A/N: Hope you like the first glimpse at Milo and Cyra!

Milo, aggressively smacking the paper down onto the table he sat at, let out a quiet che of frustration. Few things got under his skin like this, but that kid...

He cut the headline a sharp glare.

'Straw Hat Luffy Terrorizes Alabasta'

Just the name ticked him off. Straw Hat Luffy. But Milo sighed, easing back in his chair, rocking back on two of the spindly legs. It wasn't worth getting upset over, at least not right now. His dad wasn't there for him to complain to, first of all, and secondly, he was waiting for someone. He'd only picked up the paper in the first place to see if they'd really printed his message. They had, thankfully, so now he only had to wait, because it wasn't like that girl to turn down one of his challenges.

Cyra eyed the wooden sign hanging above the doorway for only a moment, her gaze flickering over each letter as if to assure herself that it was indeed the correct place. How like him to set up such a meeting place- not that she really had anything against such an establishment. Without much hesitation, she pressed open the door and peered around the dimly lit bar, sharp eyes flickering over each customer before settling on a certain red-haired male.

There he was. He hadn't changed much since she'd last seen him- not that she was really all that surprised. After one more, cautious look around the bar to take careful note of all the faces present- it was annoying when such a meeting was interrupted by marines or bounty hunters- she picked her way across the room and came to a stop behind him.

"... you're subtle as ever."

He nearly choked on his beer, surprised to see her. Wiping at his mouth with the collar of his shirt, he slid the mug away, swiveling around to face her. He smiled.

"Cyra! You made it! Not that I was doubting you, you know, but sometimes you kinda leave me hanging for hours? Makes me think you don't like me sometimes!"

She didn't look any different, though they'd met a few months back, so it wasn't any surprise that nothing significant had changed. Well, nothing had appearance-wise, anyway.

"Ooh, would you looky here," he drawled, giving her a quick once-over. He whistled lowly. "Your number's gone up, Cyra."

Reflexively, she opened her mouth to answer with a simple "I don't" upon his statement, but when he continued on, she left the words unspoken. After all, it wasn't as if there was any real need for the words. Rather, she sighed, giving him a critical gaze from head-to-toe.

"I don't suppose you can boast any such growths?" she questioned simply.

Unfortunately, while she had the skill to be able to judge when an opponent was out of her league, or not worth her time, she had never spent time, or held any real interest in, expounding that skill to match Milo's.

"Aw, I'm hurt!" Milo gasped in mock betrayal, laying a hand over his heart. "I looked in the mirror just yesterday and found out my number skyrocketed! Went up a hundred points!"

His brow furrowed for a moment.

"Well, guess that's nothing compared to Dad and Uncle Hawky..."

"A hundred," she echoed, cocking a single brow. "Is there any rhyme or reason to your scoring system, or is that a number you simply decided upon once again?"

Milo only grinned and slid from his seat, dropping money for his drink onto the table. Cyra didn't seem to believe in his "scoring system," or at least, she doubted the numbers he used, though she may have believed he was an accurate judge of how much one had improved.

"You bring your sword?" he asked as he made his way to the front door, waving a hand for her to follow.

"Would I leave home without it?" she retorted, following behind him without any hesitation.

After all, she wouldn't have been there if she hadn't felt decently confident about her abilities to hold her own, and therefore felt reasonably confident about a fight.

Milo stretched his arms above his head, grinning as a satisfying crack sent delightful shivers down his spine. He considered the question.

"I would," he said at last, offering her a lazy smile over his shoulder. "It's nice once in awhile. Makes you feel all peaceful, like you're not looking for a fight."

"You'll feel rather peaceful when your laxness ends up getting you killed," she retorted simply, simply watching him stretch. She had made sure to loosen up before approaching the bar, not about to waste time with the matter later. "After all, even if you aren't looking for a fight, you can be still be recognized and attacked."

"Yeah, that's true," he agreed nonchalantly. "But I'm pretty sure I can hold my own against a few greenie marines. I've never gotten spotted by any of the higher ups, so I'm not worried all that much."

His dad had warned him not to attract attention to himself if he could help it; he usually could. It wasn't like he went around town pummeling people or looting stores. Even with his face and his bounty, if he didn't cause trouble, people tended to look the other way. It was just as bothersome for them to have the marines descend upon an island as it was for him to try and escape them.

"It's still naive," she replied, her tone continuing to be simple, even. It wasn't as if she really doubted his ability to handle himself. It would have been strange if she didn't know by this time that he was skilled.

