The training grounds were eerily quiet that morning, the air thick with tension. Every slave who entered this place knew the weight of their existence. In the cold, unfeeling world of Mariejois, survival wasn't guaranteed, and even for those who managed to stay alive, it came at the cost of their humanity.
**Boa Hancock**, **Sandersonia**, and **Marigold** stood side by side, bruised and battered, their bodies barely healed from the severe punishment they had received after their failure in the arena. The previous night's torment still echoed in their minds, but more than the physical pain, it was the overwhelming fear that consumed them. The fear of what lay ahead, of what they would become if they didn't grow stronger.
The other slaves passed them by without a second glance, all too accustomed to the sight of new, broken fighters. But **William**—tall, scarred, and brutal—watched them with cold, calculating eyes. He leaned against a cracked stone pillar, his long sandy-blonde hair falling over his face, concealing his piercing green eyes. His lean, muscular form towered over many of the other slaves, making him seem even more intimidating. To the sisters, he looked like a predator observing its prey, calculating, distant, and dangerous.
Hancock noticed his gaze, her heart quickening. She had seen him fight in the arena—brutal, savage, and terrifyingly efficient. He was a warrior molded by years of suffering, a creature of pure survival. There was a coldness in his eyes, a reminder that he, too, had once been just like them. But something about him felt different now, distant. As if he had seen things that had broken him, things that had made him into the beast they now feared.
William, seeing them struggle through their drills, felt something stir within him, something he hadn't felt in a long time—remorse. The image of Hancock shielding her sisters, trying to protect them from the horrors they faced, reminded him of a past he had tried to bury. A time when he had fought to protect someone he cared about, when he had dared to feel something other than hatred and anger.
The memory of **Robin** flooded his mind. His only friend, the girl he had failed to save during the destruction of Ohara. He had watched her leave, drifting away as the world burned behind him. She had been his only light in that hell, and when he lost her, something inside him had died. He had vowed never to care about anyone again, because caring only brought pain.
But now, seeing the sisters—so fragile, so terrified—he couldn't help but feel a strange compulsion to warn them.
Steeling himself, William pushed off the pillar and strode toward them, his footsteps heavy against the cold stone floor. Hancock saw him coming and instinctively moved in front of her sisters, her small, trembling frame standing between them and the towering figure approaching. Her arms stretched out protectively, even though she knew she stood no chance against him.
William stopped a few feet from them, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he simply stared at them, his gaze hard and calculating. Hancock's breath hitched in her throat, her heart pounding as she waited for him to speak.
Finally, William broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly. "There's no place for fear here."
Hancock blinked, unsure of how to respond. His words seemed out of place, almost as if he was offering them advice instead of a threat.
"If you three want to survive," William continued, his eyes narrowing, "you need to be strong. Fear will get you killed in this place, and weakness will make you a target."
Hancock's lips tightened, but she said nothing, her arms still outstretched to shield her sisters. Behind her, Sandersonia and Marigold huddled close, both of them too frightened to speak.
William's eyes flicked to the younger sisters, then back to Hancock. His voice grew harsher, more direct. "Stop crying. Stop feeling sorry for yourselves. If you want to live, you can't afford to lose in the arena again."
Hancock flinched at the bluntness of his words, but something about them struck a chord within her. As brutal as William sounded, there was truth in what he said. They had failed once, and they had paid the price. She knew they couldn't afford another failure.
William glanced around, making sure none of the guards were nearby, then lowered his voice. "And don't anger the old pig Callen. You're lucky you were bought by him. He's more interested in his arena games than... other things."
Hancock's eyes widened in shock, but she kept her mouth shut, her gaze never leaving William's cold, calculating face.
William stepped closer, lowering his voice even further, his tone now dripping with a quiet, deadly seriousness. "I've seen what happens to pretty slave girls here," he muttered. "And believe me, you don't want to be one of them."
For a long moment, Hancock just stared at him, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling in her mind. William's words hung in the air like a warning, heavy and filled with the weight of grim experience. He was telling her something she already knew deep down—there was no room for weakness here. They had to adapt, or they would die.
Hancock swallowed hard, trying to muster the strength to speak. "Why... why are you telling us this?" she asked, her voice small and trembling.
William's expression remained cold, but there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—in his eyes. "Because caring about others gets you killed," he said bluntly. "And if you keep acting like this, you'll only bring more pain."
Hancock felt a chill run down her spine. She didn't know why, but something about William's words cut deep. He had seen things, experienced things that had hardened him, turned him into the brutal fighter he was now. And though she feared him, she couldn't ignore the truth in his warning.
"I don't care what happens to you," William added, his tone emotionless. "But if you want to survive, you'll stop crying and start fighting."
With that, William turned and walked away, leaving Hancock and her sisters standing in stunned silence. His figure disappeared into the shadows of the courtyard, but his words lingered in the air like a haunting echo.
---
That night, as they huddled together in their cramped cell, Hancock, Sandersonia, and Marigold made a silent pact. They would stop crying. They would stop fearing. They had no choice but to become strong, just like William had warned them. They couldn't afford to lose again, and they couldn't let their fear control them any longer.
From that day forward, the three sisters threw themselves into their training with a renewed determination. No more tears. No more hesitation. If they were to survive in this nightmare, they would have to become stronger than they ever thought possible.
And William, watching them from a distance, knew he had given them the only piece of advice that could save their lives.