Chapter Two

Once Upon a Time

Nami tapped her foot on the varnished, wooden floorboards at a steady rhythm, “Zoro? The story?”

            “Ah, right,” the swordsman nodded his head after he swallowed part of his food. “It all started when I was about eight . . .”

Roronoa Zoro’s Point of View

            The hanging metal light, which its dim rays were scattered throughout the entire kitchen, casting a varying spectrum of gray shades beside cabinets, chairs, and tables, began shaking noisily as I began telling my fellow crewmates my story.

            My debt was cut by twenty-five percent. My stomach was somewhat filled. I got my golden earring back. What else could be better?

            I began sifting through my memories, trying to figure out which one started from where I met her.

            Before long, I found the memory, caught it, and replayed it in my mind once again, as if it were a long-lost tape in a basement, holding videos of both a forlorn and happy childhood.

            The edges of my mouth curved up into a fond smile before, as usual, returned to its usual smug one.

            It wasn’t until then . . . that I began my story.

Flashback

            I was eight years old when I trained at Shimotsuki Village. Back then, I was strong enough to defeat almost any adult, but I couldn’t defeat this one girl named Kuina, the Dojo master’s daughter. I had made a bet with the Dojo master, saying that if I could defeat all his Dojo students, I wouldn’t stay and be his disciple. If I didn’t, however, I would stay and learn from him.

            So, I did beat all of his students, but I saw one girl who passed by the Dojo with a wooden sword in hand, and I challenged her . . . and I lost. So, I became a student at that Dojo. It wasn’t until days later that I found out that she was the Dojo master’s daughter, and she had already defeated every person who fought in the way of the sword in the entire village.

            I fought her almost every day on end. I never beat her, though. Not even once. Once I battled her for the two-thousandth time with real swords, for once, she won again, earning her consecutive two-thousandth victory over me.

            I broke down right in front of her after that match. I told her my dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman too, and she broke down with me. That was the first time I ever saw her cry, so when she did, I asked her why. She told me she shared the same dream, but her father said she’s never attain it because she was a girl. It was then that we both made a deal—became the world’s best swordsmen.

            However, it all shattered to shambles the next day. Because we used real swords for that two-thousandth fight, Kuina needed to sharpen her swords because it had dulled when we fought. Because the sharpening stone was downstairs, she went down to get it. But, of course, fate just loved playing around with the innocent. Kuina suffered a fatal fall down the stairs to the basement, and . . . she died.

            I was frustrated. Angry. Disappointed. If I had only used wooden swords for our two-thousandth fight, this would have never happened. She would have never died, and she would now be the world’s greatest swordsman. Though, her father, Koshiro, told me that she wouldn’t have either way, and that fate just coils around the innocent, suffocating everybody in its path towards destruction.

            Because of Kuina’s death, I decided to take up on her dream, continue it, and live it. After her funeral, I asked Koshiro for her sword, Wado Ichimonji, which he gave me without a second thought.

            After that, I stayed with Koshiro a little while longer until I was about sixteen, before leaving to find Dracule ‘Hawk-eye’ Mihawk, who held and still holds the title of the Greatest Swordsman in the world. While I stayed with Kuina’s father, I practiced Santoryū with my own two swords in each hand, and Kuina’s clenched between my teeth.

End of Flashback

            Everyone’s eyes were glued to me as I told them the story. The atmosphere was melancholy, as it was still night, dark and gloomy. Everyone was somber, waiting for me to continue the story, but when I didn’t, some of my crewmates began commenting on the story.

            “That’s so sad,” Brooke commented dejectedly, tears streaming down his non-existent eyes. “I’m crying tears from my eyes! But, hohoho! I don’t have eyes!”

            His joke remained non-laughed. Some gave small chuckled, but otherwise remained silent.

            Chopper asked hesitantly, “How old was Kuina when she . . . died?”

            “Nine,” I muttered the words bitterly. It was true. She shouldn’t have died over something so small—falling down the stairs to retrieve a stone. Partially, it was my fault for her death. There was no denying that.

            Chopper’s eyes widened, “She was so young!”

            “I know,” I replied, biting my lip as I looked the opposite direction.

            “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Nami remarked, arms crossed and brows furrowed in confusion. “The girl in the photograph was like sixteen or something! And, you’re like, what? Seventeen in that photo!”

            I deadpanned, “That’s another girl.”

            “That would make sense,” Nami ‘oh-ed.’

            In that exact moment, Usopp leaned into Chopper’s ear to ‘whisper,’ “Player . . .”

            A twitch mark formed on my forehead, “Oi, oi, I’m not.”

