"Welcome!"
"Yes, good afternoon. I have two ten-year-old boys," I began, glancing around the elegant shops along one of High Town's finest streets, "and I need a few things for them."
"Ah, boys that age…" the shop assistant chuckled. She looked at least twenty years younger than me and stepped out from behind the counter.
Three mannequins stood in the center of the room. A fourth, dressed like a small child, sat in a chair beside them. Clothes were arranged neatly along the walls, while the next room displayed shoes, belts, and hats. Another room further inside contained winter garments.
I walked slowly through the store, examining the fabrics and getting a sense of what they offered.
Forty minutes later—after inventing, selecting, and ordering several additional outfits that did not even exist yet but had occurred to me during the process—I instructed the girl to send everything to my address. I had bought a small house in High Town about a year and a half earlier, just before winter began.
Sabo had strongly opposed the purchase.
But he hated the cold, and eventually he admitted that a proper fireplace was much better than freezing in our summer residence.
My annual journey beyond the Grand Line was approaching again.
I had decided to equip the boys with far more clothes than necessary. During my previous absence they had managed to change outfits perhaps three times—and that only if they wore the same ragged clothes repeatedly.
It is worth mentioning that I had only been gone for a month.
Fortunately, my trips to the other side of the world did not ruin my life.
Quite the opposite.
The nearly three years I had spent raising the boys had filled my life with color, joy, and an indescribable sense of purpose.
Ace was becoming more and more like his father every day.
Though, unfortunately, I could also recognize several of my own faults in him.
Sabo, meanwhile, was growing into a thoughtful and logical young man.
They were complete opposites—and yet I had never seen a more perfectly balanced pair.
They spent their days running around the Grey Terminal claiming they were "training." They often returned covered in blood, grinning like idiots.
And nothing could convince them to stop.
Not threats.
Not curses.
Not blackmail.
That summer in particular they often came home soaked from head to toe, because the heat was unbearable and they spent entire days swimming in the river.
My warnings about dangerous animals were completely useless.
If anything, the more dangerous the creature sounded, the more interested they became.
As for my own worldly affairs—I still had several islands under my protection, a considerable fortune, and a number of social obligations—I postponed everything until the last possible moment.
That moment was usually when I crossed the Grand Line.
Then I handled everything at once.
Very efficiently.
The closer my departure approached, the more unbearable the boys became.
During short breaks between meals they kept asking if they could come with me.
The answer was always the same.
No.
I repeated it perhaps one hundred and fifty times before Ace came up with the brilliant idea of going on a hunger strike.
Apparently he had "heard somewhere that it worked."
It worked well enough that he received a proper beating, after which the idea mysteriously disappeared.
Sabo, on the other hand, chose a more diplomatic strategy.
"How long will you be gone?" he asked one evening.
"As long as usual."
"You're going to visit your islands?"
"Probably."
"And if the authorities come asking about our parents, what should I tell them?"
"That when I return I'll chase them straight to hell."
"You know, Pebble," he said with visible disgust, "I don't think the authorities care about that."
"Exactly," Ace added. "They'll come, they'll see us, and they'll take us away. Then what will you do? Declare war on the whole town?"
"On the whole world if necessary," I replied calmly.
This made absolutely no impression on them.
"What nonsense have you put into your heads?" I continued. "You're ten years old and already dreaming about sailing beyond the Red Line."
"Why would anyone ask about our age at Reverse Mountain?" Sabo said, shaking his head at my supposed ignorance.
My protégé even went so far as to claim that I didn't understand my own reasons for refusing.
"You're just afraid," he concluded confidently.
I admit my jaw dropped.
Even the most powerful figures in the world would not have dared to say such a thing to me.
"That's right!" Ace agreed triumphantly, crossing his arms over his chest.
I sat between them, under attack from their combined arguments, and despite everything I couldn't help feeling a strange admiration.
For the record, we were sitting beneath the treehouse, finishing preparations for the coming months.
As usual, the boys had somehow accumulated an enormous amount of useless junk during the winter.
They refused to throw away even a single piece of their "treasures," yet somehow managed to lose perfectly good shoes, shirts, and jackets to the ocean.
Apparently they traded clothes at the Grey Terminal.
I admired the ingenuity.
Just not when it cost me money.
We lounged peacefully on the carefully arranged garden furniture, while a bowl of blueberry sorbet cooled on the table in front of us.
It should also be noted that Ace had already managed to smear the stuff halfway up his arms.
"Oh yes," I said eventually, though I had no idea how to respond.
There was clearly some kind of conspiracy between them.
It had been developing for quite some time, and I had not yet managed to uncover it.
I decided not to question them like some overprotective mother.
Instead I would wait patiently until they came to me.
Then, in a moment of maternal wisdom, I would deliver advice they would remember for the rest of their lives.
I was not entirely sure what that wisdom would be.
But I was certain I would find something.
"You have to admit, Pebble," Ace said, "that we're not seven anymore. We're ten."
As if that were the final argument.
"We're old enough to fight, hunt our own food—"
"And trip over your own feet while sulking," I added, gently ruffling his hair.
"Ten or not," Sabo said firmly, "we want to sail with you."
"And besides…"
"So you dream of sailing beyond the Grand Line and becoming pirates, do you?"
I froze.
I could not remember where I had heard that voice before.
But it was impossible.
It simply couldn't be.