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An old song plays on a piano. Its familiar notes echo off the cold, stone ground. You’ve heard this melody often in your wanderings — slow and solemn in dimly lit taverns, upbeat and buoyant at bustling docks.
You’re out of the darkness but your mind remains underwater. There is pain yet waiting above the surface.
Someone is singing. You think you recognize the shade of their soothing timbre and the careful joy peeking out from beneath a grief so grave you can’t even bear to contemplate it. Other voices join in, too many you don’t know, and a few as dear as the hilt of Wado in your grip.
The singing goes on and on and you lose all understanding of time. You’re floating in a space without up or down. There is no pain here, this much you know.
In the next second or minute or eternity, you sense a hand stroking your hair, and the touch engulfs you in a torrent of warmth. The accompanying laughter skims your ear, as soft as the wings of a dragonfly.
He’s still here, you think. Relief temporarily robs you of air. He lives. The Warlord kept his word.
He asks after you; another friendly voice answers. The hand retreats, and you are awash with fear because you cannot see and you cannot move and you cannot speak and you cannot draw a sword when he needs you to.
So you try to swim upward, guided by light refracting in the waters that your mind escaped to. But the harder you kick, the faster that razor-like pain returns. It’s carved into every inch of your skin — a thousand cuts for the sin of not being strong enough.
It’s too much too fast. Your muscles are torn and your skin is on fire. There is pain yet waiting above the surface, and you may truly die if it takes hold of you once more. Your body rebels; your mind resigns.
You sink once more, away from the warmth.
***
Stark against a world blanketed in snow, the plum blossoms are crimson as blood. Inside the grove, there is no escape from their dominating fragrance.
The red is too loud, Sensei likes to say, since he prefers the simple rocks and sands of his meditation garden. He would never think to look for Kuina here, after another argument where she is still too obedient of a daughter to fully plead her case.
So she comes here to practice her sword, each swing cutting air and snow and shapeless expectations she claims to have reconciled with.
You are the one who finds her. You remember now. This is the winter before your eleventh year.
She looks the same as she ever does, as she always will — stubborn, determined, just a little angry at the world. She’s not wearing a coat or hat or gloves, and the tips of her ears and nose are almost as red as the plum blossoms she stands beneath.
You go closer. She sees you coming. You realize she’s still taller than you, and you have to crane your neck to meet her eyes.
“Come back, Kuina. You’re going to catch a cold,” this is what you say. Your voice is high pitched and it cracks mid-way.
You recall her response, and you see her mouth move to the sound in your memories, like the scripted lines of a play you’ve seen before, “Leave me alone, Zoro. I don’t want to see my dad right now.”
The rest is somewhat a blur. You try to convince her, but she sees it as you taking Sensei’s side. The sound of your squabble falls loudly amidst the silent snow. You hear it but cannot decipher the syllables, until she yells in your face, meaner than she has ever been, “Why do you even care?!”
You’re hurt, but you can’t let a girl see that she’s hurt you. You roll your eyes and retort, “Because we’re friends, stupid.”
Kuina drops her sword. It disappears into the snow with a thud. You think it’s bizarre because Kuina would never treat her precious sword like so.
She is looking at you, but her eyes seem to see nothing. Her hands are unmoving at her sides, her head crooked and her face stuck in an expressionless stare that chills you to the stomach.
“Kuina?” you ask, but you know this isn’t part of the script.
“You lie,” she says.
You're too stunned to make sense of the change. You don’t like the way she stares at you, hollow and unfeeling. So you defend yourself, voice whiny and broken, “No! You are! You’re my best friend! We made a promise together, remember?”
Kuina smirks, and it is not like her at all. Her words land like daggers, “I do. It is you who have forgotten.”
She steps closer, and you realize she must now crane her neck to see you. You look at your hands, which are large and scar-ridden. The calluses between your index fingers and thumbs are thick and mature.
You speak, and it’s gravelly with the weight of time once more, “Never, Kuina. I would never forget our promise.”