            Both Chopper and Usopp began snickering uncontrollably.

            “Zoro,” Robin called my name, legs crossed and one hand holding her chin up as she leaning against the table. “Do tell us the story of the girl in the photograph.”

            I sighed before saying, “Alright, I guess it’s a pretty nice story.”

Flashback

            Let’s see. I was about twelve when one of Koshiro’s friends moved to the area. They were a nice family, from what I could remember.

The mother was kind, young, and wise. Her warm smile could have brought smiles to where there were none. The father, on the other hand, was calm, stoic, yet clever, cunning, and, in a sense, funny. His satiric jokes through his calm demeanor would be much more hilarious than it should have been.

Their youngest son, about five years old at the time, was black-haired, adorable, cute, cunning, and unintentionally hilarious. There was this one time when we were utterly lost on our way to an onsen about two cities away, the boy asked for the map and somehow miraculously ended up there. It was weird, since not even I, the mother, father, Koshiro, the girl, and I could even figure out where we were on the map. Let’s just say it was crazy.

Lastly . . . The girl. She had black hair, deep brown eyes, and perfect white teeth. She was clever just like her father, her smile was warm like her mother’s, and, unlike her brother, had a good sense of direction, but to the extent where she could read a compass, but never could recall directions previously. Kind of like me, but my sense of direction was and still is much more . . . downhill . . . than hers.

In any case, her father signed her up to learn at the dojo, and you could say that was how we met.

This was how it went . . .

~*~*~*~

Roronoa Zoro: Age 12

            I looked at the other trainees at the dojo. Most of them were my age, at least, in this class.

            Moment later, Koshiro entered the room, behind him was a raven-haired girl, who looked just about my age as well.

            “Good afternoon, class,” Koshiro welcomed everyone warmly as always. “Today, we will be having a new student.”

            He whispered something in the girls ear before she stepped up and told us her basic information, “Hello, everyone. My name is Tamaki Yuki. I am twelve years old. Nice to meet you all.”

            With that being said, she bowed down, and we all shouted our greetings.

            I was Koshiro’s assistant during classes, since I have long surpassed all my fellow classmates my age and so on. In other words, I helped him with teaching, grade scores, and so forth. I did everything I could to help Koshiro. After all, it was the least I could do after his very own daughter passed away.

            Koshiro interrupted by addressing the entire class, saying, “Everyone, start on your tiger stance and work your way though to the dragon stance. I need to talk to Zoro for a moment.”

            As his students began practicing their basic stances, the sensei, hand at the girl’s back to guide her to Zoro, walked over to me.

            “Sir?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. After all, he never asked much from me.

            “Since Yuki is new here, I don’t know her level yet. I think you can easily determine her skill level easily,” Koshiro informed me. “I have to continue teaching the students here first, as they are my priority as of now. Go outside to the field, and come back to me once you are done.”

            I nodded my head in reply before I headed towards the sliding door to outside, motioning for the girl behind me to follow.

            Once we reached the open, grassy green field, I asked her, “So . . . have you ever done sword-fighting before?”

            She didn’t seem the type for many words, for she took a while before answering, “Yeah, but not that much.”

            I sighed, knowing that it would be a long day. With a person who knew literally nothing about the way of the sword, this was . . . definitely . . . going to be a long day.

            After I tossed her a wooden sword, I flipped my own wooden sword in the air before catching it by the hilt. It revolved in circles until I caught it. Perfect timing.

            “Okay,” I began instructing, though it was kind of awkward, considering the fact that I never taught anyone anything before. “So you hold the hilt in what Koshiro-sensei calls the ‘ox grip.’”

            Just as I was about to adjust her grip, feeling as if the grip was incorrectly done, I was shocked to see that her clutch on the sword’s chipped-varnished hilt was surprisingly accurate.

            I narrowed my eyes at her very own onyx ones. My gut feeling was that she was hiding her true ability, and, as a swordsman myself, it was deemed wise to do so. Hide your ability, and then lash out at your opponent when he is feeling over-confident.

            “Do you know the dragon-rabbit stance?” I questioned her a bit too brusquely.

            However, she remained calm, or, at least, on the outside.

            She replied in a relaxed manner, “Somewhat. Though, I haven’t reviewed sword fighting in quite a while.”

            I pursed my bottom lip, before instructing, “Alright, how about this. Do you what you know, and I’ll correct you if you’re wrong.”

            She nodded her head in comply before wrapping her palm around the wooden hilt in a ‘dragon-dragon’ clasp. My eyes widened. No one used a grip like that unless . . . unless . . . They knew how to fight. And, it wasn’t just any fight. Assassinating. Due to its quick and agile form, it could be used for countless of lethal attacks—both quick and handy.

