Archive of Our Own ^beta

The air on the Oro Jackson was jovial as a party was unfolding. What party were Roger's Pirates celebrating on this sunny early afternoon, you might wonder? Well, the answer was simple: none. The Roger's pirates had no reason to party except to celebrate this summer day with alcohol, food, and jokes.

The sun was high in the sky, its rays warm and shiny.

The Shin Sekai sea was calm and almost transparent blue.

And Roger's pirates were looking for yet another adventure.

Maybe they were hoping to find one at the bottom of their mugs, who could tell?

Nevertheless, the bursts of laughter and the clinking of mugs had a very strange background noise: that of two steel blades clashing. The blades met at a regular interval while following the same path: up, down, on side…

"That's allyou got?" wondered the smug voice of the older man.

Shanks winced as he dodged the sharp blade that nearly cut a vibrant lock of red hair. He jumped away from Rayleigh's blade, hoping to gain the reprieve his mentor refused to grant him. They were training on the upper bridge of the Oro Jackson with only the sun and a few scattered clouds as their witness.

Rayleigh and Shanks were training as soon as the Second managed to get his hands on the intrepid kid who followed Roger everywhere, or Oden now. Fortunately, Rayleigh was a sneaky bastard who always managed to get hold of Shanks to teach him a thing or two - or, at least, try to.

The fourteen-year-old, then just known as Shanks, since he was still at the very beginning of his adventure, was sweating profusely, his face was reddened with effort, and his breathing was heavy. The duel seemed to last for hours. It wasn't just an impression, unfortunately.

"I'm matchin' your energy," he replied through gritted teeth as he quickly shifted from a defensive to an offensive stance.

Rayleigh smiled as he dodged the attack and kicked the cheeky kid's butt to throw him off balance and teach him a lesson. "Clearly."

Shanks caught himself with one hand on the wooden railing, ready to dodge another attack, when his gray eyes spot something unimaginable. There, between the peaceful waves surrounding the Oro Jackson, were tentacles. They were gigantic, as big as Roger's ship and even wider than the mast. Shanks had already crossed paths with many Sea Kings, much to the misfortune of Roger and Rayleigh, who usually had to save him from said monster. Except he had never seen one this big or this menacing before.

So captivated by the sight before him, Shanks didn't even try to dodge the blade threatening to cut off his head. Fortunately for him, it stopped a few millimeters from his throat.

"Am I bothering you, brat?"

"Have you ever seen a Sea King this big, Rayleigh?" Shanks asked without even acknowledging his mentor's question.

Rayleigh frowned before sheathing his sword and looking towards the horizon where the monster was. "It's a Kraken."

Shanks nodded in understanding. The name sure was appropriate for this gigantic beast with multiple tentacles. These were all connected to a large, viscous, shapeless body. From where he stood, Shanks especially noticed the Kraken's wide mouth and deadly teeth.

"Don't worry," Rayleigh added, putting a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "The Oro Jackson won't come any closer. Though Roger would probably want to eat it at dinner."

"I'm not," Shanks replied absentmindedly, still fascinated by the sight before him. "But… hm… is that a man fighting the Kraken?"

At first, Rayleigh laughed in derision: "who would be crazy enough to…," but fright replaced amusement when the older swordsman realized that Shanks was right. The Kraken was indeed agitated by something. No, by someone.

Unable to see from the upper deck, Shanks leapt towards the main deck, his sword stored in its sheath. The party was still going even though Shanks wasn't the only one who had noticed the free show. He stood next to his captain, the two smiled excitedly at each other, before looking at the sight before them.

The view was indeed better on the main deck, especially when Shanks activated his Observation Haki. He hadn't mastered it completely yet, not like Rayleigh and Roger, but enough to enjoy the show without needing anyone to describe it to him - not like Buggy. Thus, the teenager had a good view of the young man who was running from tentacle to tentacle while avoiding or repelling the Kraken's attacks with his sword.

From here, the sword seemed immense, much larger than its young owner.

And yet, the owner was magnificent, a sight of gold; fast and strong, butgraceful.

"I don't know who the brat is, but I like him. He’s bold and reckless," remarked Roger with a huge smile and a mug in his hand.

Oden chuckled before nodding, "Certainly a proud warrior!"

Beside them, Rayleigh, who had just arrived, sniffed, "He looks like a fly bothering an angry giant. I say the idiot is going to get killed."

Suddenly, the Kraken redoubled its efforts to chase the said fly from its tentacles. It attacked from the left to force the young swordsman to parry the blow while sneaking an attack from above. The big, slimy tentacle came down too suddenly and crushed the swordsman.

The large slap resonated all the way to the Oro Jackson and raised either cries of joy or astonishment from the pirates. Like Rayleigh, Oden, and Roger, each crew member, from Gaban, who described the fight to Buggy, to Bullet, including Spencer or Sunbell, had chosen their side between the swordsman and the Kraken.

Rayleigh looked towards Roger and Oden with a raised eyebrow that Shanks interpreted as: "see? A reckless idiot."

Instead of being offended, Roger's smile widened. He drank from his mug before replying, "It’s not over."

Trusting his captain, Shanks turned his attention once again to the sea. Sure enough, the Kraken raised its tentacle, its mouth wide open as if the monster was smiling - could a Sea Kings even smile? - but there was nothing. No blood. No crushed swordsman. No sword left behind forever. Nothing.

In unison, the Roger's pirates stopped laughing or talking as the Kraken's victorious smile faded. The sea became eerily silent as both the monster and the pirates waited for something to happen. If the swordsman hadn't been crushed, then where was he? Shanks' gray eyes scanned the blue horizon before him, searching for the man. However, there was only calm water as for the clouds...

Suddenly, a reflection high in the sky dazzled him.

The teen's eyes widened, and his lips, pursed in concentration, quickly widened into a relieved smile. The reflection was the sun's rays on a steel blade. "Look up!" he shouted as a breeze blew on the clouds, which parted to reveal the missing young man. The swordsman had probably jumped out of reach of the tentacle.

He looks like a hawk, Shanks thought as gravity worked in the Kraken's favor. Except that instead of falling, the swordsman seemed to be flying towards the ferocious monster. He defied gravity not as an enemy, but as an ally, his dearest friend, as he easily manoeuvred his huge sword to slice through the tentacles threatening to grab him.

Just like a knife through butter.

Yet Shanks wasn't naive enough to believe that cutting a tentacle of such a size and thickness was easy. No, the man made it look easy as he cut off tentacle after tentacle. Purple blood splattering on him.

The Kraken uttered an inhuman cry, mixing pain and fear. Shanks covered his ears to protect himself from the deafening scream. His gesture was futile, childish, as the sound was so heartbreaking it echoed inside his heart.

Moreover, the Oro Jackson was shaken by large waves when the four tentacles fell into the sea.

Shanks looked up just as the scream stopped. The Kraken drew on its pain to fuel its anger and attacked the swordsman with a blow powerful enough to kill anyone. The blow was as fast as it was powerful, and the swordsman had no time to dodge, not that he could since he was still in the air. Instead, the young swordsman protected himself by crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Many of the Roger's pirates grunted in sympathy, but only the doctor, Crocus, said out loud what they were all thinking: "his ribs must be dust now, his arms too if he didn't use Haki."

Even though he probably won the bet, Rayleigh wasn't smiling. He was rather focused on the fight and the kid who flew towards them. Indeed, the Kraken's blow had been powerful enough to send the reckless swordsman flying towards Oro Jackson. All the pirates turned in time to see the young man sinking into the main sail, the one marked by their captain's Jolly Roger.

Shanks and his older companions all tensed, hands already on their swords, as the intruder fell to the main deck. The unknown swordsman fell with panache despite the attack, which should have disoriented him, if not killed him. He landed on his two feet, his knees bent, and a hand on the floor while the other gripped tightly on the cross-shaped sword.

The swordsman kept his head lowered, a curtain of dark hair protecting his face. His chest rose and fell deeply. Drops of blood, a mix of red and purple, fell onto the wooden floor, freshly cleaned by Shanks and Buggy last night.

And then, the young man slowly got up without the slightest sign of weakness. Even now, the swordsman possessed presence and grace despite his torn-in-places dark outfit. The outfit, composed of a jacket with embroidered roses, dark jeans, and long boots, did nothing to hide the mixture of blood, still red and purple, which covered him from head to toe. Furthermore, his half-open jacket revealed traces of a violent fight. Huge and ugly bruises stained the alabaster skin.

Yet to Shanks, the stranger looked like a warrior god who had carved a path out of hell with his sword. His breath caught in his throat as the stranger's pale hand pushed back the short dark hair that had fallen across his distinguished face. The casual movement revealed more of the alabaster skin bruised in places, a defined jawline, and aristocratic features, which did not hide the swordsman's youth despite their sharpness.

How old could he have been? Eighteen? Nineteen years old?

"Hey, grubby!" called out Buggy, whose face was red with anger. "I just cleaned that floor!"

Startled, the swordsman turned his gaze towards Buggy, who then hid behind Gaban, scared by the stranger's intense gaze. In addition to being indecently handsome and strong, the man also had peculiar and hypnotizing eyes. Except it wasn't the double black rims or the golden irises that caught Shanks' attention. No, it was the sparkle shining in them: life, passion, and, against all odds, fun. Instead of being afraid like any normal person would, the swordsman was having fun while fighting an opponent as dangerous as the Sea King.

"My apologies for the inconvenience," the young swordsman said after catching the breath the Kraken had stolen, his thumb brushing away the blood dripping from his lower lip.

The stranger tightened his grip on his sword, the blade of which was dripping with purple blood, before jumping from the main deck to the upper one. He ran on the long bowsprit to gain momentum before jumping towards danger and the Kraken.

Shanks couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu upon seeing those golden eyes, and he lost interest in the resuming fight. Instead, the teenager ran to the room he shared with Buggy.

"Oi, Redheadtoro, you're not finishing?" Oden called out with a broad smile.

"Yes, but I'be got to check something!" he replied before disappearing into the ship's lair.

Once in his room, Shanks climbed onto the bunk bed above before tearing the poster off the wall - right above his pillow - and returning to the main deck.

