Archive of Our Own ^beta

The moon was still radiant in the sky when Sanji got up, stretching and rubbing his eyes. Still half-asleep, he sat down on the mat he always kept open at the foot of his bed, ready to go through his essential morning stretches.

Half an hour later he was already freshly showered and cleaned up, ready to start another day, so, humming softly, he made his way down a path he could walk with both eyes and ears covered. By the time he reached the vast, modern kitchen of the Baratie, the darkness outside had already begun to shift into a deep purple—one that would soon lighten into a blue almost as beautiful as the All Blue below it. However, he still had at least an hour before that happened.

An hour of absolute solitude in the kitchen of his highly sought-after restaurant.

An hour to prepare everything he would eat throughout the day—the only things he had been able to eat on this very day for the past five years.

Since he had the whole space to himself, Sanji began by taking out all the ingredients he needed from the fridge and cabinets, along with every utensil required for the dishes. He arranged everything in the most efficient way possible and, because he already knew each recipe by heart, it didn’t take long for instinct to take over through fluid and precise movements as he hummed a familiar tune under his breath—a melody that made it easier for his mind to drift.

And just like in the past five years, his mind drifted like the lightest spring breeze, far from that kitchen, far from the Baratie, escaping the All Blue itself, carried toward the place his aching heart longed to return to.

Sanji had never had much control over his own mind, which for decades had behaved as his worst enemy—overwhelming him with insecurities and uncertainties, crushing him with the devastating belief that he didn’t even deserve the air he breathed, whispering in the deepest parts of his being with the same constancy as the moon provoked the waves that stirred the sea how useless, weak, replaceable, and disposable he was. For decades, Sanji had lived haunted by the idea of being alone with his own thoughts because the battle inside him was more exhausting, devastating, and bloody than any fight his legs were of use.

Now, however, the monster that had been nurtured and fed inside him by the very man who brought him into this world had been largely tamed; milder and with a weaker voice, it spent most of its time cowering in the shadows.

Enough time for Sanji’s first instinct to no longer be fleeing from his own mind.

So, on that special day, when every dish prepared with such care and affection pulled him far, far away from his own body, Sanji embraced it wholeheartedly. And more than that:

Sanji inhaled each memory as if it were the purest, most addictive nicotine, holding it inside him for as long as he could and beyond, because whenever he exhaled, he was struck by the bittersweet weight of melancholy.

To start, he took the greenish-brown mozuku seaweed and sliced it into the thinnest, perfectly symmetrical strips, thanks to decades of knife practice. He did the same with cucumbers before letting both marinate in rice vinegar, setting the semi-prepared salad aside to season and cut all the different red meats and fish he would eat throughout the day.

And since he liked to let the meat marinate in seasoning for as long as possible —and since he already had a variety of bread doughs prepared the night before, left to rest just enough for the next day— Sanji decided to take a short break before moving on to the desserts, the rice, and the rest of the ingredients, grabbing the transparent glass pot holding the viscous seaweed salad. He wasn’t going to eat all of it at once, just savor a few bites to make sure it was—

—to your liking?”, Sanji asked as if it were nothing while lighting the cigarette he had placed between his lips. He then rested his arms on the ship’s railing, gazing at the vast horizon and the sea so calm it made the Thousand Sunny seem motionless, parked under the blazing two o’clock sun, completely exposed beneath a cloudless sky.

The girls had decided it was, in fact, a good day to sunbathe, and so, to Sanji’s immense delight, they were stretched out on their lounge chairs in the garden, wearing only their best bikinis. On the other side, Luffy, Chopper, Usopp, Franky, and Brook were enjoying the modest artificial pool Franky had built for days like this—when Luffy would whine incessantly about how much he wanted to swim until he drove everyone insane. It wasn’t exactly the sea, as their captain would have preferred, but judging by his loud laughter and the screams he elicited from Chopper and Usopp with his rather rough play, he was having fun.

Hearing all the noise coming from the pool, feeling the sun scorching the exposed skin of his shoulders and arms, and watching the vast, almost transparent sea, so crystal clear, stirred in Sanji a growing desire to swim.

“Mozuku is my favorite food for a good reason, as it pleases my palate the most, but after tasting the one you prepared for me, Sanji-san, I fear any other will seem raw and bland in comparison”, Jinbe replied, his large blue arms also resting against the railing beside Sanji, who tore his gaze from the sea to glance at him from the corner of his eye, taking a long drag from his cigarette to mask the smile threatening to form on his lips and, hopefully, to distract himself from the bubbles of pure satisfaction and pride rising from his stomach to expand in his chest. There was nothing better than hearing or seeing someone truly enjoy his food, but having confirmation that he had surpassed the expectations of his newest nakama’s palate and stomach might very well be an even greater level of contentment.

“I’m glad it was to your liking”, he said, trying not to sound affected, but his eyes widened when Jinbe laughed heartily.

“Every meal you prepare goes far beyond just to my liking, Sanji-san. In fact, anyone who tastes your food is struck with the delicious certainty that not only are you probably the best cook in the world, just as Luffy-kun keeps shouting from the rooftops, but also that no one else could be more worthy of being the chef for the future King of the Pirates. And believe me when I say this—I am not a man of empty flattery.” Jinbe had turned his body toward Sanji as he spoke, one arm resting at his side in a posture as relaxed as the genuine smile adorning his serene face, his wise eyes shining with warmth.

There was no way Sanji could doubt the sincerity of his words, just as there was no way he could control the heat that expanded in his chest, rising up to his face and materializing into a wide grin—the kind that reached his open eyes. He had been feeling more and more comfortable showing that smile to all his nakama, beyond just Luffy, ever since they had successfully escaped Whole Cake Island.

And perhaps, just as gratifying as satisfying someone’s palate, was having the confirmation from others, beyond Luffy, that he truly deserved to be by his side.

Jinbe let out one of his gentle laughs, the kind that made his eyes squeeze shut and exposed more of his lower tusks without making him seem threatening, and once again, Sanji understood why all those fish-men from the Sun Pirates had been so determined to risk their lives to help Jinbe escape Big Mom’s wrath and join another crew.

And a crew that, on top of that, was almost entirely human.

Sanji, more than most, understood how some people were worth sacrificing for. In his case, Luffy and the girls were his top priority, followed side by side by the rest of the crew —even if he would never admit it out loud—, and Jinbe had earned his place in that ranking with flying colors.

Sanji was happy about that.

With a contentment in his chest as warm as the sun on his skin, Sanji turned his attention back to the calm sea, exhaling a stream of smoke from his cigarette in sync with a light breeze that ruffled his hair.

“You know, Sanji-san, I heard that back then, you fought one of Arlong’s men underwater and won”, Jinbe commented, breaking the few minutes of silence between them. His tone carried a certain admiration rather than accusation or judgment, so Sanji didn’t hesitate to nod, responding in the same calm voice without taking his eyes off the horizon.

“Yeah, but it was a close call. Maybe he would have killed me if Luffy’s life and Miss Nami’s freedom hadn’t been on the line.” He was honest, recalling —almost vaguely— the way his lungs had begged for oxygen while his body was pummeled with blow after blow.

Looking back on it now, with everything he had learned since, Sanji couldn’t help but wonder if maybe his mutant genes had played even the smallest role in that impossible victory, just as they had in the ones that followed.

Maybe that was a more plausible—though far more detestable—explanation for how he had become one of the strongest in such an incredible crew.

“Do not downplay or minimize your well-earned victory, Sanji-san,” Jinbe’s words carried a firmer tone, pulling Sanji out of his thoughts and making him look at the fish-man with raised eyebrows. “It was indeed an impressive feat to defeat a fish-man underwater while trying to save another human’s life, but with everything I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing from you, I have no doubt that it was a more than deserved victory.” Jinbe paused, leaving Sanji at a loss for words. He masked his growing unease with shallow, quicker drags from his cigarette. Luckily, the helmsman spoke again, seemingly changing the subject before Sanji had to make the effort to do so himself —or come up with an excuse to retreat to the solitude and comfort of his kitchen. “Besides, I’ve also heard that you’re probably the best swimmer in the crew after me.”

This time, Jinbe cast him an expectant glance, and Sanji really wanted to know who had so much free time to be gossiping this much to the new crew member.

Shrugging, Sanji muttered simply:

“Maybe, but knowing how to swim is crucial when you’re part of a crew full of Devil Fruit users.”

Jinbe made a soft sound of agreement in his throat, his eyes scanning the rest of the crew around them before settling once more on the open horizon.

“What I mean to say, Sanji-san, is that if you’d like, I can teach you a few underwater combat techniques, how to execute certain attacks, kicks in your case, in a way that allows you to take advantage of the currents and pressure beneath the water. That way, if you ever find yourself in a similar situation against an enemy, you’ll know how to turn the sea into an ally, using what was once a disadvantage in your favor”, offered in a calm voice, his face still turned forward rather than toward the cook, as if to avoid making him feel pressured into accepting the offer.

Sanji, in turn, was staring at the helmsman with slightly widened eyes, his cigarette hanging loosely, almost slipping from his lips.

Jinbe was known as the Knight of the Sea for a reason that went beyond his status as a fishman and included how incredibly strong he was, so much so he hadn’t carried the title of Shichibukai for years without reason, and if there was one place where he was truly formidable, it was underwater.

So if there was anyone Sanji could actually learn how to fight in the sea from, it was Jinbe.

He just could barely believe that the offer had been made to him instead of that moss-headed bastard.

Sanji wasn’t foolish to pass up the opportunity to rub this in his face later.

Besides, everyone had just finished lunch, they were satisfied, and all the ice cream and refreshments Sanji had prepared would last them through the entire afternoon, sitting in the modest mini-fridge that Franky had built for him at his request.

And, in truth, both the weather and the sea were perfect for a swim.

“I’ve got about four hours before I need to start preparing dinner, Chief Jinbe. Think you can teach me something worthwhile by then?”, he asked, his tone carrying a slight challenge —though much lighter than the one he usually used with Zoro— as he shrugged off his floral shirt.

Jinbe let out a deep but brief laugh, with a hand on his stomach.

“Who knows, you might learn everything in that short time, Sanji-san”, he said, opening his own robe to remove it, revealing the full tattoo in the shape of—

—sun began to illuminate the morning, painting the purple sky with bold strokes of orange, signaling to Sanji that his time alone in the kitchen had come to an end—even without needing to check the clock.

And because only the best of the best worked at Baratie, soon all those responsible for preparing breakfast and brunch started arriving one by one, each greeting the head chef with no hint of surprise at finding him there. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for Sanji to spend entire nights awake in the kitchen.

“Sanji-sama! Don’t tell me you stayed up all night again?” Sanji flinched at the voice so close to him and at the small, delicate hand resting on his shoulder. He had just finished storing all the food he had successfully prepared for himself inside the large refrigerated basket he always used for the occasion —because that kitchen belonged to the restaurant, not to him, and if one of his dishes ended up in a customer’s hands, the blame would be solely his— so he blamed his focus for not noticing the approach of the head baker, not even with his Haki.

“No, Pudding-chan, darling, I only woke up an hour ago, I promise,” he replied, flashing one of his most charming smiles and successfully hiding just how much, despite indeed having gotten out of bed only an hour ago, he had spent nearly the entire night tossing and turning like a rotisserie chicken between the sheets. His restless mind had pulled him in and out of sleep without respite, a poetic reflection of the turmoil in his chest.

Pudding —who now had features far more mature and beautiful than when Sanji had first met her, her caramel-colored hair shorter, with no trace of bangs, proudly exposing her enchanting third eye— stared at him intently with all three eyes, almost as if she could read in his expression everything he wasn’t saying. And perhaps she really could. But to Sanji’s relief, she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she simply asked with genuine curiosity and a sweet smile:

“So, did you manage to finish all the dishes?”

Sanji’s smile turned more genuine as he lifted one of the basket’s lids, proudly showing off his beautiful work—literally mouthwatering if Pudding’s hungry expression was anything to go by.

“It gets easier to make everything each year.” Easier in the “physical preparation sense”, of gathering all the ingredients to bring the final result to life. In every other sense, however, it wasn’t getting any easier. Quite the opposite.

It felt like the memories were growing more and more blurred, less vivid and clear, and that only tightened, more and more, with the strength of a giant’s iron fist engulfed in flames, the deep hole carved into his chest six years ago.

Maybe Pudding noticed that too, but as always —perhaps because she understood it intimately herself, not having seen most of her family members in years, not even the ones still alive— she chose not to comment.

“That strong smell of curry is making my stomach growl, Sanji-sama, it smells amazing! And that’s saying something, since I prefer sweet things,” she remarked, clasping her hands together and licking her lips in an adorable way that made hearts pop in Sanji’s eyes, the real one in his chest hammering at the compliment.

“Thank you, Pudding-chan! Do you want a taste? You can try anything you’d like! Do you want a bit of each? Would you like me to make a basket for yourself? I can start right away!”

Pudding chuckled softly, covering her mouth with a hand.

“No, Sanji-sama, thank you. I already have my slice of a cake and pancakes for breakfast that I need to eat before starting the day,” she politely declined, her eyes closing with her gentle smile, making Sanji calm down with a small smile of his own. “But I have no doubt everything is as delicious as always.”

Sanji nodded, lifting his chin slightly in pride because, if there was one thing he had no doubts about, it was his skills as a cook.

“Well, then I won’t hold you up any longer. Go enjoy your breakfast so you can start the day well-fed and full of energy, as you must!”

Pudding nodded in agreement but hesitated instead of leaving, biting her lip lightly, her third eye fixed on Sanji even as the other two strayed toward the basket.

“Everything alright, Pudding-chan?”

“Yes, everything’s fine! But it’s not about me…” She pressed her lips together as if weighing her words, then all three of her eyes focused on Sanji, almost melancholic. “Are you okay? Since today is… today.”

Sanji unconsciously glanced at the basket, unable to hold his head baker’s gaze, because there was no reason for her —or anyone else— to worry about him that day. There wasn’t.

A quick glance around confirmed that his morning shift staff were having or finishing their own breakfasts, going about their routines without paying much attention to the exchange between the chefs, which meant Sanji must have looked perfectly normal.

“There’s no need to worry about me, my dear and sweet Pudding. I’m honored by your concern, but I’m fine. Today is just another day like any other,” he assured, forcing his most dazzling smile, though Pudding’s weak return smile made it clear she wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Alright… but if that changes throughout the day, don’t hesitate to come find me—even if it’s just for a friendly shoulder to cry on, okay, Sanji-sama? Please,” she said, placing her hands over the one he had resting on the basket’s lid.

Sanji’s chest tightened at her kindness, at the mere thought that he might need a shoulder to cry on. That wouldn’t happen—not this time, it had been six years already, it would be foolish. So he shook his head, dispelling any lingering thoughts, and turned his hand to softly squeeze hers as much as he could.

“I don’t have words to express my gratitude, Pudding-chan, but I promise I’ll be fine.”

His smile must have seemed more genuine this time, because Pudding nodded, squeezing his hand back briefly before pulling hers away and crossing them in front of her own body.

“If you say so… then enjoy that curry for me, okay?” she requested before turning toward the adjacent kitchen —a few squares smaller than the main one but fully equipped with everything a first-class bakery needed.

Sanji watched her leave, that tightness in his chest creeping up to his throat and prickling the back of his eyes, which was ridiculous—to be affected just by watching someone walk away from him. An useless emotion that served him no good and that he needed to rid himself of. So he reopened the basket to grab one of its itens and, with Pudding’s last words in mind, took a generous bite of one of his—

—curry-filled rice balls were as magnificent as ever, Sanji-san! In fact, it feels like your food always tastes better than the last time I had it! It’s almost magical—I could even write a song about it! Yo-hohoho!” Brook praised as he helped the cook carry all the used utensils from the table to the sink, where Sanji was already organizing everything to start washing up.

A wide smile spread across Sanji’s lips, not just because of the compliment —something that meant ten times more when it came from one of his nakama, and even more so when it was about their favorite food— but also because Brook seemed to be genuinely smiling with his entire face, almost like a child who had just won a lollipop. Which was a strange thing to grasp, considering he didn’t even have a face.

Yo-hohoho! A voice eerily similar to Brook’s sang inside his head, making Sanji let out a brief snort as his chest tightened and then relaxed in a peculiar mix of gratitude and the lingering ache of an almost-loss.

“I’m sure I’d love a song of yours about food, Brook, and I believe it would fit more than well in all the feasts the captain always demands,” he said sincerely, taking the last pots from the musician’s skeletal hands and arranging them with the rest.

“Yo-hohoho! Then I’ll start thinking about how to go about it, and I promise you’ll be the first to hear it when it’s done!” Sanji simply gave his crewmate a smile to show his agreement and was rolling up his sleeves to start washing the dishes when a skeletal hand gently grasped one of his wrists. He raised his visible eyebrow at Brook, who now seemed to be looking at him with utter seriousness—those eyes, despite being nothing but two empty sockets, were somehow still expressive and vivid, and at that moment, deeply intense. “Let me handle the dishes, Sanji-san. Go rest, you need it.”

“Thanks, Brook, but it’s fine; I’ll finish washing up real quick, and then I’ll go, and you also ne—”

“I got plenty of rest while you prepared that delicious lunch for us, Sanji-san, and I wasn’t the one who got shot protecting the captain.”

Sanji shook his head, offering a nervous smile and silently praying that his racing heart and churning stomach weren’t too obvious on his face.

“I didn’t do anything but my duty as a cook, and for Luffy… well, I haven’t even begun to repay the debt I owe him—and all of you, really. Besides, Chopper did a wonderful job as always. I’m good as new, so I can wash a few dishes.”

“You can—but you shouldn’t, Sanji-san. Just like you shouldn’t believe you owe any of us a single thing. Because you don’t.”

“Of course I do, you all ri—”

“We did far less than what you would’ve done for any of us because, in a way, what you did was to save us as well, wasn’t it?,” Brook said softly, his eyes never leaving the cook, who was starting to shrink inward, skin crawling with the need to escape his own body and leave it behind. Sanji swallowed hard, lowering his head so his hair almost completely veiled his face, jaw tight, lips pressed thinner and thinner as Brook went on, igniting a slow burn in his eyes and a storm in his chest. “You’re one of the kindest people I’ve met in my long life, Sanji-san—strong and kind. I knew that even before I joined the crew, and it’s an honor to have you as my nakama. That’s why I want you to know: to me, it wasn’t a risk at all to come save you. And I’d be honored to wash these dishes as a thank you for feeding us with such love and care.”

Sanji clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sudden sob and hated the warmth of tears dripping onto it—it was a miracle he even had any left after the last few days.

