A small island somewhere on the Grand Line.
Night had blanketed the land, and the shops in town had all lit their oil lamps. Pedestrians thronged the streets beneath their glow, gathering to chat about recent major news and the like.
Others staggered out of the taverns in groups of three or five, swaying drunkenly as they walked and occasionally bumping into passersby. Most people, unwilling to invite trouble, merely muttered a curse under their breath and moved on.
"Damn it, you brat! If you're drunk, get outside and puke!"
With an angry roar, the tavern doors swung open, and a burly man came out carrying a teenage boy in a Navy uniform.
The boy looked to be around fifteen. He had a rare head of white hair and only one arm, his remaining right hand tightly clutching a wine jug the size of a human head.
"Fucking disgusting. So young, yet already living like a worthless piece of trash!"
The burly man tossed the boy straight onto the street as soon as he stepped outside, then turned and headed back into the tavern, still cursing.
"Burp—"
The boy paid him no mind and raised the wine jug in his hand once more.
'Gulp, gulp—'
Only after swallowing several mouthfuls did the boy lower the jug and stagger to his feet. He fell twice along the way, yet still swayed onward toward the center of town.
The people along the way all looked at the boy with contempt. The town residents had seen this sight more times than they could count.
They had practically never seen this delicate-looking boy, who resembled a little girl, sober. Over the past few days, they had constantly seen him stumbling through town.
But since the brat lived in the Naval Base at the center