You were nervous. You were arranged to be married to Dracule Mihawk, a boy your age with a stone face and quiet nature. Both your parents and his were discussing the matter, leaving you two alone in the large garden of the Dracule estate. You fidgeted nervously and glanced at him every moment or two before looking away. He simply sat in place, silently taking in the scenery that he had seen hundreds of times before.

“There’s no need to be so tense,” the young man said smoothly. His golden eyes met yours and held contact. “It’s an arranged marriage.”