“You shouldn’t have to do anything else for me. Any of you. You could’ve gotten hurt because of me—or worse,” he said, voice thick and muffled, his whole body trembling with the memory of how close Big Mom and her children had come to killing his friends. Another sob slipped out as he remembered how they had succeeded. “Pedro…” Sanji covered his entire face with one hand, clenching his jaw tighter as the sobs threatened to break free.

He hadn’t talked about it with anyone except Carrot, braced for the justifiable anger and resentment of the Mink. But instead, he found no blame in her eyes—only grief, and the need for emotional comfort. So he offered what he could.

Sanji flinched slightly but didn’t move otherwise when Brook’s skeletal hands came to rest gently but firmly on his shoulders.

“Pedro-san chose to come with us, just like Carrot-chan, because he was a direct target of your kindness and wanted to repay it. He knew, almost as well as we do, just how much you deserved this, Sanji-san. But that wasn’t the only reason. He had unfinished business in Tottoland—his own debt and he came ready to die for it. Honestly, I think that’s what he wanted. And his sacrifice wasn’t in vain. It helped save all of us. We have the Poneglyph writings now. I’m sure he’s at peace, and he wouldn’t want you blaming yourself like this.”

It was in moments like this that Sanji was struck with the reminder that Brook wasn’t just a peculiar living skeleton obsessed with puns and panties. He was also a man over ninety years old, keenly observant and deeply considerate, likely carrying a wealth of wisdom almost as vast as his genuine wonder for almost everything that happened around him.

And if Sanji hadn’t been able to convince Brook he was just a fool back in Thriller Bark, how could he convince him now? Still… if Pedro had truly had a greater goal which he had fulfilled, then maybe Sanji could allow a bit of that weight and guilt to slip from his shoulders.

It would still take time before he could even begin to forgive himself, but he hadn’t left Tottoland without learning his lesson: that he wasn’t alone, didn’t have to do everything alone and could rely on his nakama —for anything. Whether it was to pull him from the wreckage of his past and his problematic family, or simply help wash a simple dish so he could indeed get a little rest.

“We don’t really know how the situation at Wano will be like, right? So I guess it’s important I’m well-rested, in case we have to fight,” he said with a sigh, finding an explanation to accept the help that made it easier than just admitting he actually deserved it. Baby steps.

“Yeah, that too,” Brook agreed, stepping aside just enough to let Sanji leave the sink after briefly washing his hand. He dried it on a cloth and then draped it over the musician’s shoulder with a faint, crooked smile as he spoke. “If there’s trouble when we get there, it’s crucial that you and the captain are especially well-rested.”

“Right. So I’ll go do that… rest,” the word felt strange on his tongue since it wasn’t something he often did, let alone admitted he needed—yet he walked toward the kitchen door as Brook let out one of his signature laughs, rolling up his sleeves.

Sanji shook his head, hand already reaching into his pocket for his pack and lighter. He was going to rest, yes. But first, he needed a smoke while watching the—

—sea of the All Blue was the widest and most crystalline Sanji had ever seen in his entire life, and far more dazzling than he’d ever dared to imagine in his dreams or fantasies. It was everything he had ever wanted, and then some.

From where he was now—sitting on the rooftop of his room at the Baratie, with only his wooden basket for company, a lit cigarette between his lips, and his hands absently flipping, clicking, lighting, snuffing, and spinning his golden lighter—Sanji had a view of nearly the entire stretch of the vast All Blue, which stretched for miles and miles without a single patch of land to break the pattern of calm waters, and from the angle where the sun was now slowly rising on the horizon, it was as easy as taking a deep breath of fresh, clean air to see all the schools of fish darting back and forth. They swam through the most vibrant and varied reefs, from creatures as small as krill to giants as massive as Sea Kings—all together in a chaos that defied every known law of marine biology.

To some, the disorder was terrifying—the lack of logic, the unpredictability; staying for long periods in such waters was surely a challenge to one’s sanity and to every scientific law ever written.

No wonder the Baratie was the only unnatural construction around, the only thing disrupting the perfect expanse of uninterrupted, crystal-clear All Blue waters. All other vessels simply came and went like fleeting guests, usually intending to just cross the ocean that, for centuries, had only existed as a fairytale dreamt of by the boldest chefs, or —more often— to dock at the Baratie for a few hours and enjoy the richest, most varied, and most desired menu in the world. A menu that kept growing—almost daily, if it were up to Sanji and his boundless creativity.

Right then, the restaurant was serving its signature brunch, fresh off a simpler breakfast, and even though it wasn’t one of their peak hours like lunch or dinner, ships of all shapes and sizes surrounded the Baratie, fighting for space, hoping there were still tables left— the fools who hadn’t had the foresight to book in advance. And even though this Baratie was seven times the size of the original, it still wasn’t enough—not with the global reputation it had built in just half a decade.

Any other day of the year, Sanji would be in the kitchen by that hour. In fact, it was rare for the great Blackleg Sanji—Former Third Prince of Germa, Ladykiller Extraordinaire, Left Hand of the Straw Hats, Stealth Wing of the Pirate King, Greatest Chef in the World—not to be buried in his kitchen, meticulously crafting new and delicious dishes using ingredients he’d personally gathered from his “backyard,” or barking orders at his subordinates, kicking the men and letting his sous-chef deal with the women who made mistakes.

For 364 days of every year in the past half-decade, anyone could find Sanji within moments.

But on this one day, he could be anywhere in the All Blue, barely stepping into his kitchen or the restaurant itself since both seemed to easily suffocate him during those twenty four hours. Only those who’d been there since the Baratie first opened knew the reason why. The rest—including even the most loyal regulars—could only guess, their theories more absurd than the next, never able to pry an answer from the owner or his crew.

Sanji didn’t care about the whispers or the looks. He knew the Baratie was in good hands when he needed space, when the only thing that eased the tightness in his chest was being closer to the All Blue, when he needed to remind himself —more forcefully each year, as the relief became harder to find— of the reason behind the decision he’d made six years ago.

Sudden shouting pulled Sanji’s attention toward the Baratie’s transparent fins, that visitors used to disembark safely from their ships, and where a few people stood frozen, staring down at the sea below their feet, more specifically, at the massive Sea King with a wolf-like head swimming beneath the restaurant, blissfully unaware of the commotion it caused.

That, right there, was the greatest proof of how the Baratie could maintain a permanent home in the All Blue without suffering damage or interference from the sea’s extraordinary ecosystem:

The ship had been built with cutting-edge technology from none other than Vegapunk himself —and, even better, crafted by the hands of the world’s greatest and most eccentric shipwright.

Of course a massive floating restaurant like that had to be nothing short of super.

“Our Sea King meat stock’s running low, isn’t it?” Sanji muttered to himself, snuffing out his cigarette on the rooftop tile and letting the butt fall to the tiny balcony outside his room, planning to toss it properly later. Then he flipped open one lid of the basket and grabbed a piece of one of the dishes without even looking, shutting it again before walking to the other side of the rooftop, where he could watch the wolf-faced Sea King drifting out from beneath the ship. He’d have to wait until it swam far enough from the Baratie to not endanger it or any guests, and then he’d chase it down using Sky Walk and kill it with his kicks.

As he waited, Sanji ate half of his—

—Burger’s here, Franky, — Sanji said, setting the large plate piled with four burgers and fries beside a bottle of soda on the small table near the door to the cyborg’s workshop, the only spot not cluttered with tools and materials.

Usually, the StrawHats had their meals together in the kitchen, but whenever one of them got so caught up in something they missed a meal, Sanji always made it a point to whip up something easy to eat, low-effort but packed with nutrition, specially tailored to each of his nakama ’s needs. Franky had missed lunch almost two hours ago, and whatever the hell he was building this time was clearly demanding every bit of his attention, since he was still hunched over his desk, goggles on, some weird metallic apparatus wrapped around his head, and tools spinning in his two tiny cyborg hands, with no indication he had noticed he was not alone anymore.

Wrinkling his nose a little and slipping an unlit cigarette between his lips —didn’t seem like the best idea to light it in that cramped workshop where the crew’s shipwright messed with God-knows-what—, Sanji walked over with his hands in his pockets, casting a curious look at the thing on Franky’s head, which looked like some kind of Vegapunk-style headphones, then he glanced at whatever he was working on at the table. His brows lifted slightly once he realised it looked like some kind of fabric, but he couldn’t make out the shape even less so guess its purpose, so he shrugged and looked back at the super-focused cyborg, then raised a hand and waved exaggeratedly from a safe distance.

It took Franky only five seconds to lift his head and widen his eyes at the sight of him, immediately powering down his tools and gently setting them aside before he took off the pseudo-headphones and those weird goggles, leaving them in the corner. Then he flashed Sanji one of his giant grins.

For some reason, his vibrant blue hair was styled like it had been doused in gel and sculpted into thick spikes pointing in three totally different directions.

“Sanji-bro! Sorry, didn’t hear you come in! What can I do for ya?”

Sanji let out a quick nasal chuckle at the over-the-top, so-Franky way of talking.

“You missed lunch, so I brought you some,” he said, nodding toward the plate.

Franky whipped his head around so fast it might’ve twisted off if he were a normal human, then let out a pleased noise before turning back to the cook with an even brighter grin.

“Thanks a ton, Sanji-bro! I did notice my stomach was growlin’, but I just couldn’t stop to check the time,” he admitted with a laugh, shaking his head; his hair didn’t budge an inch. “I’m sure it’s SUPER delicious. Best lunch I could’ve asked for!” He added as he got up from the table, nearly knocking a few things over with his leg but managing to make it out unscathed, heading straight for the soda and tossing a handful of fries into his mouth.

Meanwhile, Sanji casually stepped closer to the workbench, chewing gently on his cigarette and trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at. Up close, he had confirmation that it was indeed fabric —an enormous amount of it— all cut into smaller identical pieces with a specific shape that looked weirdly similar to…

“Franky? What are you working on?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the table, brushing his fingers gently over the fabric that had a strangely familiar texture, just colder and stiffer than he expected.

Franky let out a loud but short burp, and when he replied, it was clearly through a mouthful of burger.

“Hmm, not sure I can tell you, bro.”

Sanji let go of the fabric and turned to the cyborg, his visible eyebrow raised.

“Why couldn’t you tell me?”

Franky shrugged, almost stuffing the whole rest of the burger he had in hands into his mouth and chewing for a while before swallowing most of it and answering:

Sanji could swear a faint blush was creeping across those exaggerated cheekbones.

“Uh, ‘cause, hmm… it’s supposed to be a surprise, bro,” he said in a voice softer than usual, borderline shy even, as his eyes stayed glued to the soda bottle he held.

Both of Sanji’s eyebrows nearly shot past his forehead as his mouth went dry, prompting him to take the cigarette from his lips and tuck it into the small chest pocket on his shirt, his widened eyes staring all that fabric laid out across the table, his pulse skipping an anxious beat as he realized his hunch had been right; all the individual pieces were shaped like pants.

But why would Franky be wasting his time making pants for Sanji, when —after the girls— he was the one who owned the most clothes and always bought more whenever he needed?

“Why are you… making pants for me?” he blurted, eyes locked on the cyborg in a mixture of curiosity and confusion, unable to understand why his mouth was still dry and his heartbeat hadn’t settled.

There was no reason for him to be nervous or anxious, it was Franky! The most sentimental and emotional half-cyborg guy out there! The loyal, peculiar, over-the-top shipwright of the Straw Hats! Sanji trusted his life with him just as he did with the rest of their nakama’s lives, even with his strange obsession with poses, bizarre hairstyles, and speedos.

Deep down, Sanji knew his reaction and hesitation had nothing to do with the cyborg himself.

Franky scratched his face with one of his massive hands while grabbing the remaining fries with the other, tossing them into his mouth and chewing with his eyes focused on the floor, clearly stalling or trying to come up with an answer.

Sanji huffed and reached back into his pocket for the cigarette, placing it between his lips again before pulling out his lighter and flicking it open, taking a long drag that immediately soothed some of his nerves. His earlier caution about lighting a flame in the workshop got pushed to the back of his mind.

Just as Sanji was about to press the question again, Franky set the rest of his lunch aside and fully turned toward him, hands raised at chest level, eyes nearly pleading—like he was already begging Sanji not to blow up.

Sanji inhaled the nicotine more sharply, his eyes narrowing as Franky began to explain:

“It was that Germa 66 raid suit that gave me the idea, okay? But I obviously didn’t use anything from it because you destroyed it, and I wouldn’t touch any of your family’s tech or that Queen guy’s even if I had access to it because that stuff was not super, I swear, bro! The suit just gave me the spark, and the tech I got from Vegapunk at Egghead is what made it actually possible, but I guarantee you, the final result is gonna be SUPER safe! I swear on the Thousand Sunny, bro!”

By the time Franky finished his explanation with his voice progressively more high-pitched, Sanji’s eyes were practically bulging from their sockets, his heart threatening to punch through his ribs. He stared at the fabric on the table again, the cigarette barely hanging on between his parted lips.

“Wait… what? You’re making me a raid suit?” he asked once he found his voice again, having to clear his throat and staring at Franky with skeptical eyes.

Franky shook his head so hard Sanji thought he might dislodge a bolt, but his hair didn’t shift an inch, and, for the first time, Sanji noticed his hairstyle looked exactly like the ridiculous ones his brothers wore since they were little; the same style his own hair morphed into whenever he’d wear that damn suit.

Knowing Franky, he’d done it on purpose as some kind of weird inspiration.

“No, no, it’s not a suit! For now it’s only black pants like the ones you always wear, so much so I even copied the design and measurements. Then, if it works out —which it SUPER will— and you like them —which I SUPER hope you do— I can start making other pieces, whole outfits even.”

Sanji’s brow furrowed in a more tangible confusion.

“But you’re making these special pants just for me? Why? I don’t get—”

“I’m making super fireproof pants, bro, resistant to any temperature,” this alone was enough to shut Sanji up and make his heart miss a beat, but Franky kept going, unaware that the cook had gone contradictorily cold from head to toe. “Also way more flexible, adaptable to any movement, and just more durable in general. And of course, I’m putting in a few small experimental gadgets that might help out with your attacks as a test. but they’re SUPER easy to take out if you don’t want them or don’t like them or… anyway, I just had this idea because you always lose your pants in battle, and I know how custom gear for specific fights can be SUPER useful in a bunch of ways.”

A small, confident smile curved Franky’s lips at the end of his explanation.

Sanji blinked between the cyborg and the pants on the table.

It didn’t make sense he going through all that trouble for him.

“You didn’t need to do all this, Franky. I… I’ve learned how to manage and always bring a spare pair when I can.”

Franky blinked so slowly it looked like his long lashes had momentarily glued together.

“And now you’ll have one less thing to worry about, bro!”

“Yeah, but it’s so much work—” Sanji stopped when Franky’s massive hands landed on his shoulders, nearly covering them completely and forcing Sanji to look at him.

It was rare to see the shipwright this serious in a non-life-threatening situation.

“First of all, bro, it’s no work at all, not when it’s for my nakama . Second, you’re one of the wings of the future Pirate King, you not only deserve it, you need to be SUPER prepared for anything, so you can always give your best in every fight, got it? And besides…” Franky paused to sigh, giving Sanji a friendly pat on one shoulder before releasing both and crossing his arms, though he stayed close, eyes locked on Sanji’s wide ones. “You do everything for us, bro. And I don’t mean just the amazing food—you’re always protecting people, always stepping in when someone’s in trouble, always the first to notice when one of us is off and trying to fix it with a new, super special even more delicious recipe. You don’t stop moving in that kitchen and you even are the one who puts our room together the most, always doing laundry too. It’s like you can’t not be aware of anything that it’s happening around you, to everyone’s needed, even strangers’, and hell, even people who are supposed to be against us, you go out of your way to help, risking your own neck without a second thought. No offense, bro, but anyone on this ship would do anything for you, and I’m just showing it by doing what I do best, because if anyone deserves gear that’ll make them even more SUPER badass and unstoppable in a fight, it’s you, bro.”

“So the only thing I want to hear from you now is: ‘Wow, bro, thank you so much, these pants are the best thing I’ve ever worn! You’re SUPER amazing, the greatest genius ever, Franky, I love you!’” Franky’s voice was wobbling more and more with each word, and it didn’t take long for his eyes to turn red and glassy, ready to unleash a waterfall of tears at any second.

Sanji stood there, listening silently, his throat tightening and chest constricting so much he could barely breathe. To stop the cyborg from seeing the tears building in his own eyes, he lowered his head, one hand covering his face.

He never did any of the things Franky mentioned for recognition or praise. Honestly, he always hoped nobody noticed, that they didn’t pay enough attention to him to notice. He did them because it was the right thing to do, because he knew better than most how a lack of care, attention, and kindness could be just as damaging and fatal as the lack of food.

Still, he couldn’t help but laugh, a sudden, welcome lightness washing over him as he heard Franky’s last line, managing then to swallow the tears just in time, lifting his face again to meet Franky’s gaze— a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“First of all, Franky, I only love women. And second, shouldn’t I try the pants on first before I start thanking you?” He raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from the almost forgotten cigarette.

Franky threw his head back with one of his booming laughs.

“You’re right, Sanji-bro! You can thank me after you try them on, but I’m telling you, they’re gonna blow your mind with how SUPER they’ll be!” he exclaimed, giving a few pats—this time to the cook’s back—before sitting back down at the table.

Sanji chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“They’re gonna be that super, huh?”

“Of course they are! Way better than that Germa junk because these pants are gonna feel like a part of your legs—but better! So all your moves are gonna flow smoother than ever, no restrictions, not even when your—”

—leg bursting into that blazing orange fire against the Sea King’s head, slicing straight through and frying his brain with a single kick. And just like that he was dead, and Baratie had earned around five tons of top-grade fresh meat, perfect for every kind of dish, even to Pudding in those eccentric bakery sweets.

“Hell yeah!”

“So awesome!”

“That was incredible! Didn’t know they had live performances at the Baratie”

“That’s BlackLeg Sanji’s power for you!”

“That is the BlackLeg Sanji? The missing wing of the Pirate King?”

“Everyone knows he owns the Baratie.”

“He looks nothing like his wanted poster…”

“So handsome and strong…”

Sanji only listened to the wave of comments mixed with applause from the Baratie’s customers, scattered along the fins of the ship, while he used the hardened exoskeleton of his leg to slice down the Sea King’s body into pieces small enough to carry into the kitchen. Putting on a show hadn’t been his intention, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone since he acted on instinct, knowing that fighting—even a ridiculously short and easy fight like that one—would get him out of his head and distract him from the weight in his chest, if only for a moment. It worked, of course, but now a few of the comments he hadn’t been able to block out only made that weight heavier, so heavy it started burning behind his eyes.

