I had just acquired my Devil Fruit powers from eating a tart made from the Zō Zō fruit. I lacked – and still do - control over it since it wasn't as potent as eating the actual fruit itself. Not to mention, only half of the fruit was used in preparation of the dish. After a series of … accidents … I was branded as a witch and ostracized by my village.
It was a quaint farming village where every family worked hard for their living. Day in and day out we would farm, prepare the goods to sell and travel to neighboring markets. They're stubborn and refuse to accept any other way of life. Inventors often pass through with cutting-edge farming technology. My people refuse them every time in favor of back-breaking labor. Which is why my strange and dangerous development became unacceptable to the community and I was forced to leave.
The villagers - the people with whom I had lived all my life - assaulted me shortly after I ate the fruit. It was the middle of the night when they surrounded my lonely house with torches and pitchforks. The witnesses explained that the power stemmed from my eyes. So that's what they targeted first. It was dark, though. And I had woken up when I felt them standing over me. Luckily, they missed my eyes but still, I ended up with this ugly mark on my face. Needless to say, I bolted after that.
I left with nothing but my sword and what food I could grab on my way out. All the money I had saved up was spent on that stupid pastry. The man said it was special and it would make me stronger. That's all I wanted - to be able to wield my wide blade with ease. I tried to take a short cut and paid a heavy price.
For days, I stumbled through the wilderness completely on my own. It was the hottest of summer days and I quickly ran out of provisions. I was scared too, caught in a disgusting paradox of fear. I was terrified of what might find me out there. Feral carnivores? Sickness? Was I being pursued by the people of my village? But I was equally as terrified what I might do if provoked. Sure, I had my sword. But that was when I could barely lift it, much less wield it appropriately. It was the heat, fear and questioning life that drove me to fever and delirium.
And that's where Zoro came in. He found me face-down in the dirt. I was passed out on the side of the road a few miles out of his village. All I can remember was the painfully bright sun feeding my pounding headache and the stinging of my sun burnt skin. There was very little left of me at that point. I had lost the strength and will to press on. It was quite the pitiful sight.
But Zoro carried me back to his home. I was too dizzy and delirious to open my eyes and see my savior and too parched to thank them.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up in his bed. I bolted upright but the sledgehammer headache I had knocked me back down again. Zoro was in the room with his back to me but he said "Idiot, don't try to move." Romantic right? That was the first thing he ever said to me. (But what do you expect from him?)
And then – classic Zoro – he started asking me about my sword. No introduction or explanation. Just: "That's a pretty hefty blade for a pretty tiny girl. Tell me, are you a swordsman?"
I still didn't trust myself around people. One glance and I could murder the man who saved my life. I was still a little delirious and not quite in my right mind so I attempted to flee; attempted being the operative word. The world turned as soon as I stood up so I felt like I was standing on my head. My legs refused to support me after two wobbly steps and I collapsed.
Luckily, Zoro's stellar reflexes kicked in and I collapsed in his arms. There, that's romantic! The arms that held me were soft and warm. It so different from the cold stone that held my victims. The stone that lurked in my nightmares.
Here I was trying to get away from him but I ended up physically closer to anyone than I have ever been (besides my family). I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want him to reject me.
I adamantly refused to look at him as a weakly struggled in his arms. He just as stubbornly forced my attention on him.
Our eyes locked and I saw nothing but calm and confidence in his firm gaze. It was much welcomed after my life had been thrown into chaotic turmoil.
In that moment, there was only us. I wanted his gaze to lock me away forever. He had me suspended like a mind-numbing drug. This was a high I could ride away from reality.
Uh wait a sec... Did I just describe love at first sight?
Anyways, I knew it couldn't be and I had to break the connection. My power was dangerous and unpredictable. I couldn't say when it would lash out next and I would lose faith in my own humanity if I hurt the person who saved me.
He asked me what I thought I was doing and his voice was so strong and assured. My answer, on the other hand, was not. I burst into tears. And not the cute, watery-eyed sniffles. These were gushing, snotty, ugly sobs. I think this kinda freaked him out so he sat there awkwardly patting my head until I calmed down.
