"What are you still doing here, brat? Why aren't you getting lost already?"
"I wanted to ask you about something."
"You damn brat, do you think my Moby Dick is one of those intelligence dens? If you want information, go find those lowlife fixers." Whitebeard lifted his wine jar and gulped down quite a bit more, leaving Marco, Thatch, and the other commanders beside him looking utterly helpless.
If Aleus had not been present as an outsider, they would have stopped Whitebeard from drinking so heavily long ago.
In recent years, Whitebeard's health had deteriorated drastically, growing worse by the day. After examining him, Marco had ordered him to drink less. Ideally, he should have quit drinking altogether, but as one of the first sons to follow Pops, Marco knew better than anyone that sampling fine liquor from around the world was Pops's greatest hobby.
Making Pops quit drinking...
That was an impossible mission.
Therefore, Marco could only settle for advising him to drink as little as possible. Even then, there was no stopping Pops from finding excuses to drink every few days. This was a perfect example: the Giant Race liquor Aleus had brought was such a huge jar that it would normally have lasted at least three days.
Now, it was already nearly empty.
What a headache! Marco silently let out a breath, feeling thoroughly frustrated. His eyes instinctively settled on Aleus with undisguised displeasure. It was all this brat's fault!
Aleus noticed Marco's unfriendly gaze and found it somewhat puzzling. He should not have offended this guy, right? Still, puzzling as it was, he kept his focus on the conversation. After all, he could not sense any killing intent from Marco—just plain irritation.
Keeping his head tilted up, he said:
"I want to know Sea Knight Jinbe's