Consciousness rose slowly from the depths of pitch-black darkness, like a sunken ship drifting upward from the ocean floor.
The first thing to return was the sense of touch.
Beneath him was the softness of a bed. A thin, light fabric covered his body.
The air carried the faint, unmistakable scent of disinfectant, mixed with a barely perceptible hint of fragrance.
Next came sound.
From outside the window came the steady, rhythmic murmur of waves breaking against the shore. Closer at hand was the soft scratch of a pen moving across paper, accompanied by the calm, gentle sound of someone breathing.
Finally, Dracule Mihawk slowly opened those hawk-like, razor-sharp eyes.
What greeted him first was a spotless white ceiling—plain in design, yet immaculate.
His pupils shifted slightly as they adjusted to the light. For an instant, his gaze was faintly unfocused, but it quickly regained its usual clarity and piercing sharpness.
He turned his head a little, his eyes sweeping toward the bedside.
There, leaning quietly beside the nightstand, was the massive greatsword—Black Blade Yoru.
The jet-black blade shimmered faintly under the sunlight streaming through the window, its surface pristine and spotless, clearly wiped down and meticulously maintained by someone's hand.
Near the foot of the bed, a Marine nurse dressed in a white uniform and nurse's cap sat on a small stool. Her head was lowered as she focused intently on writing in a medical chart. The soft scratching sound came from her pen.
Hawk-Eye said nothing. He simply closed his senses inward, feeling his own body.
The searing pain and internal agony—like his organs had been violently displaced—were gone without a trace. In their place was a deep, bone-weary exhaustion and a lingering sense of weakness.
Yet aside from that… there was no obvious pain.
After a moment's thought, he slowly tried moving his fingers. Everything felt normal.
Then, almost instinctively, he raised the hand that wasn't connected to an IV and pressed it against his chest.
He remembered clearly—far too clearly—that spot being cleaved by Gern's Black Blade Bahuang, wreathed in magma-like vibration waves. Even with Armament Haki defending him, it should have left a horrifying wound.
But beneath his fingertips, the skin was smooth.
Perfectly smooth.
There wasn't even the slightest unevenness.
"How is that possible…?" A trace of doubt flickered through Hawk-Eye's eyes.
Such severe injuries—even with the world's top-tier medical technology—should never have healed so completely in such a short time. Not without leaving even a single scar.
This went beyond "treatment."
It was closer to regeneration.
Just then, the nurse finished her notes. She closed the medical chart and lifted her head.
Her eyes met Hawk-Eye's.
"Ah!" She jumped, letting out a short gasp, nearly dropping the chart in her hands.
She clearly hadn't expected this intimidating figure—who had been unconscious for so long—to suddenly wake up, much less stare at her with such overwhelming presence.
"Y-you're awake?!" She sprang to her feet, a nervous blush creeping onto her face as she fumbled awkwardly with her hands.
After all… Mihawk was handsome. And that physique certainly didn't help.
"P-please wait here! I'll notify them right away!" she said hurriedly, then practically dashed out of the room, her footsteps quickly fading down the corridor.
Once she was gone, the room fell silent again.
Hawk-Eye glanced at the IV needle in the back of his hand. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled it free.
Bracing his arms against the bed, he slowly sat up and leaned back against the headboard.
There was still a sense of weakness and hollowness deep in his muscles when he moved, but his basic mobility had clearly returned.
Lowering his head once more, he carefully examined his chest… his arms… every place he remembered suffering grievous injury.
All were flawless. As smooth as if nothing had ever happened.
As he pondered this impossible recovery, a voice tinged with teasing drifted in from the doorway.
"I know you like wearing those open-chested outfits, so I had Lipo use her Healing Fruit abilities to make sure no scars were left behind."
Hearing the voice, Hawk-Eye raised his gaze.
Gern Reginald Sigmar was leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed in a simple white shirt and Marine trousers. He wasn't wearing his Justice cloak. His arms were folded across his chest, and a faint smile played on his lips as he looked at him.
"Well?" Gern stepped into the room, his eyes flicking to the IV needle Hawk-Eye had removed. He raised an eyebrow."Sleeping for two whole months—how does it feel, 'World's Strongest Swordsman'?
"Lipo's Healing Fruit works wonders. Even Sakazuki and Kuzan swear by it. Treating your injuries took a bit of effort, but the results seem pretty good."
