Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forest was silent, as if holding its breath.

The treetops barely creaked under the weight of winter. A full moon hung in the sky, bathing the land in a supernatural crimson glow. Crimson like the blood running down Sanji’s thighs for hours now, and like the fear pounding in his chest as he stumbled forward, gritting his teeth with every contraction that turned his belly to stone, carrying two worlds on his back.

And one of those worlds had a name.

“Rosi, you still there?” he gasped, barely audible.

“Yeah, fuck… yeah.” His voice trembled. Sanji turned just in time to see him stumble.

They didn’t understand anything. The ground was covered in a white blanket. The air hurt to breathe. Those icy kisses falling from the sky were soft, but cruel.

“This stings,” Rosi said, crouching to grab a handful of the frozen powder. He squeezed it and it stuck to his hand. He screamed, “It bit me!”

“It didn’t bite you. Don’t be an idiot,” Sanji muttered through clenched teeth. “And stop touching it with your bare hands!”

“I swear it bit me!” Rosi blew on his red fingers. “Ahhh, it’s eating my skin!”

“For Nika’s sake! Stop yelling or I’ll explode right here!”

Rosi stared at him with that strange seriousness he sometimes had, then let out a shaky giggle.

“Look at the moon. She’s like you. Round and red, ‘cause she’s giving birth too. She’s watching us.”

“Don’t get mystical. She’s not watching anyone.”

“She is. I’m looking at her, so she’s looking back.”

Sanji couldn’t help but snort, somewhere between pain and laughter. Another contraction bent him in half and forced him to bite his tongue. The air filled with white vapor, and they kept moving forward.

Rosinante was pale. His lips were blue, and his body trembled with spasms. His eyes were on the verge of tears, snowflakes clinging to his lashes like stars—but he didn’t cry. Stubborn, just like his father.

“Dad…” Rosi’s voice came out hoarse, dragging. “I can’t feel anything.”

Sanji turned slightly, jaw clenched.

“Can’t feel what?”

“Anything… not my fingers, not my face, not… anything.”

“We’re almost there. Just a little more… We’ll find something soon.”

“Something like what?” Rosi blinked slowly, with that cruel clarity only children have.

Sanji opened his mouth, but couldn’t answer—because it was a lie. He had no idea where they were. They’d been running for eighty-five days. Through forests, deserts, oceans, mountains. To hell with everything. To hell with the map. To hell with the plan.

His lungs hurt. His ribs, his back, his belly. He hadn’t eaten in days. He was freezing, and he was giving birth.

He wanted to reply with some bravado, something to pull a smile from his fledgling. But another contraction bent him over, and he pressed his forehead against a tree, panting.

The silence in the forest felt tense, like a scream held in. Only the crunch of that strange white ground beneath their feet remained, those tiny frozen pearls floating weightlessly, the breath caught in his throat, and the sound of blood pounding in his temples.

Rosi saw him stagger and tried to reach him—but collapsed to his knees on the snow that burned. When he tried to stand, his legs wouldn’t respond.

“Dad… I can’t anymore. I’m tired.”

“Shit!” Sanji touched him—he was ice cold.

The boy looked at him with glassy eyes, barely conscious.

Sanji felt his blood freeze, but not from the cold. He dropped beside him, grabbing his shoulders.

“I’m just gonna sleep a little,” Rosi murmured, voice raw.

“No. No. No. Not you too, fuck, not you!” Sanji growled—a wild sound that tore through his throat. “You’re not leaving me, dammit!”

The air roared in his ears.

They had carved it into him—through blood and pain—that his form was shameful, that his essence had to be buried, that shifting was betrayal, and that he shouldn’t exist.

But instinct burned in his gut, and he let go. And it happened.

There was no glamour. No bright colors, no poses, no triumphant soundtrack. It wasn’t beautiful.

Lie. It was. It was fucking beautiful.

Because it was as human as it was beast. It was rage, pain, love. It was shame turned into fire. It was everything he’d been forbidden to be.

His body cracked from the inside—bones breaking and stretching, skin tearing, muscles ripping. The pain of labor mixed with a blazing blue fire that didn’t come from the world—it came from within, and it was ancient. His fangs grew. His face became a snout. White and golden fur exploded from his skin, and nine tails burst from his back like living whips.

