#Mihawk: you're welcome for the wisdom

[crystallizedtwilight]

pondering if Mihawk was open and trusting at one point but after the betrayal a switch flipped so she would never be hurt like that again

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Clipped Wings: Chapter Ten

Clipped Wings: After living a life in seclusion due to an over protective father, you sneak away to experience life as it really is. Slowly building up the woman you always wanted to be, your quiet life is interrupted when you meet a rather elastic boy and his crew. This is just the beginning of trouble and your carefully crafted life starts to crumble around you. The past never really stays in the past, and now it has come knocking. In more ways than one.  

Warnings: Methinks it’s a boring chapter, but kinda needed?

To Note: Dracule Mihawk x Reader, NAMED!FemReader, Some physical features have been given (hair & eye color).

Word Count: ~2.8k

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You step off the ship and onto the dock at Shimotsuki Village, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in your chest. The village is quaint and picturesque, with traditional houses lining the cobblestone streets.

Clutching your bag tightly, you make your way through the village, your eyes scanning for any signs that might point you in the direction of Koshiro's dojo. People bustle around you, going about their daily routines. Children laugh and play in the streets while vendors call out their wares from colorful stalls.

You approach an elderly woman tending to a small vegetable stand. Her face is lined with years of wisdom, and her eyes sparkle with kindness.

"Excuse me," you say, “can you tell me how to get to Koshiro's dojo?"

The woman looks up from her work and studies you for a moment before nodding. "Ah, you're looking for Koshiro-sensei's dojo? It's not far from here. Just follow this road straight ahead until you reach the large cherry blossom tree. The dojo is just beyond it."

You thank her and continue on your way, your heart beating a little faster with each step. As you walk, you can't help but admire the beauty of Shimotsuki Village. The peaceful atmosphere contrasts sharply with the life you've led so far, filled with uncertainty and struggle.

The large cherry blossom tree soon comes into view, its branches heavy with delicate pink flowers. You pause for a moment to take in the sight before pressing on. Just as the elderly woman had said, the dojo stands just beyond the tree—a modest yet sturdy building with a wooden sign bearing Koshiro's name.

You push open the gate and step into the courtyard, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. The sound of wooden swords clashing echoes from within the dojo, mingling with the rhythmic thud of footsteps on tatami mats.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk up to the entrance and slide open the door. Inside, students are practicing their forms under Koshiro's watchful eye. The master swordsman turns to face you as you enter, his expression unreadable but his presence commanding.

"Welcome," he says simply.

"I've come to train," you reply bluntly, meeting his gaze head-on. "I wish to be stronger so I don't have to rely on others."

Koshiro's gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail. You stand tall, refusing to let any hint of nervousness show. You've faced far worse than this.

"You wish to train here?" His voice carries authority, each word precise.

"I do," you answer firmly. "I've traveled a long way to find this dojo."

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods. "Very well. Join the others and observe for now."

You nod in return and step aside, finding a spot against the wall where you can watch the students practice. They move with a fluid grace, their wooden swords clashing in a rhythm that speaks of years of discipline and training. Your fingers itch to join them, to feel the weight of a sword in your hand.

As you watch, a young boy stumbles and falls during his practice. The other students snicker, but Koshiro steps forward, his expression stern.

"Focus, Kenta," he says. "Balance is key."

The boy scrambles to his feet, determination written on his face. You can't help but admire his spirit; it reminds you of your own when you first set out on your journey.

The training session continues, and you observe every move, every technique. You mentally catalog each detail, planning how you'll integrate them into your own style. When the session finally ends, Koshiro approaches you.

"You're still here," he notes.

"I am," you reply.

He seems to consider something before speaking again. "Why do you seek strength?"

You hesitate for a moment before answering. "I was raised under the direction of hands that desired to mold me into what they wished, and without choice. That has left me weak and naive to the world I want to live in."

Koshiro's gaze sharpens as you speak. He nods slowly, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Strength for freedom, then."

You give a small nod in return. "Yes. To never be under someone's control again."

He gestures toward the training area. "You will join the others tomorrow at dawn. Training begins early. But for now, you may find your place among the other students."

You lie in your bed, staring at the ceiling of the dormitory. The first light of dawn filters through the small window, casting a soft glow across the room. The rhythmic breathing of your fellow students surrounds you, is a strange reminder that you're not alone anymore.

None of them had blinked an eye when you arrived last night. They had simply helped you settle in, showing you to an empty bed and offering quiet smiles. The acceptance without question feels strange, almost unsettling. You're used to suspicion and caution, not this easy assimilation.

You shift under the thin blanket, feeling the weight of the upcoming day pressing on your chest. Your muscles are tense with anticipation and a hint of anxiety. You can't afford to mess this up. This is your chance to prove yourself, to gain the strength you've long sought.

The room is sparsely furnished—a few beds lined against the walls, a couple of wooden chests for personal belongings. Your own chest sits at the foot of your bed, containing the few possessions you managed to bring along: a change of clothes, some basic supplies, your sewing kit.