He took all of that frustration out on filleting the Sea King, moving at record speed, grabbing everything and carrying it in a single trip through the back door of the kitchen, ignoring all the compliments and impressed gasps along the way because he couldn’t take in what he didn’t want to hear.

Not today.

“Oh my gosh, Sanji-sama! You’re a true hero!” came a soft voice with a slightly nasal, fast-paced accent from behind, startling Sanji just a little as a few on-duty staff —who had rushed over the second he entered— took the meat fillets from his hands to prep and freeze it for use over the next week.

Turning toward the voice, Sanji smiled at his beautiful and ever-so-lovely sous-chef.

“Nerissa-chan! Good morning, my darling! And I’ll always be your hero for anything you need!” he sang, hearts in his eyes, smiling wider when the woman giggled behind her delicate hand.

Nerissa was a beauty with tight, voluminous curls, her hot red locks standing out harmoniously against her dark black skin and large, bright brown eyes. And because her long, baby-pink and beige striped tail was always folded on solid ground, she seemed a bit shorter than Sanji, despite actually standing at over two and a half meters tall.

And, of course, she was always accompanied by the massive cloud that allowed her to travel across land without help, something only made possible thanks to her cloud fruit, the Kumo Kumo no Mi.

Nerissa was a mermaid from a nomadic sea clan native to the All Blue itself, having never had contact with the people of Fish-Man Island. Still, she was a mermaid who had dreamed of going to the surface world ever since she was a child, ever since she tasted food cooked with fire for the first time —an experience that also sparked in her a deep desire to learn how to cook.

Unfortunately, when she began her adventure after being forced to leave the ocean for unknowingly eating a Devil Fruit, she didn’t have much luck during those first two years. She faced harsh prejudice, had to hide out in a forest, learned to survive on her own, was hunted down, captured, and was nearly sold into slavery —if it hadn’t been for the Straw Hat Pirates and their allies dismantling the entire World Government system and bringing down the oppression of the Tenryuubitos and other Nobles.

It were the Straw Hats themselves who destroyed the ship Nerissa was being transported on, with Sanji rescuing her along with nine others and bringing them safely aboard the Thousand Sunny.

Sanji would never forget the joy he felt when Nerissa cried in pure delight after tasting his cooking for the first time, confessing it had always been her dream to learn how to cook.

Sanji couldn’t say no to a lady —didn’t want to, especially when her dream and cooking were in the same sentence —but he had no idea how to teach without using the kind of harshness he’d learned under, and he’d rather die than raise a hand to a woman. The solution came in the most beautiful form of Miss Nami gracefully proving that women could still be charming and elegant even while making mermaids cry over burned rice.

Luckily, Nerissa picked up everything faster than Sanji could have imagined—so fast, in fact, that he didn’t hesitate to make her his second-in-command at the Baratie, even though she hadn’t been cooking for very long.

That, and the fact that it allowed him to hire talented people of all genders, were his biggest motivations. And six years later, he had no regrets.

Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the restaurant would still exist if it weren’t for her, Zeff, and Pudding.

He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to handle it all, especially on days like that one.

“At least this time you caught a necessary ingredient to us, instead of sinking an entire ship with Ifrit Jamble,” Nerissa remarked as if casually listing spices for the meat, though the subtle glance she gave Sanji —clearly saying “that’s sugar, not salt”— made his entire face flush red in an instant.

“I did warn Bartolomeo I wasn’t in the mood… for his, uh, antics,” Sanji shot back, his finger starting to twitch for a cigarette.

Just remembering that big-toothed guy waltzing into the Baratie like he and Sanji were best buddies, bragging about how he’d just been on the Thousand Sunny, rambling on about private moments he’d had with each of the Straw Hats…

And how badly he wanted one with BlackLeg Sanji.

As if Sanji still—

“Yeah, he was… real unlucky to show up here running his mouth about every exaggerated detail of his latest adventure with… well, you-know-who, in such a date,” Nerissa muttered, scratching behind her ear and looking away. But Sanji could only be grateful to be pulled out of his train of thought.

He let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his longer hair as he recalled the headache it had been to help Bartolomeo and his crew get the hell out of the All Blue afterward.

“Maybe I did go a little overboard setting his ship on fire.”

“Maybe just a little…” she agreed, giving a sheepish laugh, then added more confidently, “But hey, looks like he learned his lesson. Not a single sign of him on the horizon so far today!”

Sanji let out a sigh after a faint, nasal chuckle. His restless hand gripped his bangs, as if wishing to rip them out by the roots, his chest tightening for a reason entirely different—one that kept him from looking at the woman as he asked:

“Nerissa-chan, forgive… forgive me for being a terrible boss, coworker, person in general every year on this damn day.”

“But you’re not, Sanji-kun! There’s nothing to apologize for!” She stepped closer and gently took hold of his arms. Her eyes were far too kind as they searched for his, trying to make her words stick—but he didn’t deserve any of it, so he stared at the floor, his jaw clenching.

“How not? I literally dump the entire Baratie on you guys for a full day. What kind of shitty owner and chef I am?”

“And you spend the other 364 days thinking about nothing else but the restaurant, barely sleeping or even breathing, so…” Nerissa sighed, seeming to weigh her words carefully before continuing, “It might sound strange since today is technically a, uh, hard day for you, but… Pudding and I actually feel kind of relieved when you take the whole day off, a whole day just for yourself. Even Zeff-sama agrees, you know—well, in his own way.”

Sanji sighed, shaking his head. The space between the kitchen and the pantry where they stood seemed to be getting too small, like the air was running out.

“I’ll try to be better next year, I promise, because this is already getting ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said with a forced smile, finally lifting his eyes to look at the mermaid, hating the way her beautiful brows were knit with worry.

Because that’s just what he needed—making his wonderful Sous-chef worry, when she had ten thousand better things to do.

“Um, I know it’s not really my place to say this, and I really don’t want to offend you in any way, Sanji-sama. I’m so, so grateful for everything you’ve done for me since we met, so please don’t think I’m being ungrateful or—”

“Hey, sweetheart, breathe. It’s okay. I won’t think anything like that, alright? You know you can say whatever you want to me and I’ll never, ever take it the wrong way, because you’re never wrong. Not ever!” He assured her with a more genuine smile, gently taking one of her hands in both of his, his face reddening under the warmth of her soft brown eyes locked on his, his heart pounding in anticipation.

“It’s just… maybe you should listen to your father?”

Sanji swallowed hard, his smile faltering.

“But the Baratie—”

“Is thriving like no other restaurant has thrived in history, and I swear to you, Sanji-sama, it’s my home and a dream come true for me too, and Pudding thinks similiar and Zeff… and so many other cooks here give it their all every single day, so I promise you —the Baratie will always be here and it’ll always be yours, always open for you to visit or stay, whenever you want.”

“Your words bring me immeasurable joy, Nerissa-chan, and I can only be deeply grateful to have someone like you in my life, someone so vital to the Baratie,” he said sincerely, heart in his eyes, giving her hand a firmer squeeze, resisting the urge to pull her into a hug. Then he let go, taking a step back, his expression settling into a calm neutrality —something he didn’t do often anymore, but still came easily to him, almost like second nature. “But I’m fine. I swear. I’m fine, and I don’t want to go back on the decision I made over half a decade ago. I knew even then there was no going back—and there isn’t. And that’s okay.”

Still frowning deeply, Nerissa’s eyes scanned Sanji from head to toe, lingering mostly on his face, where all she could see was the mask he wore.

Eventually, she sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat, and Sanji looked away, his jaw tightening even more.

“If you say so… I’ll get back to the prep work since lunch is coming up soon, if you’ll excuse me, Sanji-sama,” she said, bowing her head in a short sign of respect that would have normally made him stammer while asking her not to, but right now, all he wanted was to get away.

So he left, striding instead of running to avoid drawing attention, though thanks to his long legs it was as if he was running, and in just a few minutes, he reached the solitude of his room.

Only after closing the door behind him did Sanji allow himself a heavy sigh, followed by a frustrated groan at his own expense, slapping the wood once with an open palm and usinf it to push himself toward the small balcony, where he stepped on the cigarette he’d dropped earlier, deciding to pick it up and toss it properly instead of lighting a new one. But less than a minute later, he was already back with a fresh cigarette between his fingers as a sudden, slightly colder breeze stirred his hair, making it hard to get the cancer stick to his lips.

Sanji gave up, slipping it into his chest pocket just as his Haki picked up a subtle movement on the rooftop and, already knowing what it was, he leapt from the balcony and climbed up quickly with Sky Walk, his heart squeezing his throat.

The basket would’ve hit the sea if he’d been even a second later.

Heart pounding in his throat, basket safe in his hands, Sanji returned to his room with nicety, exhaling a hard puff as he placed the basket on his bed and sat down beside it.

With his elbows resting on his knees and fingers buried in his blond hair, Sanji clenched his jaw to keep from screaming.

What was he doing? Every year, he only got more and more pathetic.

No—if he started thinking now, he’d lose it. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t be there.

Sanji had to occupy his mind with something good.

Without thinking, he opened the basket and, after a quick glance, spotted what he felt like eating at the moment, wasting no time in taking a generous bite of the—

“—sandwich, Robin-chaaawn! It’s a little different from what I usually make ‘cause I had to get creative with the available ingredients, but it’s still your favorite style and it’ll be perfect with tea, I guarantee it! Only the best for the best archaeologist in the world!” Sanji announced in a loud sing-song voice, twirling dramatically with a plate of two sandwiches in hand, hearts practically bursting from his eyes, till he stopped in front of the woman, offering her the tray with a bow.

Robin, sitting at one of the little tables around the soba stand, gracefully fanning herself with her hand fan, paused and blinked at the cook, clearly caught off guard.

“Soba would’ve been more than enough for lunch, just like everyone else is having, Sanji. You didn’t have to go to all that extra trouble,” she said softly, still surprised.

Sanji straightened from his elegant bow, stretching a smile to the beautiful woman; a grin so wide it made his eyes disappear.

“I know, Robin-chan! But I overheard you say you were craving a sandwich, so I had to make one for you! Every one of your cravings and whims deserves to be fulfilled—and it’s my pleasure to be the one to do it!” he declared, smile undimmed, his heart thudding wildly in anticipation of the expression one of his favourite women in the world would wear after the first bite.

And to think… he’d almost never gotten the chance to cook for Robin again.

“In that case, thank you very much, Sanji. I’m absolutely certain it’s mouthwatering—like everything you make, darling,” her words were sincere and wrapped in a gentle voice, sending a delighted whirl through Sanji’s stomach. But instead of taking the plate, Robin’s long, graceful fingers wrapped around his wrist. His pulse surged, and his smile faltered slightly as he looked at her, puzzled. She glanced around briefly, growing serious, then set her fan on the table and stood, turning to him with a small, somewhat uncertain smile. “Will I be bothering you too much if I steal you for a few minutes, Sanji?”

Her eyes really did carry concern—for the soba stand, for the mission—but Sanji had already forgotten all of it, being impossible for him to think anything at all when his heart had taken off like a rocket, knocking the air from his lungs and jabbing into his ribs.

“You can steal me anytime, Robin-chawn! Steal me every single day!” he cried, euphoric, practically melting right then on the floor at the very idea.

Robin let out one of her lovely little chuckles, and with newfound resolve, began walking away from the street, tugging the cook along by the wrist. He followed instantly, letting her lead him into the okiya—the geisha house she’d been staying in as part of her cover since they’d arrived in Wano—which was empty at the moment. She shut the door behind them, sealing off Franky’s booming voice and Usopp’s loud laughter as they finally arrived for lunch, leaving just the two of them in the quiet room.

Sanji’s heart was pounding so fast he genuinely feared he might pass out, even more so with his mind racing through every possible scenario of what his beautiful archaeologist could want from him.

Nothing prepared him for Robin pulling him into a sudden, firm hug.

And a real one with her magnificent arms wrapped fully around him, trapping his own against his sides as she buried her face into his neck. She was so close that he could feel the full curve and pressure of her bosom against his chest.

Sanji’s body nearly gave out from sheer emotion.

His crazed heart wanted to celebrate deliriously.

His entire soul agreed this had the makings of one of the best moments of his life, therefore, he should be wrapping her in his arms too, pulling her even closer, savoring every invigorating second.

And yet, all he could do was worry.

Because there was no reason for anyone to hug him unless something terrible had happened.

“Robin-chan, what is it? What happened? Did someone hurt you? Tell me and I’ll go smash their face into the pavement right now,” he said quietly, using all his willpower not to move and startle her, still balancing the plate of sandwiches in one hand.

Robin tightened her hug slightly and shook her head no, then pulled away, unwrapping her arms from around Sanji and stepping back just enough to create a bit of distance between them, making the cook’s heart sink in disappointment.

At least there was nothing in Robin’s expression to indicate she was upset, which let Sanji breathe a little easier—though not completely, because the small smile on her lips looked far too tense and didn’t reach her eyes, which had no right to look so heavy with guilt.

“No one did anything to me, Sanji, don’t worry,” she assured in a controlled voice, then sighed. “And I’m sorry for the sudden hug, for scaring you. I’m just very grateful that you’re back with us, Sanji, and it seems that the way you made these sandwiches for me, being your usual thoughtful and kind self, it made me a bit emotional. I apologize.”

“No, no, Robin-chan, please, there’s nothing to apologize for, no need to say sorry! You can hug me anytime, whenever you want! I just feared someone had hurt you, but if that’s not the case, then hug me all you want!”

Robin let out one of her soft giggles, which immediately eased much of the tension from Sanji’s shoulders and made the pulsing hearts in his eyes grow even larger.

However, in the next instant, Robin was serious again, a tension in her brow drawing her eyebrows low, casting a shadow of what seemed guilty over her eyes, only made worse by how tightly her lips were pressed into a thin line.

That expression didn’t belong on Robin’s beautiful face.

And when she spoke, all that guilt was clear in her voice:

“But I do need to apologize to you—for not going with the others to Whole Cake Island to rescue you, when you were the first to come to my rescue in Water 7…”

“Robin-chan, I didn’t want anyo—”

“I didn’t want anyone coming after me either, remember? I did everything I could to convince you all to leave me behind, but what I really needed… was your help. To be saved. Just like you needed us. And for that, I’m sorry, Sanji. For not being there for you when you needed it most, even though you were there for me.” Partway through her words, a few of them seemed to catch in her throat as her eyes glistened with restrained tears.

Her brown irises always seemed lighter—almost a deep honey—when she cried. And of course, she looked stunning even then, but that didn’t mean Sanji liked seeing her cry; he didn’t, even less so if it was because of him.

All women should go through life only happy and smiling, especially the ones he considered his and had sworn to protect.

Sanji wet his lips and, determined to free Nico Robin from that undeserved remorse so she could smile easily again, said:

“It was different, Robin-chan. You don’t owe me anything. None of you do…”

“Different how? Weren’t you also willing to sacrifice yourself for the crew? Weren’t you condemning yourself to protect the ones you love?”

Sanji’s throat tightened at the mere idea of contradicting a woman, but his chest ached more with every word she spoke, with every memory they stirred up.

Robin had been so noble at Water 7. Sanji was just pathetic…

“Yes, but they were using your trauma against you and—”“Nami couldn’t tell me much, but from what I understood, you were also forced to relive some traumas, weren’t you?”

Robin’s voice and gaze were careful, cornering Sanji with their intensity, but in a delicate way. As if he were delicate.

Being treated like he deserved even a shred of sympathy for everything he’d endured in the first ten years of his life still made something dry catch in his throat, brought bile to his mouth, and gave him the strange sensation that his skin was too tight around his bones.

It wasn’t Robin’s fault, of course. Robin was perfect and had no fault in any of this. She was the one who deserved sympathy. Sanji…

Well, up until last week, he still believed everything he suffered as a child had been deserved. So why would someone so worthless be worthy of sympathy?

Sanji shook his head, pushing aside any lingering self-pity, and focused once more on comforting his beloved archaeologist, forcing the most genuine smile he could manage:Her brown irises always seemed lighter—almost a deep honey—when she cried. And of course, she looked stunning even then, but that didn’t mean Sanji liked seeing her cry; he didn’t, even less so if it was because of him.

All women should go through life only happy and smiling, especially the ones he considered his and had sworn to protect.

Sanji wet his lips and, determined to free Nico Robin from that undeserved remorse so she could smile easily again, said:

“It was different, Robin-chan. You don’t owe me anything. None of you do…”

“Different how? Weren’t you also willing to sacrifice yourself for the crew? Weren’t you condemning yourself to protect the ones you love?”

Sanji’s throat tightened at the mere idea of contradicting a woman, but his chest ached more with every word she spoke, with every memory they stirred up.

Robin had been so noble at Water 7. Sanji was just pathetic…

“Yes, but they were using your trauma against you and—”

“Nami couldn’t tell me much, but from what I understood, you were also forced to relive some traumas, weren’t you?”

Robin’s voice and gaze were careful, cornering Sanji with their intensity, but in a delicate way. As if he were delicate.

Being treated like he deserved even a shred of sympathy for everything he’d endured in the first ten years of his life still made something dry catch in his throat, brought bile to his mouth, and gave him the strange sensation that his skin was too tight around his bones.

It wasn’t Robin’s fault, of course. Robin was perfect and had no fault in any of this. She was the one who deserved sympathy. Sanji…

Well, up until last week, he still believed everything he suffered as a child had been deserved. So why would someone so worthless be worthy of sympathy?

Sanji shook his head, pushing aside any lingering self-pity, and focused once more on comforting his beloved archaeologist, forcing the most genuine smile he could manage:

“Even so, there’s nothing you need to apologize for, Robin-chan. Really. I’m grateful you and the others didn’t risk yourselves for my sake. Besides, it was a terrible time, with everything going on in Wano and with Kaidou. You were needed here—you most of all, Robin. All I did was nearly mess up the entire plan, so I’m thankful that didn’t happen.”

Robin drew in a deep breath, pausing for a moment to scrutinize the cook with her always-sharp gaze. Sometimes it felt like she could see straight into his soul and with a few well-chosen words, flip it upside down and inside out. Sanji swallowed dryly, his fingers itching for a cigarette as he silently prayed she wouldn’t dig too deep, wouldn’t find anything too damning.

Still, he was relieved that the tears seemed to have dried in her eyes before they ever had the chance to fall.

