Chapter 1

Mihawk sat silently in his high backed chair, listening to retreating footfalls echoing from down the hall as he reprocessed what had just happened. Zoro's gait sounded staccato, and blood had been dripping off of him then entire time: obviously, the baboons had done a number on the young swordsman. The shichibukai had been surprised to see the Straw Hat swordsman return, especially after his prideful rejection of a safe place in the castle, but the greatest shock had come from Zoro's full surrender. Surely, he knew better than to bow so completely at an enemy's feet. Dismissal had been the first and only thought to enter Mihawk's mind as the younger swordsman bowed and begged for teaching, and anger, joined by annoyance aimed at both himself and Zoro, had threatened to cross the shichibukai's face.

Victory. Zoro had been claiming victory over the humandrills. Perhaps not a clean victory, though the young swordsman had never struck Mihawk as the type to admit to troubles. But there he had remained, on all fours at the shichibukai's feet and asking for a teacher. Apparently, Zoro's mind could be turned one-hundred and eighty degrees just by reading the morning paper.

Mihawk hadn't been able to resist asking: he had to know what wild hare had found its way up Zoro's ass.

A response had come, less in the form of words and more in the form of a crushing aura that radiated from the young swordsman. That singly determined stare had pinned the shichibukai, both freezing the blood in his veins and making his muscles burn with adrenaline. It was a challenge Mihawk hadn't seen in a long time, and he highly doubted he'd get another chance at it in his life. An excited laugh had burst from his lips and the shichibukai had curled a little in his chair before he could recover himself.

That stare hadn't been issued by a single person. A whole clan of people, of monsters that wielded the hearts of men, had demanded Mihawk's knowledge of the sword. He could resist humans, but not such awing creatures. With his compliance confirmed, the shichibukai experienced the transformation of the demon at his feet into some glorious angel. The glowing joy and excitement that emanated from the young swordsman's face made something in the bottom of Mihawk's stomach drop, though he was still able to demand Perona aid Zoro.

As the two exited, the shichibukai felt an odd sense of conflict. For the most part, he was glad to have some semblance of the solitude and peace he was supposed to have on his island. However, a small part, the part that had dropped through the pit of his stomach, constricted in an abandoned way.

Mihawk decided to ignore the weak clench of loneliness and lifted his wine glass, staring into the garnet liquid for a second before downing part of it. The wine had a strong, bitter taste that belied a sweet undercurrent and lingering aftertaste.

If the shichibukai were to truly have his way, he had just signed his own suicide note.

A twitch nudged the right corner of Mihawk's mouth up, and an almost inaudible puff of air escaped through his nose: his version of a grin and a chuckle. Being a shichibukai these days seemed like asking for ruin, really. Those two determined boys had not only attracted more of their kind, but they had all grown strong enough in such a short amount of time to take out some of the lesser pirate gods. Few pirate crews had that going for them, and even fewer rookies from the East Blue. He had to admit, however, that he would rather be killed by Zoro than anyone else.

Again, Mihawk stared into the small amount of wine left in his glass. He tilted the glass in tiny circles, causing the liquid to undulate and glimmer like a gem. For a moment, the shichibukai thought about nothing as he simply watched, engrossed by the dancing light. He could hear nothing from the hall, a subconscious knowledge that told him peace had returned, despite how short that peace would be.

The wine was gone in a flash of light and a bitter pang, and Mihawk rose without a sound. With the half-full bottle in one hand and empty glass in the other, the swordsman rose, leaving the room silently and heading towards the kitchens below.

The wine glass found itself quickly deposited in the sink to be washed later that evening, and the bottle was set on the counter to be polished off with dinner. Within minutes, the shichibukai had the stove on and food in the pan, sizzling quietly as he tended it like a hen would her chicks. He worked diligently, using the same slight-yet-deft movements he would employ with a blade. By the time Mihawk was nearly finished, Perona had appeared, floating down through the ceiling to watch the preparations.

"Where is Roronora?" the swordsman asked, not bothering to look up. A huff came from the spectral girl, the kind of reply that told of an angry face and hands on hips.

"What are you cooking for me?" she asked, dipping her face dangerously close to the stove before looking up at the shichibukai. Mihawk ignored Perona despite being unable to see around her, using the periphery of the pan he was cooking in. The spirit girl's scowl deepened, but her anger was for naught.

"You've treated him, yes?" With nimble fingers, the swordsman had plucked a plate from a nearby cabinet, flicked off the stove's burner, and was transferring the food to his plate. Perona's eyes followed him, and she stared at the meal longingly for a second before noticing something.

