Sea breeze hits her face, and she leans over the railing to watch Shimotsuki Village disappear among the waves. It's a pity, but it's too dark to make out anything on the island.
Zoro should be up by now, she thinks, getting ready to start the day.
She pushes down the guilt of leaving just a letter. She's not sure she would have left if he asked her to stay, and Zoro coming with her is out of the question since it would mess up his training. She refuses to be the reason he fails his dream.
She whispers a goodbye to the only person that could have stopped her and sets her sights on the future before her.
The ship takes her to Blueberry Island. It's not called that because it's known for its blueberries, but because the island is perfectly circular with blue sand. The villages that dot the island are well-developed and full of resources; she's sure there are blueberry bushes somewhere.
The captain points her to a relatively cheap hotel, and she grabs her bags and starts her new beginning in Royal Village. The first thing she does is look for a job while letting her potential employers think she just needs pocket money
"You're very young," a shop owner says with uncertainty.
"The perfect age to learn," she smiles. "Hard work pays for beautiful clothes!"
Desperation leads to being taken advantage of. She's gone through that cycle before when she first left home in her previous life. Never again will she let some scumbag hold her paycheck over her head.
"And you are," the shopkeeper struggles, "a swordsman?"
"Yes."
It probably affects her chances, but she remains upfront about her katana. The last thing she needs is getting fired once they realize she's not joking.
She finds work as a waitress in a seedy bar. It pays the most, and the only rule is to not touch the alcohol. She has the freedom to do as she pleases so long as she takes orders and delivers food.
"You better know how to use that thing," her balding boss nods as she flashes the hilt of her katana. "It gets rough around here."
"I can handle it," she says.
Her boss lets out a disbelieving snort, and she knows he doesn't believe her. Give her one night, and he'll be changing his tune.
...
"Those some fancy robes there, girly."
She sets the plate down and moves backwards before the drunk patron can grab her sleeve. It'd be a shame if something nasty soiled the silk.
"How much it cost your parents?" The man spits at her.
Not much to be honest. Both the first layer and the second layer were relatively cheap, and she had sewn the thing together herself. Granted her stitches would make even a novice cry, and if the aunties ever knew of her modifications they'd probably faint in horror.
"Hey, I'm talking here!"
She ducks the grab for her head and throws a fist into the man's solar plexus. The man hunches over, losing all breath, and his eyes look ready to pop out of his head. If she were merciful, she'd leave it there.
She's not. There's also the statement she needs to make to the rest of the bar patrons.
In quick succession she lands a palm strike against the side of the man's head, sweeps his legs out from under him, and points her sword to his throat.
"You don't have anything worth saying," she utters.
The bar is entirely silent, and the man wets himself. She sheathes her sword and gets back to work. She makes sure to leave a boot print on the man's face on her way to the kitchen.
(It's a trick: her kimono only looks like one. She has full range of movement and many concealed weapons. The opponents that focus on her hidden katana will be blind to the throwing knife heading their way. This isn't the dojo anymore; the only rule here is to survive.)
...
She keeps up her sword training in her free time. She tells herself it's because she doesn't want to get rusty, can't afford to let her skills slip. She challenges the island's strongest fighters and is left unsatisfied.
I'm going to be the world's greatest swordsman.
Sometimes when she's training by herself, she forgets and waits for a certain boy to come running up to challenge her. She looks forward to it even, and when she remembers it leaves a lonely feeling.
She still doesn't regret taking off, but she misses that boy more than she thought she would. He made her laugh and her dull day a little brighter.
She hopes Wado Ichimonji is serving Zoro well, hopes it reminds him of her. That he doesn't forget her belief in him. The idea of being forgotten by her only friend hurts.
(If she only knew.)
...
She stays in Royal Village longer than she intends to. With the busy port, she's hardly bored and there's a wealth of knowledge in every drunken sailor. Things like magic exist—her books mentioned Devil Fruit but it's different seeing it for real—and the sheer amount of variety in sentient beings is staggering!
(She sees someone walking around with the coolest horns ever and can only be envious. Why couldn't she be born with that?)
