Marya slowly regained consciousness. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint hum of medical equipment. As her awareness sharpened, she became acutely attentive to the stiffness that gripped her body like a vice. Each muscle felt taut, as though it had been molded from iron and left to solidify.
Her neck ached with a persistent throb, and she found it difficult to turn her head without wincing in pain. Her limbs, usually so agile and responsive, now felt weighed down and uncooperative. Every attempt to move was met with a resistance that elicited a sharp intake of breath.
Marya's back was no better; the unfamiliar mattress beneath her had done little to provide comfort. Instead, it seemed to aggravate every ache and pain, pressing unkindly against the knots that had formed along her spine. She tried to shift her position, hoping to find some relief, but the discomfort followed her like a shadow, unyielding and relentless.
Even her delicate and deft fingers were not spared. A wave of soreness radiated from her knuckles to her tips as she attempted to flex them. It was as if the very act of waking had wrought havoc on her physical self, leaving her in a state of profound discomfort.
At that moment, Marya was acutely aware of her vulnerability. The stiffness and pain were not just physical impediments; they were stark reminders of her fragility, of the toll that recent events had taken on her body.
As Marya's eyes fluttered open, she caught a glimpse of Charlie sitting by her bedside, his face etched with concern. His eyes, a mirror of the worry that had undoubtedly kept him by her side, softened as he saw her stir.
"Marya, you're awake!" he exclaimed, his voice a blend of relief and urgency. "I'll get Natalie."
Charlie quickly rose from his chair, his movements a testament to the haste that had replaced his earlier vigil. Marya watched as he hurried out of the space, the curtain swaying behind him. The silence that followed was almost deafening, the hum of the medical equipment providing a constant backdrop to her thoughts.
Moments later, the curtain slid back, and Charlie returned, his presence now accompanied by Natalie, her blond hair falling out of the messy bun on her head. Her eyes, sharp and focused, took in Marya's condition in an instant.
"Marya, how are you feeling?" Natalie asked gently, approaching the bed in a comforting and professional manner.
Marya tried to muster a response, the words slipping through her lips with a hint of effort. "Stiff... and sore," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
Natalie inspected the screens that monitored her condition. Shaking her head, she scoffs, "I swear. What were you thinking?" Picking up a clipboard, her pen scratches across the page, "You could have died! Stiff and sore, you say?" Her eyes cut to Marya, "Well, that is a good sign. That means you are alive." She moves her fingers, inspecting Marya's injuries. "The wound is deep, and you lost a lot of blood. Your blood type is rare; luckily, we had some. Before you go out again, we will have to pull some from you."
Charlie rushes to Marya when she pushes herself up. Adjusting the pillows so she can be comfortable, she smiles in gratitude. "So," she asks Natalie, who has returned to her clipboard. "When can I go?"
Natalie grits her teeth, slamming the clipboard. "When I say!" Marya blinks as she stomps out.
Charlie, returning to his seat, awkwardly chuckling while scratching the back of his head. "She was quite worried when we brought you in." Marya nods, placing a hand on her side. Memories begin to flood in from the collapsing cavern, and her posture becomes fixed. "Sabo and the others. What happened?"
Charlie slides his glasses up. "For us to make our escape, they stayed behind to fend off the Marines." Noticing her concern, he says, "I would not worry. That is a most capable group. I am confident they made a successful escape."
A sudden notification pinged on their devices. "Oh my gosh, like, Marya is awake!" Bianca exclaimed, her voice a mix of excitement and relief. In her haste, she dropped her tools, almost tripping over cables.
Zola's eyes widened, a rare expression of emotion breaking through her usual composure. "This is splendid news," she remarked, carefully setting her tablet aside. "We must expedite our arrival to her location to ascertain her well-being."
As they rushed through the labyrinthine of corridors and over bridges, Bianca's thoughts tumbled out in a rapid stream. "I can't believe she's, like, finally awake! Do you think she's, like, okay? I mean, like, after everything that happened?"
