His consciousness slowly rose from the deep, dark seabed like a sunken ship.
Touch returned first.
He felt a soft bed beneath him and light fabric covering his body.
The faint, distinctive smell of disinfectant hung in the air, mingled with a barely perceptible fragrance.
Then his hearing gradually cleared.
Outside the window came the faint, rhythmic sound of waves washing ashore. Closer by, he heard the scratch of a pen on paper and someone's soft, steady breathing.
Finally, Mihawk slowly opened his sharp, hawklike eyes.
The first thing he saw was a white ceiling, simple in design but spotless.
His pupils shifted slightly as he adjusted to the light. His gaze was briefly confused, but it quickly regained its usual clarity and sharpness.
He turned his head slightly, looking beside the bed.
The enormous black blade, Yoru, with its intricate temper pattern, rested quietly against the bedside cabinet.
A dark sheen played across its jet-black blade in the sunlight streaming through the window. It was spotless, clearly cleaned and maintained with care.
Not far from the foot of the bed, a female Marine nurse in a white uniform and nurse's cap sat on a small stool.
Her head was lowered as she concentrated on writing in a medical chart. That was where the scratching sound came from.
Hawk-Eye said nothing, silently taking stock of his body.
The searing pain that had felt as though his organs had been knocked out of place was gone, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion and a slight sense of weakness.
Beyond that, however, he felt no noticeable pain from his injuries.
At that realization, he slowly tried moving his fingers. Everything worked normally.
Then he instinctively raised the hand without an IV needle in it and touched his chest.
He distinctly remembered Gern's Black Blade: