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Kiku moves with the grace of a trained dancer and the force of an avalanche. Zoro lost count of how long they have been sparring some time ago. He is not sure if he ever started.
He, Kiku, and Momo are in the bamboo grove on the outskirts of Amigasa Village, where the warm afternoon sun still shines through to them despite the thick canopy above their heads. There is the barest suggestion of a breeze whistling through the giant stalks, and the earth is soft under their sandaled feet.
The raid on Onigashima starts in a few days. Wano’s fate will be determined then, by the ninja–pirate–mink–samurai alliance and Kaido and Big Mom’s forces, while the country’s oblivious populace enjoys their annual fire festival. In the meantime, however, Zoro and Kiku circle each other, their swords in hand.
Kiku’s katana has a sunrise red hilt and a gold clover–shaped guard, its fiery orange scabbard at her side. Zoro only has the Wado Ichimonji, gold and snow white, with him. It felt right to bench Enma the problem child and Sandai Kitetsu for this. It felt right to bench them for her.
Kuina would have loved Kiku, he thinks. Kiku and her long dark hair, tied up with a red ribbon, which sways as she fights. Kiku, whose breathing is even under her silk kimono, its long sleeves tied back by a tasuki sash. She has shown Zoro her white hannya mask, and her samurai armor, too, and it is bright and colorful, like everything else that she owns, and made of leather and lacquered metal. Altogether, she is Kikunojo of the Lingering Snow, no more and no less.
Kiku looks at him with sharp eyes, a smile on her blood red lips. “Very impressive, Zorojuro–san.”
Zoro and Kiku are circling each other like the cycle of seasons, summer following winter, winter following summer. The sleeves of his white, purple, and green yukata hang loosely from his waist and flap as he walks. His three gold earrings swing back and forth in tandem. He has no idea where his green haori is.
“You too, woman,” Zoro says in response. A tea house waitress from Okobore Town, his ass.
Momo, who has been sitting atop a rocky ledge and watching them quietly, lets out an indignant squawk then. He waves his bamboo practice sword in the air. “That woman is one of my father’s Akazaya Nine, Zorojuro! Show her some respect!”
Kiku’s smile grows bigger. She is still looking at Zoro, katana held aloft, when she says, “Such crude language does not suit a warrior of his skill, does it, my lord? Allow me to educate him on what is proper.”
Zoro grins at her. He adjusts his grip on Wado Ichimonji and shifts his stance. “I thought you were teaching Momo the way of the sword.”
It was just him and Momo training in the grove at first. When Zoro proved to be a rather unwilling and uncooperative teacher, focused more on getting stronger than helping Momo do the same, the young master all but begged Kiku for guidance. She agreed, and Zoro suggested that they spar to demonstrate certain techniques.
“So did I,” Kiku says, voice lighter than air. “Now I realize that Momonosuke–sama would benefit most from someone taming your tongue.”
“And you think you can do that?” Zoro asks, still grinning, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”
Kiku’s laughter rings out like silver bells, high and clear. Zoro has never heard anything more beautiful. “If you insist, Zorojuro–san.”
She charges at him. They clash again, polished steel on polished steel. Kiku moves with the grace of a trained dancer and the force of a hailstorm. Zoro parries her attacks, each one heavier than the last. He lunges forward when he sees an opening.
Kiku blocks his first strike, then his second strike. She sidesteps him and dodges his third strike. Zoro whirls around to face her again, and Kiku takes the opportunity to hit him with the blunt edge of her blade.
Zoro stumbles backward. Kiku darts out of his peripheral vision. He tries to recover, tries to turn around, but Kiku hits him again, this time on the back of his thighs, and Zoro falls. Wado Ichimonji slips out of his hands.
He reaches for Wado Ichimonji the second he touches the ground, but it is too late. The pointed end of Kiku’s katana greets Zoro when he looks up again.
Kiku gazes down at him, a serious expression on her face. Zoro stares back at her. For a few heartbeats, neither of them move. Then, in one fluid motion, Kiku twists her katana away from Zoro and sheathes it. She leans forward and extends a hand towards him.
Zoro takes her hand in his. Kiku helps him get up off the ground with practiced ease.
Like his hands, hers are covered in thick calluses, calluses that neither of them have ever bothered to smooth down. Like him, Kiku has spent her entire life dedicated to a single cause. Zoro noticed back in Okobore Town, when she was tending to his, frankly, minor injuries, but said nothing about it. Instead, what came out of his mouth made him sound even stupider than usual. He will rectify that today.
When he is standing again, and before Kiku can let go, Zoro raises her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. Then he looks up at her. “Once more, O–Kiku.”
Zoro is distantly aware that Momo is yelling at him again, but he can’t bring himself to pay attention, or care. Especially not when Kiku smiles at him like that.
Her voice is soft as fresh snow when she speaks. “Of course, Zorojuro–san.”
Kiku steps back and unsheathes her katana. Zoro gives Wado Ichimonji a cursory inspection, running his fingers across the length of the sword, before raising it again.
Yes, Kuina would have loved Kiku, he knows. Kikunojo of the Lingering Snow, wielder of a sharp blade and even sharper wit, whose eyes light up and cheeks flush when she is in battle. He knows because, after all, Zoro loves her too.
He, Kiku, and Momo are still in the bamboo grove just outside Amigasa Village when the sun begins its descent into evening. The wind has picked up, rustling all the leaves, and a few early fireflies are showing off their bioluminescent glow.
They will be raiding Onigashima in a few days, and on that island of beasts they will decide their fates. Zoro lost track of how many times he or Kiku have won long ago. He never started keeping it.