Milo waved a flippant hand. How many times had they had this conversation before? He'd lost count after a dozen or so. Cyra didn't approve of his lax tendencies, Milo didn't approve of her... not-so-lax traits. They were very different people, and he'd accepted that from the beginning. Cyra, though, didn't seem to think he was fine as he was.

Milo led her down to the beach, knowing at this time of day there wouldn't be any stragglers trying for that perfect tan. Plus it was getting colder out on this island; they'd have the space to themselves, which was good, seeing as their bouts could get rather nasty after a while.

Spinning around, Milo linked his hands behind his head, grinning.

"Wanna make any bets, Cyra?"

As she drew even with him, leaving a decent amount of space between them, she simply cocked a brow in a questioning manner once more.

"If you're asking, that means you must have an idea already."

He chuckled. She knew him well, he couldn't deny that.

His hand dropped to rest on Arashi's hilt. "We usually have pretty boring bets, huh? Couple thousand beli at the most? Well, for this one - since it is our hundredth fight - I was thinking we'd do something special."

She waved a hand, indicating he continue. It was perhaps one of her many duller traits, but she was much more of a straight-to-the-point sort of individual.

"Without the theatrics, please."

Milo beamed.

"Loser goes out with the winner. On a date."

She narrowed her eyes.

"That implies a date either way."

Milo crossed his arms over his chest, evidently pleased with himself.

"Chicken?"

Her lips twisted into a frown, frame tensing slightly. The implication that she was chicken was not a welcome one. About as welcome as the thought of what a date planned by Milo would entail. About as welcome as a date with Milo at all.

"Not in the slightest. I'm just wondering how that gives any incentive to win," she retorted. "Either way, there is a date."

Once again feigning hurt, Milo shook his head sadly, heaving a sigh.

"If I'd known you were blind, Cyra, I wouldn't have called you out for this. I mean, how else could you explain someone wanting to turn down a date with yours truly?" He gestured to himself, his grin having returned in full-force. He'd gotten his looks from his dad, and wherever they went, he had to listen to all the women on the island whisper and giggle to each other when he passed by. Until they got a load of the missing arm. That usually shut them up quick.

Regardless, he was handsome and he knew it, though it was only with Cyra that he made a point to acknowledge the fact.

She sighed, as if dealing with him in that moment was the most troublesome thing she could think of.

"Simple, they're intelligent," she replied, then paused as she was well aware that his mind wasn't going to shift just because she disliked the current line of thought.. "... very well. The loser is forced to agree... but the winner chooses the date."

"Fair enough," he said, not trying to placate her really, as he knew she wouldn't pass up a chance to measure her skill against his even if the results were less than pleasant for her. "Winner makes all the tough decisions. Either way, I get my date, so that's all fine with me."

That said, he drew Arashi from its sheath, watching as the blade caught the light. He'd been training harder than usual, and today in particular, Arashi felt like as a feather in his grip. He didn't think he was going to lose.

Her eyes only narrowed further, eyeing him with a pursed lip expression.

"Either way you get your date..." she echoed, then shook her head.

Trying to understand what he was thinking wouldn't do her any good at the moment. Rather than dwell on it, she reached over her shoulder and drew her blade. Instantly, she shifted her stance. All of the tenseness left her frame as she forced herself to relax, the tip of her weapon pointed loosely at the ground. She considered for a moment not activating her devil fruit- as she had several times as killing her sparring partner by accident didn't sound fun- but changed her mind within seconds. Firstly, it was against her nature to go easy on someone. Secondly, she was reasonably certain she had an antidote on her... somewhere.

Reasonably certain.

There's that look in her eyes again.

If he wasn't careful, she really was going to kill him one of these days. That wouldn't be fun for either of them.

Shifting his stance, he gripped Arashi in both hands, weighing his options. He wasn't as quick or as graceful as Cyra, so he decided against making the first move. He was better on the defensive, in any case, better at finding openings in his opponents' armor. With Cyra, it wasn't always that simple, but if his method wasn't broken, why fix it?

He was waiting. Of course he was.

Within a second of that realization, she'd sprung forward, blade swinging swiftly towards his side. He said he'd improved, Cyra figured she may as well test out that theory. At the same time, that didn't mean she wouldn't be going hard from the start. Long, drawn out fights weren't her forte.

Arashi met Cyra's blade with a deafening clang, and Milo shoved his weight against it, forcing her back until she felt the need to retreat. In raw power they both knew he came out on top, and he'd use it to his advantage whenever he could.