At last, Robin sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit, but her expression remained resolute and her voice steady:

“Alright, if you won’t accept my apology, I understand. But at least grant me this, Sanji.” — Then she stepped forward, closing the distance between them again, but instead of hugging him, she simply placed her hands gently on his shoulders. Sanji shivered just slightly from the touch and the intensity in those beautiful brown eyes meeting his. — “Don’t hesitate to come to me for anything, okay? Don’t hesitate to ask for my help—no matter what it is. If it’s within my power, I would be honored to help you.”

Even with his throat dry, Sanji tried to protest:

“Don’t ne—”

“You never think twice about helping anyone in need, and you’ve done so much for me that I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to expressing my gratitude and how much I value you as a friend, as a nakama. I don’t want to return the favor out of obligation, but because I want to, because it matters to me. You matter to me, Sanji. So please, I understand it’s hard for someone like you to ask for help when you’re so used to handling everything on your own and giving without expecting anything in return. But I ask that you see me as someone you can always rely on and confide in.” — The smile that bloomed on her red-painted lips made Sanji’s heart race again, but all the warmth spreading through his body came from her words. — “Just like I found all of you—my crew—and I’m no longer alone, you’re not alone either. And it’s okay to remind yourself of that every now and then, even someone as strong as you.”

Sanji had to lower his head and press his lips tightly together to hold back the sob that suddenly rose in his throat. And, not wanting to risk using his voice —knowing full well that if he opened his mouth, he’d make a complete fool of himself in front of Robin, or worse, make her feel guilty again— he simply nodded, firmly, hoping it would be enough, hoping she would understand how grateful he truly was.

Either way, he would triple his daily efforts to show her how much he appreciated her.

Once he felt the tears were under control, Sanji—

—lifted his head, and his eyes landed directly on the large blue box on the shelf, nestled among all the books, photographs, and assorted decorative items; his bones turned to ice at the mere memory of its existence, his entire body snapping into sharp alert as if he were being threatened by a powerful enemy, instead of simply faced with the idea of picking up an inanimate object, one that was safe even for a child.

However, Sanji was tired of thinking, of pondering, of chewing over every infinite, debatable possibility in his mind; he was tired of having his energy so easily drained by a brain addicted to overanalyzing everything. And besides, if there was ever a day he could open that box and face everything inside without ruining his mood, it was today, because he’d already wake up with his mood ruined.

In fact, on that day, the contents of that box might even help, might fill him with that bittersweet ache of longing, rather than the suffocating restlessness usually coursing through his veins, urging him to run as far away as possible from the Baratie, from the All Blue.

Unlike any other day of the year, at that moment that box might help him remember the love he had for his restaurant and his sea; help him remember the reason behind his decision, so he could stop questioning it every second of the day.

Resolved and forcefully blocking out every intrusive thought trying to unarm him, Sanji jumped out of bed and reached the shelf in two long strides, carefully lifting the colorful wooden fish that rested atop the box and setting it aside before taking the box itself with almost excessive care before placing the fish back where the box had been. Then he returned to the bed, sitting closer to the edge and positioning the box beside the basket.

His heart was beating so wildly it hurt his ribs, and Sanji wasn’t even sure if he could still breathe normally, not with his esophagus clenched tight and his lungs burning from the constant lack of proper circulation. It all added up to a spinning sensation in his head, one so uncomfortable it kept him from focusing, almost making him feel like he was outside of his own body. That is—if his dry mouth and soaked palms weren’t already making him too aware of his body to begin with.

The pounding in his ears was one step away from pushing him over the edge of a full-blown breakdown that would have him shoving the box back under the bed, never to be seen again.

But before that could happen, Sanji held his breath and ripped the lid off so abruptly it flew across the room; where it landed he couldn’t tell because he was too caught up in staring at the contents now laid bare.

You helped Monkey D. Luffy become the King of the Pirates, and ’re shaking over some little pieces of paper? Pathetic, cook.

Roronoa Zoro’s rude, intrusive voice made Sanji grit his teeth and swallow every ounce of hesitation, grabbing the box without much gentleness and placing it on his lap, where he could more easily inspect everything inside.

He’d be damned if he let the imaginary voice of that moss-headed idiot call him a coward one more time.

And there it was the —painstakingly built over the past six years— collection of newspaper clippings and articles, from single-line mentions of one of the Mugiwaras to full-page features on their legendary feats. There were photos of all nine of them (and Vivi too), each showing up at least once, letting Sanji see just how much they’d changed—or not—since the last time he’d seen them; since he said goodbye. Some clippings were more recent than others, of course, but Sanji treasured them all the same—even if they felt like iron fists trying to crush him from the inside. Even if the total absence of BlackLeg Sanji made his eyes sting so badly he nearly lost his sight for a moment.

And what about all those letters? Meticulously folded and tied together with a strip of thin blue fabric. Sanji had only been able to read them once, too afraid that a second time would drown him in an even heavier wave of tears than the first. Most were written by Robin, Nami, Chopper, and Brook, with Usopp and Jinbe not far behind. Franky showed up mostly in the margins of Robin’s and Usopp’s letters, while Luffy and Zoro were nothing more than mentions in the others—which, honestly, wasn’t surprising. It was almost funny to imagine either of those two seriously contemplating the idea of writing a letter.

He understood. But that didn’t stop Sanji from feeling like his heart was bleeding from the deafening silence of those two, even while believing it was for the best.

Instead of being filled with the bittersweet nostalgia that could reignite his ever-dwindling conviction year after year, rereading it all only struck Sanji with one of the most agonizing paradoxical questions:

What was worse—knowing he was still remembered by his old crewmates with each letter received, where each word seemed to make emincé of his chest, or having the illusion of having been forgotten due to the lack of letters?

In either case, the urge to jump from the balcony and join the All Blue forever was overwhelming.

But this had been Sanji’s choice, so he would have to forever live with the consequences.

When the first drops hit the papers in his hands, Sanji blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears without success while he e returned everything to the safety of the box, closing it with the lid and placing it beside the basket again. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying, and there was already snot running from his nose. So he headed to the small bathroom connected to his room to blow his nose and splash his face with water, as if mixing his tears with another kind of water might make them stop existing.

It took about ten minutes for Sanji to stop crying, leaving only faint sniffles and the vague impression that he had left the last letter he’d written—the most pathetic of them all, one that could never see the light of day (in fact, he should’ve set it on fire the moment he came to and realized, horrified, what he’d written)— inside the box with the rest of the things. But he hadn’t seen it in there.

It was also possible he’d stored it somewhere else or thrown it away, but he didn’t remember.

Shrugging mentally, Sanji stood up from the closed toilet lid where he’d sat while trying to compose himself and returned to the bedroom, pausing only for a moment by the bed to open the basket and grab what he wanted. Then he stepped onto the balcony, back on the rooftop in the blink of an eye.

Nothing was more fitting than something sweet after a crying-and-self-pity session, so Sanji was nothing short of generous in the—

—pink cotton candy pie, what do you think, hm? I’ll go make one for you right now,” he offered with a friendly smile to the little doctor, while the hand not being tugged on by said doctor gripped the sick bay’s doorframe tightly, keeping himself from stepping inside.

Chopper’s big, adorable eyes lit up immediately, his tiny hoof letting go of Sanji’s hand so he could clap excitedly. Sanji’s smile widened at the sight and because he thought he’d managed to achieve his goal of distra—

“No! You’re not distracting me with delicious sweets again, Sanji! Stop trying to run away from me! Get in here now and I’m not saying it again!” So suddenly it might’ve caused whiplash, Chopper’s face turned serious in the way it only did when someone’s health was involved. Even then, his angry expression was almost as cute as his cheerful one.

Sanji still tried to come up with another excuse to get out of it while Chopper did everything he could to pull him inside the infirmary, but he couldn’t think of anything good enough to keep the doctor from switching to his Heavy Point form and hauling him in like a sack of flour. No way in hell Sanji was going to suffer that kind of humiliation, and even less so he was going to wrestle with the kid unless it was a life-or-death situation. So he let out a long, resigned sigh and allowed himself to be dragged inside, where he was unceremoniously forced to sit on the medical cot.

“Well, now you’re not getting that pie, got it? In fact, you’re not getting any sweets for a whole month for making me do this!” he grumbled, crossing both arms and legs and shooting his best wounded-pride glare at Chopper, who shrank immediately, his eyes brimming with tears that he managed to hold back within seconds, sniffling loudly and rubbing his face with both hooves as he turned back to the table.

Sanji faltered in regret, but he bit his tongue to stop himself from confessing he was lying because f he could get away with it… well, he’d apologize later with the biggest pink cotton candy pie the kid had ever seen.

But then Chopper spun around in his little rolling chair to face him, and even though his eyes were still watery and his nose was sniffling, his expression was set with firm resolve. And with his next words, he shattered whatever hope Sanji had of dodging this.

“I don’t care if you get mad at me and only let me eat spicy food for a year, Sanji! I’m going to give you a full check-up because I’m the doctor on this crew and it’s my job to take care of you!”

The whole interaction was cracking Sanji’s defenses, so he averted his gaze, trying to focus on anything else in the room to soften the blow. Why did Luffy have to choose the most innocent, adorable doctor in the world? It was always hard to say no to him, especially when he got that determined look in his eye…

If it were Law standing there, Sanji would just shout, throw a few kicks, and that would be that. Sure, he’d have to be careful not to get his legs chopped off, but he was fast and clever enough to manage. Not the point right now, though.

“I’m not mad at you, Chopper. And I’d never mess with your meals over something like this, okay?” he admitted with another deep sigh, feeling a small wave of relief wash over him as Chopper visibly relaxed. “I just don’t think it’s necessary to make such a… big fuss over me. You saw with your own eyes that my body… it kind of heals itself now, so.” He spoke struggling not to grit his teeth too hard as his fingers began to tremble, aching for a cigarette while his insides twisted with self-loathing at just the memory of what happened on Onigashima.

Just remembering what that damn suit had turned him into.

“And that’s exactly why I know I need to examine you, Sanji, because

I saw what happened!”

“But I already explained what happened, Chopper. You already know, so there’s no need—”

With shocking speed, Chopper leapt from his chair and climbed onto the cot next to Sanji, clamping both hooves over the cook’s mouth. But it was the pleading look in his eyes that truly silenced him.

Sanji had to tune in and really focus to catch every word as the little doctor began to pour his heart out, his voice growing more frantic and desperate with each breath:

“I know that suit apparently activated some dormant mutant genes in you and now you have this ultra-resilient exoskeleton. But don’t you see, Sanji? I need to figure out how that suit triggered it, what exactly those genes are, what else they might change in you. I need to catalog everything that’s different, understand how your body works now so I can tailor my care to it—and if necessary, find a way to stop the mutation before it turns you into one of your brothers, because I hate your brothers, Sanji! I’m sorry, but they’re awful and I don’t want you to become like them! And more than anything, I don’t want you to turn into the heartless weapon your father always wanted you to be, because I hate him even more and I don’t want you to stop being you! So I’m going to make sure everything’s okay, that this exoskeleton is a good thing that just makes you stronger so you can keep protecting us like always, but with less damage, which is great! And I’m going to figure all of that out and I’m going to make sure you’re okay and still our Sanji, but for that I need you to let me run the tests, Sanji! Please!” By the time he finished, the fur on Chopper’s face was soaked and matted with tears he hadn’t even tried to hold back, clearly letting out a storm of worry he’d been bottling up in his chest.

The guilt for worrying Chopper so deeply had already started to seep into Sanji’s chest at the very beginning of that speech, but it grew alongside an overwhelming desire to comfort the kid. So his hand moved to the colorful hat while he was still talking, wishing he could rest his hand on the boy’s head to soothe him properly and he didn’t even flinch when Chopper launched himself at him, wrapping his little arms around the cook the best he could, soaking Sanji’s white dress shirt as he buried his face in his chest, muffling the soft sobs that slipped out as he finished speaking.

Drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes, Sanji slid his hand down to the back of Chopper’s neck, searching for a patch of fur he could reach to gently stroke while the boy calmed down at his own pace. His other hand clutched the edge of the cot tighter than was probably safe for his most prized tools. But his hands were more durable now, thanks to the exoskeleton—which meant they were safer and better protected from damage, even if he still refused to use them as weapons, which, in some ways, was a good thing… Having an internal suit of armor was technically helpful, it meant he could take more risks and defend his nakama better. But on the other hand…

‘I want you to kill me!’

‘… don’t die before then!’

“These tests you want to run… they can really detect what else these genes might change in me? And if needed, you can stop the mutation?” he asked quietly, nearly in a whisper, wincing at how dry his voice sounded, how raw his throat was.

Chopper lifted his head from Sanji’s chest to look up at him. His eyes were puffy and his fur was sticky, but no fresh tears were falling.

“Yes, Sanji!” he nodded so hard it looked like his head might fly off. “Once I have all the results, I’ll have enough data to understand what’s happening to you, and if necessary, I’ll study everything I need to in order to save your emotions, to protect who you are. I’ll even ask Law for help if I have to, because I know he’ll do it even if he makes a face about it!” he added, puffing his cheeks in a mock-scowl that mimicked the perpetually grumpy surgeon, which earned a snort from Sanji. “Don’t worry because I’ll figure it all out, Sanji! You’re going to be okay. We’re not going to lose you.”

Tears welled in Sanji’s eyes, so he shut them tightly as he nodded to keep them from falling. He wanted to be frustrated, even angry, that it had become harder to keep his own emotions in check —emotions that had always been so strong and dominant— ever since Luffy had saved him from his family because now he was sure he didn’t need to suppress them, didn’t need to hide that part of him he’d once believed was a shameful weakness. But if Chopper’s compassion and concern could still move him to tears, then for now, his emotions were safe.

The emotions his mother had sacrificed herself to protect were still safe.

And Sanji would do anything to keep it that way. So that Zoro would never have to fulfill that promise.

“You’re the best doctor in the entire Grand Line, Chopper, so of course I’ve got nothing to worry about. I trust you. If anyone can stop me from turning into a real heartless monster, it’s you,” he said sincerely with a warm, open smile, gently rubbing the back of Chopper’s neck a little more firmly now. His heart swelled when Chopper stared up at him, wide-eyed and sparkling with that same amazed look he got when receiving a sweet treat.

A look that didn’t last long, because in the next second he jumped down to the floor and started flailing around, red-faced and flustered, barking several “That doesn’t make me happy, you idiot!” before settling back into his rolling chair.

“Alright then, let’s start with the tests,—

—Sanji! Sanji-sama!”

Sanji startled at Nerissa’s sudden screams coming from his room and, when he tore his eyes away from the school of blue-finned elephant tuna he’d been watching for the past few minutes to glance down, the mermaid was already out on the balcony, her fluffy white clouds spreading over almost the entire space. Nerissa let out a loud sigh of relief upon seeing him.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here and not off exploring the All Blue, Sanji-sama.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sanji hopped down to her level, hovering just above the ground with his Sky Walk, bouncing lightly in place.

“What happened, Nerissa-chan? Something wrong in the kitchen? Did one of the cooks screw up? If so, feel free to kick his ass straight into the sea,” he said in a rush, his blood already boiling at the mere idea of someone ruining food.

Nerissa waved her hands frantically in front of her face.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that! It’s actually Zeff!” Her voice shot up a pitch as she said the name, making Sanji’s brows furrow even deeper and his heart skip a beat.

“What about him? Don’t tell me it’s his blood pressure again,” he snapped, already making his way into the room, determined to haul the old man to the nearest hospital strapped to his back if that’s what it took.

“No, no, it’s just… I had to drag him back to his room with the help of two other cooks because he barged into the kitchen yelling and kicking the cooks, saying he was taking the reins now since, um, ‘his idiot son is too busy wallowing in self-pity’.” She looked off to the side, clearly uncomfortable and avoiding Sanji’s gaze. When she finished, Sanji let out a huff so sharp he thought steam might start coming out of his ears.

“I’m gonna kick that old man’s ass straight into the ocean!” He growled, storming out of the room in a fury, barely registering how rude he’d just been in front of a lady.

Who the hell did that grumpy old coot think he was? This was Sanji’s restaurant and if he wanted to spend one day a year ignoring every responsibility tied to it for the rest of his life, he damn well would—because it was HIS restaurant!

Sanji shot down the hallway, only vaguely noticing Nerissa heading the opposite way—probably back to the kitchen, having done her part by reporting Zeff. Disciplining the old man was Sanji’s job alone. Sure enough, the door was locked but that didn’t stop the blond from twisting the knob so hard without thinking that it broke right off, flinging the door open. He let out an irritated growl, already knowing he’d have to deal with fixing that later.

And there he was, bold as brass, Zeff sitting in his rocking chair by the door to his little balcony, sipping tea from a dainty cup and saucer, wearing the calmest expression Sanji had ever seen on him.

Sanji slammed the door shut behind him, gritting his teeth hard so as to not be overcome by the urge to kick him as he had told Nerissa.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, old geezer?! This is my restaurant! You have no right to go badmouthing me to my staff!” He blustered snatching the cigarette from his pocket because there was no way he could deal with Zeff without some nicotine in his system.

Zeff let the silence stretch on for longer than necessary while he sipped his tea leisurely, eyes never averting from his son and, when he finally spoke, his tone and expression were blank.

“I thought it was our restaurant. Our dream, realized.”

Sanji nearly bit the cigarette in half from how hard he clenched it between his teeth.

The old man was right—but Sanji would die before admitting that.

“You know what I meant!” he grunted, his voice a little less harsh now, rolling his eyes. “Now explain yourself! What kind of harebrained idea was it to start yelling lies about me?!”

That finally got a reaction fom Zeff, his brows raising, and his thick white mustache twitching.

“I didn’t tell any lies, little eggplant.”

“Oh, so you’re calling Nerissa a liar?”

“I’d never. She’s a good girl who, far as I know, has never lied in her life.”

“Then you lied!”

“I didn’t.”

“So you didn’t say I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to take care of the restaurant?”

“I did.”

Sanji locked his jaw and ran both hands through his hair, gripping the scalp for a moment, holding himself back from screaming. Between the high blood pressure and arthritis, Zeff was also clearly losing his mind—and trying to drag Sanji down with him.

Maybe it was dementia. Sanji needed to get him checked before it was too late.

“So you lied to my staff, because I’m not feeling sorry for myself, and I’m never going to ‘not give a damn’ about my restaurant!”

Zeff let out a low growl of his own.

“I never said you ‘don’t give a damn’ about the Baratie—don’t put words in my mouth, little eggplant! I may be old, but I’m not senile!”

“I have my doubts,” muttered crossing his arms, but Zeff pressed on, firm and unfazed.

“And if you’re not feeling sorry for yourself, then how do you explain the pathetic, mopey version of you that shows up every single year on this exact day? You skulk around in the corners, isolate yourself with just a basket of food, and act almost apathic to anything else.”