Once his treasure in hand and the other holding his hat, Shanks ran back to the main deck, excitedly screaming: "it's him! It's really him! I can't believe it's him! But he is!"

He returned to his original position between Roger and Rayleigh before unfurling the poster, which was in fact a wanted one issued by the Marines, and looking at it in the sunlight.

Then the teen smiled victoriously. His intuition had been correct!

"Hmh, Dracule Mihawk," Rayleigh read over Shanks' shoulder. "845 million berries."

Gaban whistled, fainting to be impressed before scoffing: "we're in the presence of a celebrity, guys!"

The other pirates laughed in unison, thus congratulating Gaban on his joke.

Only Shanks and Roger didn't laugh. Instead, they shared a knowing gaze, their wide smile mirroring their excitement. And then, the teenager murmured, stars shining in his eyes: "he's even more impressive in person."

Except, Buggy heard the confession and took the opportunity to make fun of his friend. He elbowed Shanks in the ribs to get his attention. "What's your crush doing here? You're hoping he's here to kiss you, aren't you?"

"He’s not my crush!" replied Shanks, whose cheeks were dangerously pink.

"Then why did you wish the poster goodnight last night?"

Shanks' cheeks reddened even more as his dirty secret was now out of the box. "It was a sign of respect, idiot!"

"You talk to him all the time!" Buggy mocked, laughing.

"Stop lying, damn clown! I'm only impressed by Dracule's swordsmanship, that's all! He's the more promising of our generation!"

"Is he your boyfriend, Redheadtoro?" Oden asked, not understanding that Buggy was making fun of Shanks.

"No! Oden, don't start too!"

In the meantime, Buggy replied : "He would love to!"

The two teenagers were about to start yet another fight, probably less epic than the one going on between Dracule and the Kraken, when Roger's steady voice stopped them: "the battle's ending, Shanks."

Excited, the young man turned his head towards the fight, which had taken a completely different turn. A battle could drastically change in the space of a second, of an argument. Shanks knew it, though. It was the first rule: never lose sight of a fight, even for a short moment, even when he wasn't the one fighting.

With one of its two remaining tentacles, the Kraken had immobilized Dracule's left arm. The large, slimy member was wrapped around the swordsman's arm from his wrist to his bicep. The Kraken used this grip to play with Dracule by swinging him around as if he was nothing more than a toy. Time seemed to freeze while the swordsman was held high in the sky. He could have used his sword to cut the tentacle holding him back. Instead, Dracule sacrificed his arm to make his final move.

A howl of pain mixed with anger broke the ephemeral calm that had settled over the sea. The sound shared sheer stubbornness, bottomless bravery, as it was rough in its honesty and clear in the motive of its owner. Still, there was a fatalism, an acceptance. If the decision was written in stone, the fear and uncertainity was undeniable. A crossroad had unfolded upon Dracule, who had made up his mind: in order to make victory his, he had to sacrifice his most precious belonging. Thus, Dracule screamed in pure agony when the tentacle tightened along the entire length of his arm until one - or more - bone broke.

The swordsman was still screaming when, in one fluid motion, he shifted his sword to be behind his back. Dracule charged what was left of his strength and haki into his sword as the sky darkened. Then, he split the sea in two with a single flick of his wrist.

A shock wave sufficiently charged with haki shook the sea, which split into two large waves. They grazed the Oro Jackson before dissipating without hitting the hull. Fortunately, since the boat had just been repaired.

Only two things were not spared.

The Kraken which, just like the ocean, had been split in two by the attack. The cut was clean and precise, leaving no chance for the Sea King to survive. The two parts of its monstrous face slowly separated before the ocean volunteered to be its graveyard of misfortune. The water closed over the giant octopus, which sank slowly but surely to the bottom of the abyss; taking a promising swordsman along with it.

Indeed, Dracule Mihawk had drawn on his last strengths to triumph over his enemy, and the swordsman now fell, fell, and fell until the ocean took revenge and, in turn, drew the promising prodigee into its depths.

A large "sploush" echoed across the horizon as the swordsman's body met the blue surface.

A second passed where Shanks looked at the once again quiet and calm horizon, waiting.

Two seconds; Shanks' heart beat faster in his strangely tight chest.

Three seconds; the young man didn't want to wait another one.

Shanks was thus the first to move. He removed his sandals, the scarf holding his sword - it fell to the ground with a dull thud - and respectfully placed his hat on the pile.

Then, without waiting for anyone to stop him, Shanks jumped into the ocean.

Fortunately, he was a good swimmer.

As fortunate, the water was warm enough not to cloud his thoughts and clear enough to see through it. Although Shanks cheated by deploying his Observation Haki the moment he reached the area where the fight took place. It worked like a radar guiding him downward. The teenager obeyed without going back to the surface to catch his breath because, if his own lungs were starting to burn, then... What state were Dracule's in? Shanks forbade himself from continuing this thought as he sank deeper into the water.

For a second, Shanks thought he was too late; he hadn't swum fast enough, and he was about to meet his end, too. What did he think anyway? He was just a cabin boy, a reckless teenager, and an idiot - according to Buggy. He couldn't save anyone, let alone himself. So he couldn't possibly save Dracule Mihawk's life.

But then…then Shanks' gray eyes narrowed as he spotted dark dots. It wasn't a figment of his imagination, nor the edges of his vision darkening. It was hair. A jacket. Pants. The blade of a sword. .

Shanks swam even faster to reach the unconscious swordsman, who was being dragged quickly to the bottom. Not by the ocean as Shanks had first thought, but because his arm was still attached to part of the Kraken. Ah, maybe Shanks should have kept his sword...

The teen thought as quickly as his drowning brain would allow until he spotted a glint of gold. Mihawk's sword. Kokuto Yoru. The young man clung to his sword for dear life, even though he was dying. Shanks didn't think twice before placing his hand on Yoru's wrist, large enough to accommodate two. Thankfully, the blade was perfectly sharp and Shanks cut the tentacle without difficulty. It was like cutting butter after all.

Shanks began swimming towards the surface the second Dracule was freed. His left arm was around Mihawk's back, hugging him desperately while his other hand still held Yoru tightly to prevent her from being swept awayfor ever. .

The teenager desperately kicked his feet to swim faster. However, he felt like his efforts were in vain. The surface was moving away instead of getting closer. The weight in his arms grew heavier by the second. Shanks knew what he could do to survive as the breath in his lungs grew scarce, his vision blurred, and water entered his closed mouth. He could abandon Dracule and swim to the surface, leaving the other man to drown. It would be a quick and painless death since the swordsman was passed out.

Instead of obeying this traitorous thought, Shanks tightened his arm around Dracule and swam faster.

A feeling of recognition washed over Shanks when, finally, finally, his head broke the surface.

The reckless teen gasped and spat out the water that had pooled in his mouth before laughing. Shanks was hysterical, desperate, joyful, and damn alive. His legs continued to move while his arm still held Dracule against him. The swordsman was a dead weight against him, his head leaning against the younger man's shoulder, and his pretty eyes were closed.

Dracule Mihawk still looked like a god among men to Shanks. In fact, he looked younger and gentler than the portrait on the poster, probably because he was unconscious and vulnerable. The water had not completely cleansed the swordsman's body, and purple blood still stained his face.

Drops of water ran from wet black hair down a pale forehead to a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, impossibly long eyelashes, and pink lips.

Even now, especially now, Dracule Mihawk looked even hotter than in his bounty.

Shanks was brought out of his contemplation by someone calling his name before he could do something stupid - like craddling Dracule's face.

He waved to the rowboat heading towards them. "Oi, Rayleigh! Thanks the sea you're here ! I need a hand," he mumbled once his mentor was close enough.

Yoru was the first to enter the lifeboat, then her owner, thanks to the combined efforts of Shanks and Rayleigh, and finally, it was the redhead's turn.

Rayleigh held the intrepid kid to check if he was okay before grumbling: "What's wrong with you?"

"I-I just…," Shanks stammered before remembering why -who- he had risked his life for: "Dracule!"

The swordsman lay on his back, his face facing the sky, even though his eyelids were closed. He was just as wet, his dark clothes clinging to his skin in a breathtaking contrast. He was breathtaking, a priceless sight. Except Mihawk's peaceful expression was disturbed by his too still chest.

"He was breathing a few seconds ago!" he swore without knowing what to do except justify himself. Dracule was breathing before being carried into the rowboat, so what had changed?

Shanks panicked because he didn't want to be accused of homicide, nor for Dracule Mihawk's legend to end so stupidly because of a little water in his lungs.

Right! That was it!

Before thinking of a better solution, Shanks leaned forward, parted the swordsman's pink lips, pinched his pointy nose, and kissed him. Well, it wasn't really a kiss since Shanks didn't take the time to enjoy it or take in how soft and delicate the lips against his felt. He was too busy forcing air into Dracule's lungs to care about anything else. The swordsman had to survive. So, Shanks withdrew, took a deep breath, and started again once, twice and again. He was about to repeat his desperate gesture when Dracule suddenly stood up, and his forehead collided with Shanks'. The teenager groaned in pain, his hand on his forehead as he fell heavily on his buttocks, the boat almost tilting. But he didn't complain because his plan had worked, and Dracule painfully spat out all the salty water he had swallowed.

Nonetheless, Shanks pouted as a loud, mocking laugh echoed across the rowboat and beyond. Rayleigh's laughter was such that he held his sides, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. "What a successful first kiss, kid!"

"Shut up!" Shanks shouted in embarrassment, his face even redder than his hair. "It was mouth-to-mouth!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Rayleigh replied, still laughing. "A slap in the back would have been less dangerous."

"Well… it worked!" Shanks defended himself, pointing to Dracule, whose support he would have hoped for, but the swordsman was again lying on his back, his enigmatic eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Whether he had fallen asleep or was unconscious again, Shanks' limited medical experience didn't allow him to know precisely.

All the teen knew was how Dracule was quite charming, even in his sleep, and wet as he was. Drops of water were dripping from those firm, defined abs onto the wooden floor, and Shanks had a hard time forcing himself to stop looking. It wasn't his fault if Dracule was so mesmerizing.

