Surrounded by scorching sands which stretched towards the befalling sunset. Slouched against a ruinous barricade – remnants of a former wall. With bated breath, Karl scanned over the open wounds across her legs. Nothing's broken, but a few muscles were torn for sure. Well, not torn but pierced would be a more befitting term... If not for Miss All Sunday's antidote, Crocodile's poison-laced hook would've killed her before she even made it this far. But the wound itself would undoubtedly take her out of commission for a month at least.

To think that just a few weeks ago she had believed that Paradise was full of unfledged weaklings. Mihawk was right – she really did overestimate her abilities. She had believed that although she's yet to be in the same league as the world's greatest – she was nearing the edge. But what she had failed to realise was that every step away from Mihawk's throne was indicative of every opponent she has yet to surpass. She was entranced by her far-away vision that she was blind to the challenges in front of her.

Just a few weeks ago – she wouldn't have even dreamt about receiving help from the likes of pirates. Deliberate or not. Now, she was begrudgingly thankful towards the same pirates who were previously encaged in the same cell as her. They accomplished what she had failed to do so herself. Exposing Crocodile's plans, reducing casualties, and dethroning the warlord. Unrestrained and free to follow their hearts, those pirates fought and shed blood for the sake of this country.

Yet what did the proclaimed law-keepers, the marines, do? They sat back and watched the city explode into flames, merely waiting for their next orders to be passed. It was disgraceful, unsightly, truly unbecoming of a supposed honourable bunch. She would admit, this time the marines were helpless against Crocodile's intricate plans.

A low chuckle escaped Karl's chapped lips, she hadn't felt this helpless in a long time. She would've brooded on the sentimental nostalgia but just reliving those memories made her curl with nausea. She wasn't strong enough. Not in the past, and not now.

When she had overheard Crocodile's true intensions – to put his hands on the ancient weapon Pluton, she did not have enough time to process what his plans entailed before another bomb was dropped on her. Well, not on her but the entire city.

She watched restlessly as the situation unfolded into the worst scenario. Standing on the dim sidelines, she looked on as the Straw-hats faced off against members of Baroque Works. If not for the intervention of those pirates and the nation's princess, the casualties would've been unimaginable. The trembling sniper and the shape-shifting reindeer overcame their fears and fought with injuries adorning their bodies. The blonde gentleman, defeating the imposturous devil fruit user with the power of his legs alone. The delicate young girl who fought well with her exquisite weapon. The unwavering princess who stood amid the crossfire and exposed Crocodile's plans. And at last, the determined swordsman who overcame his weakness, cutting through Mister One's steel body. She could see them, feel them, grow stronger throughout the fight, yet she remained the same, trapped in the past.

While they were diffusing the situation, she was preoccupied with calling the Headquarters. Looking back to it in retrospect, she felt ashamed for snatching the snail from the merchant. He could've put it to much better use than her…

Under such a desperate situation, all she could do was to request for reinforcements. This time the call was picked up by someone other than Aokiji. Were the results any different? No. Nothing had changed. She was ordered to stay put until the situation was relayed to the higher-ups and a decision was made. A bomb was ticking off with each second yet her orders were to stay put?

She didn't even have the chance to inform them of Pluton when the next orders were given. To capture the Strawhats. To ensure that their hand in countering Crocodile's force was to remain confidential.

Her brain could not fathom how the order was in any sense logical. A bomb was ticking off, threatening the life of an entire city's residents. A warlord was running loose, capturing the nation's princess and instigating a coup d'état. Yet the government found it more important to capture a group of pirates. Who, might she add, were acting more like law-keepers than the uniform wearing, justice preaching officers?

At that moment all the frustration, panic and disappointment, merged into an uncontrollable rage and she crushed the poor snail with her bare hands. Another innocent life added onto her incessant list of casualties during duty.

Seeing that it was no longer possible to rely on the Headquarters for help, she took the matter into her own hands. Taking out the mask, originally meant for disguise on duty, she instead used its barrier to separate herself from her marine obligations. She was glad she had not reverted to her marine outfit, otherwise, she would've ripped it apart and shredded the justice emblem with her sword.

Staking everything on ambiguous terms such as 'maybe', 'hopefully' was out of the question – her pride disallowed it. So with rage morphed confidence, she confronted Crocodile in a single fight. During which she exhausted her skills and reached an infuriating conclusion, consisting of endless questions.

She was useless against a logia user. Why though? Why was it that her goal was so out of range? Was it only possible to counter logia users with a logia power? That couldn't be it. Otherwise, how was Mihawk able to become the greatest without one? Sure, devil fruits played a key role in one's abilities but there was definitely something else along with it. And whatever it was, it slipped out of her reach before she could fully grasp it. She was missing an important element, and she had no idea what it could be.

Remembering back to Mihawk's words for her to obtain a decent sword, was it a weapon then? Did she need a weapon like Smoker's, fitted with sea-prison stone to fight all the way to the top? No, that wasn't it. Mihawk didn't reach that far with the help of his weapon alone. In fact, it was due to Mihawk's calibre that his sword was now as famed. Was it willpower then? She considered herself to be a disciplined swordswoman with unwavering resolve, but was that insufficient?

However, there were no mentors in life during crucial life or death situations to answer her questions one by one. And as Crocodile punctured her legs with his hook, she was left immobilised with a broken sword on the side, yet she refused to resign to her imminent defeat.

She didn't want to imagine what would've happened if it weren't for a certain straw-hat boy, who interjected before Crocodile could deal the final blow and Nico Robin who left her a vial without uttering a word.

The vial that Nico Robin left carried the antidote to Crocodile's poisonous hook. With a weak grasp, she had injected it into her bloodstream. She didn't question the authenticity of its content since even without an extra lethal dose, as long as she was left in situ, she would undoubtedly die as the poison consumed her. Nor would she question the woman's objective in saving her, only those in power had the right to question, and in her state – she did not have the privilege. However, she acknowledged debt when it was due.

"You have my gratitude," she breathed out, the wind relaying her soft message to the ears of the parting archaeologist. Tanned hands tilted her feathered hat briefly, though her steps continued without as much as a glance back.

How ironic, the situation reminded her strikingly of her chanced encounter with a certain red-haired pirate a while ago. Though how times have changed, now the roles were reversed. She was now the one whose life was dependent on an enemy's leniency. The thought of it brought a bitter smile to her dishevelled appearance.

In her moment of desperation, she accepted help from criminals and escaped the clutches of death. Was it dishonourable? It would be if those condemned criminals were exactly what they were portrayed to be. Corrupt, malevolent, plundering forces.

However, now she would learn that the word criminal itself was subject to perspective. The same criminals who were frowned upon by society became the very embodiment of heroism, saving an entire city, and desecrating Crocodile's sinister plans. They showed no real hostility towards her, a marine, even back when she was detained in the same cell as them. Cautious perhaps, but not hostile. Funny how the world government saw these criminals as a threat, though the same treatment was not returned.

Which was why now – as she watched whirls of sand span around wildly in the distance, she silently prayed for a certain rubber boy's victory.

Unclasping the mask over her face, she vowed to get stronger… To be able to pursue her path without resistance from others. To face whatever challenges ahead without avoidance. To fight freely head-on, rather than hide behind a mask. She vowed to never experience the same ineptitude again…