Phantom Blade Zephyr: One Piece

Two seconds.

Two seconds is all it takes to undo everything you've fought for. Two seconds to turn a hard-won victory into a certain death sentence. And in those two seconds, Vergo closed the distance across the ship and demolished me thoroughly.

Two seconds I had spent to celebrate my previous victory.

While Vergo checked the scanner for the sub's location, I didn't try to run. I didn't even unsheathe my sword.

What's the point anyway?

We were too far apart in strength, and any attempt would only be met with a counter far beyond my abilities. My initial panic had drained away, leaving only a cold numbness in its place. What was left to feel, anyway? When you face death, truly face it—especially for the second time—there's nothing.

Just an endless void.

After glancing at the scanner again, Vergo realized the sub had already escaped. I'd ordered the crew to leave within 20 seconds, no matter what happened. It wasn't worth the lives of my whole crew for one person. Not that they can even beat him anyway.

But the situation right now? It was just pathetic. Pathetic and unlucky. Can these two words even go together in the same sentence?

Is this really all I was worth?

Vergo was clearly angry, so angry that veins bulged beneath his Haki-covered skin. He took out his sunglasses and crushed them with his hand. With pure malice in his eyes,

"They escaped. You should feel good about that, at least. Your crew lives—for now."

BAAAM!

His fist connected with my stomach before I could even register the movement, pain exploding through me as blood burst from my mouth. It wasn't even his hardest punch. It was a warm-up, an outlet for his anger. The look in his eyes told me he had no intention of keeping me alive. I was irrelevant to him. Just another pawn, a worthless piece on the board. Just like I always have been.

Over and over, Vergo's fists slammed into my body, each blow breaking something new. I couldn't even keep count anymore. By the fifteenth punch, I barely felt the pain; it was as if my nerves had fried from the repeated agony. Blood poured from me, my vision blurring with each hit. I had become nothing more than a stress ball for Vergo to vent his rage before reporting this failed mission to 'Joker'. I was already injured because of the fight with the commander. Now, I'm not even sure I can even stand up.

I was not physically capable, nor was I mentally.

He stopped at last, lifting me by my neck so I was at eye level. I could barely see through my swollen eyes, but the disgust in his expression was unmistakable.

"No resistance, huh?" He spat, voice dripping with contempt. "Is that all you're worth? Just to save a handful of rookie pirates?"

Was he right? Was this truly all there was to me? Was this what my story had come to—just a meaningless, pitiful sacrifice?

'A brave sacrifice to save his crew.'

Is that my legacy?

I wanted to say, 'No, I'm not just a sacrifice. I'm much more than that.' But deep down, I couldn't bring myself to argue. Because deep down, I knew that I hadn't done anything more than that. All I'd managed to do today was give my crew a chance to escape. That was it.

That was it. I hadn't even been a true sacrifice; I was just an unlucky bastard who was two seconds too late.

If I'm not even a sacrifice, then what even am I?

Vergo's hateful gaze answered that unspoken question for me.

"You are nothing. You're worth nothing. You're just a loser."

Loser, huh.

I haven't been called that for a long time.

Maybe it was the concussions or the blood loss, but the word tore open a door in my mind, one I had tried to lock tight. Suddenly, painful memories bubbled up.

A family portrait came into my line of sight. They were all dressed for a black-tie event. A perfect family, a happy family. A family of three.

Three? No, that's not right?

There should be four people. Father, mother, two sons. But where was the second brother?

Where was I?

My head pounded, voices whispering all around me.

"Loser. Loser. Loser..."

Why won't they stop? I have done nothing to them. I have always tried to be a good son, a good brother. Then why? Why?

Why do my own family reject me? Why do they hate me so much? Why do they want to keep me hidden away from the public eye?

And why, even now, do I still crave for their approval?

What am I even thinking? They're not my family anymore. I have a new family now, some new friends, a new life...

Even before I could finish that thought, another punch connected to my face and broke my jaw. Pain flared up again, dragging me back to consciousness, only to throw me right back into that familiar prison.

My personal hell, where every face sneered, calling me 'loser'. A place where my own family ridiculed me. A place where I was truly and utterly alone.

A place that was worse than death.

Finally, Vergo seemed done. Maybe he pitied me, or maybe he was just tired of hitting someone who offered no resistance. Either way, he was preparing the final blow. He raised his arm, covering it in thick, dark Haki. I knew what was coming—this would be the end, the strike that will pierce my heart.

"I guess this is all that your ambition is worth."

Ambition, huh?

My vision changed again. I was in an attic room, watching a sickly, blond-haired boy swing a plastic sword. That's me, isn't it? Practicing strikes alone.

A representation of my ambition.

As if sensing my thoughts, the boy turned, locking eyes with me, his face twisting into a twisted, knowing smile.

"Are you sure I'm the symbol of your ambition?" He asked, the words laced with mockery.

A chill ran down my spine.

"Of course, you are," I replied, but my voice sounded uncertain. "You're holding a sword... you must be my ambition."

He laughed, the sound reverberating around us, growing louder and louder.

"The sword, huh?" His mocking gaze pierced me. "Stop lying to yourself, Zephyr. Is it really the sword that's your ambition? Or is it just a way for you to escape reality?"