Viliya Port — Inside a lavish villa in the heart of the city.
With a sharp bang, the top-floor window burst open under the force of the howling wind. A flurry of snowflakes rushed in, carried by the storm.
The sudden intrusion made everyone in the room stop their discussion and turn toward the window.
The fireplace crackled with a roaring flame, and the snowflakes, meeting the heat, melted in midair—except for one large flake that managed to land on the floor. Before it could melt, a large foot clad in a hole-ridden wool sock stepped on it, crushing it to slush.
Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, Aaron quickly shut the window and retreated to the far corner of the room, bowing his head respectfully toward a man with a hooked nose.
The hooked-nose man was in his mid-forties, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, hair slicked back immaculately. A braided beard framed his chin, and a cigar smoldered between his lips. Most people in the room had their eyes on him, waiting for his word—or even just his nod.
This man was none other than Akio, boss of the largest underworld organization in Viliya Port—the Frosthorn Gang. His name carried weight across both the underworld and the legitimate circles of Drum Kingdom.
One popular rumor claimed he was born in a remote mountain village in Drum Kingdom, growing up among the snowy peaks. As a young man, he left with a crew to sail the seas and vanished for over a decade. When he returned, he was already a pirate captain—and the Frosthorn Gang was born from the remnants of the Akio Pirates.
Aaron didn't know if those rumors were true, but he could feel Akio's overwhelming presence clearly.
It was a sensation he knew well. Back when he was a slave in the Holy Land of Mariejois—living each day on the edge of death—he had felt this same powerful aura from Marine Vice Admirals and Cipher Pol agents who passed through.
Ever since awakening his Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki) by accident, Aaron had been able to sense such presences with even greater clarity—whether strong or weak, hidden or exposed.
Even when someone suppressed their aura, Aaron could still feel it by closing the distance.
And there was no doubt in his mind—Akio's strength was on par with a Marine Vice Admiral. That made the pirate captain rumors almost certainly true.
It was for this reason that Aaron had stowed away to this port city in search of a certain Devil Fruit. After a fateful encounter with Akio himself, he'd decided to join the gang.
Tonight, his luck had peaked. The shipment of Healing Goddess liquor he transported turned out to be genuine, saving the Frosthorn Gang millions of Berries. On top of that, he had killed two members of their rival gang, the Dars Gang, winning Akio's favor and an invitation to this very room.
When the wind had blown open the window, Akio had finally noticed Aaron—the quiet newcomer in the corner.
By the firelight, Akio glanced at Aaron's frostbitten, purplish-blue feet, then at the young man's respectful bow. Intrigued, he spoke:
"Kid… I hear from Old Jack that you took out two Dars Gang men tonight. True?"
"Yes, Mr. Akio. My name is Aaron, and I was fortunate enough to kill two of them," Aaron replied, stepping forward and bowing deeply. His voice was steady, his expression humble.
Politeness often left a good impression, and Akio found himself pleased with Aaron's manners—especially that "Mr. Akio."
In the gang, people called him many things: "Boss" most often, "Big Bro" less so, and "Captain" from his old pirate days. But Mr.? Almost never.
A simple, ordinary title.
Yet for Akio, it felt almost luxurious. After all these years, most people still saw him as a pirate—an infamous one.
To many, pirates didn't deserve to be addressed as "Mister," especially one who was both a pirate captain and a crime boss. Some even thought the term would insult him.
"It's Boss, you idiot!"
The voice boomed from a bald, bear-sized man whose eyes bulged like a raging bull's. He glared at Aaron with menace and took a step forward, ready to "teach" the kid some manners.
A fist the size of a cooking pot shot toward Aaron.
Aaron lowered his head further, standing still. He quietly activated his Observation Haki, intending to take the punch on the hardest part of his body.
But to his surprise, the incoming fist stopped—blocked by a sword. No matter how hard the bald brute strained, the blade didn't budge.
"What's the meaning of this, Reggie? Why're you stopping me?"
The swordsman, an elderly man with white hair and a face full of wrinkles, looked at least seventy. His body seemed thin, but his single-handed block was unshakable—even against the full force of the massive brawler.
"Horton, Lord Akio hasn't spoken yet. It's not your place to act," Reggie said coldly.
Realizing Akio's eyes were indeed sharp with displeasure, Horton immediately deflated, stepping back into line—though he still shot Aaron a venomous glare.
What a pointless mess, Aaron thought.
His instincts for reading people were well-honed. From the way Akio dressed and carried himself—speaking slowly and deliberately—he seemed more a gentleman than a street boss. That's why Aaron had chosen to say "Mr. Akio."
He could tell Akio liked it. He hadn't expected it to offend Horton.
Aaron had even planned to take Horton's punch—thinking it could ease tensions and maybe even make Akio dislike Horton. But Reggie's interference had only made Horton resent him more.
Now, Aaron wasn't angry at Horton, the brainless musclehead. Instead, he found himself slightly annoyed at the sharp-minded old swordsman.
"Horton, enough. Aaron's new, not even officially one of us yet. It's normal he doesn't know our rules. And I rather like being called 'Mr. Akio.'"
Akio gave Horton a small glare, then nodded approvingly to Reggie. Turning back to Aaron, he smiled faintly.
"Aaron, you did well tonight. From this moment, you're one of the Frosthorn Gang. Do you accept?"
"Yes, Lord Akio! I swear I will follow you to the death!" Aaron exclaimed, dropping to one knee with visible joy.