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He’s nine, the first time he sees the boy. Not that there’s much to see: it’s late at night, he only got up to get a drink before going back to sleep. The child is so thoroughly wrapped in bandages Zoro can barely tell he has blond hair, let alone make out any other distinctive features, and he’s whisked into another room by Sensei and the too-tall figures in green cloaks, all so shrouded Zoro can’t see their faces or features either.
He’s only been in the dojo a few months, and the visitors don’t seem to notice him in the shadows of the hall, but Sensei’s eyes flicker in his direction before the door slides closed behind them. Kuina appears a moment later, grabbing his sleeve to pull him away, the same way she does when they go to town and she’s convinced he’ll wander off in the crowd and get lost, even when he complains it’s the roads’ fault and not his.
“They’re Father’s friends,” she says, brows furrowed over dark eyes as she glances back toward the door. “They don’t come very often, and sometimes it’s not the same people, but he gives them food and supplies so they can keep sailing. They usually hide away for a few hours to talk, and then they leave again.”
“What about the kid?” Zoro asks. It’s not that he’s worried, or that he even particularly cares. He doesn’t know the bandaged boy, but the presence of the child amongst the too-tall cloaked people seems odd.
“I don’t know,” Kuina whispers, another glance cast over her shoulder. “Sometimes there are other kids with them, quiet kids, but I’ve never seen one this injured before. Usually those kids get taken to the village, or find passage to other islands after a while. I don’t think this one will.”
She’s right, of course. Plenty of ragged people come off the dark dragon ship at the harbor and disappear off into the East Blue. Plenty of ragged people stay on that ship as well, and two days later the three too-tall cloaked figures who visited the dojo depart, the bandaged boy carried in the leader’s arms, awake and looking around with some confusion but a distinct sort of determination that Zoro finds he can relate to. He meets Zoro’s gaze, blinks a few times, an odd expression crossing his face, but then the people carrying him are walking up the gangplank and onto the ship. They sail away, and Zoro figures that’s that. He’s not likely to see the bandaged boy again, and he promptly puts the entire incident out of his mind, turning back to Kuina and their training and sparring instead.
He’s fifteen before he thinks about green cloaks, too-tall figures or the bandaged boy again. Kuina’s been gone for years. He’s been undefeated in the dojo for years, to the other students’ frustration. To his own mixed satisfaction and frustration. He knows the Greatest Swordsman in the World is somewhere in the Grand Line, and he might be confident but he isn’t stupid enough to think he’s ready to go there. Not yet.
He storms back into the house, grumpy that one of Koushirou’s younger students had found him in town and badgered him into returning to the dojo with him. Nevermind the roads had shifted on him again, the damn kid had looked far too smug.
Quiet voices deeper in the house pause at his loud entrance, but he doesn’t think much of it until a tall-- too-tall --figure in a green cloak steps out of Koushirou’s office, followed by an almost too- small form in the same sort of cloak, the hood pushed back enough to reveal a girl who was maybe the age Kuina should have been, with dark blue eyes and short orange hair. She paused when they caught sight of Zoro, long enough for Koushirou to appear with a third stranger, this one dressed almost outlandishly formally compared to the cloaks and Koushirou’s traditional clothes.
A teenager, can’t be much older than Zoro, blond hair just beginning to curl around the back of his neck and under his ears. There were scars on his face, though Zoro didn’t get a good look before the kid was putting a top hat on, the brim shadowing his face as effectively as the cloak shrouded his taller companion. He looks at Zoro for a long moment, or at least faces his way, until Koushirou clears his throat to reclaim the kid’s attention.
“My prized student,” he says, a strange sort of tension in his voice that puts Zoro on edge. “With a dream of his own to pursue soon. I thank you for bringing your news, and wish you and yours luck in the future.”
Top Hat turns to Koushirou and bows, apparently as formal as his clothes, and his words when he speaks seem carefully chosen, weighed and delivered precisely, and Zoro knows an East Blue accent when he hears one, even if it’s different from the accents he finds in the dojo and in town.
“Thank you for your help over the years, Koushirou-san. Your support has been invaluable, and we won’t forget it.”
With that he turns, apparently making some sort of eye contact or gesture to his companions, and all three head for the door. The teen meets his eye again, green to dark brown, and then tips his hat in an almost jaunty sort of farewell before disappearing out the door, and all Zoro can think of is the determined green gaze of the bandaged boy six years before.