A rustling sound catches your attention. You glance over to see one of the students—Kenta—stirring awake. He rubs his eyes and sits up, blinking sleepily at you.

"You're up early," he notes, his voice still groggy from sleep.

"Couldn't sleep," you admit quietly.

He nods in understanding. "First day jitters?"

"Something like that. I'm afraid that I'm too weak."

Kenta offers you a small, encouraging smile. "You'll get stronger. Everyone starts somewhere."

His words resonate with you more than he probably realizes. You give him a nod of thanks and sit up, stretching your arms above your head. The room is starting to stir now, the other students waking up and preparing for the day ahead.

You follow their lead, quickly changing into your training clothes—a simple gi that feels strange against your skin compared to the fine fabrics you're used to. Kenta gestures for you to follow the others filing out of the dorm bleary eyed and still half asleep.

You follow the other students into the dining hall, a simple room with low wooden tables and cushions scattered around. The aroma of steamed rice and miso soup fills the air, mingling with the sound of quiet chatter and clicking chopsticks. Your stomach growls. You hope that your palate tolerates the food.

You take a seat at one of the tables, mirroring the others as they kneel on the cushions. A young girl with bright eyes and a shy smile sets a bowl of rice and a small plate of pickled vegetables in front of you. You thank her softly, your eyes flicking to the pair of chopsticks beside the bowl.

You've seen them used before, but had always been too intimidated to try using them. Your nannies had drilled fork and knife etiquette into your brain until you murmured it in your sleep. Reaching for the odd utensils, your fingers hover uncertainly over the chopsticks. You pause and look at the others deftly picking up bits of food and eating without a wink of difficulty. They make it look so easy, their movements running automatic.

Pressing your lips together, you pick up the chopsticks and awkwardly position them between your fingers. The first attempt to grasp a piece of rice ends in failure—the grains slip through your grip, scattering back into the bowl. You glance around, hoping no one noticed your struggle.

Kenta sits across from you, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches your efforts. "First time using chopsticks?" he asks between bites of his own breakfast.

You nod, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Yes. I have been strictly taught the etiquette of a fork and knife."

He sets his own chopsticks down and reaches over to adjust your grip. You blink in surprise at how easily he offers his help. "Like this," he instructs gently, repositioning your fingers. "Hold one steady and move the other."

You mimic his movements, finding it slightly easier with his guidance. You are still clumsy however. Letting out a breath of relief, you give Kenta a smile. "Thank you."

"No problem," he replies with a grin before echoing his earlier statement, “everyone has to start somewhere."

With renewed determination to master another first, you manage to pick up a small piece of pickled vegetable. It wobbles precariously but stays between the chopsticks long enough for you to bring it to your mouth. Though the vegetable hits your chin on its way there. The taste is tangy and slightly sweet—unlike anything you’ve ever tried before but still palatable.

The rest of breakfast continues in this fashion—slow attempts at mastering the chopsticks while exchanging small talk with Kenta and some of the other students. They share stories about their training, offering advice and encouragement without judgment.

By the time you finish your meal, you've managed to eat most of it without too much difficulty. Your fingers ache slightly from the unfamiliar grip, but you are pleased with the progress you've made on your own. It is only chop sticks. Nonetheless you are pleased, very pleased.

Breakfast ends, and you rise with the other students, following them out of the dining hall and into the training area. The dojo's courtyard is spacious, with a well-worn path circling around it and patches of grass sprouting between the stones. The air is cool, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the cherry blossom tree, scattering petals across the ground.

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you join the group, trying to blend in. The students move around as if on autopilot, their expressions focused but calm. You glance around, taking in the sight of various training equipment—wooden swords, target dummies, and weighted bags—all neatly arranged along the edges of the courtyard.

A girl with short hair and a serious demeanor catches your eye. She offers you a nod and gestures for you to follow her. "Morning stretches," she explains in a hushed voice. "We start every day with them."

You nod, grateful for her guidance. How embarrassing it would be if you just stand there with a perplexed look upon your face. She leads you to an open spot in the courtyard where the other students are already forming lines. You mimic their movements as they spread out, giving each other enough space to stretch without bumping into one another.

The girl demonstrates the first stretch—a simple forward bend—and you follow suit. The stretch feels good, loosening muscles that are still stiff from sleep. You continue through a series of stretches: reaching for your toes, twisting your torso, rolling your shoulders.

"Hold each position for a count of ten," she advises quietly, glancing at you to make sure you're keeping up.

The morning sun rises higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the courtyard as you move through the routine. Your muscles gradually relax under the gentle pressure of each stretch until you are moving smoother and with better rhythm.

By the time you finish, your body feels more awake but more clumsy than ever. Overworked almost. The girl gives you an approving nod before moving back to her place among the other students. With the stretches complete, Koshiro steps into view and he immediately commands the attention from everyone in the courtyard.

"Let's begin," he announces simply.

