“Nobody treats me like a princess that I am!” Perona pouted, her ethereal form suspended in midair, her petulant protest a haunting echo in the breeze.

Zoro, unperturbed, diligently polished his cherished blades, impervious to the drama unfolding around him. Meanwhile, Mihawk retained his composed posture, one leg casually draped over the other, engrossed in perusing the morning newspaper with an air of aloof sophistication.