            Yuki began displaying what she knew—all the one hundred forty-four grips of each animal and combinations of the animals, a few passable attacks, and a few sloppy, but fixable, stances and slices.

            As I began teaching her how to fix her stances and so forth, I lost track of time. It was early afternoon, and now it was evening.

            She had a bead of sweat roll down her innocent face, but that was it. She wasn’t tired, too sweaty, or anything of the sort at all.

            I arched an eyebrow in slight amazement. She was good, and not just any type of good . . . but good . . . good.

            As she practiced, I began to notice how she mechanically molded her small figure into a quick and agile motion. With a flick of her wrist, she ignited a flickering flame in her eyes—burning with the sense full of passion and focus. Her feet, before slow and wary, were now on edge, swift, and lightweight. She dawned onto me a whole other being of Kuina, for that was whom she reminded me so much. Kuina. My deceased friend who passed away years ago. It was as if her spirit resided within this girl, yet . . . not.

            “Yuki,” I called her name, snapping her out of her focus. The flicker in her eyes diminished, her feet slowed down to a moderate pace, and her abrupt essence of Kuina was now gone.

            “Yes?” she asked, placing her sword down into pause position.

            “I think that’s enough for today,” I told her hesitantly, kind of not wanting her to leave. She was so similar to Kuina. How could I? A presence so familiar only when in a fight . . . “I finished assessing your skills. Sorry it took so long.”

            She simply nodded her head curtly before tossing me the wooden sword.

            “Am I dismissed then?” she asked, her voice, not soft like I thought it’d be, but strong and clear.

            “Of course,” I nodded my head in agreement before she left from my very own pair of eyes.

            “She’s sure something,” I thought, before gathering the two wooden swords out in the plain field to report to Koshiro.

End of Flashback

            A moment of silence crept throughout the room as my fellow crewmates waited for me to continue telling the story. However, I was already finished. Done. That was how I met Yuki, and I haven’t seen her for . . . a while.

            “Really?” I heard someone deadpan—Usopp. “That’s how you meet the love of your life? How romantic.”

            His last sentence dripped with sarcasm.

            A twitch mark developed on my forehead. Crossing my arms, I replied bluntly, “I don’t love her.”

            Nami smirked, trailing off, “You don’t say . . .”

            I narrowed my eyes at her, replying, “Oh, but I do say.”

            She sighed, “Deep down, you know you love her.”

            I rolled my eyes at her, grunting, before a certain reindeer asked me as innocent as always, “But can you tell us another story about you and Yuki?”

            I gulped down another large gulp of sake before responding after a moment’s pause, “I suppose we have enough time. About what?”

            Chopper’s eyes widened in delight, but just as he was about to answer, a certain captain of the Thousand Sunny decided to ever so conveniently interrupt the poor doctor.

            “Ooh! Ooh! Your first kiss!” he shouted loudly.

            A twitch mark formed on my forehead before I grunted in reply, “No.”

            Sanji smiled smugly, asking with a certain cunning edge in his voice, “Ah, so you have kissed?”

            My cheeks turned a barely visible blush of coral.

            “I never said that!” I yelled to defend my pride.

            “Ah, young love,” Brooke murmured before turning it into a dreary, sickening love song.

Ah, love,

So young and sweet,

Will you stay here forever?

Ah, love,

So sick and sour,

Will you guide me to heaven?

Ah, love,

So beauty-

            The skeleton was cut mid-sentence as Nami lashed our her anger at man of bones. Her wrath was a force to be reckoned with. No one could lie about that. She got what she wanted. That was that. That was final.

            The orange-haired navigator then asked with a smirk plastered across her face, “Do continue, Zoro.”

            I sighed, knowing that there was eventually no way to beat around the bush for this.

            “What do you want to know?” I asked her with a slight hint of hesitance in my voice.

            She ‘thought ever so desperately’ aloud, “Hm . . . I don’t know. Robin?”

            Robin paused for a moment before ‘wisely’ answering (for her benefit, to be honest, not mine), “Zoro, why don’t you tell us the first time you think you ever . . . connected . . . with Yuki?”

            Nami snapped, her face shocked like cemented stone, “How dirty, Robin! Connected?!”

            Robin replied smoothly, “Nami, no.”

            The navigator sighed in relief. The archaeologist was never one for such perverted thought . . . ever, and if she was, she was factual and on point to the subject . . . She was definitely not the type of person who wanted to pry into others’ personal lives, in the least their . . . night life.

            “Then what do you mean?” Nami asked with an arched brow, furrowing in confusion.