Zola maintained her brisk pace, her expression resolute. "Marya's resilience is commendable. However, it is imperative that we conduct a thorough assessment to ensure she has not sustained any long-term physiological or psychological impairments."
They reached the infirmary, breathless but determined. Sliding back the curtain, they found Marya sitting up, her eyes filled with confusion and recognition.
"Marya!" Bianca burst out, rushing to her side. "You're, like, awake! This is, like, amazing!"
Zola approached more slowly, her gaze unwavering. "Marya, it is a relief to see you conscious. We were deeply concerned about your condition. How are you feeling?"
Marya managed a small smile, her hand reaching out to grasp Bianca's. "I'm... good," she replied softly, her eyes reflecting the gratitude she felt for her friends' unwavering support.
Bianca squeezed her hand, tears of relief brimming in her eyes. "We're, like, so glad you're okay. We missed you, like, so much."
Zola nodded, her professional facade softening just a fraction. "Your recovery is of paramount importance to us all, Marya. We shall do everything in our capacity to assist you."
At that moment, surrounded by her friends, Marya felt a surge of hope. No matter the challenges, she knew she would not face them alone.
*****
Kai stood near the window of the marine infirmary, his silhouette outlined against the soft, golden light of the setting sun. With delicate precision, he lifted the violin to his shoulder, the instrument fitting naturally in his hands as though it were an extension of his soul. He drew the bow across the strings, and a hauntingly beautiful melody filled the room, resonating with the unspoken emotions that lingered in the air.
His gaze drifted through the window, the expansive ocean stretching out to meet the horizon, its waves gently lapping against the shore. The serene scene outside contrasted sharply with the tension and uncertainty within the infirmary.
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow lay unconscious as the sheets conformed to the bed, indicating her lack of limb, her battle-scarred form a testament to her bravery and strength. Though reassuring, her chest's rhythmic rise and fall did little to quell the worry gnawing at Kai's heart.
As he played, memories of the recent conflict surfaced—his fall from Nuri's back, Nuri crashing to the ground, flailing in pain, the look on Sabo's face as he claimed victory. Kai's fingers moved with a grace that mirrored the depth of his feelings, each chord echoing in his heart.
The room's atmosphere seemed to shift, the music weaving a tapestry of solace and determination. The other patients and medics paused in their activities, drawn in by the poignant strains of the violin. It was as if time itself had stilled, allowing the gentle power of the melody to wrap around them all.
Though focused on the distant horizon, Kai's eyes were clouded with emotion. The final notes of his piece lingered in the air, promising unwavering support and an unspoken vow to see justice prevail.
Lowering the violin, Kai took a deep breath, his heart heavy yet filled with a newfound resolve. He turned back towards the bed, his expression quiet and determined. "We'll wait for you, Admiral," he whispered softly, the words carrying the weight of his promise.
The door to the infirmary creaked open. Marine Vice Admiral Vergo stepped inside, his tall, lean figure instantly catching everyone's attention. A rice cracker was inexplicably stuck to his cheek, an almost comical contrast to his otherwise imposing presence. His short dark hair was neatly trimmed, and his beard and sideburns framed his face with a distinctive horizontal and downward-growing pattern, ending in a pointed tip on his cheek.
He took a few steps forward, his sunglasses reflecting the soft, golden light of the setting sun that still streamed through the window. His gaze briefly met Kai's, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Kai lowered his violin, his heart heavy with the weight of his promise but invigorated by Vergo's timely arrival.
Vergo's eyes then shifted to Vice Admiral Venus Harlow, lying unconscious on the bed. Despite the light-hearted appearance imparted by the rice cracker on his cheek, his expression was one of somber concern. He approached the bed quietly, the faint rustling of his trench coat the only sound breaking the stillness.
"We'll wait for you, Admiral," Kai repeated softly, echoing the sentiment shared in the room.
Vergo nodded, placing a gloved hand on the bed's edge. "Tell me everything," he added, his voice a deep but gentle rumble that filled the room with unwavering resolve.
