Hearing those words, a wave of loneliness washed over Mr. 2.
It was tragic to see someone so young—barely out of childhood—so completely cold and detached. It was a thought that only occurred to Mr. 2 because he was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve.
No one else in the organization cared, but Mr. 2 felt that Kiri's expression was something a child should never have.
Sensing a presence, Kiri looked out the window and noticed a figure.
He shrugged his shoulders and began walking toward the door.
"Well, I'm counting on you. I leave the methods to you. Just don't fail; cleaning up the mess is a pain."
"Roger thaaat."
Kiri left the room swiftly. The moment the door clicked shut quietly, Mr. 2 sighed.
"What a difficult child, really..."
Kiri descended to the first floor, opened his umbrella, and stepped outside.
As the falling rain began to drum against the umbrella, Kiri looked with a troubled smile at the figure before him.
Standing in the middle of the road without an umbrella, glaring at Kiri with eyes full of fire, was Koza. It was clear the "discussion" had gone terribly wrong.
Koza stood rooted to the spot, unmoving.
Sensing his state of mind, Kiri stepped forward.
Concerned for the friend who never broke eye contact, Kiri stood before him and sheltered him under the umbrella. For Koza, feeling the rain after so long might have been a joy, but it was also a worry.
Looking back into Koza's eyes, Kiri spoke gently, his smile unwavering.
"You'll catch a cold like that."
"Kiri... I..."
He murmured the words.
In that moment, Kiri distinctly saw the color of Koza's eyes change, flashing with a dangerous light.
"I am going to take back the rain."
Kiri was the only one who heard that powerful mutter.
Beneath a single umbrella, violent ideologies swirled. Whether Kiri's unchanging expression in the face of this was born of affection from watching over his friend, or something else entirely...
By now, even he no longer knew.
III. The Artist and the Strategist
Clack.
With a sharp sound, a black piece was placed on the board.
Mr. 3 stared at the board, his eyebrow twitching.
He had calculated every possibility, read ahead, and acted accordingly. Yet, his opponent's skill was undeniable. With a single move, the tide of the battle had turned. Even though he had read that possibility, the twitch of his brow betrayed his slight agitation.
Sitting opposite him, Kiri smirked triumphantly.
"Expanding the organization? Are you increasing the numbers again?"
"Rather, we've had too few until now. Eventually, I want to send agents into all four seas."
"Scouting, is it? ...It's a nuisance when the number of useless subordinates increases, gane. My last partner was utterly useless. We nearly had the organization's existence exposed because of her."
"Things happen. Don't worry. I've prepared a new partner for you."
Mr. 3, having advanced a white pawn, looked up.
At Kiri's prompting, he looked toward the entrance of the room. A young girl was standing there.
"Her?"
"She has no direct combat ability. But she's compatible with you. She's an artist."
"Hmph... I doubt she can keep up with my sense of aesthetics, gane."
Miss Goldenweek moved silently to the corner of the room without a word.
She opened the trunk she was carrying, spread a picnic sheet on the floor, sat down, and began sipping tea and munching on a rice cracker. Her ability to make herself at home, as if this were her own room, astonished Mr. 3.
They were currently on an island far from Alabasta. They were in a room of an ordinary house Mr. 3 used as a safehouse.
Watching the two play chess with round, impassive eyes, she continued to eat her cracker.
"...I can see she has guts, at least."
"She's a top recommendation. Though she does have a habit of slacking off."
"Fine. More importantly, the orders."
Mr. 3 turned back to the board and exhaled.
"Specifically, what scale of operation are we talking about?"
"You know the discussion we had? The Whiskey Peak matter. I intend for us to take it."
"You intend to steal it? If we cause a scene, we'll leave a trail."
"Not by force. We can handle that smoothly."
"Either way, I feel there will be problems... well, if you are the one doing it, I suppose it's fine."
The game progressed as they moved their pieces one by one.
It was a close match, but the cost of a moment's carelessness was steep. Mr. 3 seemed to be pushed back.
"So, you mean to make the entirety of Whiskey Peak the property of our company?"
"I wanted to place a piece at the entrance of the Grand Line. And that place is the easiest to take."
"However, staffing the entire town with employees will require a significant number of people. Are you gathering new ones now? Moving cautiously will take time."
"I'm already gathering the personnel on my end. Most of them are ready."
"My, you work fast..."
Exasperated, Mr. 3 moved a piece. Kiri moved immediately after.
The expression on Mr. 3's face changed instantly.
It seemed the match was decided.
"Checkmate."
"Hmph... That makes twenty-two wins, twenty-three losses."
"Wow, as expected of the brainy type. I struggle every single time."
Kiri leaned back in his chair and laughed like a child. Mr. 3 frowned at the sight.
"I'm going to be busy for a while, so I'm leaving the various details to you."
"The Rebel Army business, I assume? Is it going to go well?"
"Once I light the fire, it will grow on its own. All I have to do is make minor adjustments."
With that, Kiri stood up and stretched his arms high.
Looking at Mr. 3 with that same unchanging smile—speaking like a friend, yet with a distance that made him impossible to grasp—he spoke.
"The main event is still a long way off, but we have to prepare thoroughly. So, I'm counting on you for the rest."
"I know. Failure means my life."
"You know it well. See you."
As Kiri turned on his heel to leave the room, Miss Goldenweek quietly raised her right hand.
She was holding out the bag of rice crackers. Kiri smiled and took one.
"Work looks tough."
"Well, yeah. But I'm used to it now."
Nibbling on the cracker, Kiri walked out.
Listening to the sound of the door closing, Mr. 3 shifted his gaze after a moment.
He addressed Miss Goldenweek, who was eating another cracker while watching him, for the first time.
"So, what exactly are you?"
"Miss Goldenweek. An Artist."
Crunching into her cracker with a crisp sound, she flashed a peace sign, her face completely expressionless.
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