The forest lit up. The tails burned in shades of blue, like his eyes, where a living flame seemed to dance. The fire protected, warmed, but didn’t burn.

The pale torture melted beneath his paws, leaving circles of black, steaming earth.

Rosinante opened his eyes, drowsy—and screamed in pure fright at the sight of the beast.

“D-DAD?!”

Sanji—huge, trembling, panting—wrapped him in his tails and pulled him close.

“It’s me… it’s me… sweetheart, my boy, my sunshine, it’s me.”

“You’re… a kitsune?”

“Yeah. Latin version—Aguará Guazú.” His voice was hoarse and broken, like it came from the bottom of a well. “But don’t be scared. I’m not letting go.”

Rosinante curled up against his beast-father like a pup. He buried his nose in the fur. For the first time in hours, he stopped shivering.

“You’re warm…” he whispered, voice nearly asleep. “I like you better like this.” He giggled softly, half-delirious. “You’re huge… and your butt’s on fire.”

Sanji lowered his snout, kissed the boy’s filthy hair, inhaled him. His pup. His child.

“I told you not to say ‘fuck,” he scolded, weakly, through his teeth.

“Sorry, Dad… but I was dying.”

Sanji gave a bitter smile. His eyes burned with fever.

“I know.”

“And your fox breath is awful—get your snout outta my face.”

“Tch. You’re insufferable.”

Sanji licked his hair—rough, instinctive.

“Don’t you die on me, little one.”

The boy, half-smiling, murmured under his breath:

“Not planning to, old man. I’m not missing the chance to meet my sister.”

Sanji froze.

“What do you mean, sister?”

“She’s a girl. I know it.” He said it with the brutal innocence of a child who’s certain.

Sanji let out a broken laugh—more sob than laughter—but it was cut short by a contraction that tore through him, as water and blood gushed down his legs.

“Shit… looks like your sister wants to meet you too.”

He spoke with a shattered voice, as if each word hurt more than the contraction itself.

“She’s coming. I can’t hold her back anymore…”

Rosinante stared at him from the nest of tails, confused.

“WHAT?! Here?! But there are no towels, no blankets—there’s nothing!” he shouted from the fluffy cocoon.

“And where the hell else, Rosinante?!” Sanji groaned, twisting in pain. “I’m giving birth in a frozen forest!”

“Can’t we wait until we reach a village…?”

Sanji growled. Literally.

“NO! She’s coming! Now!”

“Rosi, for Nika’s sake, stop yelling! Calm down!”

Rosinante snapped back.

“That has calmed exactly zero people since Joy Boy!” He covered his eyes. “Okay okay okay okay… you keep going… I’m… I’m not looking.”

“What do you mean you’re not looking—help me! Don’t you dare leave me, you hear? Don’t leave me alone.”

“How could I leave, dumbass? I’m your kid.” The boy smacked the nearest tail with his hand. “I’m staying.”

Sanji smiled. Through tears, blood, and tremors, he smiled.

“I fucking love you.”

“And I love you, old man.”

“And don’t call me dumbass, brat.”

Sanji, teeth clenched, dragged himself toward a fallen, half-rotten log, where the white ash had gathered in frozen little mounds.

“Here… fuck…” he panted, and with clawed hands began to dig like a beast, scratching through the white, the wet leaves, the earth—no thought, just instinct.

His nine tails whipped side to side, and inside that living nest, curled up tight, Rosinante groaned with every jolt.

“Dad! Stop, dammit! You’re shaking me like a sack of potatoes!” the boy protested, trying to poke his head through the avalanche of burning fur.

“Shut your mouth and hold on tight,” Sanji growled, panting, veins bulging in his neck. “I’m not giving birth out in the open like a damn cow, got it?”

Sanji collapsed into the hole, dragging Rosi with him, who yelped when a clump of dirt smacked him in the face. Sanji’s body arched again. A sound—wet, dry, visceral—ripped through the night. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t fully beast. Rosinante felt it in his bones.