            “It is only when you can connect to a person that you can finally realize your feelings and emotions course through the veins of your body. It’s when you realize that that special person is your significant other, and you need that person like you need the blood coursing through your veins,” Robin responded with a flawless analogy.

            Nami deadpanned, “I never understood how you could take such literal terms and put them into such a deep context.”

            Robin chuckled lightly, feeling my slight annoyance for the wait and that I wanted to get the storytelling over with . . . kind of.

            “Why don’t we let Zoro finish his story, eh, Nami?” Robin closed-eye smiled.

            The orange-head stirred her margarita, made especially for her by the shitty cook himself, with her metal spoon before sighing a barely audible “yes.”

            With that being said (or scarcely heard), I began my story.

            “For starters, it was a nice memory,” I noted aloud, before diving into one of the many chapters of my life.

Flashback

            I remember being still about twelve at the time when it was a technical “spring break” for our village. Every child took off for school to admire the cherry blossoms that would bloom endlessly for that particular week. Since the village elders wanted to keep the tradition of staying home with family for the holidays, Koshiro let all his students out on break for that week. It was one of the happiest times of the year.

            Since we never did much traveling or relaxing, Koshiro and I decided to go to an onsen in a nearby town. He invited Yuki’s family to go along with us as well, since he wanted to catch up with their family.

            So, the week before the holidays, we began packing up for our sole week of relaxation for a literal lifetime.

            It was during one of the days before the break that Koshiro told me to get to know the Tamaki children well, if not more, but especially Yuki, since she was about my age.

            Upon him telling me this, I shrugged, seeing the assignment as pretty easy to pull off. She was a girl, and all girls loved to talk. Nonstop. Literally. In the girl’s kendo classes at the dojo, all the girls talked and talked and talked and talked and talked forever and ever and ever and ever and . . . you get the point.

            In any case, a few days later, the Tamakis came over to the dojo early . . . as in before the crack of dawn early, on the first day of break. Each person in the family was carrying a small, but enough for a week, pack of belongings for the trip. Meanwhile, Koshiro was carrying literally nothing, as I had offered to carry both of our packs as part of my strength training. Besides, Koshiro was getting old, so it was both a win-win situation.

            As we trekked our way up to the neighboring village, which lied on the other side of the mountain, Koshiro and Yuki’s parents were talking about the latest uprising in the rebels against the Marines. Yuki and her five-year old brother, Takao, were walking ahead of me, as I was trailing last, to ensure, that if any bandits attacked us from behind, I would be able to protect both Koshiro and the Tamakis.

            Remembering that Koshiro wanted me to talk to Yuki and get to know, not only her, but her brother as well, I jogged up beside them to start a conversation. Though I must admit that it was literally a failed attempt.

            “So, hey, what’s up?” I asked, a bit on the nervous side of the spectrum.

            She replied, her face neither smiling nor sad—just straight, “Nothing much. Walking.”

            I did a one-eighty degree view around me before asking another question, “The sky is pretty today, huh?”

            She wrinkled her nose to prevent an upcoming sneeze, though failed. After she sneezed, she responded bluntly, “Excuse me. White, fluffy clouds. Yeah, it’s pretty.”

            “Do you think it’ll rain while we’re at the onsen?” I asked her yet another question to try to continue a conversation.

            Yuki simply shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t think so. The only fluffy clouds are west of us. Our village is North, and the village we’re going to as of now is South. The direction of the winds, as of now, are flowing east to west. So, yeah, no.”

            I smiled mentally as she began speaking little by little more and more by each question I asked. She was warming up to me, which, I thought, I was a good thing.

            I then turned my attention to Takao, her younger brother. Patting his back once roughly on the gentle side, I asked him, “Do you practice swordsmanship, Takao?”

            The young face of a boy looked innocently at me—his voice smooth, young, and clear, “Yeah, Yuki teaches me. She’s really good. She won second against big kids at our local dojo last year. She teaches me everything.”

            Yuki stiffened.

            My eyes widened at the news. Yuki? Dojo? Winning? Wait. What?

            “You never told me you won second in a dojo tournament,” I arched an eyebrow at the stiff girl. “That piece of information could have made my assessment for you much easier.”

            She rubbed the tip of her nose with her pointer finger, “You never asked.”

            “Well, it wouldn’t hurt,” I deadpanned. “Time is of the essence.”

            “And the essence of time is intangibly surreal,” she countered.

            “That made no sense,” I deadpanned once again. “You literally just said that the essence of time was not touchable and not real. How does that relate to what I just said.”

            Her stare bore right through me, as if hinting that I was the most idiotic guy on earth.

