A faint rustle broke his thoughts. Perona appeared at the clearing's edge, floating gracefully, her umbrella spinning lazily above her pink head. In her arms, she carried Mihawk's black coat and Yoru, the massive blade resting against her shoulder despite its crushing weight. Her sparkling eyes swept over the scene—the forest's chaos, Zoro on the ground—before settling on Mihawk with amused curiosity. "Hihihi! You really made a mess, huh?" she chirped, her high-pitched voice cutting through the heavy silence. "That poor idiot's half-dead!"
Mihawk paused, tilting his head slightly to watch her approach. Without a word, he extended a hand, and Perona handed him the coat with a casual flick. He slipped it on in one fluid motion, the dark fabric settling over his shoulders like a second skin, restoring that imposing aura that made the world tremble. Then she offered Yoru, which he took with an almost reverent ease, the black blade glinting in the pale light like a natural extension of himself.
"We're leaving," he said, his voice calm but unyielding, leaving no room for debate. He cast a final glance at Zoro, still frozen in his stance despite his pitiful state. "Goodbye, Roronoa," he added, his words ringing like a final verdict. "Grow strong. Or die." There was no warmth or menace in his tone—just raw truth, a warning that weighed like a prophecy on the swordsman's shoulders.
Zoro didn't reply, his half-lidded eyes tracking Mihawk's form as he walked away. His wheezing breaths were the only sound piercing the silence, but his mind blazed with renewed resolve.
Enemies… he thought, his knuckles whitening around his sword hilts. I'll surpass you, bastard. And I'll take that title.
He stayed there, motionless, a statue of will amid the wreckage, until his strength gave out completely and he collapsed, unconscious but alive.
Mihawk strode toward the coast, Perona floating beside him. The coffin-shaped raft awaited them, anchored near the jagged cliffs, its black wood gleaming under the mist. Mihawk stepped aboard with steady confidence, resting Yoru against the lone mast, while Perona settled at the back, her umbrella open to shield her from the damp air.
"Hihihi! So, where we headed?" she asked, tilting her head with childish curiosity. Her ghosts danced around the raft, playing with the waves lapping against the hull. "You're not gonna make me row, right? 'Cause I'm not built for that!"
Mihawk adjusted his hat, his eyes scanning the misty horizon ahead. A faint, almost imperceptible smile brushed his lips—one Leo couldn't suppress, tinged with inner excitement. "We're going to find a ship," he replied, his low voice carrying an unspoken promise. "This raft's had its day. For what's next, we need something… bigger."
Perona blinked, caught off guard, then erupted into shrill laughter. "Hihihi! A ship? Like, a real one with sails and everything? You wanna play captain now?" She crossed her arms, floating higher to look down at him, a mischievous grin on her face. "Captain Mihawk… That's got a nice ring to it, actually!"
Inside Mihawk's mind, Leo's heart raced.
A ship… a fleet… an armada! he thought, his otaku side igniting at the prospect of turning Mihawk into a maritime force worthy of the Emperors. He envisioned a dark, majestic vessel, built for war, bearing the Hawk's name, with a crew ready to challenge the New World. But outwardly, Mihawk remained stoic, offering only a curt nod. "Something to carry my name… and my blade," he said simply, grasping the sail to steer the raft toward the horizon.
The raft glided slowly away from Kuraigana's shores, slipping over the waves with silent grace.
Mihawk stood at the front, Yoru behind his back, gazing into the foggy distance with cold intensity, golden eyes gleaming under his hat's shadow. Perona floated at the rear, idly twirling her umbrella, her ghosts swirling around her like playful shadows. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the water's slap and Perona's occasional giggles when one of her Negative Hollows did a silly flip.
Inside, Leo buzzed with excitement. It was time for Mihawk to become more than a swordsman—an absolute force, a living legend capable of defying the world. But for that, he needed a starting point, a place where his ambitions could take shape. And that place, he knew, was the Sabaody Archipelago—the crossroads of dreams and disasters, where pirates had been flocking en masse since Whitebeard's declaration at Marineford.
Mihawk dipped a hand into an inner coat pocket and pulled out an object: an Eternal Log Pose. The small compass, encased in a glass sphere, pointed firmly in one direction—Sabaody. Its needle quivered slightly, a testament to the archipelago's magnetic pull. He adjusted the sail with a precise motion, aligning the raft with the Log Pose's course.
Perona, watching from the corner of her eye, jolted at the sight. "Hihihi!" she laughed, floating closer for a better look, her umbrella spinning. "You're seriously going there with all the mess going on right now? It's crawling with dumb pirates and even dumber Marines!" She crossed her arms, cheeks puffing out in a sulky pout. "You're not worried we'll get jumped the second we step on those stupid bubbles?"
Mihawk didn't answer right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Inside, Leo grinned mentally.
She's not wrong—it's a madhouse out there. But that's exactly why we're going. Sabaody's the perfect launchpad to recruit, snag a ship, and show the world the Hawk's back.
Outwardly, Mihawk stayed impassive, brushing off Perona's rant with calculated coolness. He tweaked the Log Pose in his hand, then tucked it back into his pocket.
Perona narrowed her eyes, clearly miffed by his silence. "Hmpf! Ignoring me again, huh?" she grumbled, floating higher to glare down at him. "If we end up in jail because of your crazy ideas, I'll haunt you 'til you beg for mercy! Hihihi!" But despite her griping, she stayed aboard, her ghosts twirling around her like a personal guard. Deep down, she knew following Mihawk promised more adventure than rotting alone on a deserted island.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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