Rayleigh, who knew exactly what Shanks was looking at, sniffed to chase away his laughter and regain his seriousness. He grabbed the oars to return to the Oro Jackson. "Let's bring him to Crocus. I don't think that tentacle is part of his aesthetic."

Finally, Shanks tore his gaze from the abs to the tentacle still viciously clinging to the swordsman's arm. The left arm was submerged beneath the molluscan limb, and what little skin Shanks could see was purple and swollen. He shook his head solemnly, knowing this tentacle would be a problem. This couldn't bode well.

The little jump into the ocean earned Shanks a stern scolding from Roger once they were back on the Oro Jackson, as well as a pat on his back and a smile filled with pride. His selfless and heroic act also earned him a lot of teasing, but Shanks paid the pirates no attention as he followed Ray and Roger, who supported Dracule between them, Crocus, and Oden to the infirmary.

The teen was worried about the swordswoman's well-being and couldn't take his eyes off his unconscious and vulnerable form, even when Dracule was placed in one of the beds. It was surreal, impossible, and exactly everything Shanks had ever dreamed of. Well, he had dreamed of meeting Dracule Mihawk and inviting him to the Oro Jackson, but not under these conditions.

Thus, the doctor began his magic. Crocus sat on a stool next to his patient, his glasses on his nose and forceps and a scalpel in his hands. He tried to remove a piece of the tentacle starting at the top, but the limb resisted as if stuck to the swordsman's arm. Crocus pulled harder, and the suction cup came off with difficulty, with a heavy "shlack". Painfully, too, since the swordsman opened his eyes, moaned loudly, and the fingers of his right hand trembled.

The enigmatic golden eyes were unfocused with pain as Dracule frantically surveyed his surroundings. Shanks wasn't sure, but in this fleeting instant, he was a glint of fear in Dracule's eyes. It was understandable, as the young sworsman awoke in an unfamiliar place among pirates with long swords and thick muscles. In any case, it was Shanks who gulped in fear when the golden eyes filled with anger landed on him.

"Give me Yoru back," Dracule ordered, pushing himself onto one elbow and extending his hand towards Shanks. "She belongs to me. You have no right to hold her."

In fear, the teen tightened his grip on the hilt of the monumental sword he held in both hands. Shanks felt small holding the sword that was taller than him. His older companions would have no problem carrying it in one hand, but Shanks was still too small, and then he wondered how someone almost his age could choose this sword to fight with. At least, Shanks could hide behind Yoru, which he did.

"No," Crocus replied flatly.

Dracule growled and glared at the doctor with his enraged golden eyes, "Her fate and mine are bound. I want her back."

"I refuse to heal you if you're holding a sword."

"Then don't," Dracule spat as he tried to get up, but failed, "My knowledge of your crew coincides with my trust, which both equals zero. Thus, I have no intention to be unarmed in your presence."

"Alright, Shanks, give him the sword. We'll watch the brat cut off his own arm," Crocus said, leaving his stool to make his point.

Dracule finally turned his head towards his arm and saw, for the first time, his opponent's member still hanging there. The anger left his eyes as he tiredly lay back on the bed. For a long seconds, he weighed the pros and cons of letting a stranger help him.

"May you save my arm?" Dracule asked with more gentleness in his voice than before, although he was still as authoritarian as ever.

"It's still uncertain," Crocus replied, sitting back on the stool and motioning for Roger to retrieve a tranquilizer from one of the drawers. "This injury is serious. The Kraken left you quite a gift. Even a brat like you deserves to be asleep for the rest."

Dracule shook his head, "no, I shall remain awake."

"It’s going to hurt, smartass. We know you're strong and bold, but you don't need to play tough guy with us."

"Be sure I'm aware," Dracule said through gritted teeth. "But if I sleep now, there is no guarantee I will ever wake up."

"You have trust issues," Crocus remarked in disapproval.

"For good reason. You are pirate scums, not Samaritans, and I will be damned before I trust any of you. On the other hand, you would be suicidal to trust me. So you have a choice: I either get my sword back, and you put me to sleep at your peril, or you can start doing your job and never have to know if my reflexes are just as good asleep as they are awake."

Instead of using his role as captain to force the situation to resolve one way or another, Roger let his doctor manage it while he was close to Dracule, a syringe in his hand. He stepped back when Crocus sighed and shook his head, a sign that the young swordsman had won.

"Dracule-taro has the soul of a warrior!" Oden said with his loud laugh from where he was lying on another bed.

"That's for sure," Roger replied, settling into the next bed while Ray leaned against the wall between them, and only Shanks remained on guard. He didn't think this show was quite amusing.

Neither did Dracule as he glared at the two adults before motioning for Crocus to begin.

The process was slow and grueling as Crocus removed sucker after sucker. The one who suffered the most was certainly Dracule more than anyone else. In his place, Shanks knew he would have already cried out in pain or begged Crocus to stop. Not Dracule, who bore all this pain as if it were penance for his past crimes. His good hand clung to the bed, his jaw was clenched, and sweat mixed with the water on his face, otherwise, he remained silent and perfectly still.

Dracule's shoulder was finally fully visible when Crocus stopped after an hour of hard work. He looked concerned as he touched the now purple alabaster skin to examine it. Crocus shook his head, forgetting the suspicious young man who was closely observing him.

"What?" Dracule asked hoarsely after being silent for so long.

"I need to check something," Crocus replied before grabbing the swordsman's still locked hand. He examined the young man's swollen, purple fingers for a few seconds before pinching the back of his hand. "Did you feel that?"

"No."

Crocus shook his head again, and Shanks felt the air in the room thicken strangely as the faces of every adult in the room - Dracule included - darkened. They had understood something that yet escaped the young teenager. Seeing how even Roger had gotten serious, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"I'm sorry, brat. I'm cutting your arm off, it'll save you from unnecessary suffering."

"No. No, it can't end like this," Dracule whispered half-authoritative and half-broken as he realized, like Shanks, that the attack had too damaged his arm. He would never be able to use it again, even if freed from the tentacle. "Can’t you do anything?" asked the young man who, at this instant, looked exactly his age: a teen who had put all his pride and his abilities to wield a gigantic sword.

Crocus shook his head. "You're risking more than a bruised ego if I don't cut off your arm now. You'll die in the most ugly way. Even a brat deserves a long and happy life."

While Dracule remained silent as if the life-saving proposition made him hesitate, Rayleigh gave him one of those rare pieces of advice: "it's better to be a one-handed swordsman than a dead one."

"It's easy for you to say this, you don't know what the honor of a swordsman is," the injured young man spat angrily.

Rayleigh raised an eyebrow as Oden and Roger chuckled like they were watching a drama show - all they needed was a drink and a snack -, "because you know, kid?"

"All I know is my goal of being the best swordsman in the world is now over. I can not become the best at anything with an arm in less. My opponents will know I am beatable, weak, and mortal. I will not live in such conditions."

Rayleigh rubbed his beard in what Shanks knew was deep thought, and then the first mate turned his head towards the captain. The two exchanged one of their many telepathic conversations, where Rayleigh raised an eyebrow, and Roger shrugged. If Shanks understood - and he was pretty good at deciphering their silent conversations - Ray had just had an idea, and Roger let him do what he wanted - as always.

"Alright," Rayleigh finally said, retrieving a vial from a chest and tossing it to Crocus. "Give it to the kid."

"You're sure?" Crocus asked after identifying what he had easily caught.

Rayleigh shrugged before leaning against a wall again, "I want to see how far he can go."

"What is it, Ray-taro?" Oden asked curiously even before the main person concerned.

"A few years ago, Roger obtained a miraculous cure after we saved natives from the yoke of the Marines. The village chief said it can heal even the most mortal wounds. We were saving it for a special occasion, but it never came, and our adventure is ending, so we might as well use it now."

"So why not use it to…." Oden began happily before remembering the swordsman in the bed was not an ally of theirs, and finished mysteriously. "...You know what."

Roger burst out laughing at his friend's behavior, "It only heals broken bones or cuts!"

"Any miracle cure has its flaw," Crocus advised, giving the syringe filled with the transclusid liquid to Dracule. Knowing the young man would want to know, he added: "This one will give you the worst pain of your life. To heal you, the cure will bring you to the brink of death."

Shanks wanted to ask how Crocus knew about the side effects, wondering if Roger might have tried the product, but Dracule's hand closed around the syringe.

"Can you save my arm with this?" asked Dracule, hesitating.

"Yes, but you'll feel like you're in hell for the next few hours."

"Hell is where I come from," Dracule replied bravely before stabbing the needle into his left shoulder.

Nothing happened for several long seconds, as they all waited for the product to take effect, even Oden and Roger had finished entertaining themselves and were now both dead serious.

Then Shanks, whose eyes were fixed on Dracule's pale face, noticed the first signs. The swordsman bit his lower lip to stop himself from screaming, his body tensed violently, and he closed his eyes to hide the pain written there. It was only the beginning of Dracule's torment, since Crocus barely gave him a few seconds to recover his breath before resuming the work he had left aside.

Each sucker peeled away from his skin made Dracule groan in agony while tears steamed down his cheeks.

However, Shanks guessed the eldest was holding back his cries out of shame or stubbornness; he didn't know. All the redhead knew was that even though he was surrounded, Dracule was alone with this pain, and it was unfair. They all stood there looking at the swordsman without trying to help because he wasn't one of them. After all, the swordsman was a threat even in this state. And Shanks didn't like it, not at all. Just because Dracule was strong didn't mean he should be treated like a caged beast. His idol deserved better than this.

So, the teenager respectfully placed the great sword on one of the beds before retrieving a stool and sitting on the other side of Dracule.

"M-mister Dracule?" he asked to get the swordsman's attention.

He repeated the other's last name a second and third time before golden eyes clouded with pain deigned to look at him.

"Can I ask a question?"

The other did not answer, either because he had not heard, did not want to, or could not. In any case, Shanks took his chance: "why would you fight a kraken?"

There was a long silence before, against all expectations, the swordsman responded: "it woke me up...," he groaned in pain, "... from my nap."

"Seriously?" Shanks asked in disbelief. "So cool! You knew you were going to win?"

Crocus pulled out a new sucker and Dracule grunted in pain before shaking his head, "...it… wasn't… the… point."

