The New World, Dalsk Island.
In this island town behind Punk Hazard, the air still carried a faint mingling of scorching heat and bitter cold drifting over from the distant island.
Inside the town's tavern, the atmosphere was especially peaceful.
Gern sat alone by the window, an untouched mug of ale on the wooden table before him.
When the tavern door swung open and its bell rang out crisply, he looked up just in time to see a tall figure ducking through the doorway.
The newcomer wore a white, long-sleeved V-neck shirt, black trousers, and tall black boots.
A dark green coat hung over his shoulders, a brown backpack rested on his back, and he wore round sunglasses and a knit cap pulled low over his head.
He looked every inch a drifter!
But his distinctive presence and build let Gern recognize him at a glance.
"I thought you were still taking a leisurely bicycle trip through the first half of the Grand Line."
The corners of Gern's mouth lifted as he raised his mug toward the man approaching his table.
"I didn't expect you to reach the New World so soon, Kuzan."
Kuzan, who had already left the Marines, pulled out a chair and sat down. He pushed his knit cap back, revealing a face that looked a little tired but as laid-back as ever.
Then he glanced at the full mug of ale Gern slid toward him and smiled. "Well... don't underestimate a man on a bicycle, Gern.
"His speed and endurance can be surprisingly good." He lifted the mug, taking only a habitual sip rather than gulping it down.
Then he set it down and looked at Gern, getting straight to the point. "So... instead of holding down the fort at G-10, the Marines' Grand Commander of