So this is sort of a missing/extended/whatever scene from OP CH. 592. Enjoy.

"You realize you can never succeed."

It wasn't really a question, and so therefore didn't really require an answer, and like hell would he bother giving one. It was late, he hadn't slept in days, not since that fucking newspaper arrived, his only means of transportation was wrecked beyond repair – not that he'd even know how to repair it even if that had been an option, and the thought really just pissed him off more – and his path off the god-forsaken island was blocked by, of all things, monkeys. So he sat in a corner of the dank, gloomy hall, polishing his swords and adamantly not sulking.

"The path of a true swordsman is one of solitude."

And then there was this asshole, spouting off all this advice like it was actually supposed to mean something, and just because it had always been his dream to defeat this man, that didn't mean he wanted to hear him ramble. If anything, it actually made him less inclined to give a shit, because when it all came right down to it, what the fuck did he know?

"You can never hope to claim my title so long as you remain with those pirates."

He ran the edge of his thumb down Wadou's blade, feeling the faintest tug against his flesh, instinctively knowing her limits, her power, her sharp determination, and knew she'd never actually hurt him. Would never cause him pain -

"They will hold you back. They will cloud your mind, dull your focus. They are the reason you are so damaged now, after all. The reason you have nearly teetered off this mortal coil twice in less than so many months."

- Would never be his downfall. He knew the risks. He knew the dangers involved in what he did, how he lived his life. But despite what everyone already thought of him, he never took a risk he couldn't measure up to. He knew his own limits as well as he knew Wadou's, and he knew he hadn't reached them yet. Together, they hadn't reached their limit.

And they were waiting for him.

He was waiting for him. He needed him.

And so he would follow, as he always had, because there was a different kind of strength in that. One that didn't bear explaining, because unless you already knew, you couldn't ever understand.

"Nakama can only make you weak."

He glances up, eyes meeting hawk-gold, and he doesn't feel that thrill of awe and anticipation anymore. A heavier feeling falls across his shoulders, something like inevitability, and the itch to get out and get back settles under his skin like an illness.

"Well, looks like I won't just get to slice your sorry carcass from naval to nose," he says, idle and intense, "I'll get to prove you wrong."

Wadou sings quiet as she slides into her snow-white sheath. There are no more words until morning.

He'd never had much use for them, anyway.