Perona, still hovering at the back, shot a glare at Korran, then at Mihawk. "Hihihi, you're both nuts!" she muttered, crossing her arms even tighter. "If this guy stabs us in the back, I'll say 'I told you so,' and my ghosts will haunt you till the end of time!" But despite her grumbling, she didn't push it further, settling into a sulky silence as her Negative Hollows swirled around her like a disgruntled honor guard.
Night had now blanketed the Grand Line, the sky stretching out like a black dome studded with twinkling stars, their reflections shimmering on the dark water's surface. A cool breeze blew, rustling the black sail and faintly stirring Mihawk's coat as he stood steadfast at the front.
At the rear, Perona floated in a curled-up ball, her parasol folded across her knees, her ghosts forming a protective cloud around her. She'd finally tired of complaining out loud and had settled into a moody silence, occasionally throwing dagger-like glares at Korran, who seemed oblivious to her hostility. The pirate, seated in the middle of the raft, kept carving his piece of wood with his small knife, wood shavings falling softly onto the weathered planks.
Inside Mihawk's mind, Leo relished the scene with almost tangible satisfaction.
Perona, the big-hearted grump, and Korran, the pragmatic survivor with a dream to chase. Not your typical crew, but that's what makes it awesome!
After a long stretch of quiet, Perona seemed unable to resist breaking the stillness again. She unfurled her parasol with a dramatic flourish and floated slightly toward Korran, her eyes narrowed in a challenging stare. "Hihihi! What are you even doing with that chunk of wood?" she asked, her voice laced with mock curiosity. "You think you're an artist or something? 'Cause honestly, it looks like nothing!" She snickered, her ghosts mimicking her laughter with little squeaky taunts.
Korran didn't look up right away, focused on his task. Then, without pausing his carving, he replied in a neutral tone, "It passes the time. Keeps me from thinking about pointless stuff." He turned the wood slightly in his hand, revealing a rough shape—maybe a bird or a fish, still crude but showing some skill. "Back on our ship, before it sank, I'd do this during night watch. Kept the nerves steady."
Perona raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the answer, but she wasn't ready to let it go. "Hihihi! Steady your nerves? You?" she scoffed, crossing her arms and floating closer to prod him. "After you butchered all your buddies without blinking? You're seriously weird, you know that? I bet you'll sleep like a baby tonight, even with all that blood on your hands!"
Korran gave a faint, tired smile—barely noticeable—and set his knife down for a moment to meet her gaze. "Maybe," he said simply, his tone free of any baiting edge. "But I'm still here, and they're not. That's how it works." He picked up his knife again and resumed carving, as if the conversation was over.
Perona huffed, visibly annoyed by his calm. "Hihihi, you're unbearable!" she grumbled, turning to Mihawk with an exasperated look. "See, Mihawk? He's not normal! He talks about killing his friends like it's nothing! We should seriously toss him overboard before he pulls something shady!" Her voice pitched higher, but Mihawk, true to form, ignored her, his hands still busy adjusting the sail.
Inside Mihawk's head, Leo couldn't help but laugh to himself.
She's such a drama queen! But she's got a point—Korran's a little creepy. That's what makes him interesting, though. A guy who survives everything and still dreams? That's something.
He felt a spark of respect growing for this rough, honest pirate—a man unburdened by sentimentality but driven by a clear, if selfish, ambition. He was a raw piece to refine, a nakama who could shine under the right conditions.
Silence settled back in, disturbed only by the scrape of Korran's knife and the waves. Then, after a while, Mihawk turned his head slightly, his golden eyes catching the starlight as he tossed a question into the air, almost like a musing aloud: "And this dream, Korran? This adventure you speak of… what does it look like?"
Korran paused, his knife hovering above the wood. He looked up at Mihawk, his dark eyes glinting with something indefinable. "I want to see the end of the world," he said, his raspy voice taking on a new intensity. "The One Piece, or something else, doesn't matter. I want to be there when the seas split open, when legends fall or rise. I've seen too many guys die for nothing, too many dreams drown in the water. Me, I want it to matter. I want my name to stick around, even if it's just a whisper in some rundown tavern."
Perona, who'd been listening despite her pouty demeanor, blinked, clearly thrown by the response. "Hihihi… That's… weirdly poetic for a brute like you," she muttered, floating back a bit as if unsure what to make of this sudden depth. But she didn't say more, just stared at him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Mihawk gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible. Inside, Leo felt a surge of excitement.
This guy's got a pirate's soul, a real one! Not just a killer, but a dreamer who wants his slice of the epic. That's exactly what we need.
"Then keep your word," Mihawk said at last, his low, sharp voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "Help me reach that peak, and I'll make sure your name echoes louder than a whisper." He didn't turn his head, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his words carried an unshakable certainty.
Korran flashed a smile, more open this time, and nodded. "Suits me," he said simply, resuming his carving.
Perona, still hovering at the back, let out a loud sigh and crossed her arms. "Hihihi, you're both impossible!" she griped, though a hint of amusement crept into her tone. "If you end up killing each other over your dumb dreams, don't expect me to pick up the pieces!" Her ghosts swirled around her, mirroring her exasperation, but she didn't protest further, letting the raft's motion lull her.
The night stretched on over the Grand Line. The cool breeze kept blowing, stirring the black sail and Mihawk's coat as he stood at the front, still as a statue, his golden eyes scanning the horizon with cold vigilance. At the back, Perona had curled up into a ball of discontent, her parasol resting on her knees, her ghosts lazily orbiting her like a sleepy honor guard. In the middle, Korran kept carving his wood, the steady scrape of his small knife a quiet rhythm.
The silence broke when Korran suddenly set his knife and wood down on the raft's planks. He straightened up slightly, wincing from his injured thigh, and turned his gaze to Mihawk. "I'll take watch tonight," he announced, his raspy voice firm. "You got me off that island, so I owe you that much. Rest up—I'll keep an eye on the horizon."
Perona snapped alert, unfurling her parasol with a sharp flick and floating toward him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Hihihi! What? You, keeping watch?" she exclaimed, her voice rising into a theatrical shriek. "And what if you bail on us, huh? What if you decide to slit our throats while we sleep or jump ship for some passing boat? I don't trust you one bit!" She crossed her arms, hovering just above Korran to loom over him, her ghosts mimicking her agitation with faster spins.
Korran looked at her for a moment, a tired smile tugging at his cracked lips. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have waited for night," he said, his tone dry but without malice. "And as for jumping ship… I'm not that great a swimmer. So relax, princess." He picked up his knife and wood again, as if to end the discussion, but Perona wasn't done.
"Hihihi! Princess?!" she repeated, outraged, floating even closer until her parasol nearly brushed his face. "You're a real jerk, you know that? Mihawk, tell him we don't need him for watch! I can send my ghosts to keep an eye out—it's way better than this… this filthy pirate!" She turned to Mihawk for backup, but as usual, he stayed silent for a beat, his golden eyes catching the starlight.
Inside, Leo felt a flicker of amusement.
She's so paranoid, but it's kinda cute in her own way. Korran offering to take watch is a good sign—he wants to prove he's useful.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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