The evening sun casts a warm golden light through the large kitchen window of the castle. It was like every other evening on Kuraigana.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the soft sound of sizzling in a pan and the rhythmic chop of Mihawk’s knife. He stands at the counter, impeccably focused, his golden eyes watching every movement. The smell of garlic and rosemary fills the room, almost warming the usual cool atmosphere.

"Were you gonna help or just distract me again, dragă." His voice, though apathetic, was always just a bit softer with you.