire pirate crew single-handedly, and whose presence evokes nothing less than awe and fear in everyone who sees the Fan Flag.
They're lying on the floor, grabbing each other's collars and arguing about who stepped on whose foot first.
A long-lost sense of relaxation slowly unfolded in Damian's chest, like the moment after a long day of marching and taking off his backpack, or the moment after a long voyage and stepping onto land. All the tense muscles were saying the same thing at the same time: It's okay, you can relax now.
He watched as Mila's knuckles turned white as she gripped Roy's collar, watched Roy groan after being kneed in the face, watched the two of them rolling around on the floor, kicking wrinkles into the carpet. These details might seem like childish bickering to others, but to him they were a source of comfort.
No matter how the outside world changes, no matter how much each of the four of them carries on their shoulders, at least in this underground space, nothing has changed.