In the manager's room at the Mermaid Cafe.
Madame Shyarly sat on the cushions inside a giant shell, watching business in the first-floor hall through a one-way floor-to-ceiling window.
"-Phew..."
Shyarly held a pipe with a distinctly "Gypsy witch" aesthetic, exhaling a soft plume of smoke with an elegant, mysterious gesture.
Sephiroth didn't smoke, and if anything, he wasn't particularly fond of smoke. But he hadn't forbidden her from smoking, which endeared him to Shyarly.
Sephiroth had even tried having Shyarly hold the pipe while they "sparred in martial arts." He said it added "flavor."
...That made Shyarly feel that most of the rumors about the "Great Angel" probably hadn't wronged him.
"Namur... you really are..."
Feeling a little wistful, Shyarly couldn't help murmuring to herself.
That morning, Namur had called her to say that the Whitebeard Pirates had reached an agreement internally.
The problem was that Namur's "personal touch" left Shyarly sighing.
"Hmm?"
Through the one-way window, Shyarly saw Sephiroth enter the hall.
She froze briefly, then immediately put away her pipe. She was about to tuck its case into a drawer, but after a moment's hesitation, she left it on the side table beside her shell bed instead.
Then she briskly sprayed on some fresh-scented perfume, prepared the tea she had been keeping warm, and pulled a novel from the small bookshelf beside her.
With a click, Sephiroth pushed open the door.
"Oh, Sephi, that's an interesting expression you're wearing."
Only after Sephiroth entered did Shyarly notice the strange weariness about him.
"...Is it? Well, I'm planning to do something even more interesting..."
Sephiroth sat in the coral chair and leaned back against its soft water cushion.
"I've been dealing with some troublesome work. It took a lot of brainpower, so I came here for some healing."
Shyarly