Milo lunged, feinting to the right before he spun around, arcing Arashi at the small of Cyra's back.

Their repeated competitions had done one thing over the years- made it far easier to read one another's actions. Perhaps otherwise, it would have taken her longer than a moment to pick up on the fakeness of the first action, she wasn't certain. Either way, she was only caught for a moment.

If there was one thing she could do without question- it was dodge. As long as her lack of stamina hadn't gotten to her, her flexible, graceful nature ensured that much. Without wasting a second, she ducked, sword held loosely at her side as she struck out at Milo's knees with a foot.

Perhaps there was the chance of serious injury with that sort of action- but again, going easy wasn't in Cyra's nature. Plus, if he was to be defeated that easily she would have begun ignoring his challenges long ago.

Milo - biting back a curse - took the hit. He always took the hit. Reflexes aside, he was just slow, and that accounted for a number of his scars over the years. Now, it felt as though Cyra could have snapped the kneecap of someone less compactly built than Milo. He fell back a step, grunting, but surged forward again, undeterred. Arashi swung around, aiming to run Cyra straight through.

She sprung back, swearing under her breath as the tip of his sword just barely brushed her stomach and drew a line of blood in its wake. Catching the earth with her feet, she set her lips in a hard line and twisted to the side. Blood was not something she enjoyed seeing- not when it was her own. That was annoying. Usually it meant she had to get a new shirt.

Perhaps white wasn't the best choice for a swordsman.

Cyra's sword swept forward, swinging in an arc towards the closest part of his body she could reach. Her eyes tracked his movements as she acted, searching for a sign of what his next move would be.

Another grin spread across his face. He usually wasn't the one to draw first blood. Maybe things were actually going to his way today as he'd predicted (never mind the fact that all his previous predictions had been dead wrong).

Bending his knees slightly, Milo launched himself at (his admittedly pitiful) full speed, looking to ram his shoulder into her chest to knock her off balance.

Cyra, eyes narrowed, twisted last second. Allowing her body to take the blow, admittedly a risky idea, she positioned her blade between the two of them, looking to allow Milo to cause his own injury. She bit her lip as the choice sent her staggering back, an annoying, throbbing pain echoing from where his shoulder had hit her chest.

Unable to stop himself in time, the blade bit harshly into his flesh, and he whirled back in alarm. The gash ran along the curve of his shoulder and smarted with every minuscule movement of the muscles beneath. Blood rushed down the length of his arm.

He gritted his teeth, tearing his eyes away from the wound to stare down Cyra.

"Not bad," he commented cheekily, though his lips fell into a sullen pout in the same heartbeat. "Couldn't take it just a little easier on your best friend?"

"No."

A single, truthful word. To be fair, in her mind it wouldn't have been fair to go easy on him. He was a worthy opponent, therefore worthy of her actually putting effort into the fight. If she went easy on him, it was as much as saying- to her- that he wasn't worth her time.

Not that she actually felt the need to tell him any of that. Rather, she shifted into her natural, ready stance once more, giving him a studious look before lunging forward, sword swinging. She wasn't about to back down just because he'd gotten injured. She'd only back down when there was a winner.

He'd expected as much. Cyra, to him, was nothing if not predictable.

Well, predictable in everything outside of a fight.

Milo reared back, switching Arashi from his right hand to his left as he raised it to block the incoming blow. The blood had reached his hand and the last thing he wanted was for Arashi to go flying from his grip. Throwing off Cyra's sword, he stepped in, tearing Arashi upwards in an attempt to rush under her guard, or at least push her backwards on unsteady feet.

The action, despite her best wishes, sent her staggering backwards as she misstepped in her attempt to avoid the blow.

An opening.

Milo followed up instantly, tossing Arashi back to his dominant hand despite the risk and slashing downwards while he continued pushing her back.

A hiss of pain escaped her lips as the blade tore through flesh and the bottom of her shirt, leaving a much worse wound than the simply scratch earlier in the match. Blood flooded to the surface, soaking her stomach as she twisted out of the way and sprung backwards, putting distance between them. Eyes narrowed, she shifted her grip on her sword, watching him carefully as she gripped the torn fabric of her shirt and tied the ends over her bleeding wound. She doubted he wouldn't allow for that much, but she wasn't willing to risk being attacked because she'd pulled her eyes from the fight.

That was troublesome. Highly troublesome. More blood than she wished.

