"So you already had a plan. Let's hear it."
Enel glanced up at Nico Robin, his pupils flashing with amusement, though his tone remained as arrogantly dismissive as ever.
Robin neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, she pulled out another folded newspaper from her coat and handed it over. "Take a look at this first."
Enel unfolded the paper, his gaze landing on the headline. His brow furrowed slightly. "'Public Execution of Fire Fist Ace'? What does this mean?"
"You really aren't familiar with the situation on the Blue Sea," Robin explained calmly. "Fire Fist Ace is the commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' Second Division. And Whitebeard Edward Newgate is famously protective of his crew—he treats them like family. The Marines publicly executing Ace is tantamount to declaring war on Whitebeard. Once this battle begins, the entire world's attention will be focused on Marineford."
She paused, her expression serious. "Right now, Impel Down's defenses are tight. If we charge in recklessly, we'd just be walking into a trap."
Enel had been about to retort, "My lightning fears no mere defenses," but the words died in his throat.
Though he disdained the petty conflicts of the Blue Sea, even he had to admit Robin's analysis made sense—even the most stubborn person would learn caution after suffering enough setbacks. A head-on assault was clearly unwise.
Mr. 1, who had been silent until now, spoke up bluntly. "You're suggesting we strike during the chaos?"
"Exactly," Robin nodded. "On the day of the execution, the Marines' main forces will be concentrated at Marineford to fight Whitebeard. The guards at Impel Down will also have their attention divided by the battle, leaving gaps in their defenses."
She turned back to Enel, elaborating further. "Impel Down is said to be impenetrable not just because of its tight security, but also because it's located in the Calm Belt, surrounded by waters teeming with giant Sea Kings. Ordinary ships can't even get close."
"But our Ark Maxim can fly," she continued, "allowing us to bypass those obstacles entirely."
Miss. Valentine, who had been clenching her fists, suddenly interjected, her eyes flickering with hope. "But even if we can get close, the jailers and surveillance at Impel Down aren't just for show..."
"That's where Shura comes in," Robin said, glancing at the man leaning against the wall with his long rifle. "His Invisibility Fruit doesn't just make him invisible—it can also conceal anything he touches. If we time it right, we can slip into Impel Down completely undetected."
Enel's fingers toyed with the newspaper, electricity flickering in his pupils.
Though he disliked being instructed by mere mortals, even he had to admit this plan was more reliable than a direct assault.
"Hmph. I suppose you're not completely brainless," he sneered, tilting his chin up. "Fine. We'll do it your way."
No sooner had he spoken than Enel suddenly threw his head back with a loud "Yahahaha!"
"That useless Bahr—consider this my divine mercy, personally rescuing you from your suffering!" he crowed. "When you get out, you'd better thank me properly!"
His laughter was filled with unrestrained arrogance, but buried deep in his eyes was a flicker of anticipation he himself hadn't noticed—he was already imagining Bahr's expression when rescued, that mix of gratitude and frustration at having to admit being saved.
After all, seeing that guy humbled before him was a rare pleasure.
As the meeting dispersed, Miss. Valentine quickly caught up to Robin, her expression apologetic. "I was too impulsive earlier. I didn't realize you already had a plan... So you do care about the boss after all."
Robin didn't pause in her steps, her tone flat and unaffected. "We're just business partners. He has leads on the Historical Text that I need."
"Business partners?" Miss. Valentine raised an eyebrow, deliberately drawing out her words with a meaningful blink. "What kind of business partners... end up in bed together?"
Nico Robin didn't break stride, not even lifting an eyelid as if she hadn't heard Miss. Valentine's teasing, walking straight to her room.
Miss. Valentine watched Robin's cold retreating back, pursed her lips, and muttered, "Cold as a stone," before giving up on further questions.
The cabin door clicked shut, cutting off the noise from outside.
Robin walked to the window, gazing at the churning sea of clouds, but Miss. Valentine's words stuck in her mind like a tiny splinter.
"Other thoughts?" She scoffed under her breath, her fingers unconsciously picking at the windowsill. "That kind of guy..."
Just thinking about Bahr's usual lazy demeanor and the occasional roguish glint in his eyes made her skin crawl, as if tiny goosebumps were breaking out all over.
Especially that insinuation from Miss. Valentine—it inexplicably irritated her.
Developing feelings over time? With Bahr? Preposterous.
"If it weren't for the Historical Text..." Robin frowned, her tone stiff as if trying to convince herself. "Who cares if he lives or dies? A beast like that—the world would be better off without him..."
...
Deep within the white jade palaces of Mary Geoise, the crisp sound of a leather whip tearing through air mixed with muffled screams, echoing down the corridors.
The head maid stood with her head bowed against the wall, fingers clutching her skirt tightly as the cries of pain gradually weakened, an uncontrollable chill running down her spine.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the carved wooden door.
The scent of blood mixed with expensive incense assaulted her senses. In the center of the room, a slave curled up on the carpet, their back a mess of torn flesh with scraps of fabric embedded in the wounds, their breathing already faint.
Shalria lounged on a velvet chaise, her pale fingers toying with the jeweled whip handle, her face flushed with post-cruelty satisfaction.
She didn't even glance at the slave on the floor until she heard footsteps, only then lifting her eyelids lazily, her tone bored yet impatient. "Any news from the Marines?"
The maid curtsied, her voice as soft as a mosquito's hum. "Your Highness, the Marines report that... due to the current special circumstances, the 'Blasphemer' Bahr cannot be transferred at this time."
"Cannot be transferred?" Shalria sat bolt upright, her delicate face instantly contorted with fury.
She had been electrocuted unconscious that day, only to wake and learn that her "Master" had been taken to Impel Down.
Originally, she had planned to bring "Master" back to Mary Geoise, to lock him in her most luxurious room where he would have no choice but to look at her, think of her, forever.
And now, this plan had to be delayed?
"Useless! Absolutely useless!" Shalria hurled the whip to the ground, the clatter of jewels making the maid tremble violently.
She clawed at her golden hair in frustration. "Since when do they get to decide when he's sent back?"
A pained whimper came from the slave on the floor, and Shalria immediately glared over, her eyes like she was looking at a bothersome insect. "How noisy."
She waved a hand dismissively, as if discussing something utterly trivial. "Take this garbage out and dispose of it. Clean up the bloodstains—I won't have my rooms dirtied."
The maid hastily complied, not daring to lift her head as she dragged the slave out.
Finally alone in the silent room, Shalria paced restlessly until she reached the extravagant bed in the inner chamber, where she stopped.
On the bed lay a body pillow, its surface printed with Bahr's image—she had specially commissioned it based on his wanted poster.
She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow, breathing in the scent she had specially blended to mimic Bahr's. Her earlier fury gradually faded, replaced by a soft, almost obsessive tenderness.
"Master..." She nuzzled the printed face, her voice syrupy sweet. "Just a few more days... Just wait a little longer..."
Her fingertips lightly traced the printed features, smiling like a child with a beloved toy, though her eyes held a possessive glint. "When Master is finally by my side, I'll give him all the finest things. I'll stay with him every day, never letting anyone else so much as glance at him..."
Finally, she pressed a kiss—heavy with sickly infatuation—against the printed lips.