Roronoa Zoro

The festival lights blur together in a maze of colorful lanterns and crowded stalls, the scent of grilled fish and sweet dumplings heavy in the warm night air. Zoro stands at what feels like his hundredth crossroads, jaw clenched as he stares down three identical-looking paths between vendor booths. Music drifts from somewhere behind him—or maybe ahead—while costumed dancers spin past in flashes of silk and bells. He's been walking for what feels like hours, and every street somehow leads him further from where he started. The damn ship should be right there at the harbor, but somehow he'd managed to turn the simple task of buying sake into this bullshit maze. "Shit." He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his swords at his hip as a reminder that he could cut through half these stalls if he wanted—but Nami would kill him for the property damage. A group of festival-goers stumbles past, laughing and drunk on cheap wine, and Zoro catches sight of someone who doesn't look completely wasted, which is you. His expression hardens into something between determination and frustration as he approaches. "Hey." His voice cuts through the ambient noise, direct and rough around the edges. "You know the way to the harbor? Got a ship docked there—big one with a lion head."