Sanji only realized he was grinding his teeth when he opened his mouth to snap back, his jaw tingling due the pressure with which he had been clenching it. Zeff hadn’t lied, nor had he exaggerated in his description, which didn’t mean Sanji enjoyed hearing it, much less knowing he was being observed that closely, that his emotions were so transparent when he’d spent all these years believing he was doing an excellent job at hiding what went on inside him.

And because he wasn’t sure how else to defend himself, he ended up blurting out what he truly believed was the real reason behind his behavior: “I’m grieving, alright?”

Sanji froze for a moment, caught off guard when Zeff let out a laugh—a loud, full-bellied, downright offensive laugh that made Sanji’s blood heat up with pure rage.

Rage hot enough to set his legs on fire.

“What the hell are you laughing at, you old fart? This is serious and I’d like some respect!” he barked, storming over in two quick strides, resisting the urge to kick him and instead grabbing Zeff by the collar and shaking him.

So what if the old man was pushing eighty? He could still take a rough handling.

Zeff’s laughter died instantly from the sudden aggression, and without hesitation, he kicked Sanji back with his flesh-and-bone leg.

“How the hell are you grieving when all your crazy friends are still miraculously alive as far as we know?”

“I’m grieving because I’m not with them!”

“Because you’re a damn idiot!”

Sanji stumbled back, growling out some incoherent curse under his breath, and with his back turned, finally lit the cigarette he’d been abusing with his teeth all this time. He took a long drag, pocketing his favorite lighter, forcing himself to slow his breathing and cool his blood because this was not a fight worth having—not today, and definitely not with a senile old man.

He just wanted to be alone for a while… to reflect on life. What the hell was so wrong with that?

Besides, the Baratie was in good hands, still running at full speed, with Patty and Carne being veterans at this point, and Nerissa and Pudding would have no trouble calling him if anything went wrong and he would come running in a heartbeat if they needed him.

And tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.

So yeah, Zeff didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I found the All Blue, had this new, massive Baratie built right on top of it, and gave it my blood, sweat, and tears to make sure it became what it is now—a premium restaurant that everyone wants to eat at at least once in their lives…”

“I guided you in making it work and grow, but hey, who’s counting, right?” Zeff cut in, dry and sarcastic. Sanji scrunched his nose at the jab but pressed on.

“Of course you did, and I’m grateful for that—this is your home too, your restaurant too—but that’s not the point,” consented hastily, taking another short drag. “What I’m saying is that I made a choice six years ago. A choice I can’t take back. One I have to live with for the rest of my life. So just let me deal with it however I can, alright? I’m sure in another five years I’ll—”

“Do you regret it?”

Sanji stared at Zeff, eyes wide, not been expecting that question.

“Of course not! This was our dream—it is our dream!” he said with conviction, throwing his arms wide like he could encompass not just the ship, but the entire ocean surrounding them.

“I know that.”

“Then why the stupid question?!”

Zeff’s mustache twitched again, his sharp eyes pinning Sanji in place in that way that had always made him feel like he was being dissected.

“You’re the stupid one for thinking there’s no way back.”

Sanji let out a low growl, running a hand through his hair again.

“Of course there isn’t! Six years ago, I… I sent them away, I… I chose to stay here while they went off to new adventu—”

“I’m sure there’s still plenty of adventures you could live with them.”

“I don’t wa—”

“Stop being so damn stubborn for once in your life, little eggplant, and just listen to me for five seconds, alright?” Zeff’s voice took on a serious tone Sanji rarely heard from him—a fatherly tone that always made him nearly swallow his own tongue and fall silent for a few moments, staring back at Zeff expectantly. Zeff sighed when he noticed he’d gotten what he wanted, setting his cup and saucer down on the low cabinet pressed against the wall nearby. The tea must have been cold by now. Sanji would have to reheat it later. “The All Blue… it’s our dream, right? Yeah. And you wanted this restaurant to become the best it could be, with me—and you did and it’s still gonna grow even more, I’m sure of it. But none of that means you have to stay chained to this place, not when your heart clearly wants to be somewhere else. Wanting to go off adventuring with your friends, being with your crew—it doesn’t mean you’re disrespecting the All Blue, or the Baratie, or me, got it? You’re still young, can come and go as you please, and if someday—years or even decades from now—you decide you’re ready to settle down and stay in one place, your home will still be here, waiting for you.”

There wasn’t even a hint of judgment in Zeff’s calm voice—just the tone alone was enough to make Sanji’s skin crawl uncomfortably, forcing him to inhale his cigarette like a runaway train until there was barely a stub left.

Zeff had no right to say that because he didn’t understand.

Six years ago, Sanji had chosen to leave the Straw Hats for the sake of his restaurant and Luffy —after a lot of yelling and fighting— had agreed to let him go —reluctantly, but he had—, so, therefore, there was no going back for him.

Once a captain gives his word, it’s final.

“What’s wrong, getting all sentimental in your old age?” Sanji sneered, not even trying to hide his attempt to steer the conversation away.

Zeff’s whole face scrunched up into an exaggerated scowl.

“I’m being serious, little eggpl—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But I’m not interested in having this talk with you. Not now, not ever because there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“How there’s, ‘nothing to be do—?” Zeff tried again, even straining to get up from his chair this time, but Sanji was already walking toward the door, back turned, making it crystal clear the conversation was over.

“And don’t even think about barging into the kitchen again talking nonsense, or I will kick your ass,” Sanji threw over his shoulder before slamming the door shut behind him, his feet carrying him in record time back to the solitude of his room, where he slammed that door too, throwing himself onto the bed—carefully, to avoid the basket and the box—and only then remembered Zeff’s abandoned cup of cold tea.

Well, if Zeff had time to get on his nerves, he could damn well reheat his own tea.

For long minutes that could have been hours, Sanji just laid there, staring up at the egg-yolk-colored ceiling without thinking of anything in particular, without being able to focus beyond the knot in his throat that seemed to be tied up somewhere down in his stomach, squeezing his lungs and heart into a single painful lump.

More than anything, he wanted to believe what Zeff was implying—that it was still possible to go back, to reclaim his place on the crew of the Pirate King, to only return to Baratie permanently two or three decades down the line, when the other members were also ready to settle and call somewhere else home.

And maybe then, when he put roots down again in the All Blue, he wouldn’t be the only Straw Hat doing so.

But that wasn’t an option and he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of being delusional. Nobody had said anything in their letters and nothing had shown up in the news, but Sanji was sure they’d already found a new cook by now—maybe someone whose strength even rivaled the World’s Greatest Swordsman, and, therefore, someone who had also taken his place as the Left Wing of the Pirate King. Although honestly, it was probably Jinbe who had inherited that title after he left.

And for the lack of personal letters, the lack of any mention of him, not even a casual “say hi to Sanji” in someone else’s letter, Zoro and Luffy had definitely moved on, replaced him completely, no doubt about it.

Sanji’s lips trembled with the sob he was holding back yet again. He couldn’t let himself spiral like this, instead, he had to run into happier memories.

Making up his mind, Sanji sat up on the bed, crossing his legs, still ignoring the box as he opened the basket, pulling from there a big—

—a whole fried pike, crisp to perfection and with lemon on the side! My favorite! What a coincidence this is the first thing I eat after coming back!” Usopp exclaimed excitedly, drool already gathering at the corners of his mouth as he practically bounced onto the stool by the counter that separated the Sunny ’s kitchen from the rest of the galley —and such a big, well-equipped galley too! Sanji still couldn’t quite believe it. He needed to find out Franky’s favorite food soon so he could thank him properly—, and wasted no time in grabbing one of the fish and drowning it in lemon juice.

Sanji let out a short chuckle while drying the dishes he had just washed after cooking the fishes. Luckily, Luffy was far too busy fishing because Sanji had told him it was the only way he’d get fish today, so there was no sign of him showing up to steal Usopp’s food. At least not yet.

“I don’t cook coincidences, I just wanted to give you a special ‘welcome back, Captain Usopp’ meal’,” Sanji said with a faint side-smile almost inconspicuous due to the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

Usopp stopped mid-bite, holding the fish up in front of his face like a shield as he peeked over it at Sanji from the corner of his eye.

“You knew it was my favorite?” he asked quietly, voice high-pitched, eyes darting up and down as he scrutinized the cook. Sanji just shrugged, barely holding back a confused laugh at the reaction. “Well, thank you, my friend. It’s truly good to eat your cooking again, Sanji-kun. I must admit I was getting tired of preparing so many gourmet meals for myself—it was nice to dust off my natural kitchen skills, that is, until the citizens of Water 7 started smelling the aroma and lining up for blocks just to have the honor of tasting a single bite of my cooking since the first ones who tried it spread the word that it was divine—miraculous, even! Kashii and Oimo didn’t even know whether they wanted to bring me to Elbaph for my unmatched, jaw-dropping marksmanship or my miracle-working food!” Usopp rambled on while devouring the fish with delight, practically drowning it in lemon to the point that Sanji ended up slicing another one for him as he listened to the story, that small smile never leaving his face.

Usually, Sanji tuned out the words that came out of Usopp when he started with his wild, obviously exaggerated tales, content to let the sniper’s voice fill the space as comforting background noise. But this time, he listened paying attention to everything. After all the drama with the Going Merry, the duel with Luffy, and Usopp leaving the crew—Sanji could only feel grateful that everyone was back, back at sea, back together. Grateful that Usopp was here, telling his stories again, no matter how absurd they were.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud, though.

“But seriously, this fish is amazing, Sanji. Thank you for going through the trouble just for me.” Unlike when he was telling lies, Usopp’s shoulders curled in slightly as he spoke sincerely, his face and eyes lowered instead of lifted in false bravado.

Sanji chuckled as he finished putting away the last of the washed and dried utensils.

“It was no trouble at all. Just my duty—and pleasure—as the cook,” he said without thinking much of it, already planning to head up to the deck for a smoke and to check on Luffy’s fishing progress. But Usopp’s gaze, fixed and tense on the remaining piece of fish in his hand, made him pause and raise a brow. “What is it, ‘Sopp? Is it undercooked?” he worried, already craning his neck to take a look, his heart skipping a beat at the mere possibility of a mistake in the kitchen, but the sniper shook his head so hard in response that his short curls bounced against his cheeks. “Then what is it? I’m not gonna ask ag—”

“Thanks, Sanji,” Usopp blurted out like a sneeze, startling the cook, who opened his mouth to scold him, until he noticed Usopp was shaking slightly, from head to toe, especially in his face, where his eyes were tightly shut and his teeth bit hard into his bottom lip.

Sanji froze, confused, quietly taking in the sight of his crewmate and the moment. Unable to come to a conclusion as to what might have happened, he sighed and reached for the cigarette between his fingers, placing it back between his lips, still unlit.

“You don’t have to thank me for coo—”

“No, I mean… yeah, thanks for the fish too, but I meant… everything else,” Usopp murmured so quietly that Sanji had to lean in to catch it. The words trembled out, and that only deepened the frown on Sanji’s face as he tried to understand where this was coming from and what exactly his friend meant.

“What’s gotten into you, ‘Sopp? What ‘everything else’?” he inquired, a bit impatient now. His foot had started tapping restlessly on the floor, and his free hand— the one not tucked into his pocket—was fidgeting with the unlit cigarette. A cigarette he was hoping to light any moment now.

Usopp looked at him wide-eyed, then swallowed hard as he placed the piece of fish back on the plate. Sanji was just about to press him again when Usopp finally spoke, his voice still a murmur, but clear enough to hear:

“Chopper told me you guys… tried to warn me about the Aqua Laguna in a way that wouldn’t go against Luffy and that it was your idea. And… if Luffy had kicked me out like it seemed he was going during our fight still on the Merry—when you kicked him so he’d think before speaking—if he had, well, there wouldn’t have been a way back and I wouldn’t be here now. And at Enies Lobby…” He paused, swallowing again, now entirely focused on the dead skin peeling around his fingers. “I’m really grateful you saved me from that dumb wolf, of course, but thank you mostly for what… for what you said, about me doing what you couldn’t. Because of that, I…” he let out a nervous laugh. “I really did help save Robin. For real, if it hadn’t been for me, for my shots, she and Franky might not have made it out. But more than that, I… you helped me realize I really do have a place here with you guys. That I can be useful in a fight, even if I’m not a monster like you, Zoro, and Luffy. And that more than anything motivated me to come back because I finally realized I’m… not a burden to you guys. That you need me. Right?” Usopp turned hopeful eyes toward Sanji. He was still shaking slightly, close to picking his fingers raw, but at least he was managing to look Sanji in the eyes now, and it seemed like he’d said everything he needed to.

Sanji gave a small, amused exhale through his nose.

“Of course we need you, ‘Sopp. You were an idiot to think otherwise by comparing yourself to me and the two muscleheads who grew up training hand-to-hand combat while you trained your aim, right?” He raised his visible eyebrow and continued when Usopp nodded. “See? And that’s something none of us can do. And there’ll always be enemies who fight from a distance, or situations like Enies Lobby—and that’s where you come in.”

“Yeah. Now… now I get that. And I wanted to thank you for helping me see it.”

Sanji clicked his tongue, waving a hand dismissively.

“No need to thank me. It was all for Miss Robin, obviously. Needed you to snap out of it so we could save her.”

It was Usopp’s turn to raise an eyebrow and give a wobbly little laugh.

“So it was all just for Robin, huh?”

“Obviously. I don’t give a damn about you idiot men.”

“Even saving me, warning me about the Aqua Laguna and stopping Luffy from kicking me out?”

Sanji’s eyes widened in alarm, not liking the smug look Usopp was giving him, so he clenched his teeth.

“It was for Miss Nami! So she wouldn’t be sad!”

“It’s okay if you love me, Sanji. I also love y—NO! STOP!”

“GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!” Sanji roared, chasing after the sniper and trying to land a solid kick to his head.

“Bu-but I haven’t finished eating what you made for me yet!”

That made Sanji halt immediately, groaning. He looked down at the plate with the remaining fish, then narrowed his eyes at Usopp, pointing at him with the fingers still holding the unlit cigarette in warning.

“Finish eating quietly then wash what you used—carefully! And never thank me again for anything! Just accept that you’re part of the Straw Hats because Luffy wanted you here—and that’s forever. No more nonsense, got it?”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

Sanji rolled his eyes at Usopp’s exaggerated military salute, spinning on his heel to leave as fast as he could because he desperately needed to—

—smoke on the balcony of his room, taking advantage of the fact that the strong breeze from earlier had settled, meaning he didn’t have to tie his hair back in a ponytail or bun just to avoid it whipping into his face and burning with the cigarette.

The number of boats around the Baratie had grown with the lunch rush now winding down, and a good portion of them would leave for just a few hours to explore the All Blue, only to return in time for dinner. Sanji usually didn’t have the luxury of time to pay much attention to these things, it was just something he’d picked up on over the years, but right now, with time to kill and a desperate need to avoid intrusive thoughts, he started trying to guess which boats were doing just that, just from their looks, what he knew of the crews, or any history they might have at the Baratie.

Which boats were there just for a hearty, satisfying lunch? Which would come back to stuff themselves even more at dinner? Which wouldn’t budge from their spots until the restaurant closed for the night?

After only thirty minutes of thinking about it and watching people come and go, the boredom started to dull his senses, so much so that he didn’t even notice the first intrusive thought sneaking in until it was too late.

Did Luffy hate him for destroying Bartolomeo’s ship for no reason? Because surely he knew by now and the Barto Club was part of the Straw Hat fleet, while Sanji…

“Little Eggplant.”

Sanji jolted so hard at Zeff’s voice that the end of his cigarette slipped through his fingers and dropped to the floor below, which annoyed the hell out of him because now he’d have to go fetch it. And seriously, was he so deep in his own head that even his Observation Haki had failed?

With a grimace of displeasure, he turned to find Zeff standing in the middle of his room, arms crossed and face unreadable.

“What is it? You want more tea? I’ll go ge—”

“You should’ve sent that letter to your friends,” Zeff said flatly, like he was stating the ocean was blue. But Sanji’s heart missed a few beats in a row, his eyes going wide for a second, mouth suddenly dry.

“Wh—what letter? I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. There’s no le—”

“That pathetic letter you wrote over a year ago, begging to go back to that Straw Hat brat’s crew, but never sent,” Zeff said in the same deadpan tone, and Sanji saw red.

“You were going through MY stuff?!”

“I didn’t get why you were begging to go back when you never really left, but whatever. You still should’ve sent it,” he grumbled, ignoring the younger man’s outburst, shrugging as he made his way to sit on the bed—his age making it harder to stand for long on his real and wooden legs.

Sanji barely registered his hands flying up to grip his hair as his legs carried him closer to his father, blood boiling as he looked at him, finger nearly jabbing into the wrinkled face as he barked:

“You have NO right to go through my stuff, you senile old bastard! Let alone read my letters! Who gave you that right?! When did you read it?! Forget whatever you read immediately!”

He was seconds away from tearing his own hair out, but Zeff just stared back at him like he was still a tantrum-throwing ten-year-old pissed about oregano, which only made Sanji’s blood simmer harder.

“It was lying out on your bed. Thought it was a new recipe and left it alone, figured you were gonna send it to your friends and I’d finally be free from hearing you mope around all day.”

“I don’t mope!”

“But then, months later, I found the same letter tucked away in this box here,” Zeff pointed at the box still sitting on the bed beside the basket, and Sanji clenched his fists so tight he might as well have cracked bones.

“Why the hell were you looking through my box?!”

“It was on the shelf with the books, thought there were more inside and I was looking for one. But that’s beside the point, kid.”

“How is that beside the point?! You insufferable old man, you ju—”

“Anyway, when I saw the letter again, I couldn’t help myself and sent it to Luffy through the News Coo, since you didn’t have the guts to do it yourself.” He crossed his arms and stared at Sanji, clearly waiting for a reaction.

But Sanji was too busy with the sudden paralysis gripping his whole body, stopping even his breathing, while his eyes were nearly popping out of his head, and his heart seemed to be taking a full barrage of Gomu Gomu no Jet Gatling punches.

It took anywhere from two minutes to two hours for him to come back to his senses and find his voice again.

“YOU DID WHAT?!” he screamed so loud it surely reached the kitchen, but he couldn’t have cared less even if he tried.

Zeff frowned deeper, lips pressed into a tight line.

“What you should have done. You’re welcome, ungrateful brat.”

Sanji was going to kill Zeff.

Usually, his threats to kick Zeff into the middle of the All Blue weren’t serious, and Sanji was always fully aware that he owed his literal life to the man who’d raised him, taught him most of what he knew about cooking and fighting, and who he considered his father and yes, Sanji loved him; of course he did, and he’d do anything for him. However, right now? He could throttle Zeff to death with his bare hands and not feel the slightest bit of remorse.

