"Bang—"
The heavy door of the branch director's office was kicked open with a thunderous crash. The impact sent tremors through the entire room, the reverberation making the air itself vibrate.
"Mihawk san!"
Yamir strode inside, his voice brimming with fighting spirit, echoing like a battle cry that filled the space.
"Let's have a hearty duel!"
On the sofa sat Dracule Mihawk, the Hawk-Eyed Swordsman, casually sipping from a bottle of his own homemade red wine. Wrapped in his usual calm, his golden eyes shifted at the sudden intrusion.
"Hm?" Mihawk raised his head, a flicker of confusion passing across his sharp features. The corner of his lips twitched.
"Ah...? Duel?"
"Have you lost your mind, boy?"
In this period of acquaintance, Mihawk already knew Yamir's lazy nature all too well. This so-called "slacker Captain" only ever thought about avoiding work, lying around, and pursuing an easy life. Fighting spirit was the last thing in his vocabulary.
In fact, Yamir had turned down Mihawk's duel invitations more than a dozen times, always with the most ridiculous excuses—
Not fully awake, didn't eat breakfast, my stomach hurts, toothache, even "I'm depressed today, not fit to fight."
Each time, Mihawk could only shake his head in disbelief.
And now, this same man dared to storm in and issue a challenge? Truly stranger than the sun rising from the west.
The reason Mihawk came here today was simple: he was bored. He had brought along a few bottles of his homemade wine to drink with this odd fellow. Yamir's unique insights into swordsmanship often surprised him—concepts unfamiliar even to the world's greatest swordsman. But beyond that, Mihawk came here for the simple joy of hearing praise.
And Yamir never disappointed when free alcohol was involved:
"Damn, Mihawk san, are you the legendary saint of winemaking?"
"I declare you a natural brewmaster!"
"This is absolutely the best red wine I've ever tasted, no one can compare!"
"If anyone disagrees, let them come to me!"
"Oh my god, Lao Mi, you are the god of red wine, the GOAT of brewing!"
Every compliment brought a rare smile to Mihawk's lips. After all, who doesn't like to be praised? Especially for passions outside of swordsmanship—brewing, farming, and simpler pursuits.
But now, the habitual slacker Yamir stood before him with eyes burning with determination.
"Yes! I've been waiting for this day for a long time!"
Yamir's voice rang with conviction. This duel had to be fought.
Mihawk smirked, amusement and disbelief mingling in his tone.
"Oh? I know you too well, boy."
"If this duel really happens, I'll use Yoru, the world's strongest black blade, as an oar to row my way home."
Yamir didn't respond. His right hand tightened around the hilt of his Demonic Sword—Thousand Blades, a golden god-tier item drawn from the Joy System.
With a long breath, Yamir expelled every stray thought. His aura shifted in an instant—cold, sharp, and deadly. He became like a drawn sword, honed for a single cut.
"Breath of Water, First Form—Water Surface Slash!"
The Demonic Sword Thousand Blades left its sheath in a flash. The blade shimmered with crystal-like water vapor, and as it cut the air, a flowing wave of light burst forth, dazzling like sunlight reflecting on rippling waves.
Swish—!
The strike cleaved through the air like lightning, carrying the weight of the sea itself. The sword light roared forward, surging toward Mihawk with unstoppable might.
Mihawk's brows rose ever so slightly, surprise flashing across his sharp eyes. In the next instant, he shifted his body with effortless grace, narrowly slipping past the fatal blow.
Boom—
The force of Yamir's slash exploded in the air, tearing through the office wall like paper. With a deafening crash, stone and timber split apart, the ceiling trembling under the impact as dust rained down. For a moment, it felt as though the entire branch headquarters might collapse.
Mihawk's pupils narrowed. The calm indifference in his expression faltered, giving way first to disbelief—then to something far rarer. Excitement.
"Really…?" he muttered, his voice carrying both astonishment and anticipation. "You actually meant it."
He lowered his gaze to the Black Blade, Yoru. The supreme blade trembled faintly in his grip, as if resonating with the fighting spirit boiling in its master's heart. Mihawk's presence sharpened, his aura condensing into something immovable, like a mountain pressing down on the world.
"Very well… then let's fight."
His voice rumbled like collapsing cliffs.
Clang—
Steel screamed as the Demonic Blade, Thousand Blades, met the edge of the Black Blade, Yoru. The instant the swords clashed, power surged like a tidal wave, shockwaves bursting outward, ripping through the office.
Boom—
Dust and debris were thrown skyward, the air itself howling under the pressure.
"Magnificent…" Mihawk's eyes blazed with light, a rare grin tugging at his lips. "This—this must be the Breathing Style swordsmanship you drunkenly boasted of that night." His voice vibrated with raw appreciation. "It's even more exquisite than I imagined."
Yamir only smirked. The more the branch crumbled, the brighter his joy burned. Perfect. Today, I'll dismantle this place with my own hands. Let's see who dares stop me!
"Call—"
His breathing shifted, rhythm steady yet fierce. Flames burst to life along the Thousand Blades, writhing as though alive.
"One Style… Shiranui!"
Yamir raised his blade, the inferno gathering at its edge. In the next instant, he cleaved downward—
Boom—
A blazing slash roared forth like a dragon of fire, swallowing the office in its incandescent fury. Heat warped the air, the walls and floor groaning as if about to melt.
Far above the 186th Branch, a streak of golden light shot through the sky.
Borsalino, the Yellow Monkey (Kizaru), approached lazily, his form flickering with photons. His usual indifferent expression lingered, though his eyes betrayed a rare flicker of intrigue.
"Hmm~ it looks like something amusing has begun," he drawled, as though searching for a seat at a theater.
With a snap of his fingers, his body dissolved into pure radiance, descending toward the branch at light speed.
"Let me see for myself… just what kind of chaos is brewing here."