When I could finally speak, I told him everything. I told him my story, my secrets, and my fears. I had spent so much terrifying time alone, I hung onto whatever companionship I could grasp at the moment. Even though I knew I couldn't trust myself to make it last, it was still comforting.
He was so calm and patient through my entire story. The whole time, I expected that the next thing I'd say would make him pick me up and dump me on the street. I was exhausted from the little episode and my weakened condition so I actually fell asleep before I finished my story. I never got to see his reaction to everything I had said.
But the next time I woke up, I was still in his bed. I had expected that I'd find myself on the side of the road where he found me. Because he kept me, I just assumed he didn't believe anything I said. I mean, who would harbor such a dangerous wreck?
He wasn't in the house so I hobbled to the backyard and found him training there. He was ruthlessly battering five of those training things that are people-shaped. I was (as is everyone) absolutely floored by his three-sword style. Just trying to follow his movements was too much for me and I was overcome with dizziness. I lay in the grass and watched the clouds drifting by until he had reduced the figures to rubble and joined me. The sky was robin's egg blue that afternoon and the clouds were puffy balls of cotton - my favorite kind of day. It was nice having someone to share the moment with.
I asked him to tell me his story since it was only fair after I had spilled earlier.
Zoro had lived in that village all of this life. It was a static community - no new faces moved in nor old faces moved out. If a passerby made their way through the village, Zoro was typically too busy perfecting his skills to take notice. Not that he'd really care anyways. So I think, because of this, he was happy to have someone to boast his story to. The people in the village watched him write it; they didn't need it retold to them.
He told me everything too. He told me his past. He told me his plans for the future. He told me that he would become the greatest swordsman in the world. And I believed it just as much as he believed it. Then, he generously offered me the title of second greatest swordsman in the world.
Within just a few days, I was completely back to normal and my strength was returning. It terrified me. I was so afraid of being alone again. Even though my initial ordeal was about 2 weeks long, it was the most hellish, brutal 2 weeks of my life.
During that time, I was afraid of being alone, but I feared more what I would do to anyone I encountered. So I isolated myself. But in that dark isolation, I couldn't escape the nightmares running circles in my head. Images of the familiar faces who assaulted me and drove me out of my home danced across vision every time I closed my eyes. Simple sounds in the forest taunted me. I felt like I had no choice but to never stop running.
At one point, I tore through some blueberry brambles. They reopened the wound on my face, not that it had been healing well anyways, and stained it blue! In case you were wondering why I have a oddly colored mark branding my face.
Even though I couldn't completely escape the nightmares, they were muffled when I wasn't alone.
I practically begged Zoro to let me stay with him. I promised him cooking and cleaning - things that he didn't have time for himself. Not that it affected him in any way, but I remember also bursting into tears at his feet. Pretty pathetic.
But I'll never forget what he said to me. He said: "It's not like the second greatest swordsman can be trained by anyone other than the first."
So nonchalant, as if it weren't even in question.
I spent my days cleaning up the property, cooking actual meals, working a part-time job in town, and, of course, training. It didn't make sense for him for a swordsman to not spend every waking moment sharpening their skills. Honestly, I first picked up that blade so I could learn some tricks and impress the other kids. Of course, he soon showed me the true value of wielding a sword. Now, I'm almost as obsessed with it as he is.
So that's how we lived out our days for about a year. For a village lifestyle, my days were quite fulfilling. I can't picture a better way to settle down one day...
A/N: I hope you like the story thus far! Thank you so much for reading this far into it. Please leave a review if you have the time; I love feedback, criticism, or to just know what you think. It's pretty much complete but I will be adding one more little chapter to wrap things up. Stay tuned!
Side note, Zō Zō = statue statue in Japanese (according to Google Translate)
If you like this story, I've one other short completed and I am in the process of writing a longer one! Check out Four Sword Style and Collecting Pirates in my profile!
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece
(just had to throw that in there)
