New World – A Midway Transit Island
The city bustled with noise and chaos. Streets were jammed with carriages and hawkers shouting over one another.
Lining both sides of the busy roads were countless shops brimming with goods. Merchants moved in haste, while curses echoed from the shadows of narrow alleyways.
Ships from all corners of the world docked and departed from the harbor. Sailors fought over mooring space as sails fluttered like waves, and shouts filled the air.
Three men strolled down a cobbled street in civilian clothes—Zephyr, Sengoku, and Borsalino. Each wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat that obscured their bodies and most of their faces.
"Are you sure this is the right place, Sengoku?"
Zephyr glanced around with a wary eye, his voice lowered in caution.
Just then, a group of rugged-looking men passed on the other side of the street, laughing boisterously.
Swords hung at their waists. Their eyes were sharp and wild. It was obvious—they were the type who licked blood from their blades.
Zephyr's eyes widened, and he made to charge forward, but Sengoku grabbed his arm tightly and hissed through gritted teeth:
"Let it go, Zephyr—keep a low profile! Don't forget why we're here!"
Zephyr glared after the pirates, now disappearing into the crowd, and grumbled under his breath in frustration.
Seeing Sengoku still standing there, Zephyr suddenly narrowed his eyes.
"Wait... don't tell me you don't know where it is!?"
Sengoku's mouth twitched. His face flushed red.
"I've never been to that kind of place before!"
"How would I know where it is!?"
"Unless you've been there? If you're so familiar, then you lead the way!"
Zephyr went silent. Awkwardly.
He hadn't been there either.
"...I'll lead the way," came Borsalino's lazy, smiling voice from the side, clearly enjoying the show.
They watched as Borsalino casually approached a rotund man wearing a gemstone ring and stopped in front of him.
"Hey," he said with an unsettling grin. "Where's the best geisha house in town?"
The man, startled by the sudden grab, turned to curse. His expensive suit stretched taut over his large belly.
But as he looked up and saw the tall figure looming over him—saw that sly face half-shrouded in shadow, that sideways leer—cold sweat broke down his back.
"G-Geisha house? It's, uh... that way..."
His chins quivered as he raised a trembling finger.
"J-Just walk about two minutes down the road..."
Borsalino released the man's collar and gently adjusted it with a smile.
So polite... the merchant thought, before immediately fleeing in terror.
Borsalino turned back to his speechless comrades with a satisfied smile.
They stood before a refined building, its traditional Japanese architecture elegant like a miniature palace.
Sengoku and Zephyr stood stiffly, discomfort written all over their faces. Their bodies tensed instinctively.
"Honored guests, welcome."
A young woman in a black-and-red cheongsam bowed deeply, her figure graceful, her movement elegant. The curve of her pale chestline rose enticingly.
Soft music drifted from within the building, mingling with the scents of liquor, perfume, and roasted delicacies. Dim lighting gave the air a hazy, decadent feel.
Sengoku and Zephyr twitched.
They looked at each other, faces tight.
"Hey, Sengoku... we're not actually going in there, are we?"
Zephyr's voice trembled slightly.
Sengoku didn't look much better—his expression grim.
"When it comes to Underworld intel, places are... often the most informative."
"We'll endure. Our mission is to rescue Darren. Compared to that, this is nothing."
"We're only here to gather intel anyway. We're not even drinking. No need to be nervous."
At the mention of his top student still suffering, Zephyr's face hardened.
He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and muttered with resolve:
"If that's how it is... then so be it."
Borsalino, watching their agonized expressions, scratched his head in confusion.
It's a geisha house, not an execution ground. What's with the grim faces?
He shook his head, stepped forward confidently, lit a cigarette, and casually wrapped an arm around the hostess's waist.
"Big room. Upstairs."
Then he turned back and grinned at the stunned pair:
"Oh, and be sure to give a little squeeze as you pass, otherwise you'll stand out."
Sengoku and Zephyr froze, faces darkening as they covered their faces and followed behind like beaten dogs.
"Hahahahaha! More! Don't stop!"
Sengoku, cigar in mouth, face flushed with red, raised a cup high and laughed with glee.
"Keep the music going! More dancing!!"
On stage, elegant dancers swayed, while geishas in colorful kimonos played shamisen and zither on either side.
"Come on, Zephyr! Drink up!! Old man Kong gave us funds for the mission, didn't he? This counts as part of the job!"
He slung an arm around Zephyr, who sat stiffly in the corner, clearly uncomfortable.
Zephyr gritted his teeth.
"Sengoku—don't forget why we're here!"
Then he turned to growl at the third man.
"And you—Borsalino! Why do you know this kind of place so well!?"
Still puffing on his cigar, Borsalino raised both hands in mock surrender, his face the picture of innocence.
"Well, back in the North Blue, Commander Tokikake used to bring me here all the time..."
He looked at Borsalino's greasy smile, then recalled Tokikake's half-assed face and behavior. For a moment, he actually felt kind of bad for the geisha girls having to entertain these two degenerates.