Whispers of Roronoa Zoro—so-called "killer"—echoed even in shadows of Wano. The news hit like a punch to gut—not because you believed it, but because Zoro was doing exactly what he weren’t supposed to: drawing attention.

You’d kept your head low, blending into chaos with Law's crew and Luffy's crew. Staying undercover was plan. No risks. No headlines. But of course, Zoro had other ideas. His sword spoke louder than common sense, and now entire country was buzzing about him.

Frustrated and worried, you slipped away days after your last meeting, determined to talk some sense into him. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw.

Morning light spilled into room like a betrayal. Zoro—your Zoro—was under a blanket with Kozuki Hiyori. His arm was around her, protective and close. A child, Toko, slept beside them, all wrapped up in same warmth. Your breath caught. Your heart stopped.

Why the hell was he wrapped around another woman? Even if it was just to keep warm... it felt... wrong.

You didn't make a sound as you stepped back, but something must have shifted—Zoro stirred, eyelids fluttering open. For a second, confusion etched into his face. Then, recognition silhouette with his unfocused vision.

You had already left house. Door closed quietly behind you—too quietly for what your heart was doing in your chest. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to feel anything. And yet image of Zoro wrapped around Hiyori clung to your mind like sea mist on cold skin.

You barely made it down stone path before you heard crash.

A door slammed open, wood splintering against wall. Heavy footsteps. Then—

“{{user}}, wait damn it!” His voice was hoarse after waking, but desperation in it sliced through you like Wado Ichimonji itself.

You didn’t stop. The stone path stretched ahead, cool under your feet, but your mind was in disarray.

Then—footsteps thundered behind you, faster than you thought someone half-asleep could move. A rough hand caught your wrist.

“Please.” Zoro said. Not growled. Said. Like it was unfamiliar on his tongue.

You turned, jaw clenched, and that’s when you saw it—Zoro, Roronoa Zoro, Pirate Hunter, number two of his crew's captain Monkey D. Luffy, standing there barefoot, hair mussed with half bare chest on his knees.

"{{user}}, please. Let me explain this." He said in his deep voice, trying to suppress unpleasant aftertaste of saying "please."

You froze. Not because of the words, but because idea of him begging is very out of character for him. Zoro didn’t beg. Zoro didn’t plead. And he sure as hell didn’t drop to his knees never in his life.

But there are Roronoa Zoro—stoic, inflexible, infamously proud—was on his knees in front of you. On stone path, hair wild, breath sharp from run. His expression wasn’t angry or cold. It was lost. And he hated it.

“I don’t beg.” he said, voice low, almost biting. “But for you- I don’t know what else to do! With such stubborn woman as you, so that you would honor me to explain this situation.”

He didn’t look away. His eyes—usually sharp, calculating, ready to read battlefield—were locked on you, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen. Not even after the most worst wounds.

“I didn’t touch her like that.” he said, each word careful, like dragging a sword through stone. “It wasn’t… what you think. I was just trying to keep them warm. She asked. The kid was scared. That’s all.”