"You're so cool! Especially during the fight! You were all 'bim' and 'shlap'," Shanks said excitedly as he mimed fighting with an imaginary sword. Stars shone in his eyes and his smile was wild. "And when you disappeared before you were crushed, it was...wow! Phenomenal! You looked like a hawk!"

Dracule didn't respond, but Shanks wasn't expecting any. He spoke to distract the swordsman from his pain, and if his speech was faster than usual, it was simply because he was - slightly - intimidated to have his first conversation with his idol.

"It's funny how we crossed paths with you," Shanks laughed after his sixteenth - twelfth? - question was ignored. "I bet fate wanted us to meet."

At this, Dracule raised an eyebrow and pointed with difficulty towards the three pirates who were talking among themselves, "I'm here for him."

"Me?" Roger, Rayleigh, and Oden asked simultaneously, hopefully pointing at themselves

"All if you want," Dracule groaned in pain after shrugging. "For the captain," he added, relaxing into the sheets as Crocus had just ordered him.

Rayleigh scratched his beard before guessing, "So a coincidence did not bring you here." "

No, Whitebeard vaguely gave me your direction."

"Whitebeard? You defeated him?!"

"His swordsman," Dracule replied, frowning at Oden's excitement.

"Vista-toro wouldn’t have lost!"

A smug smile appeared on Dracule's bloodied lips, but he didn't respond, his expression already taking care of it.

Shanks hesitated before talking again and asking more or less ridiculous questions while Crocus finished his work.

The redhead's smile widened as soon as he received a response.

"You're really from the hell?" asked the young redhead for his twentieth question.

This time, his efforts were rewarded with a small smile, "perhaps."

"You're not nice! Answer the question!"

"And… y-you talk a lot," Dracule replied in a whisper as he finally began to give in to the fainting he had been battling ever since he administered himself the cure.

"Always!" Shanks said with a huge smile, which quickly faded when he noticed the swordsman fighting to stay awake. "Go to sleep, we won't hurt you."

Dracule stubbornly fought, but he followed Shanks' advice and fell unconscious.

Now that his patient was no longer awake, Crocus worked more quickly and less carefully. Except Dracule must still feel the pain since he was moaning and trembling. Shanks' eyebrows furrowed as he decided he didn't like the sound, and there was still so much sucker to remove...

"Don't worry, you did a good job," Roger congratulated with a hand on the redhead's shoulder. But it didn't stay there long, as Roger grabbed the swordsman's uninjured arm to stick a needle into his veins.

A sedative, guessed Shanks as Dracule's body relaxed into the bed, and the pain left his face. He looked horribly young now, much younger than when he fought the Kraken. Yet, Dracule was still as beautiful between his long eyelashes, which brushed his pale face, and his parted pink lips. If he focused, Shanks could now remember their soft sensations on his own.

Shanks grabbed a cloth once Crocus was finished to clean the swordsman's face and allow him a comfortable sleep.

"Moment of truth," the doctor declared, settling back into Dracule's side with a needle in his hand. He slowly reached for his patient's hand, his gaze fixed on the young man's sleeping face. None of them had forgotten the threat of the swordsman about his reflexes. "Let's see if he endured this whole ordeal for nothing or not."

Shanks held his breath as Crocus gently pushed the needle into Dracule's fingertip. His hand instinctively twitched in the doctor's grip, but otherwise, Dracule remained unconscious.

"Yeah!" cried Shanks victoriously because Crocus had not been killed, and the swordsman's arm was safe.

"Yeah," Rayleigh muttered sarcastically. "We just saved the kid who's after the Captain's head. How fun?! We should toss him in the nearest island before he wakes."

"You're worrying too much, partner."

"Oh yes? Tell that to the Kraken this smartass killed for fun."

"Dracule-taro must be a formidable opponent," Oden decided with a wide, excited smile.

"See?" asked Roger victoriously. "Even Oden finds him interesting!"

Rayleigh sighed tiredly, "Oden is all about fighting, seeing the world, and eating. No offense, big guy."

Oden shrugged because those three adjectives described him pretty well. Shanks also recognized himself in these adjectives, probably because Roger could also be described in such a way. Well, three-quarters of the Roger's Pirates were only thinking about starting a new adventure filled with combat and danger, with a meal and alcohol waiting for them at the end.

"We'll test his sense of honor once he wakes up," Roger laughed before leaving the room, Oden and Rayleigh trailing behind him.

Shanks chuckled softly as he saw the trio leave, still arguing.

"Get me some bandages, Shanks," Crocus ordered him, who already had a pot full of stinking cataclysm in his hands. "Dracule did not endure all that only to die of an infection."

"Aye-aye!" Shanks obeyed, running into the room, nearly falling off the stool, to retrieve enough bandage to wrap Dracule's arm tightly.

As predictable as it sounds, Shanks was forced to supervise Dracule. Well, his job was to watch over the stranger, except it wasn't a punishment for the young man. Perhaps because he volunteered, but it was better to leave the details to the devil. Shanks only cared to be allowed at his idol's side without being called a creep. And then, Shanks discovered how the infirmary was a nice place, there were lots of toys, and Buggy didn't dare come and bother him there.

So, Crocus assigned Shanks to exchange the wet towels on Dracule's forehead and assist him in applying cream and changing the bandages. A small fever had broken out during the night, nothing serious, but it had to be kept under control.

Dracule did not wake up during the night, probably thanks to the sedatives administered by Crocus. He was glistening with fever, whispering incomprehensible things under his breath, exiting a nightmare to enter another, and the bandages running from his arm to his shoulder and ribs only accentuated his pallor.

Yet… yet… Shanks had never seen such a beautiful creature; he was sure of it.

No matter what Dracule had said, fate brought them together; otherwise, why would a Kraken stop the swordsman from defying his captain?

Unfortunately, Dracule's recovery was like a storm on the Grand Line: unexpected and quickly over. Dracule was awake and up the next afternoon, no matter the doctor's arguments to keep his patient bedridden one more night.

The swordsman's best argument was: "why would you waste resources on your enemy?"

To which Shanks replied: "Why not?"

He had simply smiled when the calculating golden eyes had fallen on him as if Dracule was finally noticing his presence, which was quite mean since Shanks had never left his side.

"Never mind," Dracule decided before asking Crocus: "May I have an interview with the Captain of this ship?"

"He's polite now," the doctor muttered before motioning for Dracule to follow him.

Predicting what would be asked of him, Shanks left for the main deck to inform Roger of the latest news. Roger laughed at his guest's utter stubbornness, but he dropped his glass and motioned for Rayleigh to follow him. Having been a main player in the whole event, Shanks also followed and closed the door behind their little procession.

There, in the safety of the captain's office, sitting on his desk, Roger explained to a stranger who had come to challenge him, perhaps even kill him, his deepest truths: he was dying, and this trip around the world would be his last.

"I understand," Dracule sighed after this long presentation lasting more than an hour - Oden had joined them in the meantime and had extended the explanation with his own adventures. "Under these conditions, I cannot decently fight you.."

"Why? Why not?" Roger asked, half amused and half outraged.

"My honor forbids me, sir."

"Here we go again," Rayleigh muttered sarcastically.

The young man glared at the Second before adding, "I can not face a dying man. The fight would not, by all mean, be fair. Hence why I wanted to thank you for saving my arm. I owe you my life."

Then, Shanks knew they were all witnessing an unreal scene when Dracule Mihawk, the Marine Hunter, bowed almost until his head touched his knees in respect.

"I was reckless in facing the Kraken and almost lost everything. I am nothing without Yoru and my honor, but you saved both. Rest assured this will never happen again."

"Come on, stop it, you’re going to make us blush, Drakie," Roger laughed before placing his big arm on the young swordsman’s shoulders. "Now, answer the most important question of all: you're old enough to drink, right?"

"Is there a legal age?" Dracule replied hesitantly because of this new proximity.

"I like you, tiny guy!"

"We won't adopt him," Rayleigh groaned, placing a bottle and six glasses on the table. They all got a drink, even Shanks, proof that there really was no legal drinking age. At least not on the Oro Jackson.

"So mean," Roger whispered to his second in command, sulking a little, and then he clinked glasses with Dracule, abruptly enough to splash both their glasses. "But don't worry, Drakie, I can still kick your butt!"

Shanks laughed at the disgusted grin appearing on the distinguished face of the swordsman. Dracule must be grateful this shirt wasn't his. Indeed, Dracule couldn't put on his jacket without pulling on all the wounds on his arm and ribs, so a crew member lent him a shirt. It wasn't Shanks's, unfortunately, for a stupidly practical reason: he was younger and therefore smaller than the swordsman who had already had his growth spurt. So Dracule wore a loose shirt whose whiteness had slightly yellowed over time and, for practical reasons, had only put on the right sleeve. His left arm was immobilized against his body for at least the next few days. Yet somehow, Mihawk still managed to look as aristocratic and distinguished as he did on his wanted poster.

"I am obliged to decline your offer, Sir. Rest assured, your secret will be safe with me. I intend to keep it with my life. I also owe you a thanks for your hospitality. Yet not even your strongest alcohol will make me accept to duel a dying man."

"Why? Don't you like my alcohol?"

"Yes, but…"

"Well, then, keep drinking," Roger said before laughing. "We'll see what happens next!"

Mihawk frowned at the tall man as if he didn't understand his logic. "Still, it would be better if I leave as soon as possible. I do not intend to abuse your hospitality."

No!, Shanks shouted in his mind because Dracule couldn't leave, not now, not while he was injured… Not when the redhead hadn't yet had time to speak to him properly.

"Yes, Shanks?" asked Rayleigh, who rested against him.

Shanks' cheeks turned as red as his hair as he realized two things: first, he hadn't only shouted in his mind and secondly, all eyes were now on him. He downed his glass in one go, the alcohol burning his throat before he stammered an explanation: "Uh, well, well, uh… M-mister Dracule is still hurt? Right, Crocus?"

"At best, it will take three more days before you can move your arm and two more before you start fighting again."

"I will recover in three days," Dracule replied haughtily before crying out in pain when Crocus threw a small wooden horse against his injured shoulder. Dracule tried to suppress his cry, but tears still appeared in his eyes. "Alright, perhaps you might be right, but I would not dare abuse your hospitality any longer."

