In a bar off the main road sat an assortment of fathers who’d sent their families off to march in the costume parade, mixed in with other unremarkable types who weren’t taking part in the festivities.
Given the times, idle chatter among people with too much time on their hands always turned to pirates, sooner or later.
“How many decades ago did Gold Roger die?! Why haven’t people moved on from all this King of the Pirates and One Piece stuff already?” said a disheveled, skinny hoodlum, leaning against the counter of the bar as though he were dispensing great wisdom.
“Yeah, Roger was a real low-down lowlife, the worst of the worst,” agreed the young man next to him.
Enter a young man named Ace. His hat was pulled low and he wore a cloak over his shoulders to disguise himself as a simple wanderer. He was wearing a cheap, flimsy mask that was little more than a fake nose; a cheap trinket he’d purchased from a roadside stand, as though he’s just needed something to allow him to take part in the festivities. In fact, the nose had a long mustache attached—only after he bought it did he realize it was probably supposed to be a Whitebeard mask.
“Oh? You think so too, pal? That’s right, it ain’t the era of brute strength anymore! Adventure? Treasure maps? Are those things really worth putting your life in danger?”
“Drink up, pal,” said Ace, pouring more booze into the mug of the hoodlum, who was already quite red-faced.
“Thanks for the refill, friend… What were we talkin’ about again?”
“The guy who runs this town,” said Ace. He’d picked out the hoodlum in the bustling center of the town in the hopes of getting the word straight from the street.
“That’s Oliva, of course! After the old boss passed away, the kid took over his position.”
“Yeah, you said that before. What was the old boss like?”
“Oh, he was…um, an old-fashioned pirate, in all the good an’ bad ways. When he forged ties with Whitebeard and brought prosperity to Port Chibaralta, that was great. But he was real big on rules. Don’t do this, don’t do that, blah blah blah…”
“Certain things are taboo in Whitebeard’s territory. Like drugs…”
“And slaves.”
As one might guess from the fact that he included Fish-Man Island as part of his territory, Whitebeard did not abide by formalized systems of racial prejudice and slavery.
“People and ships come through Port Chibaralta all the time. Money changes hands here every second of the day. Casinos, fights, concerts, all manner of entertainment… Even a little bar like this one does a lotta business. But the old boss decided to outlaw all buying and selling of slaves in this town, in exchange for the protection of Whitebeard’s flag,” said the hoodlum.
Now that he was drunk, he was a complaining machine. Apparently he’d previously been a successful broker for slavers, but now he was reduced to small-time jobs to get by.
Port Chibaralta’s fortune was built upon the profits generated by gambling and entertainment at the port. The bars and taverns, hotels, shipbuilders, public markets…all of them fell under Oliva’s racket. And by paying a portion of that up to Whitebeard, he received the protection of a flag backed by tens of thousands of soldiers.
And the World Government and Navy had no control there. They couldn’t interfere. Navy ships did stop at the port from time to time, of course, but it was always handled with hush money under the table; each side trying not to cause trouble with the other. Though of course, given their position as the attack dogs of the government, the Navy was always looking for a chance to carve up the Four Emperors’ territory and weaken their stranglehold on the New World…
“See, there’s so much money rolling through this port! So when Oliva took over, he started to reform the old ways and loosen those regulations!”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to ask about,” said Ace. He looked around carefully and brought out a picture.
The hoodlum held his breath. “Hey pal, that’s a mermaid!”
It was a picture of a young mermaid—along with a single mermaid scale, still fresh.
“You bet. One of the girls who used to be a hit attraction at the Mermaid Café.”
“You mean,” the hoodlum gasped, his voice a whisper now, “you’ve got a young mermaid?”
He couldn’t hide his excitement. The only people legal to sell as slaves were criminals like pirates, and residents of countries who were not members of the World Government. A slave’s price could vary quite a lot by race and sex, but young mermaids were some of the most valuable, worth up to tens of millions of berries. If you put one on auction at the Sabaody Archipelago, a Celestial Dragon was likely to push up the price as high as necessary to win.
“Yeah, and I’m not sure how to sell her off. I heard some stories about this place, so I came here. See, I’m technically under Whitebeard’s care at the moment. I don’t want to do anything that breaks his moral code, but…”
“Moral code, shmoral code! Whitebeard’s just another stupid pirate.”
Ace waited.
“What makes him any different from hooligans like us? He steals, and pillages, and kills…and kills and kills and kills until he stands atop all the other villains in the world. And then he wants to get on his high horse and say ‘Don’t sell slaves’? What a hypocrite! All of us live by taking things from one another! Pirates take lives! And slavers take freedom… So what’s the difference?”
The man sure did like to state his case. Ace fixed the hoodlum with a hard stare.
“Let’s say, hypothetically…that my mermaid got away without me knowing, and happened to get sold to someone else. That’s not my fault, right?”
“Nope. Not your fault at all, friend.”
“I can go fifty-fifty. I just want her off my hands,” Ace said, laying out the bait.
“Seventy-thirty.”
“Don’t get greedy.”
“Who’s the greedy one? I’m the guy sticking his neck out.”
“Fine, fine… When you see her in person, your eyes’ll pop out,” Ace said, sticking the photo and scale into the hoodlum’s pocket.
The photo was one that Ace’s crew took at the Mermaid Café on Fish-Man Island. And the scale was from a mermaid he happened to know…
“Oooh, that nice, huh? You haven’t been messin’ with her at all, right? Well, Oliva will decide the price, anyway.”
“And when can I meet this Oliva guy?”
“Tonight’s the Festival of Thanks; it’s a once-a-year business opportunity, and Oliva’s a busy man. But a mermaid will change the dynamic entirely. Just you wait, I’ll put in the good word for you!” said the hoodlum ingratiatingly, and rushed off to speak with his boss.