That evening, after a full day of training, Rain pushed open the door to Room 307.
He spotted Smoker immediately.
Smoker wasn't doing his usual brutal workout. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, brows knotted, wearing the expression of a man who'd been constipated for a week—clearly wanting to say something but choking on it.
When he saw Rain come in, his mouth opened like he wanted to talk, but in the end he swallowed it and just let out a disgruntled snort through his nose.
Rain saw through him instantly. He guessed Smoker wanted something, but deliberately chose not to call it out. He just walked back to his side of the room and started folding his used training clothes.
The dorm fell into an awkward silence, broken only by the rustle of fabric.
Watching Rain move so calmly only made Smoker more agitated. He shifted on the bed several times, clearly restless, until he finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Hey." His voice came out stiff and unnatural. "You… uh… did you… eat enough today?"
Rain's hands paused. He looked back, surprised.
He hadn't expected Smoker to spend all that time stewing, only to ask that.
He nodded automatically and replied like it was obvious. "Yeah. The mess hall is all-you-can-eat. If I wasn't full, I'd just go back for more."
Smoker: (ﾟДﾟ*)
"No, I mean… with that kind of food…" he struggled to find the words. "How do you… actually manage to get full on it?"
"It's not that bad." Rain shrugged, as if they were talking about something trivial. "Back at Loguetown, the food was even worse than this."
Smoker was completely disarmed.
All the phrasing he'd painstakingly put together in his head, the courage he'd spent so long working up—it all evaporated under that offhand line.
He flopped backward onto his messy bed with a sigh.
He pulled out a cigar, about to light it—then froze, like he'd remembered something.
He glanced at Rain, who was still calmly folding his clothes. After a moment of hesitation, he stuffed the cigar back into his pocket.
Rain caught that out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help the faint curve at his lips.
He found it funny, but decided to stop teasing him.
"Go on," Rain said, turning around to lean against his locker, arms folded. "What do you want this time?"
"What do you mean this time?! When did I ever ask you for anything?!"
Smoker jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, voice loud but not nearly as confident as usual.
Then he met Rain's half-smiling stare, remembered he did need something, and his bravado deflated all at once. His voice involuntarily dropped.
"Um… don't you think… the mess food is… way too awful?"
Rain gave him a look but didn't speak, clearly waiting for him to go on.
Smoker's gaze darted away. He scratched his wild white hair and continued.
"I… think that with your cooking, it's kind of… unfair for you to be eating that garbage with us."
"So… maybe… every night, I could use my fruit to sneak open the mess hall doors, and you slip in to cook something good… y'know… as a treat for us."
He blurted it out in one breath, his voice getting weaker the longer he went. Even he knew how shaky the idea sounded.
Rain just stared at him, genuinely taken aback, then switched to an appraising look and slowly scanned him up and down.
"Seriously?" he said, dubious. "This plan… came out of your muscle-packed smoker brain?"
He leaned in a little, voice taking on a teasing edge.
"Be honest. Who fed you that idea?"
"How did you—?!" Smoker answered reflexively.
The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them so much he wanted to slap himself. That was practically a confession.
Seeing Rain's of course expression, he gave up resisting.
With a huff, he plopped back onto his bed and, resigned, gave up his accomplice.
"It was Hina! It was Hina's idea! She couldn't get a single bite down at lunch today. After eating your cooking on the island, she said the mess hall food is completely inedible now. So… she asked me to bring it up when you got back and see if we could… talk you into it."
Rain didn't respond right away.
He just looked at the dejected Smoker with that faintly amused gaze that made him squirm.
"So," Rain finally said, voice laced with dry humor, "the star of the Monster Class, the great future hope of the Marines, is about to violate regulations—all for a decent meal?"
Then his tone switched, sharp as a knife.
"Your plan is full of holes. When's the patrol shift for the mess hall? Which cold room do they keep the good ingredients in? If a night patrol catches you, who's handling cleanup?"
The barrage of questions had Smoker sweating bullets. Only now did he realize how naive his original idea had been.
Once he saw the stunned look on Smoker's face, Rain leaned back against the locker and delivered the verdict.
"Forget it. Expecting you two to handle that was my mistake." He paused, then added, "But I'll do it."
Smoker's eyes lit up instantly. He opened his mouth to say something, but Rain raised a hand to stop him.
"But," Rain continued, eyes calm but pressing, "if I solve the food problem, it's not for free."
He looked straight at Smoker and spoke clearly, one word at a time.
"From now on, no matter what you see me do—even if it doesn't make sense—you'll keep it to yourself without question. And when I need cover, you'll give it to me. No hesitation."
"And obviously," he added at the end, "you'll be the one washing dishes and scrubbing pots after every meal."
Inside, Rain was perfectly composed and calculating.
Since they were living under the same roof, it was only a matter of time before Smoker stumbled onto some of his secrets.
Better to pull him onto his ship now than deal with trouble later.
And if he could secure a future pillar of the Marines as his ally with nothing more than good food… that was about as profitable a deal as you could ask for.