"Hey, where's my plate?" demanded the princess, darting around Mihawk to float in his way. She bristled angrily, like a cat that had just had its tail stepped on. The shickibukai cocked an eyebrow and simply passed through her and ascended the stairs.

"What is Roronora doing right now?" Mihawk asked as he made his way upwards without a backwards glance. Perona followed him, folding her arms and glaring in another direction while he settled down to eat.

"Sleeping. So uncute, too, sprawled all over the place," the spirit girl pouted. The shichibukai said nothing in response, and he cut into the small slab of meat he had cooked for himself. For several minutes, Perona avidly stared out the window, studying the bleak landscape in silence as the occasional tink of china being scrapped gingerly tapped the air.

About halfway through Mihawk's meal, the spectral girl caught herself snatching glances of the man as he ate. Each time she did she would ferociously tear her eyes from the food, telling herself she wouldn't beg. The princess found it increasingly difficult, however, to ignore the food on the table and the knowledge that her stomach—no matter how detached she was from it—was empty. The shichibukai seemed to realize at some point—Perona wasn't quite sure when—what was going on in his audience's mind and he slowed to an agonizing crawl, obviously enjoying everything he ate in silence. Finally, the swordsman rose, his plate clean.

"You know," the girl said curtly, "It's rude for a gentleman to eat in front of a lady without offering anything."

A twitch at the corner of Mihawk's mouth went unnoticed as he said, "I've never met any ladies that come uninvited into a man's home and demand he cook her dinner." The swordsman turned and headed back down the stairs to the kitchen, Perona right behind him and scowling at the back of his head the entire way.

The pan used to cook dinner found itself being washed alongside the dishes used to eat the meal it had prepared. While Mihawk diligently cleaned the dishes, the spectral girl floated about the kitchen, inspecting everything with the mild disinterest of one waiting in boredom. Each dish, from pan to utensil, was scrubbed meticulously, until the swordsman was positive each particle of food had succumbed to friction. They were then dried and placed back into respective drawers and cabinets.

Once the final fork was settled and its drawer slid closed, Perona opened her mouth to speak, but was preempted by Mihawk. "If you want food here," he said, fixing her with a golden-eyed stare, "You will cook it for yourself. You are less of a guest here than Roronora, and even he is nearly an unwelcome surprise. I will not stop you from using ingredients from my stores, though my wine is off limits." As if to emphasize his point, the swordsman plucked the glass and bottle from the counter where they had been sitting since before dinner. He then headed back up the stairs and resettled himself in his chair. The spectral girl watched him in silence, but nothing more was said as Mihawk finished his wine and washed his glass before retiring for the evening.

Perona scowled one final time before returning to her hungry body that she was too tired to feed. The princess found a room for herself that wasn't far from the one Zoro rested in and was slightly less dingy. As she fell asleep, she fretted feebly over what had happened to Moriah.

Morning came a little too abruptly to Zoro, who woke stiff and sore. The young swordsman slung one foot over the side of the bed and set it on the cold stone floor before shoving his blanket aside and having the other foot join its sibling. As he sat, Zoro groggily rubbed at a kink in his neck and shoulder. Slowly, the world around the pirate came into focus until he could even recall what had happened the day before.

In a rush of energy, the young swordsman snatched up his clothes, grabbed his swords, and was out the door and down the hall before he even gave himself a minute to doubt his way. The halls were linear for the most part, with intersections every so often. Zoro vaguely remembered that there were no turns between his room and the dining room where Mihawk was most likely to be found, but by the time he had come across two large doors that led nowhere but a relatively small courtyard, the Straw Hat pirate was sure he'd gone the wrong direction.

With the same vigor that had carried him towards the courtyard, Zoro headed back to where his room was and passed it, arriving in a large commons area. The swordsman scowled, turning several times to get a good look at all the exits. There were seven total, including the one he had just emerged from. Just as the pirate was about to venture down one hall, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A single ghost, one of Perona's, lingered at the mouth of one of the halls and watched him.

"What?" he asked it, a hint of annoyance in his voice. The specter said nothing, but it turned and headed down the hallway. Zoro went after it, but it had vanished. With furled eyebrows, the swordsman continued on the same path, unfamiliar with the territory until he came to the doors to the dining hall. One hand pushed the door aside and the pirate entered, automatically catching sight of the person he was looking for.

