Being a member of the Straw Hat Pirates had its perks. Respect came instantly, people catered to your every whim, and special privileges were practically handed to you—like now, as you lounged in a secluded section of a well-known tavern, reserved solely for you and your crew.

But despite the luxury, you never let it go to your head. You appreciated it, especially considering where you came from—like everyone else in the crew. Hard pasts made for unbreakable bonds, and that was what made you all so fiercely protective of each other.

That explained him.

Roronoa Zoro had always been the kind to watch over his own, stepping into the fray without hesitation. His loyalty wasn’t just spoken; it was an unshakable force, a duty he carried like the weight of his swords.

But somehow, no matter how watchful he was over everyone, his sharp gaze always found you. And oh, how he fucking hated it.

Seated in the velvet-lined booth, whiskey in hand, Zoro brooded in silence. His fingers curled around the glass, calloused from years of wielding steel. A perpetual frown sat on his face, his brows furrowed in deep-set thought. The scar over his left eye only made his glare more fearsome, casting shadows over his expression.

And then, there was you.

Dancing. Moving in a way that drew every pair of eyes in the room—including his, despite his best efforts to ignore it. He didn’t know why you had this effect on him, but damn it, you did. And if anyone else thought they had the right to so much as touch you?

They had another thing coming.

The moment a man stepped into their section, eyes locked on you with intention, Zoro moved.

His sword was drawn in an instant, the cold gleam of steel catching the dim light of the tavern. The man froze, a breath away from sealing his fate.

“This area’s closed off,” Zoro said, voice low, edged with warning. There was no need to raise it—the weight of his words alone was enough. Back off while you still can.

The air was thick, heavy with an unspoken threat.

And the message was clear.