In fact, he was already picturing the scene and was mere seconds from leaping at the old man lying on his bed, so he forced every cell in his body to turn away, to walk in the opposite direction and start pacing around the room, trying to funnel his sudden adrenaline spike into motion instead of murder, eyes fixed firmly on his feet about to caught fire, because if he so much as glanced at that braided mustache…

“Don’t know why you’re freaking out, Little Eggplant. If you didn’t want to send the letter to your crew, you shouldn’t have written it.”

Sanji clenched his fists tightly, reminding himself with desperate clarity that they were sacred and, therefore, could not be used for patricide.

“If I wanted to send it, I would have done it!” he growled, mind now haunted by excruciating images of the Straw Hats reading that embarrassing letter and rolling on the floor laughing, turning Sanji into a running joke.

BlackLeg Sanji? Oh yeah, he was this cook we had who left us because of some little sea and then sent us this crybaby letter saying he missed us and begging to come back! Totally forgot about him! Shishishishi—

No, Sanji wouldn’t kill Zeff—he’d find a Devil Fruit right now and jump straight into the All Blue after taking a bite.

“If you keep doing that, you’ll go bald before I do, Little Eggplant,” Zeff said, making Sanji pause mid-step and stare at him in confusion. It only took a second to realize he had both hands buried in his hair, yanking at the roots.

Sanji groaned and went back to pacing, hands now safely away from his head.

“You had NO right to do what you did, you senile old bastard! Do you understand that?! You—ugh! How humiliating!”

“Don’t know why you’re reacting like this,” Zeff said in a tone bordering on bored, earning a deadly, incredulous glare from Sanji, which he ignored completely. “You want to sail with them again, and it’s clear they wouldn’t hesitate for a second to take you back.”

“You don’t know that! It’s been six years—they’ve obviously got a new cook by now, so why would they want me?”

“Beats me, since you’re still a thick-headed idiot.”

Sanji froze, looking at him in outrage, jaw dropped, eyes wide.

“What the hell is your problem, you ol—”

“What the hell is YOUR problem, Sanji? Or did you already forget that your dumbass captain nearly starved himself to death because he’d rather do that than not have you with them?”

Sanji pressed his lips into a thin line and shrank slightly, one hand gripping his opposite arm as his chest twisted. His mouth was horribly dry when he muttered:

“That—he hadn’t found the One Piece yet, he needed—”.

“You do remember I was here six years ago when you made your decision and during that farewell party, right?” Zeff’s voice turned accusing now, eyes narrowing at his son, who swallowed hard, bracing for what came next. “None of them wanted to leave you behind. That skeleton, the raccoon, the long-nose and the half-cyborg wouldn’t stop crying and clinging to you. The fishman clearly didn’t want to be part of their spectacle, but he still spent the whole time sighing into the floor. That Nico Robin woman didn’t take her eyes off you and I’m pretty damn sure she was planning a kidnapping with how often she used her powers to touch you or help you with something while constantly calculating the distance to the ship. The redhead tried to play it cool, but she smacked you every five minutes for nothing, and the other cooks told me she even tried to bribe you with ‘come with us and I’ll let you touch my tits for a week’ when you two were alone. And don’t even get me started on the cabbage-head puppy-dogging at your feet and picking fights every chance he got.

“And I’m pretty sure that was the only party your weird-ass captain didn’t eat a single thing and sulked in the corner the whole time, not to mention that you spent weeks trying to convince him to let you stay and he literally tried to rubber-arm kidnap you back onto the ship as they were pulling away.” Zeff paused with a faint laugh, his mustache twitching as he shook his head, completely unaware that remembering that day was ripping Sanji’s heart open all over again. “And all I just said is not even the full reason why I know that whole band of weirdos misses you just as much as you miss them, so of course they’ll take you back with open arms—no matter how pathetic you sounded in that letter, and you did sound pathetic as hell, Little Eggplant.”

When Zeff finally fell silent, Sanji was already sitting beside him, shoulders slumped and face buried in his hands, drawing in deep, slow breaths as if trying to breathe around the twisted knot in his chest that pressed hard against his throat and stomach.

It had been exactly six years since that farewell party, since he’d had to pull himself free from Luffy’s rubber arms for the last time.

This “anniversary” needed to end soon.

“It’s been six years, Zeff.”

“So what?”

“Things change.”

Zeff let out a grunt in agreement, but his voice stayed steady when he stated:

“They do. Even the way you love can change, like how you’ve come to love them from a distance now, letting that love consume you as longing every year. But true love doesn’t go away and that’s the love you feel for them and it’s mutual.” He said all this with his eyes fixed on the wall, voice coming out almost strained—but not a hint of sarcasm in it. Sanji had no choice but to bite his lower lip hard to control the sobbing trying to escape his throat.

When he finally managed to regain enough control, pulling himself out of the danger zone with trembling fists planted on the bed, he swallowed thickly and tried to force a sarcastic quip—but it came out too weak, to his horror:

“You’re getting all sentimental in your old age, huh?”

Zeff flicked his forehead without warning.

“Just listen to me once in your life, kid.”

Sanji huffed, rubbing the sore spot before letting his arms fall back to his sides and then letting his whole body fall back onto the bed. For a few minutes, both men allowed silence to stretch through the room, occasionally broken by the muffled sounds coming from the outside, from the sea, the birds, and customers coming and going, but Sanji was so deep in his thoughts that he registered none of it; slowly coming to terms with the fact that the most pathetic letter he’d ever written had been sent to the people he considered his second family, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

Gnawing at his lip, he finally asked:

“When did you send it?”

Zeff shifted on the bed and let out a throat-clearing grumble, like he had to force the memory up.

“Maybe three months ago. I was hoping you’d be long gone before today even got here,” he admitted, scratching his thinning, dyed-blond hair.

Sanji’s stomach dropped, but he pushed on.

“And… was there a response?” He hadn’t received anything—if he had, he would’ve known what stunt Zeff had pulled a lot earlier.

In fact, the last letter he’d gotten from the Straw Hats had come from his dear Robin, almost a year ago, a few weeks before he wrote that humiliating letter. Sanji didn’t know why they’d stopped contacting him when it had used to be—albeit inconsistently—every few months. However, he knew they were okay since they’d even been mentioned in the newspaper last month, just a tiny blurb, but one that left no room for doubt they were alive.

Maybe they’d just gotten tired of pretending he was still one of them.

Zeff let out a long sigh, and Sanji already knew what the answer would be even before hearing it.

“No. Nothing.” Sanji covered his eyes with one arm and bit his lip so hard he tasted metal. “But you know how those News Coo can lose track sometimes, maybe they never even got it, and that’s why you should write agai—”

“Go back to your room, Zeff. I’ll bring your tea with your lunch soon.”

“Littl—”

“I just want a few minutes alone, okay?” he snapped, sitting up with a jolt and glaring at Zeff with bloodshot eyes, not caring that the tears he’d failed to hold back were now falling freely.

Zeff’s eyes widened, and Sanji would’ve loved to see that guilty expression ten minutes ago, when his heart hadn’t yet been shredded.

“Sanji—”

“Please, Zeff. Just leave me alone,” he pleaded, voice low and trembling, fists pressed into his eyes.

“This doesn’t change anything. I still don’t believe there’s a world where those idiots wouldn’t take you back.”

Sanji didn’t reply, didn’t lower his hands until he heard Zeff leave and the door shut behind him, then, he let himself collapse back onto the bed, curling up into a fetal position. But contrary to what he expected, he couldn’t cry; even though it felt like he could scream loud enough to reach the heavens, the tears had stopped.

Forcing himself to cry only left him drained, and before he could accidentally fall asleep, he sat back up, realizing it was well past time for Zeff to have lunch.

But first, Sanji opened his basket reluctantly, staring at the contents like they might jump out and attack him. For a second, he considered giving it to Zeff, getting rid of the last lingering memories and promising himself to never make a basket like that again, to leave the past where it belonged: in the past.

But before he realized it, he was already peeling one of the—

—tangerines!” he announced with a flourish, placing the plate with a generous slice of creamy dessert at the far corner of the table, just enough distance from the open map to avoid any chance of staining it, but not so close to the edge that it might fall.

Nami had been holed up in the library for over an hour now, studying the ancient map they had for Wano that showed nothing about the natural dangers surrounding the country —according to Kin’emon— and that’s why she was there, being amazing at her job, making sure the entire crew —and the Sunny— would reach their destination safely.

She was so focused that it took her a while to notice the unexpected guest, and when she finally did, she blinked slowly a few times. Sanji could see the moment it clicked for her, realizing it was him standing there.

She blinked once more—adorably—and gave a small, tired smile.

“Sorry, what did you say, Sanji-kun?”

A sudden urge to give her a full-body massage, then draw her a bubble bath and make sure she had the longest, most restful night of sleep ever, hit Sanji like a wave. But he held himself back and simply gave his brightest smile, repeating his words with the same enthusiasm:

“I prepared this extra-special creamy tangerine pavê just for you, my lady!”

Nami’s big, beautiful brown eyes followed the direction he pointed to, a wilder and less tired smile stretching her pretty lips as she saw the white and orange dessert. Without hesitation, she picked up the plate carefully and took a big, satisfying first bite.

“It’s delicious, Sanji-kun! Thank you so much! I don’t even know how you always guess when I’m starting to get hungry,” she said while chewing happily, one delicate hand in front of her mouth out of politeness, already diving into a second bite.

Sanji couldn’t help the enormous smile that lit up his entire face, or the hearts in his eyes that seemed to orbit around him as his real one beat faster in pure delight.

“I’m glad you liked it, Nami-san! And it’s just my job—no need to thank me! Now I’ll leave you to your amazing work,” he said, already turning to go after a quick, respectful bow, but he was stopped when the navigator grabbed his arm a bit more firmly than necessary.

“Wait, Sanji-kun, don’t go just yet,” she said, sounding slightly agitated, letting go of his arm and looking down at the plate in her hands when he turned back to her. Sanji could’ve sworn her cheeks were tinged pink, but the well-shaped and furrowed ginger brows twisted her lovely face into something more like quiet distress.

Sanji went on immediate alert.

“What is it, Nami-san? Is something wrong? Is it not sweet enough? Something about the map?”

“No, no, everything’s fine. The pavê is amazing, like I said. Everything’s okay now—we escaped Big Mom, we’re on our way to meet the others in Wano, and soon we’ll all be together again, just like it should be.” She ended in a sigh, but the weight in her voice didn’t quite match her words and Sanji had the distinct feeling she wasn’t done talking, but instead of continuing, she just stared at an empty spot on the table, lips pressed tight between her teeth.

Now it was Sanji’s turn to sigh, the joy from earlier quietly slipping away.

“You can tell me whatever it is you want to say, Nami-san. I can take it—and I probably deser—”

“No!” she gasped in a hushed cry, startling him as she grabbed his hand. Now she stared at him with wide eyes, and Sanji did not like the tears that seemed to be gathering in them. “Don’t say something like that and… I don’t want to fight with you again. Actually, I want to… apologize.”

“Nami-san, you’re perfect. You have nothing to be sorr—”

“No, I do, Sanji…” she interrupted with another sigh as her shoulders slumped, making her look even more drained, teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Sanji’s hands and mouth were already itching for a cigarette. “Sanji… can you sit with me for a minute, please?”

Sanji wished he could say he didn’t hesitate, that he immediately sat as close as possible with all the eagerness and gratitude that a simple request from their navigator deserved. However, besides her expression and the way she carried herself getting him nervous, it hadn’t even been a full week since they’d escaped Tottoland, thus everything that happened there still felt painfully fresh in his mind and skin.

If she said something like not wanting him in the crew anymore, he might just throw himself overboard then and there so as to not cause them any more trouble, and to make sure Luffy would never again put his own life in danger for the sake of not losing him.

After all, Luffy could achieve just about anything—except bringing someone back from the dead.

Even so, Sanji sat on the small stool beside Nami’s table, hands shoved in his pockets, legs crossed, back straight, and all his attention on her—even if his stomach felt like it was performing its own Mutton Shot and Anti-Manner Kick Course.

Nami quietly finished the rest of her pavê, savoring it while she either gathered the right words or the courage to say them—Sanji couldn’t tell, but he appreciated getting to see her enjoy the treat he’d made, knowing he had more saved in the fridge and ready to get her another slice the moment she asked.

“Would you like more? I’ll go grab some for you,” he offered with a soft smile, already reaching to take her plate.

Nami placed the dish down on the table instead.

“Maybe later,” she declined, then turned her whole body to face the cook, offering both hands to him. He took them hesitantly, even though his heart was pounding for more than one reason. Nami took a deep breath with her eyes closed, exhaling slowly before opening them again, those mesmerizing brown irises locking onto Sanji’s blue ones as she gave his hands a light squeeze and finally spoke. “I should’ve been a better crewmate to you.”

“No, Nam-”

“Sanji, just listen, okay? Please. I need to say this before it eats me alive,” she pleaded, letting that agony she seemed to be feeling reflect in her eyes, which made Sanji’s throat tighten. He had no choice but to nod and force himself to respect Nami’s request. That seemed to satisfy her, because she went on: “I’ve known you for years, I know who you are and how you always throw yourself into danger for others. You barely even knew me and still fought tooth and nail against Arlong’s crew to help me, risked your life for a stranger, and I know it wasn’t just because I’m a woman, so don’t even try,” she cut him off sharply, voice and gaze firm, stopping him before he could even start with that old excuse. “Anyway, I was there inside Capone, I heard everything he said, I saw your face, Sanji-kun. You were terrified. Of course something was seriously wrong with that whole situation, I could tell. And then you saved us, and-.” Nami let go of his hands to cover her face, shaking her head before taking a few steadying breaths. Sanji waited, biting the inside of his cheek, doing his best not to replay that scene in his mind. He thought Nami would keep speaking without touching him, but she reached for his hands again. Her eyes were redder now, her voice more strained. “The smile you gave us when you said goodbye, Sanji… Everything you did in that moment… it was exactly like my mom protecting me and Nojiko before she died and she knew she wasn’t going to make it. She knew there was no turning back. And you-.”

When she was cut off by a loud sob breaking from her throat, Sanji didn’t hesitate in pulling her into a hug, holding her tightly as she buried her face in his neck, now crying in earnest, her hands gripping the fabric of his button-up.

For several minutes, Nami just cried in his arms while he gently traced circles on her back and whispered that it was okay, that it was over. And, when she finally seemed calm enough, he let it slip in a murmur:

“I’m sorry I triggered all that, Nami-san. I didn’t mean to.”

Nami pulled away abruptly, glaring at him with that sharp, scolding look of hers—one that could still strike fear even with her face red and puffy from crying.

“You don’t get to apologize, Sanji! I just-,” she growled, pressing her palms to her eyes again. “I just mean that I knew you were sacrificing yourself for us again. I knew you didn’t want to be there. I know you as your nakama , I know you and I knew all of that and even so, I… I hit you. I hated you. I believed you betrayed us and-.”

“Because I wanted you all to believe it!”

Nami dropped her hands and looked straight at him.

“Luffy didn’t doubt you for even a second and he wasn’t there when they took you, he didn’t see your goodbye smile. And still, he never doubted you, just like you never doubted any of us,” her voice cracked near the end, but her expression didn’t falter.

Sanji sighed, then briefly covered his face with his hands before stuffing them into his pockets again.

“But Luffy’s different. He’s special and stubborn. You know how he is.”

“Yeah, but still… I should’ve known better. I feel like I failed as your nakama the-“.

“Hey, Nami-san,” Sanji gently interrupted her, placing a hand over hers on the table and waited until she looked at him again before continuing with a small smile he hoped was comforting. “You were there alone and scared watching me kick our captain with everything I had while Luffy just… let me. And he would’ve kept letting me, even if it meant dying. Everyone saw that. So I’ll never, ever blame you for the way you reacted, Nami-san. Not just because it’s what I… wanted, but also because…” He paused, pressing his lips and eyes shut tightly, trying to hold back the tears. Remembering his “fight” with Luffy made his stomach churn so violently he thought he might throw up the snack he’d eaten two hours earlier. “If… if it hurt me to the point I wanted to set myself on fire for good just to… stop existing, then I can only imagine how it must’ve felt for you. And I’m sorry you had to witness it.” His words were muffled by Nami’s shirt when she suddenly grabbed him again in a tight hug. Sanji melted instantly, letting himself be held while his heart pounded so hard it felt like it was in his ears, his throat, his feet barely grounded, behind his eyes, and in his hands as they shyly wrapped around Nami’s waist, returning her embrace.

“Well, how about we agree we both messed up, we forgive each other, and something like that never happens again, okay?” Her voice was slightly muffled by the way her face was pressed to his shoulder, but at least it didn’t sound tearful anymore.

Sanji let out a soft, nasal laugh, taking in the citrusy scent of the redhead in the process.

“All right, Nami-san,” he agreed at last, the tension in his limbs fading, replaced by a deep desire to savor the rare hug for as long as he could.

Nami let go of him so suddenly that Sanji’s chair tipped backward, and the next thing he knew, his head and shoulder were throbbing where they’d hit the floor. For a few stunned moments, all he could do was stare at the library ceiling, bewildered, as Nami ranted in the background:

— Good! Because if you pull that kind of stunt again, I’ll charge you so much emotional interest your great-grandkids will still owe me by the time they die! Now go, I want another slice of that dessert. Actually, I expect you to make it every day this week to make up for the emotional trauma! Oh, and while you’re at it, bring me a cup of—

—tea with a lunch plate for Zeff was handed to one of the kitchen assistants to deliver, since Sanji knew it wasn’t a good idea to run into his father again just yet, and maybe it was a good idea to stay in the kitchen a while, help out where needed, and distract himself from his latest discovery.

And what better way to distract himself than by cooking and being useful in the kitchen?

However, his help lasted exactly twelve minutes of yelling, kicking, and threatening over everything and nothing at all, just enough to make some of the younger cooks shrink back or flee in terror. Pudding ended up abandoning her own work to drag Sanji by the ear to the bakery area. She plopped him down at one of the corner tables meant for staff breaks and meals, her face set in a disapproving scowl that left Sanji no choice but obey her and sit with his head low and his tail between his legs—if he had one, that is.

“I’m sorry, Pudding-san! I promise I’ll yell quieter so I won’t disturb you, no need to leave me grounded,” he pleaded in a higher-pitched voice when the woman stepped away to do something at the countertop that was probably hers, since no one else was using it.

“The issue isn’t the volume of your yelling, Sanji-kun.”

