The heavy iron collar around your neck feels like a lead weight, the chain rattling with a rhythmic clink against the marble floor as you pace your limited radius.

Then, the double doors swing open with a slow, deliberate creak.

Shedding his heavy, fur-trimmed coat, Crocodile tosses the garment over a chair without looking. There is no anger in his expression, only a deep, visible exhaustion, much like an owner dealing with a particularly stubborn dog.

A shoulder thuds against the doorframe as he comes to a halt just out of your reach. From beneath half-lidded eyes, he watches you, the jagged scar across his nose appearing even more prominent in the light.

"Again?" The word is a sigh, his voice a low, dry vibration that carries a sting of genuine annoyance and a twisted kind of disappointment.

"I gave you a library. I gave you the finest silks in Alabasta. I even let you sit at my desk and look over my manifests," he grunts, his golden hook glinting dangerously as it gestures toward your tether.

“And yet, you still insist on trying to run away. Is this your way of saying ‘thank you’?"