Her smile is hurtful on purpose and at odds with your memories of her. But you understand why she feels betrayed.
Her small hands press forward to touch your arms, and pain fills you when she makes contact. Pain, neverending pain, pain that is enough to kill, pain you took upon yourself without hesitation or regret.
She moves away, and the pain blissfully pauses.
“But you did, Zoro,” she accuses. “You chose to die. You chose to abandon your future. Your ambition means nothing. Our dream means nothing.”
You choke at the empty rage, rage at yourself for letting Kuina believe even for a moment that you’d forget your promise. You wish you could carve out your heart and let Kuina see the brand of your shared dream tattooed upon it.
But you’re panicked. And you don’t want the pain to come back. At a loss for words, you say nothing. Kuina scowls at your cowardice.
“You promised!” she howls. “My dream dies forever if you die! Don’t you understand that?”
You do. You truly do. But there was no time for thinking, for doubts, for anything, because the enemy could not be stopped, and you were the last line of defense standing between the Warlord and your crew, between Kuma and him.
Your tongue is pure lead in your mouth. It does not matter. Kuina blinks once, and her scowl deepens.
“‘Him’?” she asks, plucking the word out of your head. “How can he matter more than our promise?”
“I don’t know!” you cry. The truth flows out like surging rapids. “But he does….” He does. He does. He does. He matters more than anything.
Kuina is in your mind. She hears everything. She’s crying now, her tiny hands rubbing her reddened eyes. Her sob of despair twists your insides.
“I’m sorry, Kuina,” you try to apologize, but you would do it again, and knowing that, any apology is merely an empty condolence. You would do it ten thousand times and another ten thousand more if it means saving his life.
She doesn’t stop crying. She’s so small. She will forever remain this small — a little fae of a girl for whom time has stopped. You will never see her stand tall, sword in her hands, a loving family by her side. She will never write you letters or send mementos from her travels. She lives solely in your pride, and you have chosen to discard it.
You bridge the space between you, and you hug her with a bravery you did not possess all those years ago. She is wiry-thin in your arms and colder than the snow around you. Your warmth cannot reach her. You know your apologies would never be enough.
So you say, “Haunt me, Kuina. Chastise me in my sleep. Never allow me a night’s rest. Yell. Scream. Berate me so I will keep chasing our dream. But I don’t regret my choice. I can’t. Please understand. If he died….” you choke, because the thought of it alone is unfathomable torture. You hope Kuina can sense the horror in your mind and excuse your weakness.
Kuina says nothing. She sobs in your arms, and her tears pierce your skin like icicles. You hug her tighter, and you feel the inherent cruelty of your actions and inactions.
The snow continues to fall. The snow will soon begin to melt. When the plum blossoms wilt and the earth beneath turns into a verdant sea, Kuina will leave you and this world behind.
You hope to hold her until that time.
***
There is pain yet waiting above the surface. But it will be bearable again. You swim toward the light. Someone is waiting for you under the sun.
When you open your eyes — your actual eyes — the world is bright. Luffy is sitting on the ground by your side, arms wrapped around bent knees, curled up like a ball.
He notices you’re awake. His only reaction is a bubbly smile.
The dull pain hits you belatedly, and you can’t hold back a groan, but it’s already much better than you could have hoped for. Chopper must have worked tirelessly.
As if reading your mind, Luffy says, “Chopper finally went to sleep a short while ago. Nami says unless you’re feverish or bleeding again, we should just let him rest. Is that OK? How are you feeling?”
You nod. You don’t need to cause any more trouble. It’s a miracle that you’re even alive.
“Fine, Luffy. I’ll be fine.” Your voice is hoarse from the effort of holding back screams. You might have screamed nonetheless.
“That’s what I told them! Everyone was super worried, but I wasn’t. I told them, ‘Zoro’s the strongest fighter I know!’ They still wouldn’t let me feed you any booze though.”
Closing your eyes would feel better. The sunlight streaming through the crumbled castle walls are blinding. But you want to see him. You can’t bear to let him out of sight.