"And where the hell do you want to go?" Rayleigh asked, quietly sipping his drink.

Roger added happily, "We're in the middle of quite an adventure, we only stop over if we have to. You should join us! We always have a place for someone as strong as you!"

"No, I'm not interested."

"Why? Do you have better things to do?" Roger asked, tightening his arm around the young man's shoulders.

Dracule tried to shrug but failed. "There's always a Marine Base somewhere. Perhaps it doesn't appear this way right now, but I know very well how to fend for myself."

"The Marine Hunter," Shanks muttered under his breath before blushing again when Rayleigh elbowed him in the ribs.

"Stop drooling."

"I'm not," the young man spat softly before checking with his thumb, but he only found a drop of alcohol stuck to the corner of his lips. He pouted as Rayleigh smirked at him.

"There's something I don't understand," Oden admitted, speaking for the first time in a long time. "You're here for the Captain, aren't you, Dracule-taro?"

"I am."

The cold reply lost its intensity when Roger laughed, proudly tightening his big arm on the thin shoulders.

"But you fought Vistaro instead of Whitebeard."

Dracule nodded before admitting: "I only fight swordsmen, and Whitebeard doesn't consider himself one. I still managed to repel his attack."

The swordsman wasn't trying to brag, speaking in a neutral, controlled voice, yet he received an impressed whistle from the captain and incredulous looks from the others. Few could boast of having stood up to Whitebeard and having survived. It also means Dracule could repel an attack from the captain since Whitebeard and Roger were of equal strength.

So cool!, Shanks thought, careful this time not to speak out loud.

"Awesome!" replied Oden as excited as a kid in an amusement park. "You have a swordsman here!"

"Two," Rayleigh corrected without looking up from where he was filling his glass; Shanks held out his with a cute smile, and the eldest conceded to serve him too.

"You both desire to fight me?" Mihawk asked thoughtfully.

Rayleigh and Oden both shook their heads excitedly without a second of hesitation.

"Wait, wait, wait," Roger said, tightening his arm around Dracule's shoulders. Then, the young swordsman was crushed against a broad chest.His face distorted with pain, and he tried, in vain, to break free, but no one could ever escape from Roger's grip. "It's me you want.. Right, Drakie?"

"Well, they do not call me 'Drakie' and respect my boundaries, so…"

"Shh," the Captain ordered, cradling him jealously. "You came all this way and fought a Kraken for me and not one of those attention-diggers."

"Let the kid breathe, Roger."

"Exactly! Dracule-taro can make his own choices!" Oden stated with his own excited smile.

"Do you want alcohol again?" Rayleigh suggested, filling Dracule's glass until the alcohol threatened to overflow.

"I could lend you my equipment to clean your sword! It comes straight from Wano!"

"Well, I'll leave you the Captain's cabin while you heal," Roger said, looking straight into the young man's golden eyes.

Shanks had the strange feeling of witnessing a competition where the three adults tried to lure Dracule into fighting them first. Out of context, this discussion could lead to a misunderstanding because they seemed to fight for the teenagers's heart. The young swordsman no longer looked so intimidating as he was engulfed against the captain's broad chest. He even seemed quite small - everyone looked small compared to the captain - and his frown was the cutest thing ever. Not to mention the little pout on those pink lips. Shanks would die for the chance to see this expression again.

"I could fight them both," Dracule decided after a few seconds of hesitation.

"What?! Why them and not me?"

"You're sick," the crewmates all replied in unison.

"Then you will all go and sleep in the brick!" Roger ordered imperiously.

Rayleigh raised a mocking eyebrow, "you sure you want me to sleep in the brick?"

It was a well-know fact in the ship that the captain's cabin was also the mate's because Roger and Rayleigh shared the same room. Worse, the same bed. Shanks would know this firsthand since, younger, he would sneak into Roger and Rayleigh's bed to snuggle between them.

"No, not you," Roger pouted because Rayleigh had won, again.

Shanks prepared his best puppy dog eyes to match the most adorable pout before asking, "Even me, Captain?"

"Stop with your puppy eyes!"

But Shanks continued, even making his lower lip quiver, and Roger gave in, which made the teen laugh.

"Anyway," Dracule murmured, disturbed by all this domestic exchange. "So the decision is settled? Your two men against me?"

"One on one," Rayleigh clarified, nodding. "I don't need anyone to show your pushy's butt what real swordsmen's honor is."

"I still refuse! You won't face them before me, Drakie! If they do, then it'll be mutiny, and they'll be throw overboad. They can't have you before me. I'd be unfair!"

"So we ae at a stalemate then."

Roger placed his glass on the table before deciding with a rare seriousness: "Nothing requires us to draw our blades. Fights can take other forms, right? You're familiar with haki?"

Dracule nodded, and Roger clarified, "do you have Conqueror Haki?"

"I do not, but I have defeated Marines who fought with it before. Besides, no one is better than I when it comes to Observation Haki. I also mastered Armament a long time ago."

"Alright, then here's my offer: we'll train tomorrow at the same hour, right here on the Oro Jackson. I'm dying, you're injured, so the scales are rebalanced."

Dracule looked quite intrigued when he asked, "you want us to only use our haki?"

"Exactly, I'll show you what I have in my guts, and you'ill decide if you could've beaten me if I weren't dying. You have enough experience to form your opinion."

"A mental battle," concluded Dracule, who had placed his hand under his chin to think. "I suppose it would be a fair fight. At least, I would not have come all this way for nothing."

Shanks smiled as Dracule clinked glasses with Roger to seal their agreement, then successively with Rayleigh and Oden, because the next few days promised to be damn interesting.

The Oro Jackson was completely and incredibly calm for a few long, terrible seconds.

Shanks felt like he had survived a terrible storm which almost destroyed the Oro Jackson. It was probably one of the worst storms he had experienced, and yet, he was used to the waves of Haki emanating from his Captain. Shanks knew Roger could get intense when he stopped laughing and got serious. The numerous fights with Whitebeard's crew proved this. Except each time, the teenager forgot it was a lot, even for him.

The teenager had wanted to attend the mental duel between Roger and Hawkeyes. He had been certain the spectacle would be grandiose enough to deserve to be immortalized. And Shanks had been right. The mental battle pitting Roger's Haki against Hawkeyes' resistance was breathtaking - literally.

Roger aimed his Haki at the swordsman, who defended himself with his long obsidian sword. Hawkeyes resisted the waves enough for Roger to lose his smile and become more serious, attacking the young man until pushing them both to their limits. The swordsman's face was pinched in concentration, his jaw clenching, and the gleam in his eyes made him look like a madman, but Hawkeyes held his ground and did his best not to back away.

The fight lasted for a good thirty minutes, enough for sweat to run down the faces of both opponents, yet they refused to give up.

Shanks even stepped back and sat down because he wasn't feeling well. He felt like the Haki would crush his organs or destroy Oro Jackson while his head would soon burst. It was like an apocalypse was unfolding on the ship.

Eventually, Hawkeyes sheathed his sword to end the fight, confident that Roger would stop before the Haki crushed him, which was exactly the case. Instead of attacking the helpless young man, the waves of Haki returned to their owner.

Then, the heavy air suddenly became light again, the gray clouds cleared to give way to the blue sky, and the waves slowly calmed: the storm was over, and the Oro Jackson had survived the apocalypse.

"So? What do you think, Drake?" Roger asked confidently.

"You certainly earned your reputation," conceded Hawkeyes who, for his part, no longer seemed so confident about his chances of victory. "It is a shame we will never know who could have won in a true fight," the young man added with a sigh.

From far away, Shanks heard Roger laughing about having a real fight now that they were all warmed up. The teen felt like he was emerging from a long, deep dream. Yet, despite his heavy body and his new migraine, Shanks knew it had been a good dream, one of a kind and perhaps even of a lifetime. Roger against Dracule, yes, he would have paid to watch this fight unfold.

Shanks got up thanks to Gaban's outstretched hand, and only noticed how most of the crew members were in the same state as him. Roger's haki all affected them in different ways as some fainted and others were puking their guts out. They helped Buggy get up before heading to Roger, who had already collected a bottle.

"A drink?" Roger suggested, nudging the young man he had just confronted.

Despite his blurred vision, Shanks was sure Hawkeyes was sulking slightly as his honor kept him from fighting this particularly strong dying man. He looked pretty cute, all disappointed and grumpy. Shanks knew this thought wasn't share when Buggy hid slightly behind Gaban, noticing the swordsman's murderous gaze.

"Is drinking the sole activity on this barrel of a ship?"

Roger shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, "We sing, eat, dance, and fight too."

"Life is good here," Shanks completed with a smile. He giggled when Roger pulled his straw hat down on his head in silent confirmation.

Hawkeyes rolled his eyes but still asked, "do you have some wine?"

So the party began. Barrels of beer were opened while an old bottle of wine was handed to their special guest. There was laughter, singing, and dancing. The alcohol flowed in abundance, enough to replace all the water in the Shin Sekai, and was mopped up by a mountain of food.

Shanks joined in the party and, after drinking enough, which wasn't much since he was still a light weight, climbed onto a table to dance with Buggy. Shanks was happy-go-lucky and easily amused because, earlier, he perfectly summed up his life on the Oro Jackson: it was nice. Filled with adventures and fights, where they always met great people. Above all, Shanks loved his family, between his annoying brother, his fearless captain, and the protective Second.

In the middle of the festivities, Shanks collapsed on the ground, tired but so happy his heart might burst. He looked up at the stars and prayed for the party to never end.

If there was one downside to the festivities was that it was always up to Shanks and Buggy to clean up the decks afterwards. Throw out the empty bottles, pile up the tankards, and wash the decks until they shine. It was quite a calming routine as lanterns had been lit to break the darkness of the night.

As usual, Shanks filled the silence with his useless chatter - according to Buggy - while dancing with his broom, "and then rumor has it that Hawkeyes single-handedly defeated an armada. He's so fuckin' strong!"

"Pf, Rayleigh could do the same with one finger if an Admiral woke him up too early in the morning," Buggy taunted.

Rayleigh could be in a rather bad mood in the morning, especially when Shanks or Buggy, or both, had woken him up a little too abruptly.

