The journey is complete! As Mihawk in OP has officially reached its ending with 159 chapters on P@tre0n!
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The sea breeze, heavy with salt and tension, caressed the sails of the Nachtrone. Perona, still perched on the aft rail, was throwing murderous glances at the porthole of cabin number three. Another curl of gray smoke escaped from it.
"He's turning our ship into a clandestine smokehouse!" she growled, clutching her favorite Horos so tightly it whimpered. "And the smell of that disgusting cigar… it clings to the curtains!" She shuddered, imagining her precious lace curtains soaked in that acrid stench. "Mihawk should toss him overboard. With an anchor as a farewell gift."
Below, Cavendish sat cross-legged on a padded chest, polishing Durandal. "My brandy… My precious Aphrodisia brandy… Stolen, pillaged, defiled by the taste buds of a thirsty jackal!" He raised the blade, inspecting his reflection in it with despair. "Coexist. What an ugly word. It sounds like a funeral bell. And its practice? A disgrace to elegance."
Korran, leaning over the port rail, checked a mooring line. His massive build seemed to absorb the surrounding tension. "Gotta admit, he's got some nerve. Being a former Warlord doesn't give him a free pass..." He glanced toward the bow, where Mihawk stood still, eyes seemingly carving the horizon. "But the Captain seems confident." He tightened the knot with extra force. "We'll all have to pull together. Even if it means putting up with a guy who steals the juice."
Law leaned against the mainmast, hat low over his eyes.
Suddenly, the cabin door creaked open. Crocodile emerged, cloaked, a fresh cigar between his lips and… another bottle of Aphrodisia brandy, half-drunk, dangling carelessly by the neck. He stretched with exaggerated slowness, exhaling a thick puff of smoke toward the deck.
"The silence is deafening, my dear companions in misfortune." He took a long sip, savoring the amber liquid with a smug grin. "Feels like Death's waiting room. Something wrong? Besides your obvious inability to store a decent spirit?" His sharp yellow eyes snapped toward Cavendish. "This one's barely better than the last. Where are you hiding the real stash? In the captain's cabin?"
Cavendish leapt to his feet. "Barely better?! You mud-palated philistine! That's nectar! Liquid treasure! And it is NOT YOURS! Give it back!"
Crocodile let out a dry chuckle. "Everything floating on this nutshell belongs to the captain, little powdered lord. And the captain, by implication, gave me permission to... hydrate." He waved his free hand—the one with the cigar—vaguely. "Consider it travel expenses. The presence of a former Warlord doesn't come cheap."
"Travel expenses?!" Perona floated higher. "You're a parasite! A wine-cellar leech! Mihawk!" She turned to the bow, her voice shrill with exasperation. "He's emptying our pantry! Again!"
Mihawk finally peeled his gaze from the horizon. He turned slowly, golden eyes scanning the deck before settling on Crocodile. "The stores are sufficient, Perona. Crocodile is entitled to the same comfort as any crew member."
Crocodile smirked, turned his back deliberately, and strolled to the starboard rail, leaning on it to stare at the sea with a vaguely bored expression.
Law took the opportunity to step away from the mast. He crossed the deck with purpose, stopping at the base of the stairs leading to the bow, where Mihawk stood. "Captain, who's this new crew member joining us? Another old enemy come to steal our brandy and stink up the place?"
A faint smile touched Mihawk's lips. "You know her. Indirectly. She shares a certain... connection with you. Convenient. Get a raft ready. We leave in ten minutes."
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Solstice Island – Alleys of the Main Port
The heat was heavy, suffocating, pressing the ochre dust of the alleys against the crumbling stone walls. The cries of gulls mingled with merchant calls and sharp orders from soldiers.
Soldiers in white. Marines.
A small hooded figure, dressed in an oversized, patched tunic, slipped like a shadow between market stalls and piles of abandoned rope. Under the hood, a child's face lit by wary eyes scanned each intersection. Bonney. Jewelry Bonney. In her true form—the one she hid from the world.
'They're more persistent than usual…'
The sound of heavy boots suddenly echoed around the corner of the alley she had just left.
"Over here! I saw something move!"
Bonney pressed against a damp wall, holding her breath. Three Marines stormed into the alley, weapons sweeping the narrow space. Their eyes glanced over the crouching child without stopping. Too insignificant. Too... ordinary.
"Nothing," one grunted, disappointed. "That little pest's slipping through our fingers like an eel."
'Pest yourself.' She waited until their backs were turned, already discussing their next move. Then, with a smooth motion, she stepped away from the wall. Her hand extended. A faint pink aura enveloped the three Marines.
The effect was instant—and grotesque. The first, the one who had spoken, began shrinking, his clothes suddenly gigantic, his voice turning into a surprised infant's babble. The second gave a strangled cry, his skin wrinkling before their eyes, hair whitening, back hunching under the sudden weight of decades. The third, caught in the middle, stood frozen, mouth agape, watching his comrades change.
"Y-You!" he stammered, recoiling, face pale.
Bonney didn't wait. She bolted from the alley like an arrow, leaving confusion and horror in her wake. 'I have to get out of here.' She zigzagged, hood pulled low, eyes scanning for an exit. 'A raft. I need a raft. Anything that floats. Dad... They want to take me back. They want to lock me up. But they won't. I swear...'
She finally burst out onto a secluded cove, away from the noisy harbor. The sound of waves suddenly felt soothing. And there, in the midst of her desperate search, she saw it. A raft. Simple, sturdy, tied to a crooked stake. A lifeline.
Relief washed over her. She was going to make it. She took a deep breath and stood tall. Energy radiated from her, transforming her small frame into the voluptuous, dazzling woman the world knew: Jewelry Bonney, the Supernova Captain. A fierce grin curled her lips. "Perfect timing." She stepped toward the raft.
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On the Raft – Offshore of Solstice Island
The raft moved with agonizing slowness, pushed by a fickle breeze and the energetic—if clearly annoyed—rowing of Trafalgar Law. Mihawk stood at the front, unmoving and unshakable like a granite statue, his eyes locked on the nearing cove.
"This is ridiculous," Law muttered for the hundredth time, plunging his oar into the water with more force than necessary, splashing foam. "Utterly, completely, deeply ridiculous." He shot a dark look at Mihawk's broad back. "You don't need me for this. You could probably jump from the Nachtrone to that beach without even getting your boots wet. So why? Why make me do this cabin boy crap?"
Mihawk didn't turn. "I told you why, Trafalgar. Your fruit." His voice was calm, stark contrast to Law's bristling irritation. "Circumstances may require... surgery."
"Surgery?"
"Focus on the oar, Law. We're getting close."
Law gritted his teeth, cursing the day he accepted this stoic hawk's offer. He glanced at the cove. A pink-haired woman had just appeared on the beach, near a raft that mirrored theirs. 'Jewelry Bonney?' Recognizing her adult form was easy. The gluttonous captain. 'So it is her?'