Creak!
A shrill squeak pierced the quiet alley as Sora and Kuina pushed open the weathered wooden door of Prosius Island's only tavern, stepping inside.
The dim interior was deserted, eerily silent. Only a wisp of smoke curling from behind the shadowy bar, punctuated by faint embers, hinted at life.
Up close, they saw an old man with a bushy beard, lounging on a recliner behind the counter, puffing away contentedly.
He didn't stir at the door's groan. After running this tavern his whole life on Prosius, he'd decided this year would be his last. His son had no interest in taking over.
Squinting through the haze, he lay there like a landlord savoring opium, utterly at ease.
When Sora perched on a high stool at the bar, the old man's eyes cracked open a sliver, giving him a fleeting glance.
Tap!
Tap-tap!
Tap-tap-tap!
Sora's fingers drummed a rhythm on the counter. Leaning forward, he peered through the smoke at the old man.
This guy reeked of stories—his weathered aura was impossible to mask.
"Hey, old-timer," Sora said, "it's broad daylight, and not a soul in here. Why not catch some sun outside? Sit in the dark too long, you'll get moldy."
The old man, pipe in mouth, rose unhurriedly. Through the mottled sunlight streaming from the window, he studied Sora and Kuina.
When he registered Sora's face, he froze—then, as if nothing happened, exhaled a smoke ring. "At my age, sun or no sun, I'm half in the grave. You young folks, though—you're something else."
"So, you know who we are?" Kuina caught the hint in his words, her brow furrowing as she questioned him.
"Don't know you," he replied.
"Really?" Kuina pressed, staring intently. His tone had betrayed recognition.
The old man didn't answer. He blew out a thick cloud of smoke, plucked the pipe from his lips with his left hand, and tapped it on the counter, knocking out the ash.
Reinserting the pipe, he fished out fresh tobacco, packed it in, and relit it. Only then did he meet Kuina's gaze, speaking slowly. "Some Marines this morning were talking about you."
"Marines?" Kuina asked.
"Here, take a look. They left these." From somewhere, the old man produced two wanted posters, sliding them across the counter.
Kuina snatched them up, scanning quickly.
"Sora, it's our bounties!"
"Oh," Sora replied flatly, unfazed. He was far more intrigued by the old man than the posters.
Fixing him with a mock scowl, Sora asked, "Old-timer, if you know us, aren't you scared?"
"Know you?" The old man puffed his pipe, squinting hazily at Sora. "Do I?"
Sora held his gaze, then grinned. "Right, you don't know us. How could you?"
Sharp old geezer, he thought.
The man clearly recognized them but played dumb to avoid trouble—a master of feigned ignorance.
"Oh, by the way," Sora said, "how far's the voyage to Loguetown from here?"
Their main route was Loguetown, then through Reverse Mountain's canal to the Grand Line. If not for the detour to Cocoyasi Village, they'd already be there.
"Loguetown?" The old man mused. "About a day's sail, give or take."
"A day?" Sora's eyes lit up with excitement. The Grand Line's almost in reach.
East Blue was too tame for them—no challenge at all.
Noticing Sora's eagerness, the old man asked leisurely, "So, you're headed for the Grand Line?"
"Yup."
"It's no easy trip," he warned, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes.
"Oh?" Sora leaned in. "Sounds like you've been there, old-timer."
He'd pegged the man as a storyteller from the start, and here came the tale.
The old man's face lit up with curiosity. "Tell us about the Grand Line."
Removing his pipe, he shook out the ash, took a deep drag, and spoke slowly. "Never made it to the Grand Line myself. Wanted to when I was young, but at Reverse Mountain, we couldn't navigate the canal. Ship wrecked, crew lost."
"If I hadn't been lucky—saved by the lighthouse keeper there—I wouldn't have made it back."
His hand trembled as he puffed, the memory still raw.
"That bad?" Sora's face flashed with surprise.
"Terrifying," the old man said, exhaling. "Countless ships try for the Grand Line every year, but only half make it.
Reverse Mountain's currents aren't for ordinary ships, and the canal's entrance is narrow. Without a skilled navigator, you're done."
"Eh." Sora shrugged, losing interest in the old man's sob story. He only cared about the Grand Line itself.
As for Reverse Mountain? To them, it was like a theme park rollercoaster.
Sensing Sora's nonchalance, the old man's urge to elaborate faded. To ordinary folk, Reverse Mountain was a highway to hell. To a 70-million-Belly pirate, it was probably a ditch.
He grabbed a glass, wiped it, and poured juice for Kuina and wine for Sora. After years running a tavern, he could spot a drinker instantly.
"Thanks, old-timer," Kuina said, accepting the juice. She wasn't fond of alcohol.
Sora, however, was another story. He sipped the wine, nodded approvingly, then shook his head.
The old man raised a brow. "What's wrong, kid?"
"Good wine," Sora said, "but not strong enough."
"Strong?"
"Yeah. Low-proof stuff tastes flat to me."
"Gotcha," the old man said, intrigued.
(End of Chapter)