Le sunlight streamed through the window of Zoro's room. It wasn't blinding, but it was enough to wake him.
Haa!
Scratch!
Scratch!
Yawning, he rubbed his face to shake off the last traces of a post-sleep haze, slowly coming to his senses.
"Hmm! Hah! Looks like a beautiful day ahead."
He stretched his muscles, thoroughly waking his body, before getting out of bed and stepping into the hallway. There, he came face to face with Toji.
Each read the other's thoughts instantly. Locking eyes in a silent standoff, both knew what the opponent wanted and neither was willing to give it up.
'I'm going first.'
'Don't even think about it. I woke up before you.'
The tension in the air became palpable. On edge, the two fighters stood ready to move at any split second so as not to fall behind.
Everything was set—foot positioning, center of gravity, line of sight.
Their senses—and their Haki—were pushed to the absolute limit.
The silence lasted for several minutes until suddenly…
Soru
Soru
They moved almost at the same time—but unfortunately for Toji, Zoro was faster.
The race lasted no more than three seconds, a window just wide enough for the swordsman to bolt into the bathroom and lock the door.
Clack!
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"
"HAHAHAHA! YOU STILL CAN'T KEEP UP WITH ME! THE BATHTUB IS MINE—GO USE THE BATHROOM IN YOUR ROOM!"
It had been two weeks since their arrival in Tokyo—and since their successful revenge.
This scene had repeated every single day during those two weeks, and Toji had lost every single time, never once able to enjoy the only bathroom with a bathtub in the house.
One might wonder why he didn't just wake up earlier to get there first—or simply wait for his companion to finish.
To that, the man would probably answer:
"One day, I'll beat him fair and square. I'll be the one walking into that bathroom and enjoying the tub while he's stuck taking a standing shower."
Just another perfectly normal morning for Fear and Terror.
Zoro
I stayed in the bathroom for a good hour getting ready. Normally, a shower wouldn't take me that long, but today was a special day.
I was going to visit my benefactor—that bitter and foul-mouthed woman: Tsukumo Hyo.
It had been ten years since she helped Toji and me. No matter what she said back then, the chance to properly show my gratitude had never arisen—but I intended to fix that today.
Returning to my room, I put on my best clothes.
It was still the school year—and a weekday at that—so Toji couldn't tag along. He had to go to school.
The same should've applied to me, but honestly, school had nothing left to teach me.
The only reason I ever attended was because of Toji—and now that he was old enough to hate it, the place served as punishment for dragging me there in the first place.
When I stepped outside, the motorcycle was gone, meaning he had already left.
I mounted my own bike and started the engine.
VROOOM!
"Hah! Music to my ears."
Without lingering on the sound, I immediately headed out.
Tokyo's traffic was much denser than Osaka's, preventing me from going as fast as desired, but the ride remained pleasant.
"It's been a while since I enjoyed a ride like this."
The urge to take off my helmet and feel the morning breeze was strong, but I held back.
Japanese people were generally respectful, so I didn't have to worry about the usual rudeness of drivers.
Honk!
Honk!
"Will you hurry up?! Some of us have to get to work!"
Of course, that peace didn't last long.
A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I should've kept my mouth shut.
'Guess even in Japan, you still get people like that.'
After several kilometers, I parked in front of a familiar house and removed my helmet. A small smile formed on my face—one filled with nostalgia.
"It hasn't changed at all."
The place was exactly as I remembered it—from the paint to the plants in the garden.
Dismounting the bike, I set the helmet down and walked toward the property.
Once at the front door, I raised my hand and rang the bell.
Ding-Dong!
Lowering my arm, I waited for someone to open. It took longer than expected, to the point that I had to try again.
Ding-Dong!
Still, no one came.
Ding-Dong!
Ding-Dong!
Ding-Dong!
After several attempts, I decided to change my approach. Activating my Observation Haki, I realized the house was completely empty.
Stepping away, I turned toward a neighboring house.
Ding-Dong!
This time, someone opened quickly—a middle-aged man with a thick beard and glasses.
"Yes? What is it?"
"Good morning, sir," I said with the most polite, business-like smile I could manage. "Sorry to bother you, but I'd like to ask a favor."
Maybe it was the smile, but he looked at me suspiciously—as if expecting a scam. Still, true to Japanese politeness, he responded.
"I'm listening."
"Thank you very much for your time. You see, I'm the son of a friend of Tsukumo Hyo—the woman who lives in that house."
I pointed at her property.
"My mother lost contact with her ten years ago, so I haven't been able to speak with her. But since I came to Tokyo for my studies, I thought I'd come say hello. I rang several times, but no one answered."
Pulling out a piece of paper and a pen, I quickly scribbled something down and handed it to him.
"I'm sorry to ask, but could you please give her my number when she returns?"
The man didn't take the paper. Instead, he looked at me with a saddened expression.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, hesitated… then finally said what was on his mind.
"I'm sorry to tell you this, kid… but Tsukumo Hyo passed away. No one lives in that house anymore."
My mind went blank.
A few seconds later, I came back to myself. Only one word left my mouth:
"What?"
The news shook me. I was a mercenary—I dealt with death every week. Yet the mere mention of her passing hit me hard.
"Two years ago, I saw people dressed in mourning clothes in front of her house, with a framed picture of her. After that, I never saw anyone there again."
"I… I see. Thank you for the information," I said, my voice weak and trembling.
"It's nothing, kid. Stay strong."
With that, the neighbor retreated into his house and closed the door.
Slowly stepping away, I eventually found myself standing back in front of my motorcycle.
My hand grabbed the top of my helmet—but before it could be put on, I lost control.
Crack!
My grip tightened violently around it, fingers digging into the hard shell.
"Damn."