"Take this to the front desk of the Uchiha Trading Company."
The manager took the note with both hands, opened it, and read the words: "Payment of 100,000 Beli per person as a night shift allowance for all employees of Sea Market. Immediate disbursement -- Barlow."
That signature was exactly the same as the signature on all the official contracts of the Uchiha Trading Company, down to the slightest difference in the curvature of the strokes.
The manager closed the sticky note, twice as carefully as he would fold a napkin.
His previously composed expression vanished, and he bowed repeatedly to Barlow, expressing his gratitude. "Barlow, Mr. Barlow! Thank you!"
The chef behind him crumpled his apron in his hands, making the edges wrinkle.
The chef's assistant stared intently at the ground, unsure where to look, so he looked at the tips of his shoes.
The two waiters also bowed, repeatedly expressing their gratitude, their voices involuntarily rising slightly.
The lingering fatigue from last night was easily dispelled by a single sentence, a piece of paper, and a number from Barlow.
No one felt that those eleven hours were a struggle anymore.
Barlow stepped aside and pushed open the White Wax Wood.
A gradually widening strip of light appeared on the iron-gray employee corridor floor. He waved to the manager, "Give me the food cart."
The manager quickly turned around and pushed the food cart out of the aisle, with two waiters helping to steady it on either side.
The dining cart was covered with a white tablecloth, and the silver plate lids were polished to a shine. The aroma of caramelized bacon and the buttery scent of mini croissants wafted out from between the plate lids, mingling with the smell of White Wax Wood in the underground space.
Barlow gripped the handrails of the food cart with both hands and pushed it over the White Wax Wood threshold.
The door slowly closed behind him, but not completely; it was about two fingers wide. From the employee passageway, this gap perfectly framed a small section of the third basement level.
The manager should have gone back, but with the note still clutched in his hand and his words of thanks still on his lips, his eyes inadvertently darted through the crack in the door for less than a second.
He saw his boss behind the scenes.
Mila's dress had the right shoulder strap still hanging below her collarbone, revealing a section of her lower collarbone that wasn't covered by the fabric. Her hair was a mess, with a tuft stuck to the corner of her mouth, and a dried drool mark above it.
Her eyes were still half-closed, her eyelashes were stuck together, one hand was fumbling with the sash of her skirt, her upper body was leaning against the Marine Vice Admiral, and her feet were tucked into Roy's arms.
The manager's gaze lingered for less than a second before returning to his original position. The chef, his assistant, and the two waiters behind him also witnessed a similar scene. The time was too short to discern the details, but it was enough for each of them to have the same thought in their minds: So this is what these people are like in private.
The cracks in the White Wax Wood disappeared, and the door panel closed tightly, once again completely concealing that world.
No one dared to look anymore.
The manager carefully folded the note and put it in his breast pocket, then turned and waved to everyone, urging them in a low voice, "Let's go, let's go back to our posts."
The employees quietly withdrew from the passageway, the iron gate closed, and their footsteps disappeared above the stairs.
Inside the door.
Barlow pushed the trolley next to the coffee table, bent down and lifted the lid of the plate. The aroma of caramelized bacon and the buttery smell of scrambled eggs immediately filled the space that had been closed all night.
The mini croissants were baked until golden brown, with layers of flaky texture visible on the sides. The two fried eggs were specially served separately in small enamel bowls, and the yolks still had a moist sheen.
On the lower level of the dining cart, there was a pot of freshly brewed black coffee, a set of white porcelain cups placed next to it with their rims upside down in a saucer, still warm from the sterilizer when taken out, and a plate of cut fruit, watermelon, cantaloupe, and a few slices of kiwi, all neatly arranged.
Damian smelled the bacon, came over with a glass of orange juice, took a croissant from the food cart, tore off a piece, and popped it into his mouth.
"The croissants are still warm; have they been waiting?"
"I've been waiting all night." Barlow pushed the food cart into the space between the coffee table and the sofa, picked up the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of black coffee, the first sip without sugar or milk.
