"Boy, you don't look convinced."
Kavi glanced down, picked up a fallen branch from the ground, and gave it a casual swing.
"Let's use this."
He smirked at the furious Mihawk. "Come on, I'll show you whether I'm right or not."
Mihawk blinked in disbelief. A branch? Was this old man really planning to fight him using a stick?
An insult. A blatant, direct insult.
He gritted his teeth. "You're underestimating me!"
With a surge of anger, Mihawk lunged forward, his black sword slashing through the air in a flurry of blows. Strike after strike came down, fast and brutal.
Yet to Kavi, it was all in slow motion.
He moved lazily, like swatting away mosquitoes. Every swing Mihawk made was countered by a light tap of the branch. One by one, the attacks collapsed.
Then—
Clang!
With a flick of the branch, Kavi knocked Mihawk's sword from his hands.
"The force is too scattered, your intent too obvious, and every move is full of holes. Still think you've got nothing to learn?" Kavi said calmly, tucking the intact branch behind his shoulder.
Mihawk froze.
He just got disarmed—by a man holding a twig.
For a moment, he felt lost. Was he even a swordsman anymore? How could he be beaten like this?
But no. Mihawk clenched his fists.
No. It's not that I'm weak. He's just too strong. He saw through all my attacks like it was nothing.
Raising his head, Mihawk asked with solemn respect, "Senior, can you teach me?"
Kavi raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Finally, not so proud, eh? I thought you'd keep throwing a tantrum."
But Mihawk was no fool. If he wanted to become the world's strongest swordsman, he had to endure setbacks. If strength required humility, then so be it.
"Ahem. It's simple," Kavi began. "Your power's too spread out. You're slashing like a brute. Focus the force into a single point—pierce the surface. Don't swing like you're swatting flies."
Mihawk looked confused. "...No one's ever said that to me before."
"Clearly." Kavi sighed. "Well, you want to be like me? Then practice."
Mihawk nodded quickly. "Then, Senior, please... teach me."
Kavi looked at him with mock suspicion. "Weren't you just calling me a senile old man a few minutes ago? And now you want to learn swordsmanship from me?"
He rubbed his belly. "Hmph. Not that I can't teach you, but I'm starving."
Mihawk frowned but responded quickly. "Senior, please come inside. It's cold out. I'll cook something."
'Tch. I'll endure this humiliation—for the sake of strength.'
Mihawk led Kavi into the castle. The interior was unexpectedly elegant and immaculately clean. It smelled faintly of waxed wood and aged wine.
Kavi took a seat at the dining table, eyes scanning the surroundings. "Huh, not bad. You keep the place tidy."
"Boy, go make something. I'm too hungry to talk."
Mihawk twitched. 'Is this man my guest, or did he just claim ownership of my house?!'
Still, he gritted his teeth and headed into the kitchen.
A short while later, Mihawk emerged with two grilled steaks and a bottle of red wine. He poured two glasses with the precision of a butler.
"Mm. Good wine," Kavi said after a sip, savoring the taste. "And the steak's not bad either. Seems like you're not just obsessed with swordsmanship—you know how to live."
He took another bite.
"But kid, this isn't enough to plug the gaps in my teeth. No wonder you're so skinny. Go make more."
Mihawk's face darkened. 'Is he here to freeload me into bankruptcy?'
"Hmm? Are you feeling unwell?" Kavi asked innocently, glancing at Mihawk's expression. "You look pale. I'm a pretty good doctor, you know."
"I'm fine," Mihawk replied through gritted teeth and stormed back into the kitchen. This time, he grilled ten steaks.
'Fine. You want to eat? I'll stuff you like a roasted pig.'
When the plate was full, he slammed it down in front of Kavi.
Kavi devoured them all, alternating between meat and wine, enjoying every second.
Finally, he stretched out with a satisfied yawn. "Ahh... I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed. You clean up."
With that, he stood and made his way toward Mihawk's bedroom.
"Hey! That's my room! And what about teaching me swordsmanship?!"
Kavi casually pushed Mihawk aside. "I'll teach you tomorrow. Right now, sleep is more important."
Despite Mihawk's attempts to block him, Kavi dragged him away with ease, strolled into the bedroom, and flopped onto the bed.
Within seconds, he was asleep.
Mihawk stared in disbelief.
'I invited in a demon.'
He couldn't win in a fight. Couldn't win in an argument. Couldn't even keep his bed.
Frustrated beyond belief, Mihawk eventually slumped into the living room with only his black sword, Yoru, for company.
The castle had one bed—and it was now occupied.
Of course, Kavi had known that from the start. Why else would he take it?
He was old. He deserved a proper bed.
Youngsters like Mihawk should suffer. It builds character.
The next morning, Kavi awoke to golden light spilling through the window.
Stretching lazily, he wandered into the living room and found a warm breakfast waiting on the table.
"Hoh. Not bad, kid."
He sat down and began eating leisurely, as if this were his castle all along.
And just like that, a new chapter began in the life of the world's future strongest swordsman—and his freeloading, maddening, unstoppable "mentor."
...
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