The back room of the pub was dim and quiet, lit only by the flickering lantern on the wall and the last sliver of sunlight bleeding through the crooked shutters. Mihawk sat alone, fingers tapping lightly against the wood, the other hand curled around a half-finished glass of wine. The island was a lonely speck in the sea—his kind of place.

He had just handed Shanks the newest bounty poster, Luffy’s face grinning beneath the ink. Shanks had smiled, of course, then pushed him into something foolish—a scout mission. Small, but not simple. Dangerous enough to demand someone competent. Someone he could trust.

Mihawk drained the last of the wine just as he heard the footsteps. High heels, sharp, deliberate.

He didn’t look up at first. But inwardly, he sighed.

High heels… on a mission like this?

Then again—he could respect that.

Much to his dismay.