Chapter Text
Zoro doesn't need anyone. He doesn't.
He doesn't need Sensei.
He doesn't need the orphanage staff.
And he definitely does NOT need this pink haired nuisance fussing over him.
_____
Roronoa Zoro was orphaned at the measly age of 6. At 8, he was taken in by a kind kendo instructor named Shimotsuki Koshirou. At 10, Roronoa Zoro returned to the local orphanage holding a white sword and a vendetta against the world.
In short, Zoro is problem child.
Even without the weapon, which staff has tried repeatedly to confiscate (often leading to bitten arms and broken fingers), Zoro is a nightmare upon Hangetsu Children's Home. He's aggressive and moody. His grades are abyssmal. All the kids are afraid of him, even the older ones. The boy has no chance of getting adopted, especially with that ugly sneer etched onto his face. At this point, his social worker has resigned to the fact that the kid will be in the system until he turns 18 and they can get rid of the little devil.
Zoro doesn't mind, though. They let him run wild now that they've given up on him. Zoro can sleep and train to his heart's content and none of them ever ask if he comes back worse for wear. It's freeing, oddly enough.
_____
The food tastes like shit. He’s not entirely sure what he expected from such a shoddy house but the cooks could at least put some damn salt on this slop.
With a sigh, Zoro shovels another spoonful of mush into his mouth. Calories are important to growing stronger. As he chews his dinner, Zoro's thoughts start to drift; punishment to his idleness.
He misses sensei’s rice; the way Kuina would reach over when he wasn’t looking and dump too much salt on it, making him splutter and yell when he unknowingly took a bite.
"What the hell!?" Zoro would shout, grabbing the shaker and trying to wrestle Kuina's bowl towards him as payback. Of course, his arms were always too short and the two would end up wrestling on the battered tatami mats. Sensei would huff out a sigh but there was a fond look on his face as he watched the scuffle.
Zoro doesn't think he's seen a single grain of rice anywhere in this fucking place.
"This food is so not cute!"
Perona is tugging on his arm again. She's older, not by much, but Zoro knows she's been here a while, longer than most. He's not nearly young enough to be picked by anyone so she has much less of a chance. Regardless, their personalities aren't exactly appealing to any sane adult.
She sticks to him like a leech, claiming he's the only one who could protect her in such a "dangerous" place. It's stupid, though, because he's pretty sure she freaks out the others even more than Zoro. At least, the other kids avoid her like the plague.
"Food's not s'posed to be 'cute,'" Zoro retorts through a mouthful of what might be mashed potatoes, if you want to be generous.
"You just have no taste!" Perona huffs, looking away with haughty scowl. She looks at the bits of gray-white on Zoro's cheeks in disgust. "And don't talk with your mouth full!"
Zoro rolls his eyes and swats away the napkin Perona waves in his face.
_____
It's hard to pinpoint when exactly Perona began clinging to him. Zoro can't recall doing anything in particular, but the girl managed to find some reason to slowly weasle her way into his life.
The two met within the first week of him arriving. Quiet, broken, angry. The workers stared sympathetically at first, though that look slowly turned to annoyance when he wouldn't comply to their, honestly useless, demands.
Perona had run into him in the middle of the night, literally. A tangle of limbs and pink and green; Zoro spluttering and shoving her off, spitting pink hair out of his mouth-why the fuck is it glittery?
"What's your problem?!" Zoro shoved the girl off of him.
"My problem? What's your problem. You're not supposed to be up right now!" She placed her hands on her hips as she stood up. The girl was a good head taller than him. Her usual pigtails were replaced with messy curls from when she was lying in bed. Little white ghosts were patterned over her nightgown and she held a battered teddy bear in one arm. The ghosts looked like they were laughing at him.
"None o' your business," Zoro shoved himself off the floor, "and you're not s'posed to be up, either."
Perona was about to argue back but stopped herself when she fully took in the boy's appearance. "Who's blood is that?"
Before Zoro could even open his mouth, footsteps filled the hallway, the distinct sound of a light switch flipping caused him to perk up and yank the girl behind a shelf. Thank god those rusty old lights took forever to turn on.
"Hello? Children? You're not supposed to be awake right now." Footsteps wandered by the kids' hiding spot. They traveled a little further down the hall, the soft padding of socks on the creaky wood drifting by. They waited for the worker to pass by and the lights to turn off.
When they were sure they were alone again, Perona grabbed Zoro's hand and started storming, now quietly, through the orphanage. She covered Zoro's mouth, stopping any protests from escaping and alerting anyone else. The two ended up otuside (though Zoro could have sworn the yard was in the opposite direction). There was only a crescent of the moon visible in the sky, but it was a cloudless night and Perona was able to get a better look at the green-haired kid in front of her.
He stood there fidgeting with Wado awkwardly— though Zoro would say it was in defiance— while he was scrutinized. Somewhere in the tall, weed-infested grass crickets were hopping around; their chirping sounding louder in the silence. The night air raised goosebumps along his arms, but the chill wasn't so cold as to be uncomfortable. Despite the dead brush and fallen leaves, there was a nice crispness whenever Zoro breathed in. He was looking forward to working on his katas before the pink girl caught him.