Hawk-Eye didn't answer right away. He simply stared at Gern, a complex emotion flashing briefly through his eyes.
Then he raised his hand again, touching his smooth chest before looking back at him.
His voice was hoarse from disuse, yet still carried its usual cold edge."Two months…?"
"Yeah. A full two months." Gern walked over to the window, gazing out at the busy plaza of G-10 Base."You were badly hurt. Ruptured organs, shattered bones, complete exhaustion… being able to survive at all says a lot about how absurdly tough your body and willpower are."
Hawk-Eye fell silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to Black Blade Yoru resting by the bed.
"That duel…"
"You lost." Gern turned back, stating it plainly—no boasting, no pity, just the outcome."A complete, unquestionable defeat. After you lost consciousness, I was the one who pulled you out of the crater.
"That said, you're still something else. Even in that state, you managed not to fall. If I hadn't sensed your presence vanish, I would've thought it was going to turn into another hard fight."
Hearing this, Hawk-Eye showed no anger or frustration. Instead, as if confirming a truth he already knew, he slowly closed his eyes.
A few seconds later, he opened them again—clear, calm, and composed.
"So… just like ten years ago."
Mihawk acknowledged his defeat without the slightest discouragement. Instead, he saw his own shortcomings clearly—and the height he still needed to surpass.
Gern smiled at him."Accepting reality this fast… just like you.
"So?" He tilted his head. "Getting tired of sitting on the throne of 'World's Strongest Swordsman'? How about switching things up and joining the Marines?"
Contrary to what Gern expected, Hawk-Eye didn't coldly refuse. The corner of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly—so faint it was almost imperceptible.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he rose silently. His movements were slow but steady as he removed the blue-and-white striped hospital gown, revealing a powerful, perfectly intact upper body.
He then picked up the neatly folded clothes placed on a nearby chair—his own belongings, retrieved by the soldiers from his coffin boat.
One by one, he calmly put them on: the familiar wine-red patterned shirt, the black trousers, the white fur-lined scarf.
After fastening the final button, Mihawk turned his head toward Gern, who had been watching with arms crossed and an amused smile.
In a low voice, he said,"I will honor my promise."
"…Though I've grown rather used to drifting alone."
"Oh, come on." Gern cut in immediately, the teasing grin on his face widening."At least you won't have to keep rowing that black blade across the sea by yourself anymore, right?"
The moment Gern said that—
Just as Mihawk reached for the hilt of Black Blade Yoru, about to sling the Supreme Grade Sword back over his shoulder—
His movement froze.
"…."
The World's Strongest Swordsman visibly—very visibly—stumbled, an almost unheard-of sight, nearly steadying himself against the nightstand.
With his back to Gern, his shoulders twitched slightly, as if he were suppressing something with all his might.
For a full two or three seconds, the air was filled with an indescribable awkwardness (entirely Mihawk's) and the satisfied glee of a prank well played (entirely Gern's).
At last, as if nothing had happened, Mihawk moved a bit faster than usual and whoosh—secured Black Blade Yoru firmly across his back.
Only his unnaturally rigid posture betrayed a powerful aura of I do not want to talk.
Gern finally couldn't hold it in anymore and let out a low laugh. He stepped forward and patted Mihawk on the shoulder.
"Let's go, Dracule Mihawk—my 'World's Strongest Swordsman.'"
He deliberately drew out the words."I'll take you to see your new office first.
"Don't worry, I picked a quiet corner with a private little garden just for you. I know you like your peace…"
Then Gern paused, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice, though the grin on his face only grew.
"But before that—just the two of us here…"
"Tell me honestly. When you're out there alone, drifting on that 'coffin board' of yours… how do you handle those, uh…"
"Unavoidable daily needs?"
He blinked, adopting an I understand you tone."Don't tell me you really just sneak off to some uninhabited stretch of sea and then—"
Hawk-Eye: "..."(Silence was the bridge of this night—and also his final shred of dignity.)
He abruptly quickened his pace and walked straight out without looking back. His back remained straight and proud, yet radiated a chilling don't come near me determination.
He even stomped a bit harder with each step.
"Haha—hey, wait for me, Mihawk!I'm kidding! Really!" Gern laughed loudly as he hurried after him, sounding like a mischievous boy delighted with his successful prank.