They'd said their goodbyes to Laboon a long time ago.
Nami guided the way, using her finished map of the world.
The little ship sailed with the greatest pirates in the world, dreams fulfilled; all except for one.
Meanwhile, the world was waiting on the Pirate King.
The day he made his promise, he thought he would never stop crying. Wado felt unbearably heavy in his hands.
His inspiration.
His calm.
His reason to fight.
They were gone forever, unjustly ripped away.
Raising Wado toward the heavens, he screamed against the fates. They had taken the life, but they would never take the dream. That was his to inherit.
Finally, Mihawk was in his sights. Finally, it was time to steal the title of World's Greatest Swordsman.
As he walked away from the Thousand Sunny, the only one who cried out to him was Chopper. He turned around, only to see Chopper being held back by Sanji. The chef told him, "Lose, and I'll kill you," words missing their usual animosity. The swordsman smirked and kept walking. It went unsaid that if he lost this fight, then Sanji wouldn't have to bother.
At first, he didn't see the point of kata; but then again, he'd never been one for patience.
Swinging Wado over his head, he relied on his previous memories of the sword's owner, matching those ideal swings with his own clumsy imitations.
There was a difference in muscles. In skill. In talent. The more he tried, the more distant he felt from the ideal. And the more frustrated he felt, the more he tried.
Time passed. One swing became ten. One hour became the whole night. He considered any hard surface his training ground. Hotel roofs. Quiet forests. Bobbing decks. Most often, the observation room in the middle of the night.
One day, it just clicked. This one swing was everything. This endless kata; it was all in preparation for that one opening. His attack had to be perfect, had to contain every ounce of his killing intent. If he failed, there were no second chances. And with a dream as heavy as his, there was no room for failure.
Mihawk didn't speak at first. Just regarded him with his usually merciless intensity.
"What are you thinking about?"
"That day," Mihawk replied.
Of course. The day a foolish rookie screamed a shout on bloodied lips. He'd witnessed it first-hand, after all.
"It's strange to see you, of all people, in front of me." Mihawk let out a chuckle. "But I've known since that day, that you shouldn't be underestimated."
He didn't say anything back. Just unsheathed Wado and took his stance.
"What happened to your other swords?"
He shrugged. "They weren't mine to begin with."
That explained nothing. But Mihawk didn't pursue the issue, instead unsheathing his enormous black blade.
Some days, he thought there was a spirit residing in Wado. He'd tried asking Brook about it, only to terrify the musician and make Usopp reassemble his ghosthunting outfit. So he just accepted it as one of those unexplainable things.
Even so, there were days when he was drifting off into slumber, Wado by his side. He could swear its previous owner was standing close by, that familiar smile on their face.
And the grief in his soul would relax just a bit.
Just a little longer, he would tell the spirit; I'm almost there.
He thought that victory would make him happy. He thought that becoming the world's greatest swordsman could bring him a sense of completion. Instead, he felt something snap and fly away. That's when he realized; promises are promises, until they're fulfilled. But once it's over, there's nothing to bind two people together.
"We did it, Kuina," he whispered, salty tears stumbling down his bloodied face.
Then he took a deep breath and screamed into the heavens, voice hoarse with emotion:
"WE DID IT, ZORO!"
The Pirate King had kept his promise.
A/N: Soooo, to clarify: this was an AU where Zoro died, so Luffy inherited his dream to become World's Greatest Swordsman. I didn't make him use Santoryu, because I thought he would have enough trouble with just one. Also, because Wado will be the sword that holds the meaning of 'promises'.