-Loguetown.
A young man dressed in a biker gang's uniform swaggered down the streets of Loguetown with a pack of biker underlings sporting much the same look.
At the sight of his grass-green mohawk and demonlike face, passersby lowered their heads and moved aside, unwilling to provoke him.
"Hahaha! Boys, we took another three streets today!"
Bartolomeo was the boss of the Barto Club, a gang of Loguetown hoodlums. He was the sort nobody could stand.
He had been running with gangs since childhood, and this year, he had already brought fifty streets under his "protection." His career was going quite well.
"That's our boss! Since business is booming, why don't we make our goal to 'protect' fifty more streets every year?"
Gambia, a fashionably dressed man in sunglasses who called himself the "Missionary," spoke up.
He was the Barto Club's adviser and the most educated man among them. He had attended school for three whole years.
"Oh! Great idea! Boys! Let's head to Granny's and throw a party!"
At Bartolomeo's words, his underlings broke into wild howls.
The three Artificial Angels who had joined them as "failures from the Grand Line" had also fit in well over the past few months. They joined the raucous cheering.
The granny Bartolomeo mentioned lived on the outskirts of Loguetown, somewhere resembling the fringe between town and countryside, where she ran a snack shop.
It looked like one of those old-fashioned candy shops from Japan on Blue Star in the sixties or seventies.
Ever since the Barto Club's hoodlums were children, Granny had looked after them and given them plenty of little snacks.
So although they had grown into a rowdy bunch, they respected Granny deeply. They often brought her things, helped her out, and supported her business.
And so Bartolomeo led his