Mario worked with a quiet, focused intensity, the rhythmic sounds of his labor a stark contrast to the symphony of chaos erupting from the town. Crate after crate of supplies was stowed securely in the Merry's hold, each one a guarantee of their survival on the seas ahead. The distant crump of explosions and the faint, metallic ring of clashing steel were a constant reminder of the battle raging just beyond the docks.
A wry smile touched Mario's lips. "Zorro is really having a field day out there," he murmured to himself, imagining the swordsman carving a path through the hordes of overconfident bounty hunters. It was a comforting thought; as long as that particular storm was contained inland, his own mission could proceed unhindered.
Finally, he slid the last barrel of fresh water into place, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "Phew, that's done." The Going Merry was now stocked better than she had been since leaving Loguetown. She was ready to run.
He moved to the railing, his eyes scanning the tumultuous town. The fight for Whisky Peak was reaching its crescendo. He could just make out a distant, fluttering figure high in the air—Miss Valentine, no doubt—before she plummeted downward in an attempt to crush a rubbery, oblivious Luffy.
"It's almost over," he mused, a sense of inevitability settling over him.
His gaze then drifted away from the town, out over the dark, calm waters of the bay. And that's when he saw her.
A figure, elegant and poised, silhouetted against the moonlit sea, riding a creature that cut through the waves with primal grace
It was Nico Robin, astride a massive sea crocodile, moving with a silent purpose that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. She was heading for the ship Igaram would soon board, her mission to plant a bomb and silence the loyal knight forever. Mario knew she wouldn't go through with it.
That inherent kindness, buried deep beneath years of betrayal and survival, would stay her hand. But seeing her now, as a tangible presence in the darkness, sent a jolt through him far more powerful than any bounty hunter's attack.
Should I talk to her…?
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He was torn, his mind racing with the potential consequences. He could scare her off, shatter the delicate timeline, or worse, mark himself as a threat to be eliminated by Crocodile.
But the opportunity was too profound to ignore. This was the historian of the Void Century, the woman who had walked through a world of shadows alone since she was a child. He couldn't reveal what he knew, but perhaps… perhaps he could offer a single, cryptic moment of peace.
He made his decision. He wouldn't ambush her. He wouldn't chase her. He would simply be there, a calm presence waiting in the dark.
He was a silent sentinel, hoping that when the archaeologist of Ohara completed her mission of false mercy, she might grant a moment of her time to a stranger who saw not a demon, but a kindred, seeking spirit.
The wait felt eternal, measured only by the slow, steady rhythm of his own breath and the distant, dying sounds of conflict. Mario stood on the deck of the Going Merry, the silence a heavy cloak around him.
He'd prepared two cups of tea, setting them on the railing near the cabin—a simple, open gesture. The steam curled into the cool night air, carrying the faint, earthy scent of the blend.
Then, he heard it. A soft, almost melodic whisper.
"Fleur."
A cascade of pale, spectral hands bloomed silently along the ship's outer hull, forming a graceful, impossible staircase. Mario's smile was one of pure, unadulterated wonder. He watched, captivated, as she ascended.
And then, there she was. Nico Robin, in the flesh, standing on the deck of the Going Merry. The moonlight seemed to cling to her, highlighting the sharp, intelligent lines of her face. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, a stark contrast against her tanned skin. Her deep blue eyes, which held centuries of secrets, widened for a fraction of a second in genuine surprise at the sight of him, waiting calmly with tea.
„Well, hello there," Mario said, his voice as smooth as he could manage, though his heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
„I didn't think such a beauty would join me tonight."
It was a dumb line, and he knew it. But what could he say? In another life, another world, he had been completely captivated by this fictional woman. Seeing her now, a living, breathing person, was enough to steal the air from his lungs.
Robin's surprise quickly melted into a mask of cool amusement, her gaze flicking to the two waiting cups. „Liar," she stated, a knowing, almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips. „Somehow, I don't believe a charmer like you is ever truly surprised."
She moved with a predator's grace, closing the distance between them but stopping just outside of arm's reach. Mario noted the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself ready to vanish or strike in an instant. He picked up one of the cups and offered it to her.
„Come now, there's no need to be so on guard. I'm not a bad man…" he paused, a self-deprecating smirk appearing. „…well, most of the time."