Milo rubbed his bloodied hand against his shorts. The less slick his skin the better. How humiliating would that be, to lose because Arashi slipped from his hand and splashed down in the ocean? In any case, he considered for a moment if he should follow Cyra's lead and tie off some cloth around his wound, but he doubted it would do much good. He didn't have the time to clean the gash or properly tie the makeshift bandage, so the blood loss would amount to about the same in his opinion. So he left it as is.

"Need a break?" he called teasingly, his lips forming a boyish grin.

She scowled.

"Hardly."

Which, of course, wasn't quite the truth. She was well aware that wound had put a time clock on their fight. Her stamina wasn't the best to begin with, blood loss would only make that worse. A break would have given her the chance to fix that- but she wasn't the sort to give in. Rather, she was the opposite.

That going through her mind, she lunged once more. This time, she caught her foot against the earth last second in a faint, using the motion to allow her to twist to the side and aim a blow at his back. As she moved, she gritted her teeth to keep from allowing any annoying noises to escape her lips, each action making her accutely aware of the burning wound on her stomach.

Instincts forced him to duck, rolling backwards and out of Cyra's range. Dodging could come in handy occasionally, he supposed, and that at least saved him from clocking out early from the fight. But the motion set his shoulder on fire, and as he came to feet again, he let out a pained hiss.

Whatever Cyra said - to herself, or to him - they weren't going full out on each other. Someone would have already died if that were the case. But that didn't change the fact that they were fairly evenly matched as they were, and their individual skills were nightmares to other opponents. He was lucky it was only the one wound he had to deal with.

He needed to think of something - fast.

Cyra paused when he moved out of range, taking that single second to draw in a deep breath. She could already feel it- the exhaustion the fight was going to leave behind. There had to be a way to finish this quick. She knew him well- it'd be strange if she didn't. Where could she land a blow and catch him off guard? A way to end the fight...

She'd think of something. Until, standing still was only going to make it worse given the blood coating her stomach. That in mind, she lunged forward only seconds after she'd paused, swinging her sword with the intention of hitting him before he'd fully regained his footing following that roll.

There had to be something.

He couldn't move. His balance was still off, if he tried to dive away, the sand would no doubt steal away his sure  footing and leave him sprawled out on the ground, easy pickings for Cyra. That left him with few options.

Dad's not gonna be happy with this...

Striking out with Arashi a heartbeat after Cyra lunged, Milo simultaneously moved to grab her blade with his free hand. Either his hand was going to be sliced in half, or he'd stop her from skewering his gut.

He wasn't sure which was more preferable.

In that single second, one thought crossed Cyra's mind.

That idiot.

She didn't have time for the thought to be processed and rejected as it should have been. Rather, the movement was instinctual, instantaneous. Last moment, she tried to stop her blow, to keep from slicing through his hand as she suddenly knew her blade was going to do. Her foot hit the earth hard as she twisted her body, throwing her entire figure off balance.

Before she even knew what was going on, she was sprawled on the ground staring at Milo, the tip of her blade in his hand, with what could have almost been a baffled expression.

She... fell down? In the middle of a fight.

Heat rushed to her cheeks the moment the action clicked in her head.

It had all happened so fast, he really wasn't sure what the hell had happened. But the tip of Cyra's sword cut a shallow wound into his palm and Cyra was on the ground, baffled and blushing.

He blinked, but moved to hover the point of Arashi's blade over her throat, a triumphant smile pulling at his lips.

"Time to date me, loser," Milo chuckled.

Never in her life had Cyra managed to do something so... ungraceful and embarrassing all in one. Or, if she had, she couldn't recall. Quickly pulling her expression under control (the baffled being replaced with a simple frown) she studied Milo silently.

Eventually, however, she simply sighed.

"You're an idiot."

"A cute idiot," he amended, tucking Arashi away and bending down slightly to off her his hand. He knew better than to ask if she was alright, or anything really about her wellbeing; her being so independent, she didn't take kindly to what she considered to be people doubting her capabilities. She was exhausted, though; she had to be, to slip up like that.

He'd make sure she rested before he sent her off in that knickknack storage container she called a ship.

Cyra's lips only stayed twisted downwards for a moment as she looked at his hand, as if debating actually accepting the offer despite an awareness that it was most likely a smart matter. Eventually, she did, using his hand to haul herself to her feet. The second she was up, she stowed her blade, her mind running over the fact that somehow, she'd just ended up with a date.

With Milo.

"If that's what you tell yourself."

