Early morning, the next day.
The sun had yet to rise in the east.
A faint white mist lingered in the air, drifting like layers of thin gauze.
On the small hill behind the Revolutionary Army base, two people lay sprawled on the ground in utterly disgraceful sleeping positions. Empty bottles were scattered everywhere, piling up behind them like miniature mountains.
Even now, the heavy scent of alcohol still hung thick in the air.
A ragged little girl crept toward the scene on tiptoe.
She looked no more than seven or eight years old—skinny, sallow-faced, her clothes patched over and over again. Her hair was slightly curled from long neglect.
If not for her lively black eyes, she could easily have been mistaken for a boy.
She clutched a carefully polished wooden stick in her hand, eyes locked on the piles of bottles ahead. Among them were half-finished drinks—and to her delight, several bottles that hadn't even been opened.
Her grin widened.
She moved quietly, savoring the scent of alcohol in the air, eyes half-closed in bliss.
The closer she got, the slower her movements became.
When she noticed liquor spilled all over the ground, her brows knitted together.
What a waste.
Don't these idiots fear divine punishment?
Since you're full and drunk already,
it's only right you pay tribute to this heroine.
After confirming both men were sound asleep, she finally dared to bend down and pick up an unopened bottle of rum.
"Ah—"
A sudden yawn sounded near her ear.
The girl dropped flat to the ground instantly.
The white-haired man had merely turned over, let out a lazy yawn, and gone right back to sleep.
She glared at him furiously.
During that turn, his arm landed squarely on top of the unopened bottle.
You look decent enough—how can you be such a bastard?
She ground her teeth silently.
After hesitating for a long while, she decided not to risk it. She picked up a bottle that still had half its contents left and carefully tucked it into her clothes.
Her eyes flicked toward the dried beef and peanuts scattered nearby. She swallowed hard—but in the end, turned away decisively.
"Stop."
A sharp voice came from behind her.
Her body stiffened—then she bolted.
She didn't make it two steps.
The white-haired man was suddenly standing in front of her, smiling faintly.
Logan looked down at the skinny little girl and asked calmly,
"So, you stole some alcohol. What were you planning to do with it?"
"Drink it, obviously. What else?" she snapped back without hesitation.
She hugged the bottle tightly, found an opening, and darted off in another direction.
Before she could escape, Logan lifted her clean off the ground by the collar.
"At your age, you should be learning something useful," he teased.
"Why are you copying adults and drinking?"
At the same time, he was quietly shocked.
The girl clearly had no martial training—yet she had approached him without making a sound. By the time he noticed her, she already had a bottle hidden in her clothes.
Even drunk, Logan's awareness of danger never truly shut down.
The girl thrashed in midair, kicking furiously—but her feet never came close.
"Put me down! Put me down!" she yelled.
"Whether I drink or not is none of your damn business!"
Logan lifted her even higher, smiling.
"A kid drinking like this—aren't you afraid your parents will find out? Where do you live? I'll take you straight home and let them teach you properly."
He was only trying to scare her.
From her patched clothes alone, he could tell she came from nothing.
The girl snorted coldly.
"My parents are dead. Let's see you go complain now."
Logan froze.
Seeing her expression, he knew she wasn't lying.
He gently set her down.
"Go," he said.
She didn't hesitate for even a second.
"Wait," Logan called again, picking up the unopened bottle and holding it out to her.
Instead of taking it, the girl angrily placed the half bottle she'd stolen on the ground.
"Keep your charity."
She turned and walked away, refusing to give him any chance to speak.
Logan watched her leave, helpless.
Stubborn little thing.
Then his eyes narrowed.
Her footsteps were steady.
Her breathing long and even.
There was something eerily familiar about the rhythm—uncannily similar to Water Breathing.
No wonder I didn't sense her at all.
Just then, Sabo sat up, chuckling.
"Don't let her age fool you. Dango's famous around here."
"She's a real drunkard. Some adults can't outdrink her."
Logan took another swig of alcohol, his expression strange. Back in his old world, heavy drinkers often drank again the morning after to sober up.
"That girl's talent is incredible. Haven't you noticed?"
Sabo sighed.
"Of course we have. Despite being a kid, her training intensity matches the grown men."
"She wants to learn swordsmanship, but she's not interested in my Dragon Claw. Koala teaches Fish-Man Karate, and Lightning—the vice commander—has been away for ages."
"So for now, she just trains alongside the soldiers."
Logan lowered his gaze, thoughtful.
"By the way," Sabo asked seriously,
"what you said last night about Ace being captured—what was that about?"
Logan waved it off casually.
"Drunken nonsense. Don't take it seriously."
Soon, Sabo was called away by a soldier to deal with official matters.
Left alone, Logan wandered leisurely through the busy Revolutionary Army base.
Before leaving, Sabo had told him that aside from classified areas, he was free to go anywhere.
So Logan strolled through the base at ease—
searching for his next sign-in location.
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