He’s still here, you marvel. Pride swells up inside. You did this — you kept your captain safe.
Luffy doesn’t ask what happened, and you’re infinitely relieved because you would never wish to disappoint him with an admission of disgrace.
“Oh, here!” Luffy sets your sword by your head. “For some reason, they were next to me when I woke up. I kept them safe for you. The new one is really cool, by the way!”
The white of Wado Ichimonji rebukes you with her presence. Blurred memories of Kuina’s bitter tears sting your bandaged palm. You must have flinched because Luffy is looking at you curiously.
“Zoro?”
The crinkle between his brows turns your legs to jelly. The slight pout upon his lips flips your stomach upside down.
“Nothing, Luffy,” you say, not wanting him to worry. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Packing the ship, or raiding Moria’s stuff. Nami told me to stay out of the way.” He’s still studying you, like he doesn’t buy your deliberate avoidance, and that’s odd, because he’s more gullible than most children.
You try to sit up, but your muscles and joints don’t work the way you want them to. Luffy’s gentle hand on your shoulder prevents you from incurring further damage. You need to get up. You need to walk on your own terms. You will not allow them to carry you to the ship. You will not be a burden to Luffy.
His hands are firm as he holds you down. “No moving! Chopper gave you some stuff that makes your body not work for a few hours. He says you’ll recover faster this way. So just relax, k?” Luffy makes a funny face that’s between a frown and a cringe, and adds, “But maybe don’t fall asleep again. I think you were having a nightmare.”
Kuina under the plum blossoms; Kuina calling out your betrayal in the snow.
“Did I…. Did I say something?”
“No. But you were definitely not having a good dream. Why? What’d ya dream about?”
You think it might be better to conceal. But it’s just you and your captain here. So you admit with a rock in your throat, “An old friend came to visit. And she wasn’t very happy with me.”
Luffy’s frown deepens with confusion. His head tilts heavily to the right when he thinks hard about something, and you find it adorable beyond measure.
“But it’s your dream. You think your friend is mad at you. Doesn’t that just mean you’re mad at yourself?”
You chuckle at the way Luffy parses complex ponderings. You have no answer for him. The you that inherited Kuina’s dream lies defeated but not silenced at the feet of the you who pledged everything to your captain. It’s an outcome of your own doing.
The war inside you may rage on for a while yet. You realize now that the decision to offer up yourself was made out of selfishness. You will always choose to die for him because without him…. without him, there is no you. Not anymore.
You have been silent for too long. Luffy worries.
His hand moves to your hair, and he combs through it with his long fingers, slow and determined. It slides down to cup your face; a thumb swipes at your cheekbone. His pinky lands on the pulse point in your neck. You hope he can’t feel how your heart thunders for him.
“I’m so glad you woke up, Zoro,” Luffy mumbles into his knees. He looks small like that, like an abandoned child left out in the rain.
He is forlorn suddenly, and you cannot bear it. His unhappiness causes you pain that no doctor could alleviate. Your arms do not obey you for the moment, so you turn your cheek into his palm and you nuzzle him like a pet offering comfort, and if you happen to press featherlight kisses to his fingers, you hope he’s too distracted to notice.
You remind him, each word a vow, “Of course I woke up, Pirate King. I made a promise to you.”
His eyes are inscrutable. His voice is not quite sad when he orders, “Don’t be mad at yourself anymore, Zoro.”
The medicine Chopper gave you will soon wear off, and the real pain will return manifold. Your recovery this time will be long and tortuous. Memories of the agony will stay with you for years to come. There’s no escape from these inevitabilities.
There are matters you can still control, powers you can obtain, enemies you can cut down. You will not be weak again.
You accept that Kuina may not forgive you. You can only show her your intentions through action. The promise you made her will be fulfilled, but only after you’ve escorted this man to the zenith. There is pain yet waiting in your future, but advances too, and victories aplenty. You’ve a second chance now. Your path has detoured, but the goal remains unchanged.
So you promise, with his command etched on your heart, “Anything you say, Captain.”