Chapter Text
Growing up, everyone talked about 'soulmates' as if they were some kind of important thing. "Make sure you listen carefully! Even one word of difference could mean you're not meant to be," they would warn, wagging their fingers as though he was a housecat whose attention was contingent on movement or food. Young Mihawk never understood why he would want a soulmate, especially when the words that soulmate was meant to say were so absurd.
So he went on with his life. He learned swordplay, not because the tattoo on his wrist called him a "flashy sword freak", but because every other vocation he attempted left him feeling hollow. And if he was going to be a swordsman, thought the young man, he may as well be the greatest swordsman in the world. And so he trained.
He trained so vigorously that he surpassed his first instructor in less than a year, leapfrogging students ten years his senior. He trained until he overtook every master and every student on the little isle of his birth. Until there was nobody left to challenge him. And so he took to the seas.
And the seas brought him challengers more numerous and vicious than any he'd faced back home. Still, the challengers fell to his blade, and not one of them had called him a "sword freak" let alone a flashy one. But then, Mihawk wasn't on the seas for a soulmate, he was here to become the world's greatest swordsman.
And he did. He wore that title proudly. With it he found more challengers, and for a time, that was enough. He honed his skills until there were no more. People came to challenge him, yes, but none of them could be called a challenge.
When the world government approached him to become a "Warlord of the Sea", he agreed simply because he had nothing better to do. In time, even that became a chore not worth toying with. And still, the words inked upon his wrist remained unuttered. And still, a swordsman capable of challenging him remained unapparent.
On the day he was summoned to Marineford, to fight for the world government to facilitate the execution of "Fire Fist" Ace, Mihawk was sitting alone in his castle atop Kuraigana island. He never particularly cared about soulmates or partnership, but after years unchallenged and unloved he had to admit it was lonely at the top. His fingers traced over the message on his wrist, as ridiculous as the first time he read it. He boarded Hitsugibune, on his way to the marine headquarters. Maybe, just maybe, he'd find a worthy adversary there.
When the battle began, Mihawk was one of the first to move. Hoping to do battle with the emperor Whitebeard, he unleashed his "strongest slash in the world" only for it to be blocked by some kind of diamond man. The straw hat boy arrived, bringing with him his usual whirlwind of chaos, ensuring that at the very least, this battle would not be boring.
As the young man broke free of another horde of marines, tossing them in every direction, Mihawk stood in his way. The boy attempted to dodge past, only to be met with a long range slash from Yoru, knocking him backwards. Unfazed, he sprinted back towards the swordsman, dodging his attacks at the last possible moment.
He unleashed another hail of attacks, slicing into pieces… Not Strawhat. The subject of his onslaught was diced into miniscule chunks, but instead of falling to the ground in a pool of blood they hovered there. The floating cloud of human bits looked at him, or at least it seemed that way, before a disembodied mouth floated up in front of his face.
"What the heck is wrong with you, you flashy sword freak!"