“Then what is it?” Sanji stared at Pudding confused, never taking his eyes off her until she sat down at the table with him, carrying a full teapot, two cups, and a large plate piled with extra-stuffed 60% dark chocolate croissants—some with nuts, others with berries or coffee.

Pudding efficiently poured tea for them both—and from the scent, it had to be hibiscus with ginger, clove, and cinnamon—then grabbed a huge croissant with a napkin just as Sanji took a sip of his tea. He nearly spat it out when she finally spoke, just before sinking her teeth into the flaky pastry:

“Go on, talk. What happened?”

Sanji forced down the hot tea with difficulty.

“Why do you think something happened?”

Pudding stared at him with her three unblinking eyes, chewing in silence for so long that Sanji began shifting uncomfortably and plotting how to leave without being rude. Then she finally said, dead serious:

“If nothing had happened, you’d be spending the whole day lost in your thoughts by the shore like you have every year on this date for the last four years. So something did happen for you to be here, taking your frustration out on the poor cooks, and you’re going to tell me what it is or I’ll look through your memories myself!” she threatened, taking another bite of her pastry. Sanji shrank back.

“You promised you wouldn’t mess with my memories anymore…”

“And I won’t, because you’re going to tell me!” she declared with her mouth full, but Sanji would never scold a woman for her manners—they had every right to behave however they pleased—so he just let out a heavy sigh, slumping in his chair as he wrapped his hands around the tall, pink cup decorated in raised drawings of various chocolate faces, identical to all the cups in the bakery since he’d given Pudding full creative freedom to personalize and organize that section of Baratie however she wanted, even if it had ended up more colorful than the rest and a bit too reminiscent of Tottoland and Big Mom.

He couldn’t blame her for missing home or wanting to keep a memory of her late mother, no matter how awful she’d been.

At least Pudding had made sure the whole setup was charming and complementary. Sanji had never lied when he’d showered her with praise about how the bakery was the most delightful part of the entire place.

Resigned to the fact that there was no escape—and too tired to come up with a convincing lie—Sanji told her about the pathetic letter, about Zeff sending it without his permission, and about the complete silence from his old crew, who were surely ghosting him on purpose now that there was no place for him among them.

“Now I just have to learn to accept that I’ll never hear from them again, that being a part of the Straw Hats is a thing of the past, that I’ll spend the rest of my life hearing about them in the newspapers like everyone else, and that I’ll only have them in my memories,” he finished, taking a long sip of his tea, now at the perfect drinking temperature.

Pudding was already on her second cup of tea and seventh croissant because she’d eaten and drunk nonstop while listening attentively, but now she was just frozen, half a croissant nearly slipping through her slender fingers with short, well-manicured nails, painted light brown with colorful glitter, while she stared at Sanji with slowly blinking eyes, a frown on her face that was the perfect mix of confusion and accusation.

Sanji could hear her next words before she even said them:

“I thought you were smarter than this, Sanji-kun.”

“I know, I shouldn’t have written that stupid lett—”

“I’m not talking about that,” she interrupted, her fine brows furrowing further, her pink lips pursed into a pout. Sanji blinked at her in confusion. “I’m saying—you know how the Grand Line and the New World are. Wherever they are, it’s chaos. Literally anything could have happened to stop them from replying to your letter.”

Sanji clenched his jaw, eyes dropping to the nearly empty cup in his hands on the table. He knew that and wanted to believe it, to believe there was a plausible reason his nakama had left him in the dark about his request to return. But…

“It would’ve made the papers if something like that happened. Morgans’d never misse a chance to publish news about the Pirate King and his infamous crew, and the last time they showed up in a headline, it was just a mention that they’d been seen with the Heart Pirates heading toward some summer island surrounded by whirlpools,” he spoke with bile rising in his throat, then downed the rest of his tea to wash the taste from his mouth.

Sanji flinched when Pudding took his hand instead of reaching for the last croissant. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her voice grew firmer:

“I read that article, Sanji-kun. That was over a month ago, and it came from someone who said they’d seen them weeks before that was even printed, which could mean they’ve been completely off the radar for two months or more.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, his heart suddenly pounding.

“You’re saying something happened?”

“Nothing tragic!” she rushed to clarify, almost yelling. Then, quieter, “Just that… Sanji-kun, I was there when the Vinsmokes tried to force you to marry me. I wasn’t present for everything, but at least one of Mama’s Homies was, and they loved to gossip amongst themselves, so I always ended up hearing things. And I swear, when that captain of yours showed up, I seriously started to think they were trying to marry me off to someone already married.”

If Sanji had still been drinking tea, he would’ve spit it across the table. Instead, he just stared at her with wide eyes, jaw practically hitting the floor. Pudding chuckled softly, one hand covering her mouth, and Sanji shrank back, giving a sheepish smile as his free hand rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, Luffy is a bit… intense. And dramatic. And stubborn…”

“And I highly doubt he wouldn’t want you back. Nerissa told me all about the farewell party, by the way.” Pudding shot him a knowing grin, making Sanji laugh under his breath and shake his head.

Then he sighed—he seemed to be doing that a lot today.

“Maybe you and the old man are right. A big part of me believes that because I know the Straw Hats and Luffy better than either of you and I… I learned my lesson after our almost-wedding, Pudding-chan. I know they love me. That they’d do anything for me, just like I would for them, but… six years is a long time. And it makes me afraid to believe so much. Makes me feel like the chances of being disappointed for hoping are higher than I want to admit,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper, like he was trying to shrink into himself. His eyes were locked on the last croissant on the plate, though they weren’t really seeing it.

No, what he was seeing was a wide, toothy grin beneath slitted eyes and an old scar under one of them.

Pudding leaned down till she managed to grab the basket Sanji had placed under the table when he sat, swapping out his empty cup with it. When she spoke, her voice was as sweet as one of her most famous chocolate glazes:

“What I think is that all this longing you feel for them—so intense you end up spending the whole day eating only their favorite foods and isolating yourself, denying yourself the thing you love doing the most—is the same longing they feel for you. Maybe at different levels and in their own ways, but they do miss you. Even if they never eat spicy seafood pasta, they miss you and would be more than happy to have you back.”

It wasn’t just wonderful to hear those words and believe them to the purest truth, but Sanji also could never disagree with the wise words of a woman, especially not someone as intelligent and dear as Charlotte Pudding. So he simply gave her a small smile, cheeks warming at the image of his entire nakama seated around the Sunny’s table, stuffing themselves with spicy seafood pasta and sharing their fondest memories of him.

His heart fluttered with joy at the mere thought.

And because he wanted to preserve that image and fantasy in his mind, without running the risk of being consumed by doubt, anxiety, and the possibility of rejection, he chose to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction, turning his whole body toward her.

“But what about you, Pudding-chan? Wouldn’t it be kind of wrong of me to just… leave for a while and hand the Baratie over to you all?”

“You wouldn’t be handing it over—you’d be entrusting it to us. Nothing would make me more honored, Sanji-kun, and I’m sure Nerissa feels the same! We’ll do our absolute best to make sure it’s even better by the time you visit or decide to come back, you have my word. It’ll be in great hands, especially since it’s our home now too.” Her wide, toothy smile nearly melted Sanji more than her words had.

Sanji would never forget the moment Pudding first appeared at the Baratie with two of her younger siblings, visiting as customers over four years ago. They had come after hearing rave reviews about the restaurant, but what her siblings didn’t know was that Pudding was also looking for a new job. She wanted to get away from her family for a while, start fresh, live a life of her own choosing, and how could Sanji have possibly said no? Besides, he already knew what a brilliant baker she was, so the Baratie could only benefit. He’d never once regretted that decision, not even when the Charlottes became regulars. If anything, it turned out to be a good thing, considering their impressive appetites and the fact that none of them—at least those who visited—held any grudges over what happened in Tottoland nearly a decade ago. Brûlée and the family’s new captain, Katakuri, were among the most frequent.

And hey, they were pretty decent people—when they weren’t trying to kill Sanji and everyone he loved.

Hiring Pudding also meant she and Nerissa got to meet, and Sanji could never stop feeling proud that he was basically a stand-in for Eros, bringing about such a beautiful love story for his ex-fiancée.

Sanji flashed his widest smile back at her.

“I have no doubt the Baratie would be in excellent hands!” he said with full conviction. Not just the two women, but Patty, Carne, and Zeff too—Sanji trusted them all with his life. It only made sense to trust them with keeping his dream alive and thriving.

“Great, then eat something ‘cause you’re way too skinny, and get ready to send however many letters it takes for your crew to come pick you up,” she said, patting the basket and grabbing the last croissant to stuff into her mouth without even offering it to Sanji since they both knew the answer anyway; even though it was one of his favorite pastries of hers, he wouldn’t eat it that day.

Sanji’s eyes widened, nearly choking on his own saliva as Pudding’s words cemented themselves in his brain.

“I’m not going to flood them with letters!”

Pudding rolled her eyes, flipping open the basket’s lid and quickly checking its contents.

“We’ll see if you still think that after eating one—”

—onigiri over there if you want it,” Sanji said, gesturing casually with his chin toward the counter that separated the Sunny’s kitchen from the rest of the galley, where a single plate sat, filled with rice balls stuffed with bits of Sea King meat, neatly covered with a transparent cloche to protect its content. When the classless swordsman just responded with a grunt, Sanji shrugged and turned his attention back to preparing breakfast for the rest of the crew.

Roronoa Zoro had just come off the last night watch, which he’d just traded with Brook —who was now tuning his violin, if the occasional stray notes reaching the kitchen were anything to go by— that’s why Sanji had made his food first, just like he always did for anyone who spent most of the night awake, keeping watch and ensuring everyone’s safety. So there was nothing unusual about it. Sanji was just doing his job as the crew’s cook, even if he usually stuck to more standard dishes at this hour, without catering to anyone’s favorites.

The thing was, this was the first time he’d made onigiri for Zoro in weeks—hell, maybe almost two months. Not only that, but they’d left Wano less than a day ago, and though they’d talked a bit and been in perfect sync during all the chaos of taking down two Emperors, this was the first time since before Dressrosa that they were alone in a quiet, enclosed space, with neither of them seriously injured or focused on tracking down Luffy.

Sanji would’ve liked to say his stomach wasn’t twisting and his fingers weren’t itching to light a cigarette, his Haki hyper-aware of the silent, serious swordsman slowly approaching the counter. But that would be a lie.

He and Zoro had their own form of communication, one that had worked perfectly ever since they’d reached a mutual understanding during that stupid Davy Back Fight. An understanding built on the foundation that they were a team, that they worked better together than apart, that they complemented each other in ways outsiders could never fully grasp—and most importantly, that they were the perfect set of wings that would ascend Luffy as the new Pirate King.

And that form of communication rarely involved deep, vulnerable conversations where they laid their demons bare. They didn’t need to talk to know each other’s demons.

Nothing more effective to get to know someone’s darkest side than fighting side by side when your family’s lives are on the line.

Still, they were a team—and Sanji had threatened to leave his back exposed for good.

They were in sync enough that Sanji knew Zoro wouldn’t just let that slide. And Sanji knew himself well enough to know that if Roronoa prodded the right wounds, he’d end up revealing more than he meant to.

And poking wounds was practically Zoro’s job.

Sanji desperately needed a cigarette before his stomach dropped to his shoes.

Still, he nearly wasted three whole eggs, cracking them right into a green-haired head when Zoro appeared at his side without him noticing for being too caught up in his thoughts.

He almost smashed the eggs into that mossy head on purpose when he saw the smug little smirk on the bastard’s face, proud of the startled yelp Sanji didn’t make.

“What’s got you jumpy, eyebrows?” Zoro asked, stuffing a whole onigiri into his mouth like he had no manners.

Sanji carefully set the eggs in the sink and smacked the green head with the towel slung over his shoulder.

“I’m not jumpy! I was focused, and you didn’t have to sneak up like that!”

“So you’re saying your Haki sucks?”

“You suck!”

Zoro just laughed at Sanji’s irritation, shoving two more onigiri into his mouth, cheeks puffing up before he mumbled through the rice:

“Got any sake?”

Sanji put one hand on his hip and pointed toward the table with the other, towel back on his shoulder:

“It’s too early for sake, Marimo. Go sit down and eat properly, I’ll bring you some tea.”

“Don’t want tea.”

“Coffee’s not ready yet.”

“Don’t want coffee.”

“I’m not giving you sake, damn it!” As soon as he said it, Zoro plopped his empty plate in the sink and let out a loud burp after swallowing the last rice ball. Sanji wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes, pushing him toward the kitchen door. “If you’re done, get out and let me make breakfast in peace!”

Instead of leaving, Zoro grabbed both his wrists in one quick motion, and before Sanji could protest, he was backed up against the sink and silenced by the swordsman’s sudden serious expression.

Sanji would’ve kicked him across the ship if he didn’t already know where this was going, so he wasn’t surprised by what came next—even if it made his stomach sink.

“Can I trust that you’re really here—with me? With Luffy?”

Because the grip on his wrists wasn’t tight, Sanji let his arms relax as he blew out a heavy breath, his eyes dropping for a moment to Zoro’s broad, bare chest before locking again on the single grey eye as sharp as his own knives.

His throat was dry, but he didn’t let it show in his voice when he answered, “I never wanted to leave. I don’t know what you were told about what happened, but it wasn’t my choice.”

Zoro somehow moved even closer, their bodies separated only by Sanji’s bent arms between them, forcing Sanji to lean back—only to feel the granite edge of the sink digging into his lower back.

“That’s not what I asked, cook,” Zoro growled, and Sanji nearly rolled his eyes because it seemed that was all the moss-headed brute knew how to do, but instead he shut his eyes tight and clenched his jaw. His mouth was too bare without a cigarette, lungs tightening and nerves burning from the absence of nicotine.

Once this mess between them was sorted out and he wasn’t being pressured by guilt anymore, Sanji would kick Zoro so hard he’d spend a week in the sick bay unable to move.

“My place is here. Even my… ‘family’ isn’t dumb enough to try anything again. Not after everything that happened.” He declared and brought his face closer to Zoro’s, their foreheads almost touching like they used to, and finished in a voice firm enough to be a threat, “I’ll only leave if Luffy tells me to.”

A small, cutting smile tugged at the corner of Zoro’s lips. “Good ‘cause I can’t afford a blind spot.”

Sanji mirrored his smile, ignoring the uncharacteristic gentleness with which Zoro still held his wrists—something far more disarming than the familiar closeness of their faces.

“What’s this, Marimo? Are you confessing you couldn’t live without me?” he teased, aiming to pick a fight maybe, but the twitch in Zoro’s mouth and the way his eye seemed to lose focus stopped him cold. Sanji’s own smile faded, and the weight in his gut returned.

Sanji’s eyes widened as they dropped to his wrists, where rough, scarred thumbs had started to gently trace slow circles against the sensitive skin.

“If I’d been there, in Zou—” Zoro’s voice was so low Sanji wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t so close. His lips pulled downward, and with them came a rush of bile to Sanji’s throat, along with the vivid memory of a sword hilt cracking into his ribs, stealing his breath and his consciousness.

“It wouldn’t’ve made a damn difference, Marimo. They wanted me, so don’t start with that crap,” he snapped through his teeth, tugging at his arms with the intention of letting go, but that only made Zoro tighten his grip, still far from the risk of leaving marks, though.

“It would’ve made a difference ‘cause you wouldn’t’ve had to protect half the crew al—”

“And you were protecting the other half in Dressrosa! And helping to free a whole damn country and risking your neck to bring down a Shichibukai and his entire psycho family!”

“A Yonko was after you.”

“Yeah, I know—and I screwed everything up by putting us in the crosshairs of another Yonko when you guys were already declaring war on o—”

“Shut up! It doesn’t matter anymore ‘cause we beat them both already,” Zoro barked, shaking Sanji just enough to end the fight, though still careful not to hurt his wrists.

Sanji exhaled and shut his eyes, letting his body melt further into the sink behind him, safe in the knowledge that Zoro wouldn’t let him fall.

“You’re right. None of it matters now,” he whispered, hating the sting in his eyes and the tightness in his throat.

Then Zoro let go of one of his wrists, and Sanji figured he’d pull back, leave him to finish making breakfast alone—but instead, a hand brushed through his bangs, pushing them gently aside. Sanji blinked, confused, instinctively grabbing Zoro’s wrist to stop the movement, ready to yell—but the words died on his tongue when he saw Zoro’s anxious gaze fixed on both of his now-visible eyebrows.

Air slipped from Sanji’s lips without permission.

And for a minute—maybe hours—they stayed just like that, staring at each other in silence between shallow breaths, hands still on wrists, monsters being exposed in the arch of eyebrows and in the noticeable trembling of the muscles of a man trained to be unshakable.

When Zoro finally broke the silence, his whisper was so controlled it felt like a caress.

“And about that call…” His eyebrows furrowed, creating a shadow in his gaze. “Should I be worried?”

Sanji shook his head and released Zoro’s wrist to brace himself against the sink behind him.

“No. No new changes. I’m still me and I’m always gonna be me—whether you like it or not, moss-head,” he tried to joke, reaching for their usual banter, but the words didn’t have their usual bite.

Zoro just smiled—that same sharp grin as before.

“Good. It’d be a pain to find someone else that compatible to cover my blind spot after I kill you.”

Sanji gritted his teeth and yanked his arm back. This time, Zoro let go and stepped two full paces back, finally giving him the space he needed.

“I told you to let that go! And don’t worry—I’ll make sure you become the greatest second-rate swordsman alive with your back intact!”

Zoro gave a short chuckle, crossing his arms and flashing a nearly predatory grin.

“Shitty cook. I can say the same thing about your—”

—hands wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how hard he tried to will them still. Which, for a cook, was among the worst possible things that could happen. Fortunately, he wasn’t cooking, so there was no risk of ruining a meal, there was only the impossibility of getting a single word down on the blank sheet of paper that had been staring him down for hours.

What would he even write anyway?

Hey guys, what’s up? Just forget that pathetic letter you got before. I know you didn’t answer nor send anything else back because it was so embarrassing, so don’t worry about it. I didn’t even write it, seriously! It was Patty pulling a prank on me, can you believe it? I’m super happy here in the All Blue, living the dream! Sure, I miss Miss Nami and Miss Robin every single day—my heart practically bleeds from not witnessing such beauty and perfection everyday—but I’ve totally forgotten the rest of you! Like that idiot swordsman—was his hair moss or just actual shit? Can’t remember! Of course, I wouldn’t mind being your cook again, you know? Might be good to change things up a bit, make the old geezer suffer without my company for a while. But it’s fine if you don’t want me back on the crew. I mean, I was the one who left, right? Haha.