And so begins your first day of training at Koshiro's dojo.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the courtyard, you find yourself standing in front of a mirror in the dormitory. One of the girl students, the same one who helped you with stretches earlier, is now assisting you in preparing for the evening ceremony.

"Hold still," she instructs gently, gathering your hair into a loose ponytail. It's been washed and treated to be smooth and sleek in preparation of the ceremony. Her fingers work deftly, securing the tie and smoothing any stray strands. "There, that should do it."

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror—your reflection looks different than it did this morning. There's a sense of purpose in your eyes, a determination that wasn't there before. You want this, you want this so bad. The official gi you're wearing feels foreign yet fitting, its crisp lines and sturdy fabric a stark contrast to the delicate dresses of your past.

"Thank you," you say, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're welcome. You did well today despite it being new and challenging. It will be hard in the beginning because you are new to this and your body isn’t ready, but with persistence, it will be.”

You nod with a faint smile. "I appreciate your guidance."

She waves off your gratitude with a casual hand. "It's what we're here for—to help each other grow."

You turn to face her fully, taking in her features—short hair framing her face, a look of quiet strength in her eyes. "I'm Vee," you offer, feeling it's time to introduce yourself properly.

"Sakura," she replies with a nod. “My parents weren’t exactly creative when naming me… It's nice to meet you, Vee."

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both finish preparing. A few last tugs on your gi, Sakura fussing over nonexistent wrinkles… The dormitory is quiet now, most of the other students already gathered outside for the ceremony. You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling within you.

"Ready?" Sakura asks, breaking the silence.

You nod at Sakura and wind your hands together to offset the nerves trying to claw their way front and center. Together, you walk out of the dormitory and into the courtyard, where the other students have already gathered in a semicircle. The soft murmur of their conversations quiets as you step into the center, all eyes now focused on you.

Master Koshiro stands at the forefront. He holds a small ceremonial knife, its blade gleaming in the fading light. As you approach, he extends it toward you with a solemn expression.

"Vee," he begins, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "this ceremony marks your commitment to this path and your dedication to growth."

You nod, accepting the knife with surprisingly steady hands. The weight of it feels significant—both literally and metaphorically. Are blades supposed to be this heavy? You turn to face the students, who watch with a mixture of curiosity and respect. It has been a while since a new student joined.

Taking a deep breath, you raise the knife to your hair. The tie holds your hair in place, creating a clear line just above it. With a determined grip, you bring the blade down and cut through the midnight locks in one swift motion.

You feel a lightness as most of your hair falls away, leaving you with a length you’ve never really felt before. It feels so freeing. You hold the bundle of hair in your hands for a moment, contemplating what it represents—the shedding of your old self and the embrace of your new journey for strength.

With a delicate touch, you place the hair bundle into a small vessel set on a stone pedestal nearby. Your cut hair curls in a small circle as you reach for the matchbox that sits aside the vessel. Without hesitation, you stake a match and strike it, dropping it into the vessel.

Fire consumes your hair quickly, turning it to ash and smoke that drifts up into the evening sky. The scent of burning hair mingles with the fresh breeze, creating an almost tangible sense of transformation.

As the flames consume the last remnants of your hair, the weight of your past seems to disappear from your shoulders. Sylvia will disappear from your mind and body. You step back from the pedestal and Master Koshiro nods in approval.

"Welcome, Vee," he says warmly. "From this moment forward, you are part of our family. We are bound by our commitment to growth and strength."

The other students bow in agreement, acknowledging your acceptance into their ranks. Sakura stands nearby with encouragement reflecting in her eyes. Kenta stands next to her and gives you a chin nod.

"Thank you," you say quietly, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions inside you. Your fingers reach up and touch the cut strands hanging by your jaw. It has never been this short.

Master Koshiro gestures for everyone to gather around. "Tonight, we celebrate Vee's new beginning. Tomorrow, we train harder."

Date Published: 9/21/24

Last Edit: 9/21/24

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[goshiikkuburcdo]

waxgentleman asked: "Well, is as they say, ga ne! The older you get, the wiser you are! Boss's Kyuuteness can only me understood by mature and wise people! I say it honestly that you're 300% cuter than Sha—" Mr 3 takes a little second to think, tapping the chin with a finger before continuing his sentence. " Hm! Hm! I'm sure! cuter than Shank, ga ne!" Crosses his arms while nodding seriously.

Mihawk could certainly agree with the addition of years tending to give one experience which in turn might gift one with wisdom. Some though took their experiences and willfully gained nothing.

An instant grimace was thus obtained after he was not only addressed as cute, but once again also compared to Akagami. It was enough to curl his lip in deep distaste. Mr. 3 even had the audacity to have to think upon who it was he believed to be 'cuter'. Disgusting.

"I can agree to what you've state about wisdom. However." An eye shifts to lock onto the other. It's amusing to an extent, the sudden courage the man has suddenly. Almost refreshing to see that freedom in him. But the topic sours him a bit.

"I am not like Akagami. Feel free to point out his cuteness. I am not that. I welcome and even insist that you find a better fitting way to describe me."