"And why do you keep calling him Hawkeyes? Thought his name was Mister Look-at-me-I'm-Cooler-Than-You?"

Shanks hummed absently as he idly scrubbed the floor, thinking of all the reasons why his brain had started referring to Dracule as Hawkeyes this morning. His mouth had followed easily. The bullshit reason Shanks had given Rayleigh earlier was how he was too intimidated to call Hawkeyes by his name, but not yet confident enough to call him by his first name. Except 'Drake' was wrong. It wasn't original enough for a man like Dracule!

Hawkeyes was much more intimidating and sought after than just "Drakie", as if the Marines would be afraid of the Marine Hunter if his nickname was this pathetic.

"Oi, moron!" Buggy called out. "Why the nickname?!"

"Well, technically it's Hawk-eyes," the redhead explained seriously as if he was making an important presentation: "First, 'Hawk' because that's half of his first name, 'Mihawk'. You gotta keep a base, you know? It's also because he looked like a hawk when he fought the Kaken. The way he fell, it was like he was flying!"

Shanks rested his arms on the top of the broom as his gaze grew dreamy and his voice soft, "and 'Eyes' because his eyes are so enigmatic and charming. I've never seen irises like his before, and we have traveled a lot, have we?"

"They're scary and threatening," Buggy replied. "I can't even establish eye contact with him."

"Maybe, but his eyes are still so interesting. He has this unusual double rim and this color... looks like molten gold! I could look at them for hours without ever getting bored. I wanna know how they look when he's angry, or bored, or… i don't know, in love. "

"I feel like he can read our souls with his eyes, it’s creepy. He's creepy. "

Shanks shrugged, "I hope he likes what he sees then."

"You lovestruck idiot."

"At your service," Shanks mocked, imitating a bow, except his broom threatened to fall, and he hurried to catch it.

The redhead's idiotic behavior made Buggy growl, "Stop acting like a stupid lover, we're just cabin boys, he won't notice us. We're like dirt under his boots."

"I don't care," Shanks laughed before skipping happily to clean the floor. "I'm lucky enough to meet him. Ah, I can die happy now."

"You"ll definitely die stupid."

"And you’re going to die ugly, which is wayyyyy worse."

"Shut up!" Buggy shouted, slapping the back of the redhead's head, who hissed in pain before laughing.

They quietly fell back into their routine afterward to quickly finish cleaning the deck. They didn't want to stay up too late since tomorrow promised to be another day filled with adventure. So Shanks pushed the dirt off the deck while Buggy followed with his mop.

He was whistling a song when Buggy talked about Hawkeyes again, "why do you like him, seriously? He's intimidating, bossy, even mean. He can't be more than four or five years older, yet he is totally snubbing us for the adults. Don't get me started on the indecent way he has to be the center of all the attention, ugh," Buggy pretended to throw up. "Why does the captain keep an arm on his shoulders all the fuckin't time?"

"If I could, I'd always keep my arm around his shoulders! Besides, we're not on the same level," Shanks reminded with pride because he was so eager to catch up with Hawkeyes. Once strong enough, Shanks will force Hawkeyes to look only at him. "You saw Hawkeyes's level today! We're training with Roger and Rayleigh, and yet, he's so stronger than us. We're so behind… we need to get stronger."

"Hmh, yeah, yeah. He looked stupid with his sword…."

Shanks almost dropped his broom because of his stupor. Hawkeyes looking stupid while wielding Yoru? It is like saying Roger is more charismatic without a mustache. Having seen his captain without a mustache following a bet, Shanks knew it was completely false. Roger wasn't Roger at all without his mustache, just like Hawkeyes wouldn't be Hawkeyes without Yoru. He wielded Yoru as if the sword were an extension of his body rather than a burden due to her monumental size. And then, she fit Hawkeyes's formal and strict aesthetic with her cross shape.

"...He can barely carry it with his arm bandaged, but me lord insisted on getting a strap to keep it tied behind his back. This dumbass hurts himself for nothing. Why can't anyone see how stupid he is?"

"You really don't understand anything Rayleigh explained to us," Shanks accused angrily.

Buggy shrugged before asking: "All this talk about swords and their master? Phew, it's useless.Pick a sword, stab someone, and throw it in the sea. Who cares?"

"The sword chooses its master," Shanks explained before jumping onto the rail and using his broom as a makeshift sword. "A bond of trust unites them. The swordsman cannot abandon the sword keeping him safe. Ace chose Roger; Emna and Habakiri chose Oden; and Yoru chose Hawkeyes. Of course, he's not gonna be strutting around with another sword in enemy territory. And soon I'll go on a quest to find my sword."

"How can an object choose a person. It doesn’t make sense!"

"How can an object eat a devil fruit?" Shanks demanded before jumping off the railing and onto the bridge. He was planning to resume his work when he came face to face with a pair of golden eyes.

Shanks nearly fell as he backed up until his back was pressed against the railing. He straightened up until his body formed a perfect 'I'.

"Mister Hawkeyes!" he exclaimed in surprise to warn Buggy. His brother quickly turned around to see Hawkeyes behind them, and he easily mimicked Shanks' stern stance.

Hawkeyes was casually leaning against the mast, his right arm crossed over his chest, and his head tilted as if he had been listening to them for a while now. But since when? What had he heard? Buggy making fun of Yoru? Or, way before, when Shanks explained the nickname he came up with?

Their cheeks red with shame, the two brothers began to apologize as soon as Hawkeyes raised an eyebrow.

"W-we're sorry, Mister Hawkeyes!"

"Your sword doesn't look ridiculous at all…," Buggy stammered simultaneously.

"...We didn’t want to gossip on you, it was wrong…"

"...It's even very, very dashing and makes you look super cool!"

"Yeah," Shanks laughed nervously. "You know, we were just laughing while working? Besides, the alcohol doesn't help."

"We really drank too much," Buggy confirmed, leaning against Shanks to hide. "We're very, very, very, very, very drunk, your dashing highness."

Shanks nodded eagerly, "so fuckin' drunk."

Unfortunately, they were cut off when Hawkeyes spoke with enough indifference to look at his nails rather than them. "It has been brought to my attention how I owe my life to the 'cabin boy' who bravely saved my life. Now, the downside is this ship has two cabin boys and seeing your hard work unfolding before my eyes, I understand better. Anyway, your absence of commitment is not the reason for my presence, as I desire to know which one of you gave me mouth-to-mouth without my permission?"

Shanks felt his mouth drop open when he realized Rayleigh had betrayed him. Except the second was not the only one to commit a crime today, since Buggy pointed at him without any remorse. Right now, when the golden eyes finally fixed on him, Shanks had only one desire left: the childish one to hide his face under his hat.

He was about to do just so when Hawkeyes slowly approached him. This was how Shanks' short life comes to an end, right? Hawkeyes was going to kill him for having touched him without consent, and then he would eliminate the traces by killing Buggy. Hawkeyes sure looked like a predator as he slowly paced toward his prey.

"It-it was to save your life," Shanks stammered as Hawkeyes continued to move forward at a torturous pace. "It wasn't really a kiss! I never, ever, would have dared! Mouth-to-mouth, you now? It was to save your life, I swear! I-I, well, our lips barely touched, and it was quick and…"

Shanks stopped talking to look up at the tall and dangerous man towering over him. Yoru's guard flashed behind her owner's back, forcing the teen to swallow hard.

Except instead of killing the reckless redhead, Hawkeyes whispered in his ear: "Next time you kiss me, make sure I'm awake to appreciate it."

Shanks wasn't sure he quite understood through his madly beating heart. His eyes were stunned while his mouth was wide open. It was so unreal, so impossible. Hawkeyes knew who Shanks was and what he had done for him, except that instead of killing him, Shanks had just received the best gift in the world.

Had he just been allowed to kiss Hawkeyes again? Like, a real kiss? Unless Hawkeyes was making fun of him? At least, the smirk on the swordsman's plump, pink lips was breathtaking.

(Hawkeyes had heard Buggy insulting him and Yoru while Shanks was defending the honor of all swordsmen. So the older teen decided to hit two birds with one stone. He thus thanked Shanks and made him win the argument against Buggy.)

The redhead knew he was smiling like an idiot, but it was the least of his worries because his crush had just flirted with him!

But with their luck, Hawkeyes had also heard the beginning of the conversation…

"Thanks for the nickname, Cabin Boy. Hope you do not mind if I keep it," added the swordsman while walking away from the main bridge.

Shanks waited until Hawkeyes was out of sight before whispering to Buggy, "I think I'm gonna pass out from happiness."

"It's impossible...," Buggy began before screaming in fear when he saw the redhead's face. "...you're nose bleeding, you pervert!"

Shanks climbed the rope ladder with difficulty because the wind blew through his clothes and shook the straw hat behind his back. An additional constraint slowed his ascent as he held a bottle of wine in his hand and had stuck a bottle of rum in his red belt. Shanks gasped a little when a gust of wind almost knocked him over, but he held on as he had almost reached the top.

All of Shanks' efforts were rewarded when he jumped into the crow's nest and discovered a sight that didn't miss to make his heart melt. Hawkeyes had fled the noisy festivities of the main deck to hide high up like a bird needing to be closer to the sky. He looked relaxed as he lay on his back, his arms behind his head, and his legs propped up on the wooden fence. Obviously, Yoru was right next to her owner, who would never have abandoned her on the bridge with filthy pirates.

"I knew you'd be here," Shanks greeted happily before placing the bottle of wine within the older swordsman's reach. "This is to celebrate your victory," he completed when the golden orbs landed on him.

Shanks did his best to ignore the enigmatic gaze as he retrieved his own bottle. He easily spat out the cork at his feet before sitting down on the railing. He drank a little to give himself confidence as he launched into an energetic speech:

"Your fight against Oden was incredible! Epic! Brilliant! I felt the earth shaking from the Oro Jackson! Since I knew him, only the Captain could match Oden but you defeated him! Not only that, but the way you moved? It was great art! You were so graceful and powerful, like a bird fluttering around its prey! Poor Oden did not understand what was happening to him, dahahaha!"