He laughed, though he almost instantly cut himself off in a hiss, his mind finally grasping that yes, he was still in a tremendous amount of pain. He clamped a hand over the wound, wincing slightly, as he dug around in his pocket for the small knife he kept in there for just such a purpose. With it, he neatly sliced off the sleeves of his shirt, then clumsily used them as temporary bandages.

They'd hold for now, but when he returned to Red Force he'd have the ship's doctor stitch him up properly.

He barely concealed a frown; he'd really liked this shirt.

Watching Milo use his shirt as bandages, Cyra was reminded of her own. Her gaze dropped to the crimson stained, previously pure-white top. Furrowing her brow, she brushed her fingers over the wound she would need to do something about soon- namely return to her ship and find the first-aid kit she had stored.

"... you ruined another one of my shirts."

"I'll buy you a new one," he promised chipperly, turning enough to wink at her. "On our date."

Reminded of the question that had flashed through her mind before the match, she narrowed her eyes in response.

"Why?" she questioned, not bothering to expound. In her mind, it was obvious she was questioning the reason behind the bet, even if to most it was simply a single, worded question.

Milo scratched at his cheek, confused.

"Why would I buy you a new shirt....? I mean, like you said, it's my fault this one's ruined, so..."

She sighed.

"Why a date?"

"Oh."

The befuddled expression cleared from his brow, his radiant smile breaking out again.

"Thought that was obvious enough. I have been chasing you all these years, Cyra. As for the date... It's because I like you."

For a split second, and the second time that day, her expression was baffled. Within a moment it'd been straightened out and she'd crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the bloody state of her shirt.

"Why?"

"Why?"

She sounded like a broken record. Did he actually scramble her brains or something?

"I just... like you," he said helplessly. "You're downright gorgeous, you're talented, you're just... amazing, Cyra. Don't you believe me?"

She pursed her lips.

"Of course I do," she answered simply. "I'm aware I am all of that. It's the liking part that is confounding."

Milo scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair, glancing upwards at the pale blue sky. Somehow, he'd pictured this moment differently. Sure, he hadn't expected her to like him back straight off the bat - she'd given no indication for as long as they'd known one another that she was interested in him. But questioning how he could like her in the first place... That was strange to him.

"It's more like... how could I not like you?"

She tapped the fingers of one hand against the top of her arm, never budging her arms from her chest as she studied him critically. After a moment, she relaxed.

"I see."

It wasn't as if his mind was one that she'd ever been able to decipher in the first place, or change for that matter. It wouldn't do her any good to question the matter, that much she was reasonably certain. Instead, the practical person she was, she moved onto "more important" matters.

"When are you planning to have the date?"

After all, it would be strange to attend such an event in the after-effects of blood-loss, so it was reasonably to assume that even if she changed her shirt, it wouldn't be right away.

Tempted as he was sigh in relief, he scrapped the thought and offered another of his famous smiles again. She'd accepted it, that was more than enough for now.

"Month from now?" he suggested, tugging absently on the tail of his sleeve, rubbing the blood-soaked fabric between his fingers. "Give us a both a chance to heal up and recharge. Plus, Dad's best parties are always at the end of the month!"

"... the date is one of your father's parties?" she questioned.

"'Course it is!" Milo chirped, settling his hands on his hips. "Dad's parties are the best, and you've never been to one, 'sides that one time Uncle Hawky showed up and made Dad duel him on deck."

"That was an enjoyable fight," she mused, then focused her thoughts on the matter at hand. "... well, I did agree to whatever date you chose. I suppose that'll do"

"Great! I'll send you our coordinates a week before, 'kay?" Milo grinned, entirely too excited for their date. He'd been waiting for a chance like for the last five years. "Till then, guess this is goodbye?"

He knew she'd want to be gone as quickly as possible; she was a bit paranoid about marines suddenly showing up and causing a commotion.

Cyra simply nodded.

"Alright, and it is. I will see you then."

That said, her shifting lower as if to cover the bloody state of her shirt, Cyra turned on a heel and started away. She wasn't one for long goodbyes and she certainly wasn't one to stand there when her mind had already flickered to the question of whether or not she had any painkiller in the multitude of things shoved in her ship, as the idea of stitching the wound without it wasn't pleasant.

He watched her go, unable to staunch his rather manic-looking smile. Happiness flooded through him just at the thought of what he might be able to accomplish a month from now. She may not have liked him yet, but he'd changed that. Or he'd try to, anyway. Whatever happened, though, he wouldn't give her up without a fight.