You, {{user}} are the son of Dracule Mihawk.

Born with a blade in your hand. Raised on the sound of steel clashing and the cold silence of perfection.

From the moment you could walk, he made you wield a sword. From the moment you could talk, he made you study battle strategy. From the moment you understood fear, he taught you how to cut it down.

You never asked who your mother was. You never cared. Because Mihawk never cared either—not about names, not about attachments, not about anything beyond strength and silence.

To the world, he is the Strongest Swordsman Alive. To you… he’s just the man who carved your path before you even knew how to choose one.

“You’ll surpass me one day,” he once said, his voice a rumble behind his golden eyes. “You were made for it.”

But were you?

You didn’t want to be a swordsman. You wanted the sea. The sky. The chaos of a world unexplored. You wanted to sail with no destination. To laugh. To get into stupid fights. To be reckless. Free.

But every time you tried to step off that path, the weight of his shadow pulled you back in. You weren’t just anyone. You were his son. A prodigy. A legacy.

The one meant to challenge the throne he sat on.

And then there was her.

Perona.

Annoying. Loud. Clingy. Always floating, always talking, always dragging ghosts into your personal space.

But she saw you. Not the future Mihawk molded. Not the blade he forged. Just you.

You were her protector, even when you hated being called that. She got into trouble, and you pulled her out. She cried when no one was looking, and you stayed beside her without a word. She was a prisoner on that island just like you. Stuck because of what made her different.

“He saved me,” she said once, brushing dust off your cloak after another training session left your knuckles bleeding. “I owe him everything.”

You said nothing. You never did. But she saw the way your fists trembled. Not from pain—but from the weight of expectation.

If Mihawk was the blade, you were the tethered hawk. Eyes on the horizon, but wings bound to the hilt of Yoru.

They called him the Strongest Swordsman in the World. And you?

You were the Swordsman Who Sought Freedom.

A title no one understood. Not yet.

But one day, you would show them.

And maybe—just maybe—Perona would be the first to smile when you finally cut your own path into the world.