While Hawkeyes remained silent, Shanks took the opportunity to continue his speech: "you were all 'bam' and 'boom' and 'splash'," the excited teenager stopped miming the fight with big gestures when he almost fall. He regained his balance with difficulty and decided to sit next to Hawkeyes to not tempt the devil again. "In any case, I've never seen such an epic fight. I'm glad you won! You know, the crew bet on you losing, so I made a lot of money!"

"You are welcome," the swordsman replied coldly before sitting down against the railing and grabbing the bottle of wine.

Shanks laughed as if Hawkeyes had just told a good joke. For a few seconds, they quietly drank their respective poisons while listening to the music and laughter coming from downstairs. Then, no longer able to hold it, Shanks added thoughtfully: "You only have Rayleigh left and then what?"

The golden eyes remained lost in the sky for a second or two before Hawkeyes sighed wearily, "nothing."

"I-I don’t understand, sorry."

"Once Rayleigh is defeated, I will have reached the top," Hawkeyes explained softly, his hand outstretched toward the sky, the sun, before landing to a more reasonable target. He took another sip before adding: "My quest to find the best of the best ends here. Afterward, there will not be any more room to be improve. Training would then become useless, and I would have to settle somewhere to wait for my death."

Shanks frowned. Wasn't that the point? Wasn't becoming the best Hawkeyes' ultimate goal? So why did he seem so defeated and disappointed all of a sudden?

"Why become the best swordsman in the world?"

Hawkeyes shrugged, "It is an objective like any other."

"So there’s no story behind this?" Shanks asked, unconvinced.

"There is always a story," the swordsman said before drinking. "Everyone has a sad story; I’m no different."

Shanks' frown deepened. He had talked about a story in general and not a specific sad one. However, he looked towards Hawkeyes, who was happy to travel alone, even if it meant having to fight a kraken with no one to watch his back. Who would have saved Hawkeyes if the Roger's pirates hadn't been there? Would his legend have died out here, or, as Shanks believed, did fate wanted them to meet?

"Is that why you're so convinced to come from Hell?"

"I'm afraid it is a sad story like any other," Hawkeyes sipped again but didn't manage to hide the haunted sparkle in his eyes. "There would be no point in telling it."

Shanks was disappointed because he wanted to hear the story. He wasn't just physically attracted to Hawkeyes. Since he had known Hawkeyes - a week - his feelings had grown much deeper. Shanks wanted to know everything about the swordsman, what he loved and hated, who he was, and what he could become with a friend at his side.

"I'm sure you have a sad story too," Hawkeyes assured as he drew another graceful sip.

Shanks smiled fondly and didn't hesitate to share: "Roger's pirates found me as a baby in a treasure chest and decided I was too cute to dump me."

Shanks's smile deepened when Hawkeyes looked at him doubtfully.

"...my crew betrayed me when I was ten," Hawkeyes shared without looking towards Shanks, either because of the tears in his eyes or the redness in his cheeks. "I appreciate your Captain, he doesn't seem like the type of man to throw kids overboard in the middle of Grand Line because they beat him in training."

"Roger is the absolute best," Shanks said dreamily, wanting to ask for more, but not daring to push his luck. If he were bolder, then he would have put his hand on Mihawk's. Tonight was nice, very much so. Maybe it was because of his recent victory, but Hawkeyes was particularly talkative, and Shanks didn't want to ruin this sweet moment. "I wish you were on our crew sooner. We would have protected you and never dumped you. But we can be your safe place now."

"Do not misinterpret, Cabin Boy. I'm not on your crew. In fact, I will never be on any crew again."

"Even mine?" Shanks asked, sulking because of his dreams. "I was thinking about recruiting you! You, me, and Buggy against the rest of the world! It would be total fire, no Marines or Pirates would resist us!"

"No, I swore on Yoru to never trust a third person again."

Shanks pouted harder, "It's not fair! I'll never abandon you. You'd be safe with me!"

"Safe with you?" mocked Hawkeyes with a rare smile. "Would not it be the opposite? I am, after all, stronger than you."

"For now, I plan to train to surpass you Mr-the-best," replied Shanks proudly, puffing out his chest and placing his hat back on his head. "You'll see, the day will come when I kick your ass. And then, you'll be forced to join my crew."

A sound resembling laughter left Hawkeyes' pink lips. "I would have forgotten about you by then."

"Impossible!"

"You seem pretty sure of yourself… what's your name again? Ah yes, Roger's cabin boy number two."

"First of all, I'm Roger's cabin boy number one," Shanks replied with a laugh. "Besides, I'll be your rival, so I'll be unforgettable."

"Unfortunately, I’m already starting to forget you…"

"Stop joking, silly! You'll recognize me because I'll be the man in the hat," Shanks decided, holding up his straw hat.

Hawkeyes golden eyes narrowed as he looked the teen up and down. "I know plenty of men in hats," he murmured before leaning over and playing with a lock of red hair. "Much less with flamboyant hair like yours."

"I…I…uh…I, Thank you?" Shanks managed to stammer while his cheeks were as red as his hair. They were strangely warm too, as the butterflies fluttered wildly in his stomach. Was he dead? Probably because Shanks was sure his brain had shut down for a few seconds.

Hawkeyes smiled proudly as his warm hand withdrew, and he drank again. Shanks gulped as he was aware of Hawkeyes' every move. He wished the warm hand had lingered longer on his hair, or for Hawkeyes to be more adventurous. As much as Shanks would swear to his death that he had performed mouth-to-mouth to save Hawkeyes, the memory of those soft lips haunted his sleep.

The man himself was an extreme temptation between the two locks of black hair framing his aristocratic face, his pianist fingers casually holding the bottle, and his jacket open on his bandaged chest.

However, the moment passed, and Shanks drowned his embarrassment in alcohol.

After a few seconds, he managed to come up with a funny answer: "and you'll be the man with the sharp sword…"

Shanks' impatience faded like the flame of a candle having burned out all the wax when the weak rays of the setting sun reflected on a shadow. For a second, Shanks smiled because Ray had finally won the endless fight! Except the shadow was too thin, and was carrying another, much bigger one on his back. Shanks' smile disappeared when he noticed the cross-shaped sword the shadow was holding.

So, Rayleigh wasn't returning victoriously to the Oro Jackson; Hawkeyes was.

The young swordsman had finally become the best swordsman in the world then.

Shanks was as happy for Hawkeyes as he was worried for his mentor because Rayleigh couldn't lose, ever. Furthermore, as carefree as he was, Shanks was all too aware of how a duel between two formidable swordsmen could end. The three small, uninhabited islands of the archipelago had been divided during combat. It had been so intense three warships had come to check what was happening, but the rest of the pirates had protected the fight.

Hawkeyes wobbled and nearly fell as he had just jumped from the island to the ship with Rayleigh still unconscious on his back. The swordsman didn't look good, even though he was victorious. The confrontation had left Hawkeyes with bruises and cuts of varying depths. Additionally, Hawkeyes hadn't slept, eaten, or drunk for four whole days. As Shanks wondered how the older teen was still standing, Roger put his hand on Hawkeyes shoulder to steady him.

"You did well, Drake," the Captain congratulated before lightening the teenager's load by easily retrieving his lover whom he carried in his big arms.

From where he stood, Shanks noticed the blood rapidly oozing from a deep cut stretching from Rayleigh's right collarbone to the top of his abs. Thankfully, Ray's chest rose and fell slowly. Shanks' mentor wasn't dead, only unconscious.

"He saved my arm, so I spared his life," Hawkeyes declared before limping away from the bridge.

None would know how far Hawkeyes was planning to go, perhaps to his temporary cabin or even further, for his trembling legs stopped supporting his weight, and he fell hard to his knees. Yoru slammed loudly on the floor when her owner let go of her. Shanks, who wasn't far away, rushed forward to catch Hawkeyes before his head could smash against the wooden floor.

Caught in his momentum and due to the swordsman's dead weight, Shanks fell to the ground with Hawkeyes safe in his arms.

The redhead looked worriedly at the older teen before sighing in relief as he felt breathing against his neck. Hawkeyes was exhausted too. At least that was what the deep, dark circles under his eyes indicated. The young swordsman looked much worse off than when he returned from the fight with Oden. Indeed, they had returned to the Oro Jackson with the adult bothering the teenager.

Maybe Hawkeyes and Rayleigh had both pushed their limits?

"Is Drake okay?" asked Roger, who was already heading towards the infirmary.

Shanks looked into Hawkeyes' bloody face before smiling, "he's alive, Cap."

The next day, Shanks understood the difference between alive and finel, which were two close concepts while remaining different. For example, Rayleigh was alive, and fine, as he had been teasing Hawkeyes since he woke up. Rayleigh must have been ready for defeat as he kept smiling, secretly relieved at not having suffered the same fate as the Kraken. Thus, the adult's joviality only accentuated the sullen air of Hawkeyes, who, despite his victory, seemed quite sad.

In fact, Shanks understood what detail had been bothering him since the fight ended when he tried to talk to Hawkeyes. The eldest was so lost in his contemplation of the horizon that he did not even hear the youngest's question. Then, Shanks looked a little more intently at the swordsman's face and, then he understood: the golden orbs had lost their shine.

Shanks still remembered the menacing and yet intense glint in Hawkeyes' eyes when he was fighting the Kraken or when he was preparing for his fights. However, it had completely disappeared now. Well, the orbs were still as beautiful and precious as ambers, but they seemed harder and colder than before.

Hawkeyes had changed since he became the best. He no longer balked when Roger called him Drakie or when he hugged him, he only drank with fatalism. Hawkeyes had lost a part of him during the fight, and Shanks hated it. He would give everything to see the glint again.

Hawkeyes left long before his wounds were healed and under the threats -pleadings- of Roger, who had not given up his desire to fight the new best in the world.

"You're not kissing your boyfriend goodbye? You're not even a little sad?" teased Rayleigh, who had insisted on leaving his bed to watch the swordsman departure.

"No," Shanks denied before turning to his mentor with literal fire in his eyes. "Hurry up and heal quickly, Ray! I plan on training ten times harder to beat Hawkeyes!"

"Since when do you want to become the best?"

Shanks smiled proudly before admitting, "I don't care about the title. My goal is to become Hawkeyes' only rival!"