            “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

            “Time is only of the essence when you want it to be,” she changed her choice of words. “If you want to waste your time, you waste it. If you choose to use it wisely, then so be it. Everything on this earth has a reason and purpose. If I didn’t find any need to reveal that piece of information, then you’ll just have to adapt to it. That’s what we humans are. Adapters.”

            I sighed, “You act like a professor.”

            She chuckled, which surprised me. Her laughter was like melodious bells chiming for rejoice. It was beautiful.

            My cheeks flushed. I shouldn’t be thinking of those things.

            “You’re funny,” she told me straightforwardly.

            I raised an eyebrow, “No one’s ever called me that before.”

            She chuckled once again, “Get used to it.”

~*~*~*~

            We were lost. There was no way around it. Koshiro couldn’t figure out where we were on the map. Our compass broke when he tried cleaning it in the river. He tried wiping the surface of the contraption against a river’s waters, but, of course, everything had to go awry. Moments after he finished cleaning the surface of the compass, a forceful current in the river knocked him over, breaking the compass in the process.

            Using what I remembered from textbooks in navigation, I tried using the sun and moon for directions, but, we didn’t know where we were. Lost. Dark clouds everywhere. We were done fore. And it was cold. Tiring. And tedious. We were out of breath.

            Yuki’s parents tried navigating us out to of no avail. Rather than helping us get out of the mess we were in, we were caught up in the tangles even more and more.

            “Can I try?” Takao asked innocently as always. He was still holding Yuki’s pinky, as if she was his lifeline, which I could see why, for, once you broke her outer shell, she was kind, caring, sweet, and even ferocious if she had to. She was almost like bamboo, adaptable to almost all environments. She was quick and clever and knew how to get out of any situation . . . except this.

            “There’s no clouds or sun or moon to even have any points of navigation. I know that moss grows mainly North or South, not East or West. Tree branches grow mainly on the South side, but neither of these options work since they’re so inaccurate. Wind could blow moss aside. Other natural elements can play a factor in this option,” Yuko sighed in defeat.

            I saw Takao tug Yuki’s thin coat while he still held her pinky. His stuffed teddy bear was wrapped in his other arm. Even though I wanted to be a tough guy when I was older, there was no denying that Takao was adorably cute and innocent.

            “Nee-san,” he asked once again. “Can I please try?”

            His pouty face was impossible to deny.

            She crouched down to his height before handing him her spare map from her small satchel.

            “Here you go,” she smiled at him before turning to the adults in the group. “Mother, Father, Koshiro . . . Let’s go.”

            “Where?” her mother asked her. “Do you know where to go?”

            “No, but there’s no point in standing still. It’s still early spring, and the nights will still be cold,” Yuki sighed. “Takao thinks he can navigate to the town. Besides, if we get lost again, we’re still lost. It’s kind of like dwelling in spilled milk. Use it if you still have any purpose for it, but it’s still spilled milk.”

            The adults looked warily at each other before relenting, following their children. They were lost. There was no denying that. Besides, what if they miraculously stumbled upon a road or such along the way. There was no way in telling, but it was a chance—even if it was very slim.

~*~*~*~

Five hours later . . . For a trip that should have taken Twenty-Four hours . . .

            The three adults and two (almost) teenagers stood before the onsen town, mouths gaping wide enough for flies to come and enter and exit still alive. Somehow, miraculously, Takao had managed to get them to their destination far beyond their expected time to arrive. His sense of direction was unanimously accurate.

            “Say what,” I heard Yuki mutter under her breath.

            “Is this the right place?” Takao asked innocently.

            Koshiro was the first to snap out of his shock, for he replied almost immediately, “Y-yes, in-indeed.”

            “Yay!” he shouted softly in joy. Yawning, he tugged the edge of his sister’s coat before she crouched down to his height. “A-are you proud of me?”

            She smiled at him gently, yet proudly, “I definitely am.”

            Yuki picked up her younger brother in her arms before rocking him to a slumber.

            “Mother, Father,” she called her parents. “We should probably get going to the inn.”

            The adults agreed, before leading Yuki and me to the vacation inn we’d be staying for a week.

End of Flashback

            I yawned.

            “That’s it?” Nami asked disappointedly.

            “Yup,” I chuckled. “Takao was such the adorable toddler.”

            “I thought that five-year olds weren’t considered toddlers,” Franky remarked at my stupid mistake.

            “Whatever,” I yawned once again. “To answer Nami’s question, no there’s more, but I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. I’ll finish the story tomorrow. G’night, everyone.”

            With that being said, I snatched my earring off the table and rushed outside back to the men’s sleeping quarters for bed.