"Kouya," a familiar voice broke through the stillness of the forest, pulling me from a deep slumber. It was Hongo. But what could he possibly want? I blinked a few times, disoriented, as I took in my surroundings. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. I slowly sat up, my muscles stiff and aching, and realized with a jolt that I had dozed off far from the village—every inch of my clothes was caked in dirt, and my blanket, once a clean light blue, was now turned into a muddy brown beside me. My hair felt unkempt and matted, and I suddenly became acutely aware that I was barefoot, my feet cool against the earth. Anxiety bubbled up inside me as I wondered how long I had been sleeping and what had brought me here, to this secluded part of the woods.
"Here!" I called out, struggling to push myself up from the gritty ground beneath me. My clothes were smeared with dirt, and I could only imagine how disheveled I must look—a wild creature that hadn't seen the comforts of soap or a comb in at least a decade. What was I doing, rolling around like a dog? My mind raced, trying to piece together how I'd ended up in this ridiculous situation. The thought of the tangles in my long hair made me wince; it felt as if I had been caught in a battle with a thicket of brambles. Maybe it would be easier just to chop it all off—after all, what good was an unruly mane weighed down by crusty patches of dry mud? As I glanced at the mess I had become, a mix of embarrassment and resignation washed over me.
Great. I always seem to be the source of problems, don't I? I groaned in frustration, struggling to recall what had led me out to this desolate place in the first place. My mind felt so clouded, as if I had the cognitive capacity of a single-celled organism. With each step, I felt the weight of my confusion pressing down on me.
I made my way toward Hongo's voice, which echoed faintly in the distance, a beacon of familiarity amidst the uncertainty. It was coming from the direction of the village, the one place that might offer some semblance of comfort. As I walked, the memory of the town began to take shape in my mind—its sprawling fields, the familiar faces of friends and neighbors, and the warmth of the community. I pressed on, hoping Hongo wouldn't chew me out about my lovely choice of nap locations.
"Kouya! Oh, um, that's an interesting choice of styling." Hongo's voice shifted from concern to amusement after he saw my lovely dishoveled appearance coated in dirt.
"Ha. Ha." I grumbled as I gave Hongo the best dead fish eyes I could possibly give.
"We were worried about you; you didn't show up and weren't in the usual spots, and no one has seen you since we started looking for Luffy." Hongo said, " I already had to deal with our stupid Captain with his arm, well, lack thereof."
"Oh." Suddenly, everything clicked into place. I recalled my purpose for venturing into the dense forest—my search for Luffy, who had been kidnapped under the lovely circumstances of a stupid mountain bandit. My mind drifted to that pivotal moment in the timeline, the incident where Shanks famously lost his arm. It was a turning point that seemed inevitable, despite the glaring inconsistencies that surrounded it. After all, Shanks had mastery over Haki; there was no plausible way he couldn't have used it to protect his arm and Luffy in that critical moment. Yet, the cruel twists of fate played out regardless, weaving a narrative that defied logic yet remained undeniable.
As I reflected on the situation, it dawned on me that it wasn't merely about possessing the ability to wield Haki; it was fundamentally about using it as leverage. I realized that this was all a strategic move to ensure that Luffy would set sail into the vast unknown when he grew older. The thought almost made me ponder whether to laugh or cry. Shanks had the power to alter destiny, yet he chose to embrace it, allowing events to unfold as they were meant to.
This brought back echoes of a conversation I had once shared with Shanks. He had looked me in the eye, his expression earnest, and said, "Everyone lives their own lives making choices. It's vital to respect that freedom, even if you don't see eye to eye with their decisions." His words resonated deeply within me, highlighting the importance of choice in shaping our paths and the respect we owe to others' desires, no matter how different they may be from our own.
I trailed behind Hongo as we made our way back to the village, my body caked in grime from the 'lovely' nap in the forest. The dirt and sweat clung to my skin, making me feel heavy and unclean. I glanced down at the blanket draped over my shoulder, its once-bright colors now dulled by mud stains, and doubted it would ever be restored to its former glory.
"I found Kouya!" Hongo exclaimed, his voice rising above the clamor of the village. His excitement quickly drew our crew's attention, and we began to gather in the street, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the lively atmosphere.
Standing at the forefront of the group, Shanks couldn't help but chuckle. "That's an interesting new look, sweetheart," he teased, his huff of laughter breaking the tension as he took in my disheveled appearance.
Usually, I would laugh off his teasing or brush it aside, but my gaze drifted from his playful grin to the stark reality of his missing arm. "Arm," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I stole a glance at Shanks.
He caught my gaze and chuckled lightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yeah, it's just an arm," he replied, his tone dismissive yet reassuring. "A little inconvenient, sure, but I've learned to work around it."
There was a genuine ease in his demeanor, a confidence that made it clear he was truly unbothered by the loss. In that moment, I realized how much his spirit and resilience shone through, overshadowing the physical absence with a sense of unwavering strength and conviction.
Honestly, there was a profound yearning within me to reach out and give him a hug. It wasn't so much about feeling sorry for him; instead, it was an admiration for the strength he exuded. As I watched him, I found myself longing for that kind of resilience—the unwavering willpower, deep conviction, and quiet confidence that seemed to radiate from him. It made me reflect on my own struggles and insecurities, and in that moment, I recognized the qualities I aspire to embody. The simple act of offering comfort felt like it could bridge the gap between my insecurities and the strength I wished to possess.
"Hug," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. I hesitated for a moment, waddling towards him awkwardly. The weight of the crusty earth reminded me of just how unkempt I looked—my clothes were caked with dirt, and small clumps of mud adorned my hair, giving me the appearance of having just emerged from a swamp. I felt a mix of vulnerability and urgency as I approached, longing for the comfort of his embrace despite the mess I was in.
It was almost unnerving how deeply I relied on Shanks, as if I were drawing my strength from him while simultaneously using him as a crutch. I would confront him with my darkest thoughts, repeatedly expressing my desire to escape from it all, the weight of existence feeling unbearable. I hurled my anguish at him like a weapon, taunting him with declarations of my despair, as if I were daring him to hold me tighter. It felt as though I were coercing him into becoming my anchor, compelling him to weave a protective cocoon around me, shielding me from the storm raging within. I forced him into a role he hadn't signed up for, imploring him, in my own way, to instill in me a reason to fight for life, a flicker of hope in the suffocating darkness that threatened to engulf me.
It truly made me question what about me catches his eye. I couldn't help but think about the moments we've shared and what he might appreciate. I often found myself as a conversation killer, a solid, unyielding presence in a room filled with chatter and laughter. Like a motionless rock, I remained in one spot for the majority of the day, feeling increasingly detached and isolated. My existence was marked by a pervasive gloom, an overshadowing aura that seemed to drain the energy from those around me. This melancholic demeanor not only affected my own mood but also added an air of discomfort and inconvenience to social interactions, leaving my friends unsure of how to engage with me.
The uncertainty leaves me feeling both curious and vulnerable, as I ponder the depth of his feelings and what draws him to me in the first place.
"Come here, Sweetheart, give me a hug," he chuckled, his voice warm and inviting. He spread one arm wide, a gesture that felt like an open invitation even though I was completely covered in dirt from head to toe. The late-afternoon sun illuminated the dust particles swirling around me, creating a whimsical backdrop for the moment. His smile was infectious, a mix of affection and amusement that made it hard to resist his charm. I hesitated for a moment, glancing at my grimy hands and the mud-streaked clothes, but the warmth of his invitation pulled me closer, erasing any reluctance I felt.