Ozz himself had no idea what Lip meant yet.
Why would he be asked to "mind it," and mind what, exactly?
The villa that the Holy Land had assigned him was sprawling and lavish, done in a soft ivory palette. Led by Lip, Ozz and the CP men stepped inside.
The halls were full of girls.
Or more precisely, little slave girls.
The house was enormous, yet even so he could see how they had been packed in by threes. Small figures huddled together in knots, shackles linking wrist to wrist, eyes wide and trembling as they stared at the newcomers.
They had been taken from every corner of the sea. From the Four Blues. From Paradise. From the New World.
Some had even been snatched out of the Calm Belt.
Whatever their place of origin, their reaction to Ozz was the same. They shrank back, trying to press themselves into the floor.
Ozz stopped dead. There had to be three hundred of them. More than a hundred sets of three sisters. He turned to look at Lip.
The CP0 agent bowed slightly. Even with the mask, Ozz could feel the man's quiet pride. "We followed your preference to the letter, Lord Ozz. All of them are trios of sisters. These sets, in particular, are true triplets. In my years in the Holy Land, I have developed an eye for future beauty. When these grow up, their looks will be the equal of the world's finest."
Ozz rubbed his temples.
So that was it.
He had once told Lip to keep an eye on any three sisters trafficked into the Holy Land. Lip had misunderstood and taken it as a standing order to collect trios for Ozz's personal taste, the younger the better.
"…I see."
"Is there a problem, Lord Ozz?" Lip asked, respectful as ever.
Ozz did not answer at once. He walked forward through the living sea of children, taking them in one by one. The CP agents kept a courteous distance behind him.
Every girl he glanced at flinched and dropped her head.
Except for one.
"Lip."
"Yes, Lord Ozz."
Ozz pointed toward a particular trio. "Aside from those three, release the rest. Return each child to where she was taken."
The order shocked the room into stillness. Even Lip froze for a heartbeat before bowing assent. They did not know why, and it did not matter. Ozz had spoken.
It would take work to undo this much damage. They would do the work.
Ozz left them to it and crossed the room to the three girls who had caught his eye. He knew them at once. A dark-haired girl with striking features. One with a head of green hair. One with bright orange.
"Hey, kid," he said, looking down at the dark-haired one. She had drawn the other two behind her in the instant he approached. She looked brave the way cornered animals did, and the faint trembling in her legs gave her away. "What is your name?"
"I am… Boa Hancock." She bit off each word and glared up at him. "You are a man. Let us go."
The name made Ozz smile.
So it was them.
"In that case," he said, "you are mine from now on, little Hancock."
He did not bother with whatever retort she was about to spit. He glanced back at Lip. "Do not bring me slaves again. Keep an eye on these three, and make sure they behave."
"Understood."
Ozz had no untoward designs on the children. He was well aware the Holy Land was full of perverts who did. Right now, Hancock was a little bean sprout with more backbone than sense.
He had no interest in playing the saint. If he did nothing, another Celestial Dragon would claim them and their fate would be far worse. As long as they were in his custody, he could enforce one line that mattered.
"They are not to be branded with the Hoof of the Celestial Dragon," he said. "Ever."
As for anything else, they could set their hearts at ease. They would be Lord Ozz's slaves in name, even if they lived far from the Holy Land one day.
Follow him, and you followed him for life. He had been clear about that with all his people.
Lip bowed lower, shadow falling across the mask. He had clearly guessed wrong about Ozz's tastes and now intended to make up for it with industrious zeal. If Lord Ozz wanted acceptable, well-managed household slaves, he would receive exactly that.
And from this moment on, Ozz's name carved its first deep shadow into Hancock's young heart.
…
"No need to see me off. Head back, Lip."
On the docks of the Sabaody Archipelago, Ozz waved off the CP0 man with a small smile.
"Pass a message to the Five Elders for me. I support the Seven Warlords plan. They do not need to worry about my opinion."
"It will be done."
Ozz nodded. In the next breath he was gone.
Sabaody was as bustling as ever, livelier than when he had last passed through. The market streets were crammed with shoppers. A few buildings had a sheen of modernity you did not often see this far from the capital. Patrol teams came and went in steady circuits. Even the Celestial Dragons did not misbehave here. Not too much.
That was the weight of Lord Ozz's name.
If some entitled wretch caused a scene, the return trip meant a date with the God Knights' discipline.
And if they failed to act, Ozz would.
He had not wandered long when a figure stepped out of a shadow into his path. A very cold man, arms folded, a massive black blade slung over his back. Only the sharp gleam of his eyes showed clearly.
"You are back."
Ozz's smile rose. "Waiting for me?"
"Mihawk," he said, falling easily into step beside the swordsman. "It has been half a year since you set out to pursue the sword. Long time no see."
Mihawk did not react much. Together they turned toward the center of the island. "In these months I challenged all the famous swordsmen I could find. Many were names without substance. Many others I would acknowledge. At this point I can touch it. The threshold. The edge of the world's strongest swordsmanship."
Ozz listened with his hands in his pockets, counting down in his head.
Three.
Two.
One.
"…so," Mihawk finished, "we should cross blades again. The title of greatest swordsman remains an open question between us."
Ozz sighed. Of course. The first order of business with Mihawk was never anything else.
"Before that, is there not something you should do?" he asked.
"What?" Mihawk frowned. His focus had narrowed to the point of a blade.
"Little Sand," Ozz said. "Crocodile. She has not been released yet."
"True," Mihawk admitted after a pause. "I meant to remind you."
"You absolutely forgot," Ozz said.
Mihawk said nothing, which was its own kind of admission.
They walked on in companionable quiet, past bubbles drifting up from the mangrove roots and the hubbub of tourists who had no idea they had just stepped between two predators. Ozz tilted his face up to watch a bubble rise until it burst.
"After we pick up Crocodile," he said, "we will find a quiet place."
Mihawk's hand rested lightly on the hilt at his back. "Good."
The promise hung in the air between them like a drawn line. The street noise washed around it and flowed on.
…