She eventually has to extend her kimono and tie her hair back. At first she keeps the growing hair in a ponytail because she can't afford regular haircuts and buying a ribbon is cheap. When she glances in the window and sees her father, she heads straight to the hairdresser.
"Cut it all off," she orders.
"But your hair is so beautiful, it'd be a shame!" The hairdresser says.
True, it would be a shame. She remembers when he wore shiny, black hair in a thin ponytail and feels nostalgic. She sighs and decides to compromise.
Her hair gets cut into a style reminiscent of her childhood while leaving just enough strands near the skull to place in a ponytail. She doesn't look like her father anymore, and her hair becomes manageable.
She takes it as a sign that it's time to move on. She does one final shift in the morning before sailing off, and work is the same as always. No one tells her "Be safe" or "I'll miss you." The highlight of her day is kicking an actual clown in the balls.
Her ride is going to Loguetown. It sounds like an interesting place—there's a famous sword shop there!—and she's more than ready for a vacation. It's a long voyage, and the ship will be making several stops along the way. She'll have to pay an additional fee to get back on the ship after each island, but the low price makes it worth it.
She makes it to Maze Island, and she's given a whole week before the ship departs. The island is known for its natural, extremely dangerous hedge maze, and she knows exactly what she's going to be doing for a week.
She buys supplies from Maze Village, slings a rucksack over her shoulder, and sets out.
"It's too dangerous for a girl like you," the leader of the island stops her before she can step in. "There's lava and spiders and all sorts of things in there."
She glances around the woman and judges the distance. It should be doable against someone of that size, granted body shape here was not an indicator for muscles or lack of.
"I'm going to want that reward when I get out," she says and runs.
She makes it into the maze and doesn't stop running until she's well and truly lost. A cat-like beast pounces from a branch overhead, and she smiles for the first time since she left Shimotsuki. This world is so different and so interesting. She's having the time of her life.
It takes her four days to get through the maze. By the time she gets out, she is hungry and a bit singed. Still, her mood is high. There's a promised free meal to anyone who makes it through. It comes with ice cream. She still has a few days to look around at the shops too.
Her good mood crashes when she spots a ship with a black flag.
"Goodbye ice cream," she sighs.
While it's true that some pirates don't cause any trouble on land, she's not holding her breath. Case in point, she walks into the town hall only to see a man in grimy clothes attempting to assault the island leader.
She grabs the man by the back of the shirt and slams him to the floor. Her sword is in her hands before she can even think, and she takes the man's head. The woman stares at her in absolute horror.
"Where's the rest of them?" She asks, flicking the blood off her blade the best she can.
She makes her first kill that day and doesn't stop until she makes her thirteenth. She claims some of the pirates' treasure for herself—a map, a few jewels, and a weird compass in a crystal—and leaves the rest for the locals to deal with.
She doesn't make it to Loguetown. The crew she was sailing with acts too uncomfortable around her, so she parts ways with them on the next island. Maybe she deserves the looks and whispers. She feels no remorse or nausea over her actions.
The first pirate deserved his fate—went out painlessly even—and the others died fighting. She just doesn't see the issue. Zoro would understand, she thinks with a scowl.
She's more upset over the blood spots on her lavender kimono to be honest. She'll have to make a new one. Maybe she should stick to red or brown this time.
(She ends up buying a light green silk to go over her dark purple kimono. It has little white birds on it, and she thinks it's perfect.)
...
She eventually winds up on another well-to-do island and settles down for a bit. She could use some extra money, so she goes looking for a job. The island has a Marine outpost, but it has nothing to do with her.
She soon regrets that thought.
"What did you just say?" The man shouts into her face, his red cheeks contrasting against his white "MARINE" hat.
It's not like she goes looking for trouble. If a grown man can't handle a jab at his terrible sword techniques, he can hardly be considered grown. Infants shouldn't be waving around swords so carelessly.
"You should think about getting a breath mint," she says.