He shifted inside the cocoon of white tails that wrapped around him like living arms, clinging to them like they were his father’s. His body still trembled, but not from cold now—from the echo of his father’s scream.

“Dad…” he whispered.

A cramp tore through Sanji, folding him in half, claws buried in damp earth, teeth grinding. The heat of his body clashed with the frozen air, and the metallic scent of blood began to mix with the churned soil.

Rosinante watched him, biting his blue lips, eyes wide—somewhere between disgust, fear, and stubbornness. He didn’t want to see him suffer, but he didn’t want to fail either.

“Tell me what to do.”

Sanji lifted his sweat-soaked face, blue eyes burning like embers in the dark.

“You do exactly what I say. No whining. Got it?”

Rosi swallowed hard, pale.

“Dad, this is so gross I’m gonna die…”

“Me too, dumbass!” Sanji swatted his head with a shaky paw, panting between curses and groans. “But this is what we’ve got!”

He shouted through clenched jaws, his belly convulsing under the waves of labor.

Rosi pushed himself up through the tails like climbing tree branches, emerging from the warmth to peek out.

Sanji—huge, beastly, beautiful—was crouched low, flanks trembling, blood dripping, jaw open in heavy gasps.

With trembling hands, Rosi crawled closer through the tails. Warm blood stained his fingers instantly—and he nearly threw up.

“I can’t, Dad, I can’t…!”

“Yes, you can! You survived the Birdcage!” Sanji roared, his blue eyes blazing with a flame that licked through his gaze. “Listen to me: you’re my pack. If you don’t help me, we all die. Got it?”

The boy whimpered, but nodded quickly.

“Okay… but this is the most disgusting thing in the universe! Babies shouldn’t be born like this! They should come clean in a box, like cookies! This is crap!”

Sanji leaned back, panting.

“Less talking, more hands. When I push, you look. If you see a head, grab it. If not, just tell me. And stop cursing, you little brat!”

Rosi crawled forward, trembling like a soaked chick, and settled between his father’s legs. He barely looked—and turned pale. But then he smelled it. A familiar scent. Metallic. But also new, warm, sweet, alive, pulsing.

“Ahhh! There’s a hairy lump coming out! She’s coming!”

Rosi shut his eyes, reached in, and screamed at the viscous heat and the slippery weight sliding through his fingers. He fought the urge to vomit, stretching his hands—hesitant—to hold the wet little head emerging.

“She’s slipping, Dad! She’s like a fish! I’m gonna be grossed out for life!”

“Grab her, dammit!” Sanji pushed again, roaring, blood pouring, his tails slamming the log like whips. “You want her to fall?!”

“Never ever!” Rosi shouted like a vow.

With one final brutal spasm, the creature’s body slid out in a rush of blood and warm fluid.

Rosi screamed like he was being murdered—but he held her with all the strength he had. He cradled her against his chest, soaked in blood, panting between dry heaves, sobs, and hysterical laughter.

Sanji collapsed backward, claws still buried in the earth. He opened his clouded eyes and searched for his eldest. He looked at him with eyes of burning blue fire, and his voice came out like a growl—but it was pure wild tenderness.

“Is she breathing?”

Rosi, body stained, lifted her awkwardly. The newborn let out a sharp cry that sliced through the night.

“She’s breathing! She’s a girl, Dad, she’s a girl!”

Sanji burst into laughter and tears at the same time, throat raw, tails blazing like living fire.

“I knew it…” he whispered, still panting, and leaned in with his massive snout to take the newborn from Rosi’s arms.

He placed her between his front paws and began to lick her fiercely—his tongue rough, warm, desperate.

Rosinante stared at him, soaked, trembling, eyes wide like a flipped coin.

“What do you mean you knew?! I said it first, dammit! I called it before she was born! Don’t steal my prediction now that it came true!”

Sanji let out a broken laugh, half-choked by sobs.

“Shhh… shhh, my little one… you’re warm,” he murmured, voice hoarse, tears soaking into his fur. “You’ve got ears, you’ve got tails… you’re real… you’re mine. Mine… mine, mine, mine, mine.”

Rosinante stepped closer. Carefully. He looked at the tiny creature, still wrapped in steam.

“She’s really ugly. Looks like a wet dog.”