"Mila's rule is that without Rosa's presence and Mila's verbal order, they can neither leave nor enter."
Barlow bent down, extended his index finger, and gently poked Mila's forehead with the tip of his finger.
Mila.
No response.
He poked it again, this time with slightly more force than the first time.
"Your poor employees waited all night in the employee corridor."
Mila frowned slightly. Her eyes were still closed, but her mouth was already moving, her voice muffled, as if she still had drowsiness in her mouth. "... What time is it...?"
"It's time to get up anyway."
"..."
Her eyes opened a crack, her pupils slowly focusing in the dim light, finally locking onto the index finger that Barlow had poked at her forehead.
She opened her mouth and gently bit Barlow's index finger—a bite that didn't hurt but prevented him from pulling his hand away. Barlow's finger froze.
"Their salaries are the highest in Water 7," Mila said, biting Barlow's finger, her voice stammering, each word muffled as if being chopped by her teeth.
"Paid leave, full reimbursement for work-related injuries, and year-end bonuses—this isn't exploitation."
She bit Barlow's finger with just the right amount of force—"to hurt you"—and then narrowed her eyes to look at Roy at the other end of the sofa. "Besides," she said, "Roy forgot too."
Roy, whose name was called, didn't even open his eyes, but his fingers instinctively found Mila's soles and gently tickled them twice. "The person you arranged is trying to pin this on me."
Mila sprang to her feet as if electrocuted, releasing Barlow's index finger and turning to pounce on Roy at the other end of the sofa, "You tickled me!"
Roy groaned as she hit him, and Mila opened her mouth to bite his shoulder. Roy rolled into the sofa, and Mila's teeth bit into the sofa cushion, tearing out a piece of stuffing feather.
Taking advantage of the moment, Roy flipped over the back of the sofa and ran to the side. Mila chased after him barefoot on the wooden floor, her skirt lifted by the morning breeze.
As she chased after him to the pool table, she grabbed a cue stick. Roy turned around and saw the arc the cue stick traced in the air, quickly hiding behind the bar. "You fouled by using a weapon!"
What's with scratching me?
"That was legitimate self-defense!"
"What are you trying to protect against? Explain yourself!"
Roy poked half his head out from behind the bar. "You kicked me in the face twice last night, twice! My cheek is still sore."
That's because you snore.
I don't snore.
"I recorded it all with Den Den Mushi), the evidence is conclusive."
Barlow watched them circle halfway around, his blinking slightly slower than usual, then said nothing, pulled up a chair and sat down without even looking up.
Damian sat down as well. He put the bacon on his plate, cut off a piece with his fork, broke the soft-boiled egg to let the yolk flow out, and ate it with the bacon.
While the two were chasing each other around the pool table, Barlow pushed the coffee pot toward Damian. They ate their breakfast, occasionally glancing up at their younger siblings chasing and biting each other all over the room, and discussing their upcoming plans.
Damian said that the houses on White Wax Island need their moisture-proof layers reinforced this year, as the sea breeze has soaked the foundations quite a bit.
Barlow said it was already being arranged; last month, Koldo ordered a batch of moisture-proof boards from Loguetown, and the delivery date was set, expected to arrive two or three days before they reached White Wax Island.
"Should we bring something back with us?"
"Gwen mentioned that Gray is almost finished with his textbooks. The Water 7 bookstore sells the Naval Academy's preparatory textbooks; the third edition just came out, six months earlier than what they're released in the East Blue."
She added, "She wants Gray to go to the Goa Kingdom's Naval Preparatory School next year and finish this textbook before enrolling. I think that at Gray's current level, this book is just supplementary reading for him."
When did you discuss Gray's college application plans with Gwen?
"During our call last month, she asked me if the intensity of training at the Naval Preparatory School was suitable for young children."
Damian placed his coffee cup on his lap and thought for a moment, "How tall is Gray now?"
"Gwen said last time that it was almost up to her chest." Barlow's tone finally softened as he said this, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.