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The capital of Wano has always seemed to exist in a perpetual state of spring. It's not hard to feel this way, however, when the rest of nation borders the lines between famine and pestilence. Hiyori braces herself as her obi is tightened, siphoning steady breaths with each careful tug. The discomfort is nothing compared to the brutality her people have faced under Orochi and Kaido's rule.
The capital exists in spring while her people face the extremes of summer and winter with no reprieve.
.
.
.
A short few days ago, that had been the reality of Wano for the past twenty years.
An endless lashing of summer and winter. Any spring the people were granted came with a harvest of SMILE fruit, overly ripe and filled only with despair. With the cruelty of amusement.
The defeat of Wano's oppressors can't turn back the hands of Mother Earth and Father Time ー can't undo the ever upturned lips, the heartbreaking guffaws or return the lives lost ー but the nation can finally heal.
Radish and ganmo, chikuwa and eggs, her father's playful tune is a whisper in her ear as she wipes down grimy skin with a damp cloth. A half-decade of prostrating himself before Orochi, humiliating himself before the nation and two more decades of careful preparation. Father, Mother, if Hiyori closes her eyes, she feels the soft caress of her mother's fingers carding through her light green hair. Your deaths weren't in vain.
A nearby lady-in-waiting frets that the shogun's sister should not lower herself to such a task for only a moment before the princess reminds her that she is not cleaning the flesh of a mere man but one of Wano's heroes.
Underneath the ash and dirt freckled against his body is skin a bronze nearly brown, crowned with scars and hardened from years of battle. Zorojuurou is as fitting a Wano man as they come, Hiyori hums. "It's like you were meant to be born in this country," she tells the unconscious man, watching his forearms like the precious things they are. "Maybe if things were different, you would've been born in this country, Zorojuurou-san."
She remembers the few things the swordsman told her while nestled in that cabin, a shoddy cry from the high-end brothel she'd been raised. A blizzard roared outside, Toko sleeping soundly unaware and at Hiyori's prompting, the man answered a few questions about himself.
I was born and raised in the East Blue.
That wanted poster? The story behind it is probably the same as whatever they put on the damn thing.
You wish I came to Wano during a more prosperous time? We can just stop by again. Momo'll cry if we never visit again.
Despite his serious face and gruff voice, Zorojuurou had turned out to be affable company. It was a comfort when Hiyori and Toko were on their own, unable to rely on Denjirou's help lest their ruse surrounding her 'death' be discovered.
"I'll be happy if your crew visits again too," Hiyori whispers, her wiping methodical and gentle. "It's a bit unfair, I think," she dips the cleaning cloth back into the basin, wringing it thoroughly. "You'll be leaving not long after you wake up. Just when I felt I was truly getting to know you."
A pirate never rests for long, Usohachi told her with a grin. Especially on this crew. Luffy's as restless as it gets.
Even with the ever present reminder that the Straw Hats' stay in Wano would be as fleeting as cherry blossoms in spring, growing attached to them as she had felt inevitable. I'm jealous of you, Elder Brother. Hazardous as some of the stories he'd told her of their journey to Wano had been, she could see the fondness in his face. Could hear it in his words.
He'll miss traveling with them.
Hiyori somehow mourns a journey that never left Wano's port.
She imagines it, the journey that never was.
She's aboard Luffytaro's pirate ship, painted in hues of orange and gold. Her clothes are a set of loose blouse and pants and her hair, whipping wildly in the salty air, doesn't require pins and jewels. She'll sit in the crows nest and leap in excitement, leaning dangerously far over the edge as she announces that an island is in sight.
She'll try foods from countries she'd never heard of.
She'll celebrate festivals the citizens of Wano would never think to create.
She'll forsake the comforts of a futon and sleep on the deck, underneath the stars. That time her belly will be full, stuffed with Sangoro's lovingly prepared meals and O-Robi will tell her stories about the constellations and the civilizations that crafted them. O-Nami will tell her they can be used to navigate a chart across even the most deadly seas.
Right now it's happening for a different Hiyori, one that was selfish enough to leave her homeland while it is rebuilding. She's carrying a sword at her hip, hair as free as she feels as Zorojuurou shows her the tricks behind his unique style with a satisfied smile that somehow suits perpetually serious face.
Another hum leaves her lips, thoughtful and melancholic. I envy that Hiyori.
As it stands, she is this particular Kouzuki Hiyori. One that loves her brother too much to leave him to figure out how to restore Wano to its former glory and is only as selfish as it will gain for those less fortunate. "Pirates aren't ones for setting roots but I can only hope you'll stay a little while longer."
The Wano of the future is on the horizon, however long it takes to reach the destination. The Wano Zorojuurou promised to return for.
The rivers will no longer shine with oils and the land will know only abundance.
When that happens, the dawn once prophesized by her mother will be more than brilliant.
A feeling between affection and admiration settles in her chest, poking in between Zorojuurou's forehead. It will be iridescent.