“Rosinante!” Sanji snapped, a fierce father-growl. “Don’t talk like that about your newborn sister!”

“Joking! Joking!” Rosi laughed nervously. “She’s… she’s… wow.”

Sanji let out a broken laugh, half-choked by sobs.

“Welcome to the fucking miracle of life, kiddo.”

“Why is she all… sticky?”

Sanji didn’t answer. He couldn’t anymore.

Then, without thinking, he pushed one last time and lowered his snout to devour the flesh left between his paws.

Rosinante stared at him.

“No… no… no, Dad, that’s disgusting! What the hell are you doing?!”

Sanji didn’t respond. He chewed slowly, blood staining his snout.

“That’s gross! That came out of you! That was stuck to my sister!”

“And now it’s stuck to my stomach,” he said, not looking up.

“Dad, stop! You’re gonna get sick!”

Sanji growled, still eating.

“It’s not rotten. It’s warm. There’s something in it I need—I don’t know what, but I have to do this. I did it when you were born. And I’m hungry. You are too.”

Rosi clutched his head, on the edge of hysteria.

“What?! No way! I’m not eating that crap!”

Sanji finally looked at him. His eyes burned like blue fire through his fur.

He tore off a piece with his teeth and dropped it in front of him.

“Eat.”

“No!”

“Eat, Rosinante.”

“Dad, no!” Rosi backed away, covering his mouth. “It’s gonna kill me!”

“It won’t kill you. It’ll keep you standing.”

“I don’t want to! I can’t! It makes me gag! I’m not eating something that came out of your—” He didn’t finish. One of the tails grabbed him by the torso and dragged him close. Sanji shoved the piece into his mouth and clamped his jaw shut with a massive paw.

“Mmmph! Mmmph! AGHHHHHHHHHH!” Rosi kicked wildly, eyes bulging, barely managing a muffled whimper.

Sanji held him firm.

“Swallow it, Rosinante. I’m not letting you die just because you’re stubborn.”

Rosinante swallowed. Face like a funeral, crying, gagging.

“BLEGH! BLEGH! I’M DISINTEGRATING! I’M GONNA GROW A TENTACLE IN MY STOMACH!”

Sanji looked at him, chewing slowly.

“Dramatic little shit… you give me years of life.”

Rosinante flopped backward into the nest of tails and covered his face with his hands.

“I can’t believe you’re my father.”

“And I can’t believe you’re this delicate.”

The boy ignored him, crawling toward the newborn.

“She’s… she’s so tiny… Was I like this?”

“Worse. You came out screaming and flinging feathers like a chicken,” Sanji snorted, voice hoarse, finishing off the placenta. “This one’s a princess. Calm. Elegant.”

“Why is she crawling like a worm?”

Sanji looked down just in time to see her.

The baby—tiny, fragile, barely wrapped in warmth—was blindly crawling through the tails toward her father’s chest, driven by instinct. And Sanji slowly shifted back into human form. His legs shortened, skin returned, though the fur remained in his tails, wrapping around them like a living blanket. He settled as best he could, still furry, still trembling.

“She’s hungry too. Come here, little one… that’s it…”

Sora crawled—clumsy, blind, searching.

Rosinante watched from behind, traumatized.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying a lot.”

Sora latched on.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it…” Sanji murmured, still licking the blood-wet crown of her head, nuzzling her gently.

Rosinante stayed still.

“Is she drinking?”

“Yes. She knows.”

Rosinante curled back into the nest of tails. His cheeks were red from the cold, but his eyes sparkled.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. But everything hurts, so it doesn’t matter. I’m with you, my brave son.”

Rosi glared at him, tears welling again.

“Your son permanently traumatized, Dad! This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen! Everything’s gross, and that thing tasted horrible. And you stink!”

As he complained, his stomach growled again—louder this time. The placenta had only made him hungrier. He tried to hide it, hugging himself, but his belly roared like a caged beast.

Sanji felt it against his side. He turned his head slightly, snout glowing blue, eyes burning with that strange fire.

“Rosi…” Sanji reached out a hand—gentle—the same one cradling Sora’s tiny head. “Come here.”

