Rain washed over the hem of his Justice coat, the heavy fabric soaking up the downpour. Kane looked down at the young man standing below on the execution square. The youth was like a sharp sword newly drawn from its scabbard, radiating a raw, untamed energy. Seeing this, the playful curve of Kane's lips became even more pronounced, a cold glint appearing in his eyes as he assessed the challenger.
"If you truly were a first-class swordsman, you would surely be able to see the gap in our strength even without clashing," Kane said. His voice was not loud, yet it rang out with unnatural clarity over the thunderous sound of the pouring rain, reaching every corner of the plaza. "Daring to draw your blade against me... is this courage born of your will? Or is it simply born out of your ignorance?"
There was not the slightest hint of retreat on Mihawk's youthful face. He stood his ground firmly, his unique, hawk-like pupils burning with an intense, golden fire that seemed to defy the gloom of the storm. "It is because of my Way of the Sword. I will become the World's Greatest Swordsman! That is all!" Mihawk shouted, his voice cracking with the weight of his ambition.
Everyone in the square heard this arrogant declaration. The Marines and the gathered outlaws alike felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. In front of a Marine Admiral, the man who had personally captured and brought an end to the Pirate King, this boy claimed he would become the best in the world? Many onlookers wondered if the kid's brain had been soaked through by the rain, or if he was simply insane.
However, after hearing this bold claim, there was not a single ripple of emotion on Kane's face. He did not look impressed or angry; he looked bored. He did not even lift his eyelids much, simply reaching slowly and deliberately into the inner pocket of his white Marine coat. He spent a few moments fumbling around inside the lining. He fumbled some more, his expression one of mild annoyance as if he couldn't find a spare coin.
The eyes of the whole world were now focused on that hand. Through the lenses of dozens of Den Den Mushi transponder snails, the image was broadcast to every corner of the Grand Line and beyond. Crocodile's breathing hitched as he watched the screen, his hook hand clenching. Doflamingo's strange, high-pitched laughter also froze on his face, his hidden eyes fixed on the Admiral's movements.
Finally, Kane's hand pulled out of the pocket. Between his thumb and index finger, he held a small, silver, metallic-glinting object. It was a pair of nail clippers.
The square became so quiet that the sound of individual raindrops bursting against the pavement could be heard. Everyone thought they had seen wrong, expecting a legendary weapon or a hidden blade. The lenses of the transponder snails suddenly zoomed in to their absolute limit, projecting a massive close-up of that little household gadget onto screens all over the world.
"Hey..." A vein popped uncontrollably on Mihawk's temple, his composure finally breaking under the weight of the absurdity. "You... what do you mean by this!"
Kane did not bother to answer the question. Instead, he casually unfolded the nail clipper on his own, his movements steady and relaxed. He flicked out the tiny, serrated file blade used for filing down rough edges. He used that thin, two-inch piece of metal to point remotely at Mihawk standing below the platform.
"I am not like those fools who use all their strength just to hunt a rabbit," Kane said. His tone was as calm and conversational as if he were discussing today's weather with a neighbor. "Perhaps you might be a somewhat famous swordsman in your own right, but this is, after all, the weakest of the four seas, the East Blue."
Kane weighed the tiny file blade in his hand, a look of sincere, mocking regret appearing on his face. "Unluckily, I do not have a smaller blade on me than this. You will just have to make do."
These words were like a physical slap, fiercely striking Mihawk's pride. Mihawk's young and cold face instantly turned a flushed, angry red. An unprecedented sense of humiliation rushed to the top of his head, making his vision blur for a second. His fingers gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned bone-white.
"There is a limit... to looking down on people!" Mihawk suppressed his rage, his voice squeezed out from between his clenched teeth. "Do not die and then regret your arrogance!"
Before his voice had even faded into the wind, he moved! The stone slabs beneath his feet shattered from the sheer force of his kick-off. He transformed into a streak of black light, charging straight toward the high wooden platform. The person-tall Black Blade Yoru seemed weightless in his hands, leaving behind only a straight, dark line that tore through the curtain of falling rain. The condensed sword intent radiating from that blade's edge made the watching Doflamingo narrow his eyes in sudden appreciation.
"A frog in a well..." On the Execution Platform, Kane watched that lethal afterimage approach without even changing his lazy stance. He didn't shift his weight or drop his cigarette. "I will let you see just how vast the world really is."
Mihawk was already within reach of the Admiral. He gripped his massive sword with both hands, using every ounce of strength in his young body to roar out the name of his technique. "Yoru: Ichimonji!"
The pitch-black blade tore through the rain, aiming a vertical strike straight for the center of Kane's forehead. Faced with this strike, which was capable of cutting through solid steel or a small ship, Kane merely raised his right hand. Using that thin, flimsy file blade meant for grooming nails, he gently met the downward swing of the legendary Black Blade.
Clink.
