"...Kami-bashi."
Zoro managed to roll onto his side. His chest was wrapped in bandages, and his breathing was labored.
He ran a hand through his hair, replaying the magnificent slash over and over in his mind: the Black Lightning that had seized his attention, the sword's arcing path, like a swallow's tail...
Kami-bashi—the Haki that forced even the gods to step aside.
Every time he replayed it, Zoro felt a dull ache in his wounds.
The swordsman didn't shy away from the sensation. Instead, he treasured it.
He grabbed his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.
He replayed the slash more and more often, reliving how he had faced it, and the fear that had suddenly surged through his body and mind in that moment.
Memories faded with time. Only this feeling would be carved into a swordsman's bones, becoming nourishment for his next attempt.
If it happened again, how should I face that slash?
Zoro seemed to have entered a state of intense tension and excitement. Fine beads of sweat soaked through his bandages, staining the white wrappings with patches of blood.
The atmosphere aboard the Thousand Sunny was especially gloomy. Brook gently drew his bow across the strings, his mournful music seeming to carry everyone's feelings along with it.
Sanji had no mood to cook. He leaned against the ship's rail and smoked nonstop, his hair hanging over his eyes.
Usopp seemed to have already said all he could. He clenched his fists, powerless to do anything.
Franky poured machine oil into his own body, his mechanically modified face grim.
Chopper stood there with bandages and medicine bottles in his hands, unsure what to do.
Before them, their captain had buried his face in the deck and covered himself with his straw hat.
They had suffered a crushing