The boy bolted upright, soaked in tears and snot, and shouted:

“Not a chance, Dad! That’s for her!” He pointed at Sora, face flushed with pure embarrassment. “I’m not gonna suck your… your…!” He flailed his hands like he was touching something radioactive. “THAT!”

Sanji let out a dry, broken laugh, his fangs still stained with blood.

“It’s not ‘that’, you little punk. It’s milk. And you know the taste…” He nudged him with a tail against his side. “I nursed you till you were three, or did you forget?”

“That was a thousand years ago, Dad! I’m not a baby!” he shrieked, burying his hands in his hair, more offended than scared.

Rosinante turned red, trembling like he was about to be executed. He cried, kicked, hid his face in his hands, mumbling between hiccups.

“No, no, no, no, I can’t, I don’t want to, I don’t want to!”

Sanji held him close with one tail, while the other pressed Sora against his chest.

His gaze—feverish, exhausted—hardened.

“Rosi…” he whispered, voice raw with infinite weariness.

“I’d rather you hate me for the rest of your life than watch you starve in front of my eyes. You passed out two hours ago. We haven’t hunted in a week. I don’t know when we’ll eat again.”

Rosi scrunched his nose and muttered, with the tender rage of a child who can’t forgive but can’t stop loving:

“When you’re a decrepit old man, I’m gonna make you eat soup with oregano every single day.”

Sanji snorted—a broken laugh that came out between pain and relief.

“Hope we live long enough for that, you little shit. But for now—drink and fill up.”

Rosi’s lower lip trembled like it was about to split in two.

And Sanji, with no other choice, guided his head toward his chest.

“No… no, Dad, please no…” he stammered, drowning in shame.

The boy sobbed louder, trying to crawl backward through the tails, but Sanji—half beast—hooked him with one and dragged him back into his lap.

Rosinante kicked and screamed like he was about to be gutted.

“Shh…” Sanji gritted his teeth. He said it with a calm that was more threat than any shout. “Do it.”

Sanji held him firm against his side, while Sora kept nursing from the other breast. The contrast was grotesque and tender: a newborn latched onto one nipple, and the older son—a mess of tears and humiliation—squirming against the other.

Rosi looked at him. Trembling. Mouth clenched.

“What if I grow fur?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“What if you grow a spine?”

“Holy shit!” the boy whimpered, kicking harder. “This is the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“You’re seven. Worse things can still happen.”

Rosinante laughed through his tears. He leaned in. He curled up. And without another word, he latched on.

Rosi took the first sip of colostrum—warm, salty, tasting like survival. He swallowed with a shame that made him cry harder, but his body betrayed him. He drank, and drank, and drank—like a half-dead little animal.

Sanji ran a trembling hand over the back of his neck, holding him close.

“That’s it, sunshine… drink… fill up… There’s enough for my pups.”

Sanji watched him, and it broke his heart. He knew what it meant: humiliation, another trauma, marks that would never fade. But there was something worse than all of that—death.

“Forgive me, Rosi,” he whispered, kissing his hair clumsily, not stopping the tears that ran down his blood-stained face. “Forgive me, my sunshine.”

Rosinante buried his face against his chest, hiding his tears, his shame, and his hunger all at once. Sora, curled against the other breast, nursed peacefully. The newborn and the eldest, side by side, wrapped in nine tails that cradled them with warmth.

Sanji kissed them both—clumsy, desperate, nonstop: their foreheads, cheeks, hair, any place he could reach. Crushed between the heat of the tails, his father’s naked, bloodied body, and his sister’s tiny frame, Rosi finally fell asleep—still muttering curses and sobs under his breath.

Sanji looked at himself—he was a mess. Legs stained, belly still pulsing with pain, nails black with dirt, placenta, and blood. An omega in no shape to be seen.

Then he looked at them. He held both in his arms—one for each pup—and his tails spread out like a golden, white, and blue mantle glowing in the shadows.

The eldest was drooling on his chest between snores, face still streaked with snot and tears.

The newborn clung to the other nipple like a golden tick.

And he laughed. Softly, toothless, almost surprised.