They're in the middle of the street, so when he goes to hit her all she does is knock him out. She'd rather cut off his hand so he can't ever hold a sword again, but she's not suicidal. She leaves his ass in the dirt and goes looking for a ship to take her away.
This place is no good.
...
No ships are leaving today, so she sort of expects retribution. Waits eagerly for it in fact. She hasn't had a good challenge for a while now. Which is faster her sword or their guns, she wonders.
(She's too far gone to realize this way of thinking isn't normal.)
No angry Marines show up at her hotel door. No one attempts to arrest her while she's eating. She even sticks around the marketplace to make it easier on them. She just ends up getting politely chatted to. It's a letdown.
She heads to the beach to jog. There's not much else to do. Information is more unrestricted in busy ports with questionable patronage than in a Marine town.
"Rogue! Scoundrel! Pissant!"
The beach is far more active than she thought it would be. A finely-dressed lady struggles in the hold of a man in a long, white jacket while another man with oily, slicked back hair struggles to remain standing with a bleeding stomach.
"Hey," she calls out to the man in the jacket, "aren't you a Marine?"
A heavily scarred face whips around, and she stares up in fascination at the man's messed up nose. She never knew it could bend that way.
"An associate then? I'll be taking you too," the Marine growls threateningly.
She's not sure how the man's muddled brain came up with that one, but she feels a flicker of excitement. Standing before her is a challenge, she can feel it.
"I am Madam Shilla. I am the one you want. Do not touch that girl," the woman demands even as her fingers turn purple from the Marine's grip on her hand.
"Swordsman, you will be well paid if you strike him down," the man with the stomach wound says, looking her straight in the eye.
Well, how can she say no to that? It's not like she has any intention of going along with this crooked nose bastard anyway. Being paid for what she already plans on doing sounds amazing.
"Keep your word," she says, dashing forward.
The Marine has no choice but to let Madam Shilla go, and the woman rushes to the injured man. The Marine aims a pistol at her, but she gets in too close, too fast. He throws it away for a grossly huge scimitar.
She dodges the first swipe and barely scratches him on her retaliating swing. She aims a slash towards the man's gut and underestimates his speed. She can't dodge his next swing, and she braces herself.
The moment the Marine's blade strikes hers, she has an epiphany. It's a hell of a timing, but she realizes that she truly does love it. The rush of blades swinging, the stances denoting power and speed, the weight on her hip—she loves the sword.
I'm going to be the world's greatest swordsman.
Her sword breaks. The man laughs at her, and she uses the remaining jagged metal to slit his throat. The man stops laughing after that. She moves in time to keep most of the blood off her clothes but a few spots land on her sleeve.
It's not a big deal. She's learned there's a powder that can take the stains out. She has a slightly bigger concern at the moment. Her sword is broken. She looks at the shattered remains with wide eyes. Is this her fault? Did she mistreat the katana?
"Girl, you better clean up that mess," the slick haired man tells her.
She nods and returns the broken sword to its scabbard. The loss of most of the blade makes its weight disproportional, and it moves awkwardly against her hip.
She rolls up her sleeves and begins dragging the body to the sea. Maybe she should tie it down with some rocks? She admits she has no idea what she's doing. Cleaning up a crime scene is a first for her.
"Not that," the man sighs, "I'll take care of that. Gather up the rest of your sword."
How a man with a stomach wound is going to get rid of the body, she doesn't know, but it's better than trying to figure it out on her own. She drops the body and searches the sand for blade fragments. It's the least she can do for the weapon that's been with her for so long.
"Is she going to be okay?" Madam Shilla whispers. "She seemed so capable earlier."
"She's mourning the loss of her soul. Only another sword can heal the wound," the man says quietly.
She can still hear them, she mentally grouches. No need to talk about her behind her back. Once she can no longer find any pieces, she attempts to collect her pay. She tenses as the woman grabs her hands.
"I am Madam Shilla, and this is my fiancé—"
"Bodyguard," the man injects tersely.
"—Roberto." Madam Shilla continues with a smile. "I may have been suspected of selling a few things to pirates, and I may have said a few things to set the good captain off. Thanks to you I will be able to leave this island immediately."
