Half a year passed in the blink of an eye.
As the morning sun crept over the horizon, Mihawk once again climbed to the top of the mountain to meditate. But today, a sword sat in front of him—Black Blade Yoru.
Its jet-black blade and cross-shaped hilt gleamed with a quiet, aloof strength, emanating a sense of undeniable majesty.
It wasn't just a sword—it was his brother-in-arms.
They had walked countless paths together, faced foes, and endured silence.
Yet Mihawk realized, with a pang of guilt, that he had never truly listened to Yoru's voice. Today, that would change.
He would communicate with his blade—not as a weapon, but as a partner—and finally step into the realm where man and sword become one.
Cross-legged, Mihawk slipped easily into the meditative state he had honed over the past months.
The world fell silent. Lights began to emerge around him—faint glowing lines weaving through air and earth, visualizing the breath and rhythm of all things.
Everything was alive.
He could sense the steady pulse of the stone beneath him, the gentle inhale of the grass nearby, the slow exhale of trees swaying in the wind.
But one thing remained unchanged—Yoru.
Still and silent. Pitch black.
Hours passed. The sky turned orange, then navy blue. Mihawk did not move.
And finally… light stirred.
From deep within the sword, a glimmer rose—then another—until streams of dazzling lines flowed forth. Powerful. Cold. Proud. It matched its master's spirit perfectly.
Man, and sword became one.
Mihawk opened his eyes slowly and reached for the blade.
"Brother," he whispered, "will you grow stronger with me?"
Yoru trembled gently in his hand, humming with resonance.
Mihawk smiled. "Got it."
Until now, he had focused solely on swordsmanship. But Yoru—his black blade—was more than a tool. It breathed too. It yearned for battle, for growth. He'd been blind to that.
He thought back to his earliest days at sea, to the opponent who had once bested his swordsmanship.
He'd trained relentlessly ever since, isolating himself, sparring daily with baboons, and rarely seeking new fights.
Now, he understood—the blade needed challengers too.
His eyes sharpened. With the strength he now held, he was sure he could defeat the baboon king in a single strike.
But as for that old man, Kavi...
Mihawk paused, lips twitching.
'Still too mysterious. Too unpredictable.' Maybe… not yet. He wasn't eager to get knocked flat again.
That night, after a quiet dinner, Kavi turned in early as usual.
Mihawk, however, lay wide awake in bed. His thoughts churned—should he challenge Kavi? Or should he set sail again and test himself against the world's swordsmen?
The baboons on the island had long since stopped being real opponents. He needed someone strong—but not too strong. Someone who could truly test him.
By dawn, he hadn't slept a wink.
Kavi raised an eyebrow as he saw the bags under Mihawk's eyes. "Oi, you haven't been using your hands again, have you?" he asked, patting his shoulder with a sly grin.
"As your elder, let me remind you—your body is the foundation of all strength. Don't overdo it."
Mihawk frowned deeply. He didn't know what "using your hands" meant, but it definitely didn't sound like a compliment.
Swatting Kavi's hand away, he muttered, "I'll make breakfast."
Kavi watched him go, sighing inwardly. 'This kid's confidence is growing too fast.'
He's strong, yes—but far from strong enough. A dose of humility was due.
After breakfast, Kavi suggested, ever so casually, "How about a little sparring today?"
Mihawk's face tensed. "Did I do something wrong?"
Kavi waved it off. "What are you thinking? You've made great progress—I just want to see how far you've come. Nothing more."
'I want to show you just how far you still have to go,' he added silently. 'Otherwise, you'll get cocky and get crushed one day. Not on my watch.'
Mihawk relaxed a little. 'Wait… why was I the one feeling guilty? This is my home. If anything, he should be the one apologizing.'
That realization struck him like lightning. This old man has brainwashed me!
He flushed in embarrassment and shook the thoughts off. Either way, the sparring match would be a good test.
Time to reclaim some dignity.
They chose the seaside as their battleground—spacious, open, and far from the castle.
A troop of baboons trailed behind them.
Their leader had returned for revenge after Mihawk had humiliated him last time.
But when he saw the sparring about to begin, he stayed quiet. This was bigger.
The old man's strength had always been shrouded in mystery.
Bang!
The duel began.
Mihawk wielded Yoru with perfect synchrony, every swing refined with grace and purpose. The unity of man and blade gave his strikes a rhythm, a depth, a soul.
Kavi?
Still wielding a branch.
The Seven Star Sword, once his proudest treasure, lay buried in the ground somewhere, muttering in indignation.
'Sigh… just let me rot, then.'
Kavi had too many styles to stick to swordplay. He hadn't used the Seven Star Sword in ages. It was more decoration now than weapon.
But Mihawk's attacks—though clean and sharp—were all neatly parried with the casual flicks of a twig.
To Mihawk, it felt like his strikes were almost landing.
To Kavi, they were being dodged on purpose.
He was giving Mihawk hope—just enough to inspire confidence.
Then he'd crush it.
Classic Kavi.
Growing older only made him more mischievous. He loved building young people up… just to remind them who they really were.
That's how you build character, right?
At least, that's what he told himself.
Whether it worked or not… didn't really matter.
As long as Mihawk felt the pressure, and didn't get too comfortable.