“Ha…” he breathed out—half laugh, half groan. “Look at me. Everything that was forbidden, everything I wasn’t supposed to do… I did it. I escaped. I shifted. I cried like a pig, screamed like a beast, bled like a slaughtered animal. I tore myself in half to bring her into the world. And yet…”

He leaned in, kissing them clumsily—with a dirty mouth, ragged breath, eyes burning.

“Look how beautiful they are. My pups. Mine. Alive.”

And he tightened the embrace, pressing them against the warm tails, wishing that moment could last forever.

The tails moved on their own, like they were playing: One stroked Sora’s face, another fanned Rosi’s nose, and one slipped into Sanji’s mouth. He coughed and bit it to make it move.

“Idiots. Even my tails treat me like a joke.”

The warmth was so sweet the cold outside felt like a lie. Sanji buried his face in Rosi’s hair—and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel ashamed to laugh. But he didn’t lower his guard. Too much scent—blood, a birthing omega, pups without an alpha—it was a beacon. For predators. For scavengers. For humans. And what worried Sanji most… were the humans.

Soon, the sky began to fade—from black to violet, from violet to a slow red like watered-down wine.

His sharpened hearing caught the crack of branches. From the forest, slowly, eyes appeared. A stag with massive antlers, still, breathing vapor. A small gray fox tilting its head curiously. A ñacurutú owl settled on a branch above them. A coatí climbed down a tree, sniffing. Even a pair of armadillos emerged from the roots—nervous, but not fleeing. All watching, as if summoned by new life.

Sanji pulled his children tighter against his chest.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

The stag bowed its head. The fox sat. The owl turned its neck. The coatí stepped closer. The armadillos watched. It felt like a greeting. Like recognition.

Rosinante cracked open one sticky eye, still half-asleep.

“Dad… The forest came to see us.”

“Looks like it, sunshine.” Sanji adjusted Sora against his chest, distracted, still stroking her damp little ears.

Rosinante knelt in front of him, staring at his newborn sister like she’d fallen from the sky.

She had, in a way.

“What do we do now?”

Sanji looked at him.

“We stay here. And when I stop wanting to die, we figure out how to leave.”

He trembled. Exhausted. But with that glow only omegas who love without limits carry.

“What are we gonna name her?” Rosi asked, crawling back into the warm nest, rubbing his red nose with frozen hands.

“She doesn’t have a name,” Sanji whispered, helping her latch again. “Not yet… I never got to think about it before.”

“It has to be a strong name, Dad. Something that shakes your bones. Like… like ‘Crimson Red Moon of the Pale Forest’… or something.”

Sanji went silent for a second. Then laughed so loud the stag lifted its head to look at him.

“Rosinante…”

“What?”

“You’re not calling her ‘Crimson Moon something something’ like she’s a fantasy novel.”

“You don’t understand poetry!” Rosi protested, hand to his chest like he was reciting. “‘The Red Moon born of ice and blood.’ That’s destiny! Besides, you’re a fox eating something weird, she’s sucking on you like a vampire—what do you expect from me?” He threw his hands up. “This whole night is a novel!”

“Her name is Sora,” Sanji whispered suddenly, stroking her golden curls. “Like the sky. Because no one will ever cage her. She’ll run. She’ll live. Not like us.”

Rosinante reached out a finger and gently touched one of her soft little ears poking out from her head.

“She’s named Sora after Grandma, right?”

Sanji nodded.

“Yeah. After the only part of my old story that still makes me feel… warmth.”

“Why does my name sound like a sad horse?”

Sanji blinked, surprised by the question. He stayed quiet for a moment. Then sighed.

“Your other father named you,” he said softly. “When you were born, he just said that’s what you’d be called and I… I didn’t ask. You know I couldn’t choose anything back then. I was so young.”

Rosi stayed quiet. Not angry. Not sad. Just thoughtful.

“Well. I still like it,” he said finally, shrugging. “Even if it does sound like an old uncle’s name. And you did choose—we ran away. That part’s yours, Dad.”

Sanji went still. Jaw clenched, eyes shining.

“You’re just a kid. You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m your son. And I saw everything. I know you did what you could.”

Sanji closed his eyes.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“We’re here now.”