Settled comfortably in his chair was Mihawk, the paper spread wide in his hands. A glass of wine was perched on the table next to him, new bottle along side it. The shichibukai didn't bother to divert his gaze from the paper as his new pupil entered the room, and instead inspected it with a little more interest.

"I'm ready to begin," Zoro stated plainly, standing little more than five feet away from his teacher. Mihawk gave him a glance. The younger swordsman's face showed a singular determination blended with eagerness.

"I'll teach you nothing until you can walk without limping," was the shichibukai's blunt reply. A puzzled look came over Zoro's face, and he glanced down at his legs.

"I wasn't limping," he said finally. Mihawk cocked a disbelieving eyebrow, but said nothing and returned his gaze to his paper.

Perona came stomping up the stairs, cutting short any other possible objections Zoro might have made. Her face was flushed and twisted in anger, and in her hands she clutched two plates. The younger swordsman watched her with confusion and mild interest while the elder ignored her completely as she strode towards the long dining table and set each plate before a chair. With folded arms, the girl stared impatiently at Zoro.

After a few silent, uneasy seconds, Perona snapped, "Well?"

"What?" the younger swordsman asked, genuinely confused.

"Aren't you going to pull back my chair for me?" the girl demanded, "I made you breakfast, didn't I?"

Zoro looked at the food, charred beyond recognition and with an odd smell somewhere between a burnt body and a marsh. He said nothing, however, as he stepped around the table and pulled back one of the chairs. Perona sat herself down and Zoro pushed the chair in. Just before the young swordsman settled before his food, however, the princess stopped him.

"There's no silverware."

The Straw Hat pirate stood for a second, unsure about what the girl was hinting at. Perona gave an exasperated sigh.

"Get some?" she asked, annoyance clear in her voice and on her face. Zoro narrowed his eyes at her, but stepped back from the chair and looked around the room. Another angry sigh was issued by the princess and she pointed to the doorway leading to the kitchens below.

"Down the stairs, in the kitchen," the girl said, "On your right, close to the entrance."

With an annoyed look plastered to his face, Zoro followed the directions and returned within ten minutes, utensils in hand. Only after Perona had been handed a fork and knife did the swordsman seat himself. The two of them sat, side by side, each staring at the plate before them.

Mihawk looked up from the paper briefly before setting it aside and emptying his glass. Once he was safely downstairs and busied with the dishes, Perona glanced at Zoro.

"Aren't you going to eat the food I made?" she demanded. The swordsman gave the food another look and was almost regretful that Luffy wasn't there to steal from his plate. After a second under the critical eye of the princess, Zoro's face turned to a resigned expression of 'fuck it', and he dug in. One bite of the charcoal was more than enough to make the Straw Hat swordsman appreciate his usual cook.

"What is this?" Zoro managed to ask between bites as he choked them down. A smile came to the princess's face as she explained.

"It's eggs and pancakes," she said brightly, her breakfast untouched.

The swordsman could say nothing through the food in his mouth, but he looked down in disbelief at his plate. Perona looked at him expectantly, causing Zoro to delay swallowing for a second. Once the disgusting morsel was down, the princess was quick with her question.

"Well?"

The swordsman thought for a second before answering.

"Try some before you ask me."

Perona gave her plate a look of worry and disgust, and Zoro grinned a little as she took a tentative bite. Her face contorted in revulsion, and as she gagged down the food Mihawk mounted the stairs.

The younger swordsman was up in a heartbeat, moving between his teacher and the exit so that he had the shichibukai's undivided attention.

"You won't teach me?" Zoro demanded.

"I will when you are ready," replied the elder swordsman, easily stepping around his student and heading towards the door. The young swordsman followed.

"I am ready."

"There is still a stagger in your step."

"I don't hear it," Zoro replied as Mihawk opened the door. The two men left the dining room—and Perona—behind.

"You don't hear it because you choose not to listen," the shichibukai replied once the doors had closed behind him, "If you don't listen to the complaints of your own body, you may as well slit your throat."

"That didn't stop you when you met me," the young pirate replied.

Mihawk stopped abruptly, and he quickly turned on his student. Despite having kept his face level until that point, his eye twitched in annoyance.

"You chose to be deaf then just as you are choosing to be deaf now," the shichibukai said curtly, "In this art, the deaf are weak. The weak die. If you are just here to die and waste my time, you can leave now."

The older man then swept off down the hall, disappearing quickly into another corridor. His student didn't bother to follow; instead, he turned on his heel and returned to the dining hall.

