"Shanks?"
Beckman reached out and gently rested a hand on his captain's shoulder.
Unexpectedly, Shanks jolted as though something had frightened him, his body giving a convulsive twitch.
"B-Beckman!"
Shanks cried out before finally registering what was happening.
"What is it?"
"The semifinals are over. The audience is leaving."
Beckman first gestured at their surroundings, then looked at his captain with some concern.
"Are you all right?"
"Ha, ha, ha—what could possibly be wrong with me?"
Shanks laughed dryly, pretending nothing had happened.
Mihawk gave Shanks a doubtful look.
After their sword duel ended yesterday, Mihawk had wanted to hear Shanks's thoughts on "White Face." Despite his exhaustion, he had resolutely followed in the direction Shanks had left.
After walking for a while, he discovered that Shanks and that bizarre-looking bunch had entered a luxurious restaurant.
By the time he came to his senses...
Mihawk was astonished to find himself already sitting beside Shanks.
They had their arms around each other's shoulders. Their right hands, which had held swords earlier, now each held a glass of liquor as they competed to outdrink one another.
This Straw Hat seemed to possess a terrifying power to bewitch people...
Mihawk had originally regarded Shanks as a Great Swordmaster on his own level. He had intended to continue dueling him whenever time allowed, until they finally settled who was better.
But now it seemed this Straw Hat Boy had something wrong with his head...
"Both people onstage have already left."
Mihawk pointed at the platform, then at the now-empty arena.
"We—no, you and I—no, I'm leaving too!"
"Come on, let's go!"
Shanks stepped forward and slung an arm around Mihawk's shoulders.
"We're not going home sober tonight!"
Mihawk let Shanks steer him forward a couple of steps before belatedly asking...
"...What?!"
"You're dueling that