She looks at the body still lying on the beach before glancing over at Roberto who's wrapped his jacket around his stomach. She blinks at the woman.
"Don't you worry. I have some help on the way to deal with that," Madam Shilla says, "but I know exactly how to repay you!"
She's unprepared for the bone breaking hug, and the squealing in her ear. No amount of struggling gets her out of the woman's grip. The force of Madam Shilla is terrifying.
"Dear, you're coming with me. Gold Rum Island has a good sword shop, and I know some ladies who would love to have such a cute bodyguard!"
The woman never lets go, so she has no choice except to board her ship, The Singing Viper. Roberto takes pity on her and manages to convince Madam Shilla to let her have some time to herself.
"You can run away if you want to," Roberto whispers to her, "she'll only cry a little bit."
Well, it's not like she has a reason to turn down the offer of a new sword and a ride to the next island. She also has a higher chance of being found out by the World Government for the death of a Marine captain if she sticks around.
"I'm good," she says. "I want to see Gold Rum."
If anyone starts any trouble, she'll simply throw them all overboard and steal their ship. She's not defenseless. She still has all the knives and shuriken inside her kimono.
...
In the end, it's the remains of her sword that gets thrown overboard. Any other swordsman would probably be offended by the action, but it feels right to her. She can't keep it with her, but she refuses to melt it down into something else.
The shine of the sword disappears beneath the waves, and she feels free.
Her katana started this journey with her. When she looks out to sea, perhaps its spirit will be there, watching as she continues finding her way in this world. It's a romantic idea, but it makes her happy all the same.
...
Amber Light, Gold Rum's major city, does in fact have a good sword shop. She drools over the higher quality swords before sadly making her way to the bargain bins. Unlike the expensive swords that get their own stands, the discounted ones are shoved into a barrel.
It can't be helped. Madam Shilla underestimated the cost of swords, and considering what the lady's gone through to get her settled into Amber Light, she's not about to ask for more money. She'll just have to save up for a better katana later.
The discount barrels earn their cheaper prices; she looks over crude handles with something close to despair. The blade's the most important part, so there's still a chance of a good one to be found here.
A pink handle catches her eye, and her hand automatically reaches for it. It's unusual for such a color to be sold in a specialty shop. Picking up the sword gives another surprise: the scabbard is pink too, albeit a different shade.
Despite the color, both items are in good shape. How's the blade—
She halts in the middle of drawing the sword and stares dumbfounded. The blade is pink. The scabbard, the hilt, the wrap, the blade—it's all pink. Who the hell would give this to anyone? Unless made of precious materials, colored blades will get their wielders killed. No wonder it's in the bargain bin.
She takes one last look at the pink metal before she drops it back into the barrel and freezes. She runs a finger over the blade and thinks, no way.
"Hey, who made this?" She asks, slowly examining the sword with wide eyes.
"Oh, that thing?" The shopkeeper looks up from his newspaper to give the katana a look of disgust. "Some noble had it made for his daughter. There's no signature on it, so I don't know much else, but I can't get rid of it. I'll let you have it for half the price on the barrel."
Half off on top of the discount? Holy shit, that's insane.
"I'll take it," she says fiercely.
The shopkeeper rings her up all while giving condescending looks towards her and her new katana. No doubt he thinks she's an uneducated little girl playing at swords. She smiles brightly in reply. She's not the stupid one.
She tests the sword on slabs of meat, and it practically sings in her hands. She moves on and tests it on thin metal sheets, and it's as if she's cutting through nothing. This katana, to be frank, is amazing.
Everyone who overlooked this sword for its appearance is a dumbass of the highest degree.
"It's you and me now," she tells the sword. "If you save my life ten times, I'll name you."
It might be her imagination, but she thinks she hears a silent challenge accepted. She pats the hilt and knows she's found her One. At least until it breaks which won't be for a very long time, not with that kind of quality.
(She wants to see Zoro again, wants to see his face when he sees her perfectly pink sword. It'd be even more hilarious if she beats him with it.)