The raft moved slowly but steadily, the waves parting before it as if acknowledging the Hawk's imposing presence. Hours slipped by, the gray sky giving way to an orange dusk that painted the ocean with fiery streaks. Inside Mihawk's mind, Leo relished every moment, his imagination running wild.
A ship worthy of Mihawk… Maybe something with a hawk-shaped prow, all black, with sails snapping in the wind. And a crew—gotta have badass nakama, a navigator, a cook, maybe a sniper…
He lost himself in otaku daydreams, mentally crafting the legend he'd build.
But that reverie shattered abruptly. On the horizon, massive shapes loomed out of the mist—a Marine armada, a dozen warships with cannon-lined hulls, their flags whipping in the breeze. At the center stood a towering battleship, its deck crowned with a dragon figurehead, a symbol of unshakable authority. Leo's heart quickened.
Oh, crap, already? We just left! he thought, torn between excitement and a flicker of nerves.
The raft slowed as a transponder snail's voice, amplified by a loudspeaker from the battleship, crackled across the waves. A deep, measured tone rose, laced with cautious restraint: "Dracule Mihawk, former Warlord, bounty of 4 billion Berries. This is Vice Admiral Tetsuo. What are you scheming, leaving your island?" The words were firm, but a hint of hesitation lingered beneath.
Mihawk tilted his head slightly, golden eyes narrowing as he surveyed the armada. Unhurried, he replied, his low, cutting voice carrying over the waves like a blade: "I'm heading to Sabaody. Nothing more." He paused, a cold smile ghosting his lips. "Do you intend to stop me, Vice Admiral?"
A tense silence followed, broken only by the wind's whisper and the waves' murmur. Perona, hovering beside Mihawk, widened her eyes and whispered, "Hihihi, are you serious? You're straight-up taunting them! We're gonna get blasted!" But Mihawk ignored her again, his gaze locked on the battleship, awaiting an answer.
On the flagship's deck, Vice Admiral Tetsuo—a tall, muscular man with short gray hair and scars slashing across his face—clenched his fists, knuckles whitening under the strain. Known for his discipline and hatred of pirates, even he knew Mihawk was out of his league. Before he could respond, a younger officer, his second-in-command, rushed to his side, a transponder snail in hand. "Vice Admiral!" he gasped, breathless. "Direct orders from the Fleet Admiral! We're to leave Dracule Mihawk alone and observe from a distance. No engagement unless he attacks first!"
Tetsuo's brows furrowed, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Damn it…" he growled through gritted teeth, clearly furious at being reined in. He turned his glare toward Mihawk, still motionless on his raft, and clenched his fists tighter, veins bulging on his forearms. "You'll get yours one day, Hawkeye," he called at last, his voice ringing with barely contained rage.
Mihawk didn't reply, his cold smile widening faintly—a silent taunt. He adjusted the sail with a casual flick, and the raft resumed its course, passing under the armada's burning scrutiny. The Marine ships held back, cannons still but crews on edge, watching Hawkeye's every move with palpable wariness. Inside, Leo was ecstatic.
Too cool! They're scared of us! Akainu knows we're a threat, but he won't risk a direct fight. That's a power move!
Perona, meanwhile, let out a loud sigh, drifting back to the raft's rear. "Hihihi, you're totally nuts, you know that?" she muttered, crossing her arms. But despite her griping, a spark of amusement glinted in her eyes—she was starting to get used to Mihawk's madness.
The raft pressed on, leaving the armada behind. Days passed, marked by the waves' sway and the sky's shifting light. The journey to Sabaody wasn't a straight shot—the Grand Line was a maze of erratic currents and constant perils. Leo, armed with his fan knowledge and this body's instincts, adjusted the sail to dodge storm zones he knew plagued the region. Violent gusts rocked the raft more than once, but Mihawk, with supernatural strength and agility, held course, slicing through overly aggressive waves with Yoru to shield their frail craft.
One morning, as the sun pierced a cloudy sky, an island emerged on the horizon—a small landmass cloaked in mangrove and white-sand beaches. Perona, bored out of her mind, seized the chance. "Hihihi! Can we stop there? I'm sick of this crummy raft! My legs need a stretch… well, sorta!" Mihawk glanced at the Log Pose, confirming the island wouldn't veer them too far off track, and nodded.
The coffin-shaped raft nudged gently onto the white-sand beach, its black planks scraping against the damp grains as waves lapped lazily around it. The island, a tiny speck lost in the Grand Line's vastness, seemed peaceful at first glance—palm trees fringed the dense mangrove, their leaves rustling in a light breeze, and the morning sun broke through clouds to cast dappled shadows on the ground. Mihawk stepped off, boots sinking slightly into the sand, Yoru resting on his back. Perona floated just behind, her umbrella twirling with nonchalance, surveying the place with a mix of curiosity and boredom. "Hihihi! Finally somewhere I can breathe something besides the salty stink of your lousy raft!" she chirped, her ghosts swirling around her.
But before she could drift further, Mihawk raised an arm, halting her mid-motion. His golden eyes, sharp beneath his hat's shadow, scanned the mangrove with cold intensity. Inside, Leo felt a jolt of adrenaline.
Presences… I sensed them from the sea. This island's not empty.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Enjoying the story?
☕ You can support me with a one-time tip on Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/hemlet
📚 Want to read 30+ chapters ahead and get exclusive content?Join me on Patreon: patreon.com/Hemlet
Your support means the world — thank you! ❤️