Robin accepted the cup, her long, delicate fingers brushing against his for a moment. She didn't drink, merely held the warm porcelain, her wariness a palpable force.
„Really?" she countered, her voice a low, captivating murmur. „You can't blame a girl for not trusting mysterious strangers in the dark, no?"
Mario took a deliberate sip from his own cup, his eyes never leaving hers. „That," he conceded, „is an excellent mindset. A necessary one."
Seeing her hesitation, he reached out slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. He took the cup back from her hand, brought it to his lips, and took a small, demonstrative sip. He then handed it back to her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
„See? Not poisoned."
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or intrigue—crossed Robin's features. She accepted the cup back, her guard lowering a single, crucial notch. After a moment's consideration, she brought the rim to her lips and took a sip, seemingly unbothered that he had drunk from it just moments before. It was a small act, but one loaded with unspoken meaning.
She studied him over the rim of the cup, her gaze analytical and piercing.
„Do you know who I am?" she asked, the suspicion now layered with a genuine, probing curiosity.
Mario met her gaze, his own expression turning serious, all traces of his earlier charm replaced by a profound and unsettling certainty.
„Well, yes," he said quietly, the words hanging in the night air between them. „As a matter of fact, I do, Ms. All Sunday."
„Interesting," Robin replied, her voice a low, measured hum. The amusement in her eyes sharpened into something more analytical. „Then you know who my employer is. Are you not afraid of what I might do?"
„No," Mario answered, his voice steady and devoid of bravado. It was a simple statement of fact. „I am not."
„And why is that?" she probed, tilting her head slightly, the picture of cool curiosity.
„Because your employer," Mario said, leaning forward just enough to emphasize his words, „is nothing compared to what this world is hiding. Not even a speck of dust on the scales of true power."
Robin's laughter was a soft, melodic sound, yet it didn't quite reach her eyes. „Really?" she breathed, a challenge laced with genuine intrigue.
„Yes. And I believe that you know that better than anyone," Mario continued, his gaze intense, willing her to understand the depth of his meaning. „That there is a much bigger, older darkness in this world, hidden just beneath the surface of history."
At his words, Robin shifted almost imperceptibly. Her posture, a masterclass in controlled composure, faltered for a single, telling moment. Mario saw it—a flicker in her deep blue eyes, a fleeting shadow where the carefully constructed walls thinned, revealing a profound, ancient well of sadness and fear. It was the look of a scholar who had read the world's forbidden texts and found only tragedy.
BOOOOOM!
The night was torn in two. The ship on the far side of the bay erupted in a fireball that clawed at the sky, the concussive wave rattling the Going Merry's rigging and washing over them in a hot, ashen gust.
Mario flinched internally, his heart leaping into his throat, but he held his ground.
In an instant, the vulnerability in Robin's eyes was gone, sealed away behind a mask of cool, detached cruelty. "Darkness, you say? Perhaps," she stated, her voice now cold and flat.
A smile touched her lips, but it was a hollow, sharp thing that did not suit her gentle features at all. "But the world is already a dark and scary place. One learns to navigate it, not wait for a dawn that will never come."
"Yes, it is," Mario agreed, his own voice softening. He glanced toward the shore where the sounds of his crew's approach were growing louder.
"But there is a sun that will one day enlighten your world…" He tried to sound cool and prophetic, though the adrenaline from the explosion was still making his hands tremble slightly.
"MARIOOOOO! LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!"
Luffy's unmistakable voice, full of unchecked energy and urgency, cut through the night. Mario turned to see his crew—a battered but triumphant Zorro, a gleefully thieving Nami, and their rubberman captain leading the charge with Sanji and Usopp under his arms—sprinting toward the dock.
He turned back to Robin, a genuine, hopeful smile replacing his earlier intensity. He gestured with his chin toward the approaching storm of straw hats.
"And that sun," he said, his voice filled with a certainty he truly felt, "is getting brighter and brighter with every passing second."
Robin followed his gaze, her cold smile fading into an expression of pure, unadulterated confusion.
She watched the chaotic, loud, and seemingly dysfunctional group barrel toward their ship, a stark contrast to the ordered, fearful world she inhabited. For a moment, she simply stared, the Straw Hats descended upon their ship.