"Did you kill something?" A shrill voice broke the quiet.
"What? No! Why would I do that?" Zoro hissed.
"If you didn't then what's all…this?" Perona stared at him like he was an idiot, motioning vaguely to his malnourished form. Zoro raised an eyebrow,
"Mine?" The girl snapped her mouth shut, eyes wide. The crickets sounded so loud- like the night she left- it hurt Zoro's head.
"Yours?" Why did the girl sound so worried?
"Uh…yeah?" He rubbed under his eye, smudging the still drying blood there and staring as it shined on his palm, "'s no big deal. Dunno why it's such a problem."
The girl took a few seconds to gape at the green-headed boy. "'No big deal,'" she repeated, stunned. "Did one of the staff do that?" She hadn't heard of any of the workers getting violent, but she'd listened to a few of the adults complaining about the troublesome kid. If Zoro was getting hurt…
"Hah?" Zoro's confusion interrupted the girls train of thought. "Whaddya mean 'one of the staff?' I'm the only one that can touch Wado." He held the sword up slightly in indication.
Her gaze shifted to the white katana in Zoro's hand. He was always carrying the thing around and she just assumed that the thing was just a toy. But the way he was talking made it sound like he'd just been casually carrying a real sword around. And that he'd used it on himself. She stood there gaping. "That's real?"
Zoro looked unimpressed. "Yeah?"
"Idiot! Give me that!"
"What?! No, she's mine!"
"A baby like you shouldn't have such dangerous things!"
"M' not a baby!"
"Yes you are!"
"Nuh uh!"
"Yuh huh!"
"Nuh uh!"
"Yuh huh!" They went at it for a few minutes before a rustle in the bushes startled them. "Eek! What- what was that?" The older child's voice was a whisper. She scrambled behind Zoro's smaller form, knees weak. Zoro huffed, readying his sword; steady calm.
The bushes didn't rustle again, yet Zoro stayed vigilant. He wouldnt be caught off guard this time. He wouldnt let Death take another without any warning. The Reaper still hid in the shadows when he tried to sleep. He couldn't sleep anymore.
"Who's there?" Zoro called into the darkness. When nothing answered, he drew the sword from its sheath and stepped forward.
"Eek! Put that away!" The girl shrieked in his ear. He swore it was ringing.
"Shut up!"
"You're gonna hurt yourself. Or me!" She had a death grip on his arm, keeping him back. Dark eyes stared down the blade with caution.
"I've never cut anyone I didn't mean to."
The girl didn't answer. Her mouth had opened as if to say something but promptly shut itself, brow furrowed. She looked like she wanted to do something, like she wanted to take his precious sword, his lifeline, away from him because it was a 'danger'. She was just like the others.
"Hmph! Just keep it away from me. It's so not cute." To Zoro's surprise, the topic was dropped. He looked back at the bushes but whatever was there must have scampered away. Probably a squirrel or a raccoon.
Perona spent the rest of the night with him, talking about ghosts and fashion and some bear she called "Kumacy" (or maybe Kumashi? Zoro wasn't sure) while he did his katas.
She kept Zoro's blade facing forward.
_____
That was a month ago. Since then, Perona has stuck by his side like a leech. All things considered, it wasn't a big change. The rest of the orphanage avoided the two before, anyway, so they were already used to doing their own thing. Now they just did it together, and, Zoro could bregrudgingly admit, that Perona's not the worst person to be stuck with. Turns out she sneaks out at night to explore the "haunted halls," which is how she ran into him in the first place. Sometimes, she'll drag Zoro around on ghost tours. It's not bad.
So, when Zoro is brought into the conference room for the first time in weeks, no one questions when Perona insists on coming with. Especially when Zoro gives threatening looks towards anyone even thinking about holding her back.
There's a social worker inside, Zoro recognizes her from the first time he was adopted. And when Sensei returned him.
Sitting across from her is a-
"Big-boy-rich-man-Dracula lookin ass." Perona helpfully finishes his thought.
There's an aura around him, one Zoro finds himself glaring at. His gaze is sharp, piercing, assessing. It sets Zoro on edge.
Essence of what must be an expensive cologne is in the air. Tints of cinnamon and rosewood, coupled with an almost ashy undertone surround Zoro. It's nearly overwhelming. Dracula-lookin-ass is clearly wealthy. Those silk pants and perfectly tailored ruffled shirt are probably worth the whole orphanage.
"I would recommend you not refer to me in such a demeaning manner…meñique." Zoro (barely) holds back a snort at the pure contempt oozing from the man's voice, even though he has no clue what was just said. He speaks with an air of authority; stern and with a gravitas that demands attention.
Something about this man keeps him there, the look in his eyes suggests he has a plan for them—for him. Maybe he'll make Zoro useful again. "Hey, Greeny, cmon what're you—" she tugs again, no where near strong enough to move him, "Zoro?"
The man speaks once more.
"Roronoa Zoro. My name is Dracule Mihawk, and starting today, you will be under my care."
Zoro's eyes widen, a sinking feeling filling his lungs, drowning. Why? He's shaking, Wado rattling in his hold. He almost drops her in shock.
"What?"