It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Across the way, the two little maids and Perona all stared wide eyed, their inner gossip fiends blazing to life.
For the first time, Dracule Mihawk's hawk sharp eyes showed something that could only be called… blank.
He even started to suspect either his ears were malfunctioning, or the man in front of him had something wrong with his head.
Become… his son?
A surge of anger, mixed with a sense of sheer absurdity, rose from his chest.
His fingers tightened slightly around his teacup. The knuckles went pale.
Yet right as he was about to refuse on the spot, a ridiculous thought forced its way into his mind.
Aaron Kael. A relic of the previous era, a veteran of the Roger Pirates.
In terms of seniority and age, having him as a father would actually…
No.
Mihawk shook his head sharply, forcefully banishing that ludicrous notion.
What on earth was he thinking? He had come here to seek the pinnacle of swordsmanship, not to play some ridiculous "family game."
He set his cup down a little too hard. The clear "tack" rang through the stiff silence.
"Lord Kael." He straightened, his tone deeper than before. "Please do not make that kind of joke."
"Ah…" Kael actually let out a long, regretful sigh and slumped back into the sofa. "What a shame. Turns out even Whitebeard paid too much attention to the meta."
That offhanded complaint jammed Mihawk's carefully prepared serious rebuttal right back down his throat.
He realized he could not keep up with this man's utterly erratic train of thought at all.
Sakura and Rin quietly traded a glance, then simultaneously lowered their heads. Their shoulders trembled just a little.
Clearly, they were holding in their laughter.
Looking at Mihawk's frostbitten expression that seemed on the verge of cracking, Kael finally took pity on him and waved a hand.
"Alright, alright. Since you are not up for that, we will change the condition."
He sat upright again, one leg casually crossed over the other. A glint of appreciation flashed in those golden eyes.
"It is simple. After we fight, if you lose, you come work for me for a while."
Work… for him?
Compared to "be my son," this sounded a lot more normal, but coming from Kael, it still felt strangely off.
Kael was doing his own accounting in his heart.
Come on, who would say no to a self sufficient, excellent cook, never gets lost, ice cold pretty boy swordsman?
Good looks? Check.
Top tier strength? Check.
Cool factor through the roof? Double check.
Not only did he possess peerless swordsmanship, he had all his life skills maxed out too.
He lived alone in a giant castle and still managed to keep himself fed and everything in perfect order. That meant he could cook, keep house, and might even know how to farm.
A man with looks and power, good in a fight, good in the kitchen, and built in GPS on top of it…
What a perfect tool… cough, partner. Who would not want that?
Mihawk fell silent.
In the end, his desire for the pinnacle of swordsmanship crushed everything else.
To cross blades with the man who had split Marineford. To witness with his own eyes that power which transcended the realm of ordinary mortals.
If the price for that was to give up a period of free time, then perhaps it was not unacceptable.
Besides, it was not as if he believed he would definitely lose.
"Very well. I accept." Mihawk said in a low voice.
"Excellent." Kael snapped his fingers, satisfaction blooming across his face.
"Then tomorrow morning, at the third deserted island to the east of the archipelago, we will meet there. Sakura, Rin, get a guest room ready for our new friend."
"Yes, Lord Kael!" the two girls replied crisply.
Mihawk said nothing.
He had the distinct feeling he had just been neatly slotted into a schedule.
Kael, you devil.
…
The next morning, dawn was just breaking.
On the third deserted island to the east, jagged rocks and sparse vegetation covered the barren landscape.
Sea wind howled, whipping up sand and dust, carrying a hint of cold salt.
Kael looked as lazy as ever, dressed in a casual shirt and shorts, his hands buried in his pockets.
He did not look like a man who had come to a fated duel, but like someone out for a leisurely stroll along the beach.
Opposite him, Mihawk had already drawn the blade on his back.
The moment that Supreme Grade sword, one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades, "Yoru," settled into his hand, Mihawk's entire aura transformed.
The cool, distant air around him shattered in an instant, replaced by a sky piercing sharpness.
He was no longer the slightly stiff guest from last night's living room, but a challenger truly striving to stand at the very peak of the world.
The tip of the black blade pointed diagonally toward the ground. Its pitch black body did not reflect the faintest glint of light in the morning sun, as if it could swallow everything.
"Aaron Kael!" Mihawk called out. His voice cut cleanly through the wind, filled with blazing fighting spirit.
"As a swordsman, my life's pursuit is to ascend that supreme throne. Today, I will stake everything I have to challenge the height at which you stand!"
"Oh, you are really fired up." Kael clapped twice.
He glanced at the weapon resting on his own shoulder, the massive dark golden naginata "Nidhogg."
Technically, that was a blade too, but it was not on the same "type" as the sword in Mihawk's hand.
A sword duel was about skill within a limited reach. If he went in swinging a naginata over a meter long…
The extra length really did feel like bullying the kid.
With that thought, Kael casually thrust Nidhogg down to the side.
With a booming thud, the enormous naginata sank deep into the rocky ground, the blade still humming.
Mihawk's eyes tightened, a flicker of surprise passing through them.
What was this supposed to mean?
"Sorry about that." Kael rubbed his nose, looking a little embarrassed as he spread his hands.
"This is a sword duel, after all. Using that thing is a bit unfair. Sorry, I could not find anything smaller… ahem. Anything more suitable."
Before Mihawk could respond, Kael moved.
His right hand slid to his waist, fingers curling as if around an invisible hilt. He settled into the stance of drawing a sword from an empty scabbard.
The instant his hand "drew," the light and shadow in the air seemed to be pulled along with that motion, rushing toward his palm, twisting.
The air itself let out a faint screech. A ring of invisible pressure spread outward from his hand, making Mihawk's coat flutter.
The play of light and shadow shifted, the pressure melted away.
When everything settled, a magnificent Western long sword rested quietly in Kael's hand.
The golden cross guard was shaped like a cross, carved with complex, ancient patterns.
The blade was long and straight, gleaming with a biting cold light, as if it carried the glory and legend of an entire era.
Mihawk's usually placid hawk eyes contracted to needle points the moment he saw it.
As a top swordsman, he could clearly feel the "breath" emanating from that weapon. It was the unique imprint left when a supreme powerhouse had nurtured a blade for years with their Haki and their very life.
Kael casually twirled the sword. The edge sliced the air and a clear, ringing cry echoed, like a dragon's call.
He looked at Mihawk's now utterly solemn face, and a hint of nostalgia tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Come, youngster."
"Its name is Ace."
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