Perona was just on the other side of the doors, poised to rip the head off of the first man who walked through the door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she screeched, her face livid. Zoro's hands flew instinctively to his swords, but he managed to relax them before the princess noticed. The swordsman's face grew dark in annoyance.

"I could ask the same thing," he grumbled, "What's with screaming in my ear?"

The girl stepped aside and pointed accusingly at the table. "You left," she snapped, "You left without even bothering to clear your plate. And why? To go bug someone who isn't interested in you right now."

Zoro turned, planning on leaving the banshee to scream without him when the swordsman found himself face-to-face with one of her ghosts. The Straw Hat pirate froze, unwilling to even try passing through the thing. He turned back around, mumbling angrily all the way back to the table and through the rest of his repulsive breakfast. Perona watched him while he ate, forcing him—with much sullen protest from the swordsman—to wash and put away his own plate and utensils once he was finished.

Finally, Zoro found himself free to his own devices. He wandered the castle freely, only occasionally hindered by one of Perona's ghosts. There were portraits lining the walls, and the swordsman wondered silently if Robin could have possibly named all the people and events depicted. She likely could, the way he figured.

After coming to and ascending the large, main staircase, the young pirate found himself sifting through room after room that seemed to hold no purpose besides entertaining guests. Zoro moved silently, disturbing the air with even the lightest breath as dust stirred from its slumber under his feet. Spiders stared at the intruder as he passed through their lands, though none of them were eager to demand his departure. Muffled light seeped through opaque curtains, highlighting the dilapidated furniture.

At the end of the gauntlet of rooms was an ornate set of heavy, wooden doors. The swordsman passed through them wordlessly, he a ghost traversing the castle's corpse. In the room beyond, there were two floors connected by a spiral staircase. Walls of light were built between curtains, slicing across floors, chairs, and bookshelves. Zoro descended to the lower floor, uninterested in the books that filled the room. A second set of doors greeted the young pirate and he opened them to come face-to-face with Perona.

"Lunch," she said curtly, hovering a foot or so off the ground. The young swordsman gave her a wary look, already dreading what he would find in the dining room, but he followed the spectral girl back, and choked down another charred meal. After that highly unpleasant experience, Zoro wandered in another direction until he returned to the courtyard he had stumbled upon that morning.

It was secluded, surrounded on three sides by the castle. Vines crisscrossed the crumbling path underfoot, and large plants grew rampant, creating a mottled pattern across the swordsman's body. The distant call of the humandrills could occasionally be heard across the still air, the only sound that could find Zoro in his seclusion.

A stagnant pond laid lazily among the plants, hidden so well that the young pirate nearly tromped right through it. As it was, Zoro settled down next to the pool and fell asleep in less than five minutes.

The rolling roar of thunder managed to bring the young pirate back to the land of the living. All of the world was dark, and the air smelled of rain. Once he had gathered his weapons, the young swordsman strode away from the pond to the growing sound of a million hammers on the leaves. The pathetic path that had been difficult to see was all but indiscernible now, and the castle was invisible among the foliage.

Zoro was soaked through before he saw it: a burning phoenix rising out of the ashes of night and searing a path in the dark. The swordsman's face lit up at the light and his pace quickened, his boots slipping a little with squeaks in complaint. Before he knew it, rain no longer beat upon his back, and the rumble of thunder was muffled by stone. The cool hall made a chill flash through the young pirate to match the lightning outside, and he shook violently with the thunder.

Though Zoro's stomach threatened to eat itself from hunger, he found himself wearily stumbling into his own room. With a weak clank, the triad of swords were laid down beside their master's bed. The swordsman then flopped onto his stomach with a small grunt, the bed creaking complaints at him when he did.

Something slapped into the back of Zoro's head, the impact softened by both the weakness of the throw and the cushioned item tossed.

"How uncute," Perona's disdainful tone came through the towel over the swordsman's head, "You could at least dry yourself off."

Zoro rose slowly, sitting up and rubbing the towel vigorously in his short, green hair. When he was done with his hair, the swordsman peeled off his shirt.

"Hey," the princess complained, "I don't need to see that."

The Straw Hat pirate looked at her like she had appeared out of thin air.

"You're still here?"

Perona gave him an indignant glare and turned on her heel with a small huff, disappearing down the hall. Zoro watched her leave before resuming his work with the towel, drying himself. The swordsman stripped down to his underwear, hanging the rest of his clothes over the back of the chair to dry while he slept.

Finally, the young pirate fell asleep, sprawled over his tiny bed.