For the first time in his life, Shanks was completely and intrinsically lost. If only he could be lost geographically, but no. Shanks knew too well where he was : in an alley in Loguetown, alone. He was so desperately alone. Oh, Shanks had already thought he was alone these past few months since the Roger Pirates broke up. He had lost his family and his only home.

Yet, nothing could compare to this. Shanks had helplessly witnessed Roger's execution. Of course, he knew the truth behind this execution, but the pain remained all too real. So real it became physical: Shanks had been torn into two pieces when the blades had buried in his
father's body.

And then, Buggy had abandoned him too.

Now, Shanks, fatherless and brotherless, and so lonely, walked aimlessly through the alleys of Loguetown. Roger's smile, his last words, and the blades digging into his chest repeated again and again in the teen's mind. So Shanks dragged his feet, his head bowed, and the rain mixed with his tears.

Funny, the sky also mourned the death of this great man.

Shanks barely noticed when he walked straight into a group of Marines and bumped into two of them. He continued to walk forward without knowing where he was going. Maybe if he continued on this path, then he could see his captain's dazzling smile again?

The teen was cut off from his thoughts by a hand grabbing his shirt: "can't you watch where you're going, worm?"

"Shut up," Shanks replied, raising his head to challenge the Marine.

"What did you say, worm?"

"I told you to shut up! You stupid bastard! Your voice is so damn annoying!"

As expected, the Marine punched the teen, who smiled and turned his other cheek. Shanks could have drawn his sword, could have defended himself, but he let the four Marines hit him.

He needed the physical pain to chase away the stifling pain in his heart.

Shanks still didn't fight back when a Marine knocked him against a wall or when another threatened to kick him. However, the saving pain never came as the Marine fell to the ground, dead.

"Anyone else want to take a chance?" someone behind them asked sarcastically. The savior's face was hidden by the rain, yet two golden dots shone.

"T-the Marine hunter!" stammered the soldier who had started the fight.

Instead of seeking confrontation with Hawkeyes, they all ran away and abandoned the teenager with the hunter.

"Here to finish the job?" Shanks spat angrily. He made a mistake by sniffing and groaned through his broken nose, which was bleeding profusely. Then, Shanks tried to stand up but failed due to his blurred vision and trembling knees. He almost succeeded but slipped on a puddle and fell to the ground.

Hawkeyes sight before grabbing Shanks under his armpit and forcing him up. The teen cried out in pain as Hawkeyes roughly pushed his nose back into place.

"You could have easily defeated them," the swordsman growled in a reproachful tone.

"Maybe I didn't want to! You thought of that, Ô mighty swordsman! And let go of me, I don't need a nanny! I don't fucking need anyone! And least of all, you!"

Hawkeyes endured the grieving teenager's wrath without taking offense. Instead, the swordsman tore a section of Shanks' shirt to stop the bleeding. Through his anger, Shanks only then noticed this was their first meeting since before the Roger Pirates disbanded. The thought brought fresh, new tears to his eyes.

"Picking up with the Marines was a childish action," Hawkeyes noted as he repositioned the straw hat over the soaked red hair. Thus, the hat would hold the pad - another piece of Shanks' shirt - on his forehead.

Letting his rage explode on the wrong person, Shanks pushed Hawkeyes away from him. "Damn you! Can't you fuckin' leave me alone! I didn't ask you to save me! I didn't ask you to do anything, you abandoner!"

"As you wish," Hawkeyes agreed easily as he was already turning to leave. "I owed you for saving me from the Kraken, consider us even now."

Shanks' heart sank in his chest, and his sorrow grew unbearable as he watched Hawkeyes leave.

"No…," he breathed because he only had Hawkeyes left, but he succeeded in scaring the swordsman away.

What was wrong with him?

Yet again, Shanks could only watch helplessly Hawkeyes leave. "No, please," the teen whispered as his breathing hitched.

The rain drowned out his plea, yet wasn't Hawkeyes supposed to know everything?

Feeling the rage rise within him again, Shanks let it all out as he straightened his posture, dug his feet into the ground, and ordered, "STAY WITH ME!"

A powerful wave of Haki tripped Hawkeyes, who, finally, turned towards the redhead. Despite the downpour falling fiercely on them, Shanks noticed the tremor in Hawkeyes' dominant hand, and the glint finally returning to his eyes.

Before Shanks knew it, they were sitting at a tavern. They were both wet, but a ceiling was now protecting them from the storm. A waiter approached, staring at them both: Hawkeyes because he could only be described as menacing - the rain was making him grumpy - and Shanks was covered in sludge and bruises. However, the waiter came back and brought them a bottle of wine for the eldest and some sake with a plate of onigiris for Shanks.

The young man barely thanked his savior before downing a quarter of the bottle in one gulp and mopping up the alcohol with an onigiri. He still asked Hawkeyes if he wanted one, but the elder looked with disgust before quietly drinking his wine.

As Shanks ate and drank - a second bottle of sake had just been brought - he explained to the only listening ear how Roger's last voyage had ended, then the dismantling, the return to Wano for Oden and his family, and finally, the crew leaving one by one until only Rayleigh and Shanks remained. The old man had also left with one last piece of advice that Shanks would be incapable of remembering now. Anything about not going to Loguetown and continuing his life?

Shanks drank even harder to drown out the memories until they were nothing but a harmless blur.

Finally, since Hawkeyes was a good listener, Shanks admitted how alone, aimless, and empty he felt.

"So you have given up?" Mihawk asked after listening for two hours without saying a word.

Shanks shrugged before putting the empty bottle on the table, "what's the point of forming a crew and going in search of adventure? I know how it ends now," the teenager vaguey pointed in the direction of the large square where the platform was. "I’ve already been to all the seas anyway."

"Do not misinterpret, I'm relieved you no longer want me on your crew, but was not sailing with Roger's cabin boy number two your dream?"

"Buggy wanted to claim the One Piece earlier, but I refused, and now he will never speak to me again. Today I lost my Captain and my brother forever," Shanks raised his new bottle to the sky as if he were toasting good news.

Mihawk's golden eyes narrowed as he looked up at the teen with a hand under his chin. "I'm hesitant if you are pathetic or profoundly stupid."

"Why not both?"

"I would have thought someone trained by Roger and Rayleigh had more guts, and here you are throwing your biggest dream out the window because you are sad."

"I'm not sad!" Shanks spat as tears welled up in his eyes. "It's over. The adventure's over. Roger's dead, the crew's disbanded, and Buggy's better off without me. Nobody needs me. I'm nothing anymore."

"So you can only be defined as Roger's cabin boy? You have no identity? You can not be your own person without a captain to bark orders at you? If it is the case, then why did the Dark King teach you to fight? Why would Roger take you under his wing to become a proper Captain? Why did the Roger pirates bother raising you to become a sailor? I thought it was what you are? A greedy and dirty pirate who only knows how to sail, fight, and drink, but who would still sacrifice his life to save a stranger's? Unless it was just a common, nameless cabin boy who saved my life?"

Unable to answer, Shanks looked down at his trembling hands which were clutching his torn and dirty pants. How could Hawkeyes know so much about him when they spent so little time together? Because yes, even though his heart was broken into a thousand pieces, Shanks still felt the ocean calling upon him. He was born to be a pirate, it was his dearest wish to sail these seas with his own crew. However, now, apart from drinking his weight in alcohol, Shanks didn't want to start a new adventure.

Mihawk quietly finished his drink before warning in a deadly tone: "I shall give you three years."

"Three years?" Shanks repeated without understanding.

"You have three years to form a crew worthy of your legacy, find a boat even more recognizable than the Oro Jackson, and live your greatest adventures through the blues and Grand Line. At the end of these three years, you shallr have your first true bounty under the name of… Red-haired Shanks."

Shanks felt his eyes widen at the nickname Hawkeyes had just given him. It wasn't "Roger's cabin boy", but his most recognizable trait and also, perhaps, the one Hawkeyes preferred most about him. The teenager didn't have time to rejoice as Hawkeyes added:

"After the deadline, I will come for you Red-haired and you better be ready. Otherwise, your wish to join your captain will be granted."

"Three years," Shanks repeated, staring at the hunter standing before him.

"I am maganimous, so I may grant you four if you rather."

Instead of being afraid as he should be, an even more dangerous feeling took hold of the redhead's heart. Shanks smiled confidently before countering, "I'll be waiting for you in three months."

"Let me doubt such a bold statement, redhead," Mihawk scoffed as he refilled his glass.

"You'll see: my name and my crew will make the seas shake before your stupid deadline," Shanks promised proudly, leaning over the table. "We'll see each other again in three months. Then I'll kick you'll but and you'll become my swordsman."

"Are you persisting in pursuing this utopia? I would never join your crew."

"Never say never," Shanks taunted, grabbing his half-empty bottle.

Hawkeyes held out his glass to the redhead as he said, "It is settled then, we will duel in three years."

"Three months," Shanks repeated before toasting with the swordsman.

Without knowing it, the best swordsman in the world and the future captain of the Red-haired pirates had just planned a date which would be followed by many others.

Obviously, Hawkeyes didn't linger long. The swordsman still threw a wad of cash on the table before leaving.

On impulse, Shanks rushed out of the bar after finishing his last bottle. Instead of heading towards the scaffolding - he vowed to return there after dark to recover the Captain's body and give him a proper burial - Shanks ran towards the port. He slipped on the wet cobblestones, but didn't fall. He also didn't take the time to enjoy the warm sun that had replaced the storm, as if a new day was dawning on the redhead.

When Shanks arrived at the port, a small coffin-shaped boat had already set sail. There were no other ships, except those of the Marine, since most left to search for One Piece. The faint rays of the sun illuminated a dark-haired young man sitting on some sort of throne, and Shanks knew he had arrived in time.

So the teenager walked to the edge of the wooden bridge, held on to a pole and to his hat as he yelled at the top of his lungs: "Thanks, Hawky! I won't disappoint you!"

There was no physical or verbal response as the ship continued on its way, and the man did not turn around.

On impulse, Shanks laughed freely before adding: "I'll be the man in the hat!"

"And I will be the one with the sharp sword," replied a gust of wind, which blew the straw hat away.