Sanji looked at him in silence for a moment, then smiled—tired, with tears running down his face.

“What I do know, sweetheart, is that I choose to love you every single day.”

He pulled them both closer. The pain was still there. But so was the warmth.

“She’s got ears… but no feathers. What a letdown,” Rosi said at last, arms crossed. “Or at least a sharp claw. But she’s… all soft. And she’s got two tails.”

“She’s an Aguará Guazú fox,” Sanji said. “Like me. But with two tails.”

“I wanted her to be something else,” Rosi insisted. “Something more epic. Like a manticore, maybe. Something with horns or… something that doesn’t roll around eating weird stuff off the ground.”

Sanji snorted a broken laugh.

“Hey! That’s low! I just gave birth, Rosinante! Not everyone’s born like you, Mr. Chicken Wings.”

“DAD!! I’m not a chicken!”

“No, of course not. You’re a phoenix. How could I forget?”

“I’ve got wings and fire! Hey, Dad… did I hatch from an egg?”

Sanji looked at him for a second, blinking. Then he laughed. Really laughed. His chest shook, his throat vibrated, and tears spilled from his eyes.

Rosi stared at him, half-offended.

“Dad! It’s not funny! I’m serious!”

“No, my sunshine. You were born like Sora. But you had feathers—like wings under your skin. And a long, plumed tail.” Sanji was still trying to breathe through the laughter.

“What if I’ve got that bad thing… from him?”

The question came out soft. Barely a whisper. Like saying it out loud might make it real.

Sanji stopped laughing. He looked at him, serious. Then reached out—trembling—and tugged his ear.

“Ow! Don’t pull!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not like him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re mine,” he said, voice hoarse and full of fierce tenderness. “You’re stubborn, foul-mouthed, and you’ve got a huge heart. Now shut up for five minutes.”

Rosinante rubbed his ear with a whine. But he smiled too—like he could finally breathe a little easier. He curled up against his father’s side, resting his head on his bare leg, still covered in remnants of fur.

The sky was already ash-colored, the forest awake, and Sanji’s body screamed that it was time to move. The birth had drained him. But he didn’t feel pain—he felt strength. His body had split in two to bring out something that was his, something that had to live. With two pups, his instinct multiplied.

He carefully pulled away from his children. Stretched his legs, stiff from the cold, and stood up with difficulty.

“Well… enough poetry,” he growled, voice hoarse. “Time to move.”

He crawled toward a mound of that stuff—the white, the cold, the fireless burn—and dropped to his knees. He grabbed handfuls and rubbed them over his chest, his face. It stung, woke him up, cleaned him.

He leaned over Rosinante, who was snoring with his mouth open, still sticky with blood, tears, and mud. Sanji threw a ball of the white stuff at his face.

The boy shrieked like he was being tortured.

“Cold! Fuck!” he twisted, flailing. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Sanji laughed, happy, fangs still stained.

“No idea. But it cleans. So wash up, filthy. We look like a crime scene.”

Rosi looked at his hands, his chest, his legs. He was covered in dried blood, fluids, milk.

“Oh no! I’m disgusting! I’m gonna get a spiritual infection!”

Sanji grabbed another handful and kept scrubbing his thighs, the dried blood, the sticky mess between his legs. The sting brought tears to his eyes, but he didn’t stop.

Rosi watched him, speechless, with a face of renewed trauma.

Then a wet sound interrupted them. Rosinante blinked. Looked down.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Sanji turned his head just in time to see his eldest’s soul leave his body. Sora, curled on his chest, had released a warm stream of poop that spread neatly across her brother’s torn shirt.

“…SHE SHIT ON ME!” Rosi roared, jumping like he’d been doused in boiling oil.

Sanji burst into laughter that hurt his ribs.

“Of course she did, kiddo. It’s her welcome gift.”

“Screw you,” Rosinante muttered, on the verge of collapse.

Sanji leaned toward the baby, who yawned innocently, her little fox face wrinkled, ears twitching. He spoke softly, all flourish, like addressing a queen.

“Oh, my golden lady… such elegant aim. No vulgarity—straight to your brother’s heart. A true lady always knows how to leave her mark.”