Quiet footsteps echoed down the hall, and a shadow appeared in the doorway to Zoro's room. Mihawk surveyed his student with mild interest, his sharp eyes barely impeded by the minimal light. The younger pirate's face was relaxed, a rare sight that caught the shichibukai off guard. Silently, the elder swordsman took a single step inside, his golden eyes taking in every tiny detail of Zoro's sleeping form.

The thing in the pit of Mihawk's stomach stirred, trying to pull him forward. For a single step the shichibukai obeyed before he again stood and simply observed. The pull tugged once more, like an eager dog, but the elder swordsman ignored it. Instead, teacher watched his student's respiration, and his own breathing subconsciously aligned with it. Mihawk took a step to the side, and as he started to turn and leave, a light glimmered, catching the eye of the older swordsman.

Zoro's earrings shimmered, drawing the shichibukai's eyes back to his student's clear face. The pit of the older man's stomach lurched fiercely, giving Mihawk no choice but to go to the young swordsman's bedside. As he stood there gazing at his student, the shichibukai had the growing awareness of wanting something, but he wasn't sure what. The more he lingered, the more he realized he wanted—needed—something, some action, from Zoro, but what that action was remained stubbornly outside of the older swordsman's conscious thought.

One of Mihawk's hands had found its way away from its master's side and hovered close enough to the younger man's skull that he could feel the heat radiating from it. The pull demanded more, and the shichibukai's fingertips rested gently in Zoro's damp hair. The younger man didn't even twitch, his face still blank in sleep. Entranced, the older swordsman allowed his palm to join his fingers, warmth enticing him closer. Slowly, Mihawk lowered himself to one knee, then two, so that he looked right into his student's sleeping face.

The pull was relentless, feverishly demanding the shichibukai do more. Every muscle could be felt inching as the elder swordsman's neck stretched forward, closing the gap between his and Zoro's faces. Intoxicating heat radiated from the younger pirate, encouraging Mihawk closer with vague whispers.

A gentle, metallic ting caused the shichibukai to freeze little more than half an inch away from his student's mouth. The elder swordsman withdrew, glancing down to see that Kogatana had made the complaint from around his neck. Mihawk looked back to his hand that still rested among emerald hair like it belonged to someone else, before letting his eyes settle again on Zoro's calm face.

Silently, but as swiftly as he could, the shichibukai rose and removed his hand from the Straw Hat pirate's head. With a quick turn on his heel, the swordsman was out of the room and retiring to his own quarters, the warmth a fond memory in his palm.

When Mihawk woke in the morning, he was vaguely aware that he had had an extremely pleasant dream after returning from Zoro's room, but any tidbits of his dream that may have lingered were snapped up by conscious thought. The shichibukai rose from his bed, an elaborate four-poster with crimson coverings, and dressed himself swiftly before heading out and down the hall.

Within ten minutes of his arrival in the kitchen, Mihawk had eggs in the pan and was fetching some of his remaining fruit from the fridge. He worked diligently, keeping a keen eye on everything he had cooking.

As he reached for a plate, he caught sight of a figure in his peripheral vision. He turned to see one of Perona's ghosts, and he only gave it a fleeting thought as he returned to his breakfast preparations. Each piece of food was placed precisely and deliberately, and once the shichibukai had plucked his recent selection of wine off the rack, he headed up the stairs to eat his meal.

The dining room was dim, lit only from within. The meager lights glimmered dully off of the swordsman's wine, and he ate to the sound of rain on the windows. Rarely, a flash would light up the world, and the rolling gunshot of thunder would break the monotony of the rain's drumming.

At some point before Mihawk had finished his food, Perona entered the dining room on her way to the kitchen below. The shichibukai ignored her, despite her mildly friendly greeting. The girl had left him with a hmph of indignation, and even as he went downstairs to wash his plate he ignored the minimal conversation she tried to make. The swordsman didn't really hate her, but he had never gotten along with Moriah, and annoying her even a fraction as much as she annoyed him was somehow deeply satisfying.

Just as Mihawk had settled down with his final glass of wine after his meal, the doors opened to reveal Zoro. The young pirate strode in confidently, but with the slightest stagger in his step. Before the student could even open his mouth, his teacher cut him short.

"No."

Zoro's eyebrows furled, but he said nothing and wandered towards the kitchen. The shichibukai took his time with his drink, more so than he normally would have, and managed linger until well into Perona and Zoro's meal. Mihawk left unhindered this time, and strode silently to the library.

