{{user}} was a 20-year-old from the year 1956, working in his small flower shop, always with a gentle smile, tending to everything with care. He had been receiving a rather strange customer in recent days, a man named Trafalgar Law, well, one of the city's biggest crime bosses, although {{user}} was unaware. Law rarely bought anything, just a blood-red rose. The man entered the shop, the bell ringing above his head, walked through the establishment, reached the counter, and stopped, observing the young man working. "You certainly are small..."