No. Sanji couldn’t write that. Especially because, in a way, it sounded even more pathetic than that letter.

Even though in that one he had spilled every honest thought and feeling he had, all thanks to the total lack of filter that came with drinking way too much alcohol, and now everyone in the Straw Hat crew—at the very least, since he could definitely count on Usopp, Chopper, and Luffy to be blabbermouths in their own “accidental” ways (and he’d never think something that mean about his beloved Nami, of course)—knew just how much he loved every single one of them, not just the lovely ladies, since he’d written long paragraphs describing exactly what he missed most about each of them—yes, even the guys—including a full section on Zoro’s unfairly defined chest, and Sanji was about two seconds away from drowning himself in the All Blue just for remembering that part.

Roronoa would never let him live that down if they ever met again.

Sanji could almost wish to never see any of the crew again, just to avoid that humiliation.

Almost.

Because the truth was, he missed them more than anything.

And by them, he meant the Straw Hats—not the enormous chest of the world’s greatest swordsman, just to make that abundantly clear.

As abundantly as those pecs—.

Yeah, Sanji needed to go to sleep before he slipped into irreversible madness.

A glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand confirmed it. Even though he was used to staying up past midnight, on those days the weight on his emotions and mind meant he’d usually pass out by ten no matter where he was, and now it was nearly eleven.

Sanji couldn’t believe he’d spent over four hours at the little desk in his room, hunched over sheets of paper that all ended up crumpled and tossed into the trash without him even noticing the time. Now the day was almost over, and he hadn’t finished all the dishes and hadn’t even managed to write a single decent letter.

Pudding was always right about everything, so it was entirely Sanji’s fault that the idea of trying to write letters had been a fiasco.

Letting out a heavy sigh of defeat, Sanji dropped the pen and turned off the small desk lamp, all the bones in his body popping all at once as he got up from the chair, which forced him to stretch a little before collapsing onto the bed beside him. The plan was just to lie down for five minutes, stretch out his back in a comfy position.

But when Sanji opened his eyes again, the clock read 4:59—just one minute before his daily alarm would start blaring.

Sanji shot upright, heart in his throat at the realization that a new day had begun, which meant it was time to shove down all his longing for another 364 days.

And he hadn’t eaten the last dish.

He hadn’t let himself be consumed by one precious memory of his captain.

“No!” he gasped, nearly breathless from how tight his chest felt. He leapt from the bed and dove straight for the basket beneath his desk where he’d left it the night before, within reach for his final meal of the day.

The last meal he’d missed.

Breaking his own strict rule of avoiding the crew’s favorite foods on every other day of the year—so as not to trigger painful gustative memories and ruin his fragile mood—Sanji grabbed the last dish without thinking, also broking his morning routine beyond repair as he took a huge bite of the—

—meat after meat, preparing at least half of what was still left in the pantry — which, by the way, was much emptier than Sanji remembered. Given how low their supplies were, Sanji knew the smart thing to do would be to ration rather than overdo the way he was. But his urge — no, his need — to feed his captain and other crewmates on board after believing he might never get the chance again, easily overruled his common sense.

But that was fine. If it came to it, he’d make all the men on board go fishing — and the girls too, if they wanted, of course, Sanji just would never force them to do anything they didn’t want to.

Sanji would never let them go without food — especially not his real family.

So if he was cooking more meat than usual for Luffy’s meal, it was because he trusted it wouldn’t run out; he trusted his crew’s capability to make sure it didn’t. And, according to Nami’s always-on-point calculations, they’d reach Wano in nine days at most.

Yeah, the guys would definitely need to fish, but Sanji had it under control. All he needed to do was make sure his captain was more than satisfied — and that the opposite of it would never happen again.

The sound of the galley door creaking open pulled Sanji out of his thoughts, and with the unmistakable shuffle of flip-flops on wood that came to an abrupt stop, he didn’t need to be a genius or a Haki user to guess who had just entered.

“Luffy, it’s not ready yet. I’ll call everyone when it is,” he said without turning from the stove, his voice carrying none of the usual bite it did when protecting food from the biggest glutton he knew.

The silence that followed, with no rubbery hand reaching past him, already had him confused. But the words that came next — in a voice far more serious than usual — made the cook’s skin start to tingle in discomfort.

“I’m not here to eat.”

Frowning, Sanji tore his gaze from the pan and looked over his shoulder.

“Then what do you want?” he asked, only to find his captain standing unnaturally still between the galley’s table and counter, staring at him without blinking, not even the hint of a smile on his face, his straw hat slung behind his back. Sanji turned the heat down without thinking, frown deepening as he fully faced the boy, a knot forming in his throat. “Luffy, what is it?”

Luffy blinked — slowly, almost painfully so — and then, just like that, his grin capable of outshining the sun stretched across his face, so big it forced his eyes to turn into crescents and to a heavy exhale escape Sanji’s mouth in relief.

“I’m happy to see Sanji cooking in Sunny’s kitchen again! Happy to see Sanji cooking at all!” he said brightly, and with a quick hop, plopped himself cross-legged onto the only empty spot on the counter.

Sanji chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned back to the stove and the sizzling meat.

“I’m really happy to be back on the Sunny too, Luffy. Especially being able to cook for you guys again,” he said truthfully, heart pounding and warm at just the thought of being there — safe, and at home.

“Sanji’s gonna cook for me forever, right?”

“Of course, Luffy. As long as I can — or as long as you want me to.”

“I’ll always want Sanji and Sanji’s food ‘cause Sanji’s food is the best in the world and Sanji is mine.”

More than the words themselves, it was the serious, steady tone — the absolute certainty of a captain who didn’t allow room for argument — that made Sanji shut the burner off, his hands finding the edge of the sink to steady himself as his whole body shuddered, heart fluttering like a hummingbird in his throat, pressing behind his eyes until they stung with tears that didn’t care about spilling out, whether he wanted them to or not.

‘Why is he listing all Sanji’s best qualities?’

Inhaling sharply and holding back a sob, Sanji turned around, one hand wiping at his face to erase the tears that had come without warning, the request to be left alone to cook already on the tip of his tongue — but before he could even open his mouth, arms and legs made of rubber wrapped tightly around his torso and waist and yanked him into a warm, rubbery chest.

Before he knew it, Luffy was all wrapped around him like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree.

Sanji couldn’t help the small laugh that got muffled against the red vest as he buried his face further into his captain’s chest. A choked sob escaped him as the hug tightened, his own trembling arms encircling Luffy’s back, holding the boy just as tightly in return.

“Sanji can ask for a hug anytime he wants, anytime he needs to remember he’s not alone — actually, he doesn’t even have to ask! I’m yours to hug and remind you that your place is here.” The careful whisper against his ear felt like it lifted even more of the weight he still carried on his chest and shoulders, chasing it out through the tears that only grew heavier with every word. Sanji wanted to yell at Luffy to stop, to shout that he didn’t want a hug or anything from any man, to scream for him to leave him alone so he could just cook in peace, but instead, he clutched at the red vest hard enough to turn his knuckles white, pressing himself so tightly against his captain that he wouldn’t be surprised if he left a mark. “I need Sanji to become the Pirate King. You know that, don’t you?”

All Sanji could do was nod, his sobs the only sound leaving his mouth.

Now he knew. Now he was certain of it — certain of the kinds of insane things Luffy was willing to do to keep him by his side, to not lose the crucial left wing that would help him rise to the metaphorical throne.

“And Sanji also needs to be here so we can find the All Blue, right? ‘Cause we will find it. So Sanji’s gonna stay here forever, ‘cause Sanji is important.”

Sanji would have buried his face in the floor out of sheer embarrassment from the giant, shameful sob that escaped him if he weren’t already nearly buried in Luffy’s chest. The captain only chuckled lightly, one hand reaching up to gently comb through Sanji’s blond hair.

“Sanji can cry all he needs to — what matters is that he cries here, with us. With me.” It was Sanji’s turn to let out a soft laugh. “And if Sanji ever wants to get married, I can do that! And his partner’s gonna become part of the crew, got it? So he can get married and have mini-Sanjis running around. Franky can build rooms for them, and everybody’s gonna help take care of them and protect them, ‘cause we’re nakama and we always will be.”

Sanji pulled back just enough to glare at him with what little indignation he could muster, eyes puffy and face still messy with tears and snot.

“I’ve got no plans to get married anytime soon, Luf,” he croaked, snorting a laugh when the boy gave him his biggest grin.

“Even better! I don’t wanna share Sanji!”

Sanji could only roll his eyes — only to flinch slightly when Luffy pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes with such a peaceful expression that the cook couldn’t help but mirror it. Somehow, that alone helped stem the tears and slow his breathing, and if Luffy weren’t holding him so tightly, Sanji could’ve sworn he would be floating from how light he felt.

“There’s a lot of delicious food in the world, but no one else can be my cook but Sanji,” Luffy whispered making Sanji’s lips twitch — not to pull away, but to stretch into a genuine smile.

“No one can be your cook but me,” he agreed, feeling that truth hum in his bones, radiating warmth through his chest and across his face; a warmth that only deepened when Luffy threw his head back and laughed.

There was no way Sanji wasn’t going to laugh too. And in that moment, he was completely certain — he needed to hear that laugh every single day, for the rest of his life.

“Great! Then gimme meat! I’m hungry, Sanjiiii!”

“It’s not ready yet and it’s not gonna be if you don’t let go of me and let me—

—back to the kitchen after yet another smoke break, Sanji noticed the other cooks were busy with dinner prep, which would start being served in just a few hours, and he needed to get back to help while the bakery staff were completely swamped serving the abundant afternoon tea spread to the customers. Remembering the chocolate croissants he hadn’t gotten to eat the day before, Sanji decided to stop by the bakery first to see if he could grab one before rolling up his sleeves again.

But just as he was about to open the door separating the two kitchens, he nearly bumped into Nerissa, who was bursting out in a rush.

“Are you hur—”

“SANJI! Sanji-sama, thank goodness I found you!”

Sanji’s eyes widened, heart speeding up with all the possible reasons for her panic — until she broke into a wide smile, and he frowned in confusion.

“Why? What happe—” He was cut off by an envelope being pressed to his chest. “What is this?”

“The News Coo just delivered this! It’s a letter for you, Sanji-sama!” she said, practically bouncing on her cloud of excitement. When Sanji glanced over her shoulder, he saw Pudding craning her neck from inside the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as well.

Sanji’s heart leapt into his throat when he turned the envelope over and read the words written in simple but elegant cursive:

From The Thousand Sunny To The Baratie in the All Blue.

Sanji would recognize Nami’s handwriting anywhere.

“What? How…” he mumbled, unable to believe what he was seeing, his fingers trembling around the envelope that seemed both precious and dangerous.

An envelope that made his heart pound hard and fast and his stomach twist inward.

“What are you waiting for, Sanji-sama? Go read the letter!” Nerissa urged, her excitement barely contained. Sanji didn’t doubt for a second that Pudding had told her everything about their last conversation, so she understood what this letter meant.

And why Sanji was honestly considering throwing it under his bed to never look at it again.

“I-I can’t. I have to get started on dinner prep.”

“You’ll read it now, or I’m calling Zeff to read it for you!” Pudding shouted from inside the kitchen, making Sanji’s blood freeze in his veins.

And he couldn’t ignore a request from not one, but two of the most important women in his life.

With a heavy, shaky sigh, Sanji slipped the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket and nodded at the women before turning on his heel and heading back outside — to the spot where the kitchen staff took their smoke breaks. He was so dazed he didn’t even realize he’d automatically flown up to the roof above his room, where he sat down to look out at the All Blue while reading the letter he both longed for and feared.

Part of him wanted to put it off as long as possible, but he knew that the longer he waited, the more his stomach would churn — and the more likely he’d end up vomiting his lunch, which he refused to do. Sanji would never waste food, not even food he’d already eaten.

With a quick prayer to the Sea God that the letter wouldn’t break his heart too much, Sanji broke the seal and opened it. Its relatively short length did nothing to offer him hope.

For all he knew, this could be a final goodbye because his dear Nami was far too kind to leave him in the dark, waiting forever for something that might never come.

Only after lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag to have nicotine as emotional support, did Sanji finally start reading the words so neatly written:

‘Sanji-kun! How are you? I hope you’re not freaking out because we didn’t reply to your last letter!’

Sanji instinctively recoiled, pulling the paper up to cover more of his face as if that could somehow shield him from Nami — though it was hard to tell what was more responsible for the burning in his cheeks: the confirmation that his pathetic letter had actually been received, or the fact that the navigator of his heart knew him so well.

‘We actually wanted to reply sooner — we even started writing a response — but then Luffy jumped onto this Sea King that looked like a dinosaur, which dragged him straight into a whirlpool, and before we knew it, we were all stranded on an island far from the surface… not quite underwater like Fishman Island used to be, but just deep enough that the News Coo couldn’t get there, and we couldn’t leave before saving the people there, and then we had to escape in a rush, and the next second we were being attacked by a whole Marine fleet trying to take the Merry and the Sunny hostage to force us to surrender — can you believe that? It was insane! Usopp nearly had a heart attack, but at least we got to see Kaya punch their captain so hard he went flying, which gave Luffy and Zoro just enough time to free the girls before we went on the offensive. It was total chaos, and after all that, Usopp decided to take Kaya and the kids back to Syrup Village for a while — and well, we kind of forgot to answer you. I’m so sorry for that, Sanji-kun! You know how easy it is to lose track of things when Luffy drags us into one of his messes!’

Sanji couldn’t help but let out a nostalgic chuckle, remembering how terrifying Nami could be with her punches and scoldings, especially when it came to the captain. Still, he felt like a fool for not having considered that they might actually have a more-than-valid excuse for not keeping in touch when their captain was Monkey D. Luffy. But to be fair, his treacherous mind still had a way of dragging him down with the worst-case scenarios.

What mattered the most, however, was that, despite the scare, everyone seemed to be alright.

‘It was the wonderful Robin who reminded us about your letter and how we never replied, after a little party we threw in Syrup. Of course, we all started freaking out, and I must’ve written like twenty versions of this letter, all putting the blame on Luffy — which is the truth — but I didn’t end up sending any of them because both our dear captain, Zoro, and even Robin were way too restless to stay put. Franky and Brook backed them up, saying there was no need to reply when we could just head to the All Blue and pick you up ourselves. I tried to argue that you’d been left hanging for way too long and it wasn’t fair to keep you waiting until we arrived — especially since we were going to stop by Alabasta to pick up Vivi too, because of course I was also dying to see my wife again — and, well, since we’d already convinced Usopp that Kaya and the kids didn’t need to stay in Syrup for a while and actually needed to see Uncle Sanji again but well… I kind of lost my train of thought there. But long story short: I swear this letter was meant to reach you in time to let you know we’ll be anchoring at the Baratie any second now, so hurry up and pack your bags, Sanji-kun!’

Sanji’s mouth had gone dry, the complete opposite of his eyes brimming with tears, and the cigarette hanging from his lips had been all but forgotten, because all he could process were the words on the page and his heart bubbling like boiling water, pulsing through every part of his body.

Was he reading that right? The Straw Hats were coming to get him? Just like that?

With a quick glance upward, Sanji confirmed the sun was already beginning to sink below the horizon, but there was still no sign of a flashy ship with a sunflower-lion figurehead. Biting down on his cigarette in a desperate attempt to hold back his anxiety and to avoid crumpling the letter in his hands, Sanji returned his eyes to the page, reading on:

‘And you better have something ready for Luffy, something you cooked yourself, because if I hear one more whine of ‘I wanna eat Sanji’s food’, I’m gonna have Zeus electrocute someone to death!’

Sanji swallowed hard, his mind automatically drifting to the kitchen, recalling what he had spent the whole day doing, weighing the possibility of whether he still had something he had cooked himself or if he should go downstairs and prepare something fresh for the crew of the Pirate King.

Better to just go prepare a whole feast, just to be safe.

He was pretty sure he still had the ingredients for everyone’s favorite dishes.

‘P.S.: Don’t think you’re off the hook about that letter of yours, because as soon as you’re back on the Sunny, we’re absolutely going to talk about it! Do you have any idea what it was like having to deal with Franky, Brook, Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy crying their eyes out almost the entire week every time they even got near the kitchen? Or having to force myself to get used to Robin’s terrifying expression, like she was about to murder someone, every time she randomly stared at a wall? And don’t even get me started on Zoro trying to pick a fight every five minutes with no sucess, he nearly drove Jinbe to the edge of his patience, JINBE, Sanji! And all of that because your letter made us want to come get you right then and there. Honestly, it made us feel like we should never have let you stay behind in the first place because how could you even think — even for a second — that you’re not one of us anymore? That you’re not part of the crew? That we found another cook and you’re no longer needed? Luffy made it very clear: only YOU can be his cook, remember? And worse — how could you think any of us could forget you when you’re part of us? We are and always will be a family, Sanji-kun, no matter the distance, no matter how long we go without seeing each other. So don’t ever say those things again, or you’ll be the one getting hit with Zeus’s lightning, got it?

‘I hope you got the message and are ready to come back, because we’re arriving, and no one here is letting you go anytime soon. You’re going to get sick of us within the first few hours, but I don’t care! Get ready to come home, BlackLeg Sanji — Left Hand of the Pirate King and forever Cook of the Straw Hat Pirates.’

Tears dripped onto the paper, blurring Sanji’s vision. He had tossed the cigarette aside, now covering his mouth with one hand as he tried to stifle his sobs. Even so, he managed a short but sincere laugh when he read the closing lines of the letter:

‘P.S.S.: I added 300,000 berries to your debt to make up for the emotional trauma you put me through with that letter, Sanji-kun, so be ready to pay up! With love, from the most beautiful navigator of all, Nami.’

Carefully, Sanji folded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope, and tucked it into his jacket, fully aware that if he stayed there rereading it, he’d lose all track of time and cry himself into exhaustion. And he couldn’t afford that — as much as he wanted to go over every word again with twice the attention, he had something Nami-san asked him to do.

He needed to prepare a banquet for the arrival of the Straw Hat crew and pack his bags to sail with them once more.

The smile that stretched across his lips could have lit up the entire All Blue on a starless night.

And impossibly, that smile grew even wider when Sanji opened his eyes and, instead of the setting sun, was met with the sight of a sunflower-lion figurehead on an extravagant ship falling from the sky toward the Baratie.

And from within the Thousand Sunny, the scream of the sun personified himself pushed his heart right to the edge of eruption.

— SANJIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! MEEEEAAAAT!

Zeff had been right.

When the bond of love is deep and true, neither time nor distance can ever change it.

Sanji was more than ready to make new memories with his family.