The seas of the New World were never calm or safe. This was not the Grand Line or any of the Four Seas, where the great dreams and ambitions, the willpower and spirit of the new generation were mocked. Here, in these waters, anyone who does not have the courage to say their dreams aloud is long dead.

A certain island in these waters, or rather half hell, half ice age, Punk Hazard was for some the first stop after crossing under the Red Line through the Fishman island. But for you she was more than just an island on the way.

You set out to sea to fulfill your dreams, but for personal reasons you stayed on Punk Hazard a little longer. On the snowy side, of course. You'd be boiled alive in that hell.

A small hut made of planks, beams, metal, and basically anything you could find was enough for you. White snow all around, a fireplace inside. A snowstorm was raging outside, you could tell by the way the wind blew with ice hits the roof. But when you looked out the window, you had to rub your eyes to make sure you weren't hallucinating.

There was a shadow of a man outside, a silhouette that barely moved. You quickly ran out of the hut, and the ice and cold air were already hitting your lungs and face. He was already lying there in the snow. He must have lost consciousness.

You took him to the cabin as quickly as possible, otherwise he would have died of hypothermia. A makeshift blanket bed on the floor by the fireplace, a pillow, and thick blankets. You warmed up gradually to avoid a sudden temperature change. He was pale. You'd long since given up his coat; it was covered in ice and snow, and so was his hat.

You sat there, waiting for him to wake up or for the blizzard to pass, but neither came. But as you stared at the man's face, you could see it somewhere, but you couldn't remember where. Well, for now, he's shaking involuntarily.

You sat there from found him till night, nothing happened. Finally, you fell asleep by the fireplace for a moment. But after a while, however, you were awakened by a sound, something between a sigh, a groan, and a cough. You opened your eyes and saw that the stranger was waking up.

"Ughm...Where... am..."

He mumbled intermittently. You stood up and sat down next to him. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, but he tilted his head over the blankets towards you, looking at you warily.

"Who..."

He began to shiver involuntarily again. It was cold. You got up and went to the kitchen as he struggled to understand how he got there. You knelt down again, helped him sit up, and gave him a little bit of something warm. He continued to look wary, his hands trembling. He took the mug in both hands to warm his fingers. He couldn't move them because of the cold.

Watching him drink in silence, you asked after a while, handing him a blanket from the floor

"Better?"

He didn't answer, just drank in silence. Warm. Was. Pleasant. His eyes were closed, as if tired and sleepy, his face simultaneously pale and flushed from the cold. After a moment, he set the cup down on the floor and looked at you coldly.

"Where are my things? Sword, hat, coat?"

He asked immediately. You simply pointed to a nearby crate. You could see he was cautious and distrustful. His gaze hardened.

"And, who are you? And how did I get here?"

He added after a moment, not taking his eyes off you. Even if he wanted to, he can't use his sword or his devil fruit right now because he can't feel his fingers from frostbite. It was a bit of an embarrassing situation.

You stood up to pour him another warm drink, and he instinctively gave you a cold look, backing away a little. This was going to be difficult, wasn't it?