The shichibukai entered the literary sanctuary, heading straight for a small desk tucked in the corner of the lower floor. It was beautifully carved and had a small stack of books upon it, one of which the swordsman snatched and flicked deftly open to a small place holder he had left the previous day.

Silence prevailed in the dim library as the hours lumbered by, each watching as Mihawk sat engrossed by the story in his hands. Only when the shichibukai's stomach felt as though it were going to eat itself for sustenance did he rise and return to the kitchen to make himself dinner. He ate slowly, watching as the younger residents of his castle entered, ate, and left before he was finished with his glass of wine.

Mihawk slowly polished off his wine in contemplative silence, thinking over his actions of the previous evening between miniscule sips. The swordsman could think of no reasons for his actions, nor could he come up with any way of finding reasons. He lifted the hand that had rested on Zoro's scalp to his face, inspecting the intricate valleys in the skin. After a moment, the shichibukai used the hand and picked up his glass, finishing his wine in a single swallow. Then he rose, heading swiftly down the stairs and quickly replacing the bottle in the rack. After a flash wash, the glass was replaced and Mihawk was out the door.

Though less quiet than he had been the night before, the swordsman still made very little sound as he moved. Shadowed portraits flew by as the shichibukai strode onwards, the man making a bee line for his answers. The door came up on his left quickly, and teacher anchored himself to the door frame of his student's room and swung around it through the already opened door.

Once again, Zoro was slung like a sloth over his bed, with a couple of his limbs hanging over the sides. The pull was awake instantly, tugging insistently forward. Mihawk needed little encouragement and he stepped forward silently, stopping beside the young pirate's hand that rested lightly on the floor. The shichibukai did nothing but stare, his eyes wandering over his fully-clothed student as the younger man slept.

In the pit of his stomach, Mihawk felt the pull threatening to drag him onto the bed, but he resisted. Instead, the elder swordsman lowered himself to his knees and peered into Zoro's face, the countenance as clear as it had been the night before. Like a magnet, the shichibukai felt his face being pulled closer to that of the young swordsman.

Waking lips brushed tentatively against sleeping ones, and the owner of the former jerked his head back as though he had just been stung. For a moment, there was only the movement of respiration, and a million jumbled thoughts crowded into the elder swordsman's mind so quickly he thought of nothing at all. Unknowingly, the teacher gingerly placed his student's dangling arm up on the bed before he rose and strode silently out of the room.

More pleasant dreams awaited Mihawk, only to be forgotten in the morning like a one night stand. The fact that these dreams drifted away like clouds over the ocean was annoying, more so because they felt important. The need to remember those dreams blurred all other activities, making dressing, travel, and breakfast all blend together into simple routine.

One thought broke through the fog of necessity, however: Zoro hadn't been at breakfast. It had made the thing in the pit of his stomach clench unpleasantly, but the feeling was not so strong that the shichibukai could not keep it off of his face.

Mihawk sat at his desk in the library, staring at a single line for going on forty-five minutes. The sound of steady footsteps broke the swordsman out of his trance, and he scanned the room for the source of the noise. He caught his student's gaze, and the younger man came eagerly down the stairs, the swords at his side clanking together in annoyance.

As Zoro stood before him, Mihawk felt the pull in his stomach stir a little.

"I heard it."

"You should have been able to hear it all along," the shichibukai replied, "It doesn't matter if you can hear it."

"It's gone though," was the student's response, "I'm ready."

Mihawk cocked an eyebrow.

"Show me."

The younger swordsman walked a quick circle around the desk, his footsteps even and smooth. With a defiant look in his eyes, the young pirate grabbed the elder's gaze and held it firmly. A small smile came to the teacher's face.

"Go eat," Mihawk said, "We start after lunch."

Again, the angelic flash crossed Zoro's countenance, and the thing in Mihawk's stomach woke and leapt up into his chest, slamming against his heart and ribs.

The shichibukai let nothing show on his face beyond mild approval as his student eagerly departed for what was likely to be a terrible lunch.

AN: Yes, slow coming out, and yeah, not a lot happens. Not much is supposed to happen, yet. If characters are OOC, I apologize, especially when it comes to Perona, since I'm still not quite used to her. As for when to expect new chapters, I hate to say that I'm not sure. While I try to at least type a page of anything each day, that will be a far more lofty goal with my current homework load. Releases of chapters are going to be sporadic, I'm afraid, and I'm striving for quality over speed.

Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the chapters to come.

As I am,

Lady Spritzy