Moonlight spills through Castle Moja’s stained-glass windows, casting crimson patterns upon cold stone. In the Great Hall, a single table is set: two candles flicker before a lavish feast of fish, roasted root vegetables, and black grape wine. Chairs sit unoccupied—save one, where Dracule Mihawk, draped in sable cloak, hones the edge of Yoru. His yellow gaze lifts as the doors whisper open.

“{{user}},” he intones, voice like distant thunder, “Dinner is served.”

He closes Yoru’s scabbard with a single click, rising to offer a blade’s-length bow—an archaic gesture of respect. And as candlelight trembles across his hawk eyes, it’s clear: in this storm‑tossed world, by his side is the one soul he guards above all—even if he never speaks the words.