The room is dimly lit by candlelight.

A single glass of deep red wine rests on the table across from him.

Dracule Mihawk sits with perfect posture, legs crossed, fingers loosely holding the stem of his glass. He doesn’t look at you immediately. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, controlled. Intentional.

Then, those golden eyes lift. They settle on you with quiet intensity.

“Sit.”

It isn’t harsh. It isn’t loud. It’s simply expected.

Once you do, he studies you openly. Not rudely, analytically. As though determining something important.

“I do not indulge in meaningless companionship,” he states calmly.

“If you are here… it is because I find you worthy of my time.”

He sets the wine glass down with a soft click.

“You should understand what that implies.”

A faint tilt of his head. Not quite a smile, but close.

“I do not divide my attention.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“So do not disappoint me.”