A soft, metallic sound echoed. Then, everything stopped. Mihawk was petrified, frozen in place. He maintained his forward-charging, slashing posture, but the Black Blade Yoru in his hand could no longer advance a single inch. That massive, heavy blade was steadily blocked by a tiny piece of metal no thicker than a toothpick. It did not budge.
Mihawk's eyes widened in pure shock. He could feel the unshakable, massive force coming from the hilt of his own sword—a feeling of total despair, as if he had crashed into the base of the Red Line. What had this man done? Before today, no one had ever been able to see through this move, let alone stop it. This person was using a pair of nail clippers to halt the strongest sword in the world. How was it possible? Was the gap in their strength really this vast?
"How can it be..." Mihawk whispered, his voice trembling. "How can it be so far apart!"
Mihawk roared in disbelief, his wrists twisting as he pulled back and unleashed a continuous barrage of attacks like a violent storm. Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink! Only a series of dense, crisp metallic clashing sounds remained in the square, a rhythm that made the teeth of the observers ache.
Everyone below was dumbfounded. That young man named Mihawk was clearly a monster; every strike was heavy and powerful, with sword intent crisscrossing through the air and causing wood chips to fly from the edge of the Execution Platform. But the Admiral on the high platform kept one hand in his pocket from beginning to end. He did not even move his heels from their original spot. He only used his other hand to pinch that tiny nail file, parrying and neutralizing all the storm-like slashes one by one. That posture was less like a life-or-death fight and more like a parent playing a game with a child.
"Fuffuffuffu..." Doflamingo's laughter became dry and strained. "Are you kidding me... that swordsman's strength is definitely not weak! He is a genius!"
Crocodile stared intently at Kane's movements, the cigar in his mouth having fallen to the wet ground at some unknown point. "Is this... the true strength of a Marine Admiral?" It was too fast and too precise. Not a single movement from the man in the coat was redundant. It was a perfect manifestation of absolute control over power.
"The world..." Mihawk panted heavily. The frantic assault had rapidly depleted his physical strength, but what crushed him even more was the immense mental pressure of failing to even make the Admiral step back. "...the world cannot be this far out of reach!"
He let out a beast-like roar, pouring all the remaining strength of his body into his arms to unleash his strongest ultimate technique. The body of the Black Blade Yoru drew a bizarre, beautiful arc in the air, carrying a momentum capable of cutting through everything as it slashed toward Kane's neck. "Yoru: Arc Shadow!"
Faced with this final struggle, Kane finally put away his lazy expression. His gaze became slightly more serious, recognizing the potential in the boy. "It is over," he stated.
With a flick of his wrist, the nail file's blade moved at a speed completely imperceptible to the naked eye. It struck first. Puchi. A soft sound of a sharp weapon entering flesh followed. Mihawk's finishing slash came to an abrupt halt. He slowly lowered his head, looking at his chest in disbelief. That thin file blade had pierced deep into his torso, yet it had precisely avoided his heart and all his vital organs.
A drop of blood slowly slid down the edge of the file blade, dripping onto the wet wooden boards and blooming into a small, red blood flower in the rain. Kane withdrew his hand, and the nail clipper remained spotless. Looking at the young man before him whose eyes had lost all luster yet who still stood firmly on his feet, Kane felt a sudden urge to play with his food.
"Why do you not retreat?" Kane asked.
Mihawk's figure swayed violently, yet he refused to fall or even stagger back. He looked up at the insurmountable mountain of a man before him, his voice hoarse and ragged. "I do not know either... I just feel..." He grinned, revealing a smile that looked more painful than crying as blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. "If I take even a single step back here... I will never be able to become the World's Greatest Swordsman! My dreams would shatter right here!"
He slowly spread his arms wide, exposing his entire chest to the enemy without any defense. "A wound on the back is a swordsman's shame," he declared. "Come! Finish it!"
Seeing this young man who would rather die than retreat, the cigar in Kane's mouth twitched slightly. Indeed, the brain circuits of creatures like swordsmen really were straight lines to the end. He was silent for a moment, and then, that malicious smile appeared on his face again. It was the look of a man who had discovered a new toy to break.
"Kid, give me your name," Kane commanded.
"Dracule Mihawk!"
"I will remember you." Kane put away the nail clipper and slowly gripped the hilt of the black blade "Zangetsu" at his waist. This was a sword he had never been forced to draw in this fight. "As a reward for your courage, I shall use this world's strongest black blade... to see you off!"
Mihawk looked at the hand that finally gripped the hilt, a satisfied, peaceful smile appearing on his face. He had done it. He had finally forced this legendary man to acknowledge him as a warrior. Mihawk closed his eyes, calmly waiting for the stroke of death.
Kane's wrist moved slightly. The black blade was drawn only half an inch from its sheath. Just this tiny, leaked trace of aura and pressure instantly sliced the pouring rain in two. Even the thick, dark clouds overhead were torn open with a massive, jagged gap, letting a single ray of light through.
"Do not be in such a hurry to die, kid!" Kane chuckled.
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