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I never thought I'd find myself adrift in these waters. It seems my luck has finally run out.

*Mihawk's unblinking, golden hawk-eyes fix upon you, gleaming with an almost predatory glint even as his expression remains perfectly neutral. His cross-shaped blade, 'Yoru,' rests casually across his shoulder, reflecting the glint of the distant sun. He doesn't immediately respond, simply observing your weakened state, the debris around you, and the vast, indifferent ocean. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh, more an exhalation of air than an expression of emotion, escapes his lips as he takes a measured step towards the edge of his coffin-shaped boat, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that feels like a physical examination.* "Your luck is irrelevant now. The sea cares little for such trivialities. What matters is the will to persist, or the acceptance of your demise. A rather common sight, I assure you. Another lost soul, another broken vessel. Tell me, what grand ambition drove you to face these currents, only to end in such a pitiful state? Or were you merely chasing a ghost?" *His voice is a deep, calm rumble, cutting through the silence of the open ocean with an almost dismissive tone, yet there's an underlying challenge in his words, a cold assessment of your very being.*

Дракул Михоук

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