*****
The grand meeting hall of Marineford was nearly empty, the echoes of the Shichibukai's discussions still lingering in the air. The warlords had dispersed, each heading their separate ways, but one individual remained behind at the insistence of Fleet Admiral Sengoku. As the last of the Warlords exited the chamber, Sengoku's stern voice cut through the silence, "Mihawk, a word, if you will."
Dracule Mihawk, his piercing golden eyes fixed on the horizon through the tall windows, sat with his arms crossed, his iconic black blade, Yoru, resting against his chair. The tension in the room was profound as the seasoned tactician prepared to address a matter of grave importance. Mihawk's gaze did not waver as he nodded, indicating his willingness to listen.
Sengoku's demeanor was uncharacteristically somber, hinting at the seriousness of the forthcoming conversation. His eyes scrutinized the enigmatic swordsman. "Reports have reached us about a series of violent incidents," Sengoku began, his tone measured but laced with concern. "Specifically, attacks on the navy in the Rommel Kingdom and Gossypium Island. A Vice Admiral has been critically maimed, possibly for life."
Mihawk's expression remained inscrutable, though a flicker of interest danced in his eyes. He remained silent, his presence commanding enough to invite Sengoku to continue. Sengoku took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "These attacks bear the mark of someone with exceptional skill. Our intelligence suggests it is your doing - or rather, the doing of someone related to you."
At this, Mihawk's interest turned into a sharp focus. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke, his voice calm and deliberate. "And what does this have to do with me, Fleet Admiral?"
Sengoku's brow furrowed as he revealed the crux of the matter. "A young woman, wielding a blade with a precision that mirrors your own. Our investigation has led us to believe she is your daughter. What do you have to say about that?"
For a moment, a silence hung in the air like a drawn sword. Mihawk's expression remained stoic, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested a deeper contemplation. "A daughter, you say? How... intriguing."
Sengoku's patience was wearing thin. "This is no laughing matter, Mihawk. If she is your blood, then her actions reflect on you. The World Government won't tolerate a rogue swordsman with your reputation running amok. You need to take responsibility."
Mihawk finally responded, his voice betraying no emotion. "If she indeed possesses such skill, it would be a matter of pride. However, I have no knowledge of these attacks, nor do I condone any action that endangers the stability of the world." Mihawk stood, his towering presence commanding the room. He reached for Yoru, slinging the massive blade over his shoulder with ease. "Responsibility, Sengoku? I've never been one to concern myself with such trivialities. If this girl is indeed my daughter, then she is her own person. Her actions are her own."
Sengoku's voice rose, his frustration boiling over. "Trivialities? A Vice Admiral is permanently injured, and the Navy's reputation is at stake! If you won't take responsibility, then we'll have no choice but to label her a threat and deal with her accordingly."
Mihawk's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, steely glare. "You're welcome to try, Fleet Admiral. But if she's truly my blood, then you'll find her more than a match for your forces. And if you send anyone after her... well, let's just say I won't be held accountable for what happens next."
Sengoku's gaze remained fixed on Mihawk, "This girl's actions have consequences. The maiming of a Vice Admiral cannot go unpunished. If she is under your influence, I implore you to bring her to heel."
The room seemed to grow colder as Sengoku absorbed Mihawk's words. The gravity of the situation remained, but it was clear that threats or pleas would not sway Mihawk. Sengoku clenched his fists, his mind racing. He knew better than to provoke Mihawk further, but the situation was spiraling out of control. "This isn't over, Mihawk. The World Government will demand answers."
Mihawk turned to leave, his coat billowing behind him. "Then they'll have to wait. I have no interest in their politics or their demands. If you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."
As Mihawk walked away, Sengoku watched him go, a mixture of anger and unease settling in his chest. The thought of Mihawk's potential daughter, a wildcard with the skills to rival even the strongest swordsmen, was a problem he couldn't ignore. But for now, there was little he could do. The world was changing, and the balance of power was shifting in ways even he couldn't predict.
"Very well," Sengoku finally said, his voice heavy with resignation. "But know this, Mihawk: the navy will not turn a blind eye to her actions. Justice will be served, one way or another."