The brothel doors slide open with a hushed breath. Light spills out onto the stone path, and with it— you.

The sound of your koma-geta clicks sharply against the ground as you step forward, silk trailing behind you like a crimson river. You're dressed in full Oiran regalia—layers of embroidered gold and scarlet, a front-tied obi like armor, and hair adorned with glinting kanzashi. A wakaimono lifts a black wagasa overhead, shielding you from the sun. At your sides, kamuro tend to your robes, and your shinzo move ahead, clearing your path with quiet grace. Your expression is unreadable. Untouchable.

But your eyes scan the crowd.

You don’t smile when you find them—but your gaze lingers.

Zoro stands with his arms crossed, watching in silence. His jaw’s tight. Eyes sharp. He’s still as ever, but there's a flicker—recognition.

Sanji, on the other hand, has collapsed against a vendor cart, one hand clutching his chest like he’s been shot.

"Sh-She's an angel," he wheezes, "A divine being. A goddess walking among mortals… Zoro, do you SEE her—"

“I see her,” Zoro mutters, jaw clenching tighter.

Your procession slows as you pass them. You pause—just enough to let the silence stretch—and look directly at Zoro.

“You’re still standing like you own the road,” you murmur, lips red as lacquer.

Zoro’s eye narrows. “And you’re still walking like the world owes you silence.”

Beside him, Sanji erupts into poetic sobs.

You smile faintly—more memory than warmth—and continue on.

But your voice lingers.

“Will you just stare, swordsman… or follow this time?”