He turns to look at Koushirou again, finds his Sensei watching their departure out the open door, a pensive sort of look on his face, hands folded within his sleeves.
“It seems they won’t be visiting again for quite some time,” Koushirou comments, not an answer to Zoro’s unasked question, no explanation at all for who these cloaked people are or why they sometimes appear at Isshin Dojo, but maybe it doesn’t matter anymore if they won’t be returning. Zoro glances back and watches the top hat disappear in the distance, heading back toward the harbor.
He doesn’t forget about the green cloaks and their mysterious visits as the years pass, but they aren’t important to Zoro or his dream or his journey, so he doesn’t think about them. The past has no place in Luffy’s dream or his crew, and Zoro puts it out of his mind, even if both Monkey D. Luffy and Portgas D. Ace remind him vaguely of a different teenager he met for all of two minutes, in their wide grins and too-sharp eyes and distinct East Blue accents.
Zoro’s reminded even more of Ace when the blond man in the top hat arrives at their recovery spot after the drama of Dressrosa passed, fire twisting briefly with blond curls and radiating heat the way Ace had done in Alabasta. He opens his eyes, hands tightening around his katana as the man leans over Luffy’s sleeping form, a gloved hand brushing his captain’s dark hair away from his face. Robin’s smiling, clearly at ease, so Zoro figures the man isn’t a danger, but the presence of a mysterious figure from his childhood so close to his captain isn’t easily ignored. Luffy stirs, blinking up at the man and smiling sleepily, and the top hat gets pushed back when the man leans down to whisper in the captain’s ear, something that makes the smile wobble for a second before brightening again, rubber hands reaching out to squeeze at the man’s hand before relaxing and drifting back to sleep.
“I was beginning to worry I’d have to call Koala and trick you into meeting us somewhere, Chief,” Robin says softly as Luffy shuffles in his sleep, Usopp snoring alongside him. Franky’s watching, wary perhaps but not on edge.
“We’d have met when the time was right,” Top Hat says with an almost awkward sounding laugh, scratching the back of his neck under Robin’s placidly amused gaze. “Guess this was the right time. Sorry for the late visit, best to be subtle on our way over.”
“You’re the least subtle person I know,” a woman’s voice chimes from beyond the doorway, and Top Hat grimaces as Robin giggles. Zoro casts a glance toward the door, but there’s no sign of whoever is lurking just outside.
“Good to see you again, Robin.”
“And you, Sabo,” she said with a soft laugh, before catching sight of Zoro’s single eye trained on the interaction. “Ah, our swordsman is awake. Roronoa Zoro, meet Sabo. Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army and our captain’s brother.”
Sabo turns, eyes landing on Zoro, smiling a little wider, though more reserved than Luffy’s too-broad, boisterous grins, and tips his hat the same way he did when Zoro last saw him at Isshin Dojo all those years ago.
“So Sensei was helping the Revolutionary Army all those years ago,” Zoro comments, a statement of fact more than a question, thumb rubbing over Wado’s hilt, and Sabo hums noncommittally.
“He supplied us for a while. Helped us smuggle former slaves to safe islands,” Sabo replies, and there’s a sudden warm fondness in Zoro’s chest, a strange nostalgia and admiration for Isshin Dojo and Koushirou. And he can’t say he’s all that surprised, really. “I was glad to recognize you, when I saw you were on Lu’s crew.”
“You recognized me?”
“You have a pretty distinct hair color,” Sabo snorts, and Zoro scowls as Robin chuckles behind her hand and Franky pretty much guffaws. At least the damn love-cook isn’t there to hear that comment too. “Hard to forget. Thank you for looking after Luffy all this time. He’s a troublemaker, but he’s my little brother.”
The words are an echo of Ace’s goodbye in Alabasta, and Luffy may have never mentioned having a second brother, but there’s no doubt that Sabo loves Luffy as much as Ace did. Zoro’s hand tightens around Wado’s hilt, and he nods, an acknowledgement of the thanks and an affirmation that he’ll keep looking after his idiot rubber captain. Sabo grins again, nods his head to Robin, and thumbs over Luffy’s already drool-covered cheek one more time in farewell before ducking silently out the door, as if he’d never been there at all.
Zoro spots the corner of a vivre card tucked in the ribbon of Luffy’s hat, catches Robin’s gaze, and then settles back to rest again. They’ll leave Dressrosa soon with Torao, to catch up with Sunny and the Hearts and decide on their first moves against Kaido. Best to sleep while he can.