When the young man carrying a large blade stood before him,
Orin admitted,
He was a little intrigued.
He'd heard of this kid Mihawk before. Like Roronoa Zoro in the future, he was a swordsman who challenged every strong swordsman he could find, aiming to become the world's greatest.
But he didn't expect the guy to show up so soon.
...
Three days earlier—
When the kid first arrived and found out Orin wasn't there, he lingered in front of the red-light district and waited for three full days and nights.
Eventually, one of the workers couldn't take it anymore and asked him what was going on.
That's when it was revealed—he was here to challenge Orin-sama.
When Sammi heard about it, she didn't take it seriously either.
After all, Orin's name resounded across the seas. If they had to take every random challenger seriously,
They'd go insane from all the hassle.
And so, the future world's greatest swordsman, a future member of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and future Emperor—Dracule Mihawk,
Could only squat like a guardian statue at the entrance of the red-light district,
Those hawk-like sharp eyes scanning every passerby, even more cautious than a security guard checking delivery drivers,
Afraid that if he let his guard down, he'd miss his target.
Little did he know…
A figure had already quietly crossed space itself and appeared in the bathhouse of the red-light district.
After spending a few days developing his Devil Fruit powers and surviving on a deserted island, Orin had returned, worn and weathered.
Under the shocked and nervous welcome of the bathhouse manager, he shed his clothes and entered the hot spring, beginning one of his rare moments of relaxation.
"Knock knock—"
"Come in."
Sammi arrived with a team of beautiful service attendants and an overwhelming feast. Everything was arranged in no time, top-tier service from head to toe.
Orin lounged lazily on a soft surface, chatting idly about recent happenings across the seas—when a surprising piece of news came up:
"You're saying Mihawk has been waiting for me outside the red-light district for several days?"
A strange look flickered in Orin's eyes. After a moment of thought, the corner of his mouth curled up.
"Then let's meet him."
...
Seeing the man he'd waited days to challenge had actually been enjoying himself in the red-light district the whole time,
Mihawk's eyelid twitched—twice. But still, he raised the Black Blade: Yoru!
"...Black Gun Orin! Accept my challenge!"
"Challenge? Why?"
"To defeat you! I'm the man who will become the world's greatest swordsman!!!"
Truth be told, young Mihawk lacked the calm demeanor of his older self twenty years later. He was as fiery as Zoro.
That made Orin think of Shanks, who used to challenge him often back on Roger's ship.
But to someone like Orin—a jaded man with no ambitions—these hot-blooded dreamers held little appeal.
It's not like anyone was competing with him for the title of world's greatest marksman.
Instead, he found the situation a bit troublesome.
If he won, the title of world's greatest swordsman would probably be stuck to him, and he'd have to deal with countless challengers.
Throwing the fight? Not his style. Orin was, after all, the undefeated war god.
As for actually losing?
Orin had never even considered the concept. That word didn't exist in his dictionary.
"...Well, actually, Mihawk, it's not that I won't fight you… It's just, I'm not a swordsman. What's the point of fighting me?"
Hearing that, young Mihawk felt like his intelligence was being insulted. His sharp sword aura practically radiated from his eyes.
"Splitting the sky with a single slash, fighting three Marine monsters to a standstill—and you say you're not a swordsman?"
"Who says using a sword automatically makes you a swordsman? You cook sometimes—does that mean you're a chef?"
"..."
Mihawk was at a loss for words.
"…"
A long silence.
Apparently convinced Orin wouldn't fight, Mihawk's eyes dimmed slightly. His young face showed deep disappointment as he prepared to leave this disheartening place.
But then, Orin said something that caught his attention again.
"I can accept your challenge, but only under one condition. If you lose..."
Orin stood up.
Because when he'd mentioned the word "chef" just now, he suddenly remembered something.
Eventually, he'd be heading out to sea. Even if he didn't form a pirate crew, he'd be going places and seeing things.
And he sure as hell wasn't doing that alone.
He could rough it like on the deserted island—grilled fish and roasted meat now and then—but he couldn't live like that forever.
Having a companion to chat with would also help avoid boredom.
If he brought a girl from the red-light district, he'd have to protect her constantly, which would be a pain.
So what he needed was a reliable, strong, self-sufficient cook, with solo navigation experience, and no tendency to get lost.
Now who could that possibly be?
Such a mystery.
"Condition?"
The young man with the Black Blade paused, turned around slowly, and stared at the clearly scheming Orin, as if he'd just heard a joke.
But those hawk-like eyes held unwavering resolve and fierce fighting spirit.
"Name your terms!
If I fall to your blade, then..."
He pointed to his chest, voice solemn.
"You can take my life—I don't care!!!"
That response made Orin's eye twitch wildly.
Damn, that was intense…
"What would I do with your life? Just come out to sea with me for a few years, cook some food, that kind of stuff."
Young Mihawk considered briefly, then agreed outright.
"Alright. But after I beat you, I'll keep searching for my next opponent."
Orin grinned, walking up to Mihawk.
"Then you'll probably be waiting a few years."
"You mean I still need a few years of growth before I can beat you?"
"...No. I mean, once I'm in a better mood in a few years, I'll let you go."
"…"
Mihawk said nothing, but gripped his sword tighter.
What an arrogant man...
Of course, the two of them weren't about to start dueling in the middle of the Sabaody Archipelago.
Orin simply focused—and the space around them began to distort.
"This is…" Mihawk noticed the change.
"Relax. Just my Devil Fruit power."
In the past, Orin had focused heavily on Haki development, neglecting his fruit abilities.
But after recent training, he'd figured out some neat tricks.
Like teleporting himself and others, or instantly transporting distant objects to him…
Basically a mix of Kamui and Flying Thunder God.
After a few mid-air teleport hops, the two quickly arrived at a forest-covered island.
Their figures appeared on a clearing at the edge of the woods. Mihawk narrowed his eyes hawk-like as ever, and was just about to step forward—
Only to find something felt… weird underfoot. Sticky?
"…"
"Hahahahaha—sorry! First time bringing someone with me, ended up warping you right into a patch of poop."
Orin laughed mischievously as he apologized.
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Chapter for the review