Rosinante stood there, arms wide, sticky, on the edge of fainting.

“This is hell, Dad! I’m in my suffering arc!”

Sanji pointed at him with his chin, still laughing.

“Shut up, ungrateful. If your sister already chose to shit on you, it means she loves you. And I told you to clean up and stop cursing, dammit!”

Rosi whined, complained, but obeyed. He scrubbed himself like he was performing an exorcism. Sanji helped, rubbing his back, his ears, his skinny legs.

“Look at you…” Sanji murmured, clumsily proud, as he tucked a clean scrap of cloth around her little butt. “You’ve already pooped and you don’t even know how to open your eyes yet. Just like your brother.”

“Hey!” Rosi protested from the side, wrinkling his nose. “I was never that gross!”

Sanji gave him a look full of sarcasm.

“Right. I forgot. Your poop smells like flowers.”

“It does! And seriously, Dad—she shit on me!” he snapped, offended. But then he laughed—that raspy little laugh so much like his father’s.

From the backpack, Sanji pulled out the last change of clothes he had left. Not fit for winter, but it was all he had. He dressed slowly, trembling, in thin fabrics that didn’t shield him from the icy wind. He stuffed rags where the blood still trickled, not looking too closely—mixing with the cold and the pain of the old wound his alpha had left the night they escaped. It burned. He knew it was worse. But he didn’t make a sound. What for? Rosi already had enough to carry.

“All right,” he muttered, voice low. “I don’t look like a fox who just gave birth anymore. I look like a beggar omega.”

Rosi dressed too, grateful not to smell like rotten blood, baby poop, and curdled milk anymore. Then he looked at Sanji—eyes shining—as if, for the first time, he saw his father for real, not the ghost who always dragged him forward.

“You look like a storybook hero,” he said—half in disbelief, half proud. “One who escaped the sad ending.”

Sanji snorted, unable to meet his gaze. He ruffled his hair clumsily, because if he opened his mouth, he’d cry like an idiot. Damn hormones.

The omega stretched a scrap of cloth, folded it wrong, unfolded it, folded it again like solving a riddle that wanted to rip his hair out. Sora screamed with the fury of a demon freshly pulled from hell, her little legs kicking the air.

Rosi doubled over laughing, covering his mouth to keep from losing it completely.

“Swear to you, it looks like she’s winning. Diaper 1, Wet Dog 0.”

“If you’re not gonna help, shut up. Yes, yes, I know, sweetheart!” Sanji grumbled, biting his lip. “It’s beneath you, but what do you want me to do? A maiden with warm water and lavender soap? Take this—powdered ice, what a luxury.”

He lifted her carefully and rubbed a handful of that white powder over her dirty tail. The cold made her shriek again—even louder—like she was being skinned alive.

Rosinante covered his ears.

“You’re hurting her!”

“I’m saving the pants, dammit!” Sanji huffed, face red. “Do you know what it’s like not having another dry pair?”

Sora wailed with every touch, arching against her father’s frozen hand, while he kept talking in that ridiculous tone of a ruined nobleman.

“A lady must always suffer with grace, my darling. Your social debut, my love—and I’m wiping your butt with snowflakes! If this isn’t royalty, I don’t know what is.”

Finally, muttering curses through clenched teeth and shivering, he tied the cloth in a hard, crooked knot. The diaper was bulky, misshapen—but secure. The baby stopped crying instantly, exhausted, like she’d won the battle.

Sanji looked at them with glassy eyes, laughing under his breath. He was numb with cold—but happier than ever. He kept playing tailor, and with the remaining scraps, fashioned a sling.

“All right,” he muttered, teeth clenched. “Princess on the chest, prince on the back.”

Rosi grumbled at the nicknames, but helped adjust the sling where Sora was pressed against her father’s torso. Then he climbed on too, backpack included. Sanji nearly face-planted from the combined weight, but snorted and straightened up like it was nothing.

They took their first shaky steps into that frozen hell, hoping something less brutal lay ahead. The benteveos fluttered above, shrieking their mocking song, and farther ahead, a pair of foxes watched them.

“Dad.” Rosi tugged his ear, serious. “Follow the birds. They’re smart. They probably know the way out.”

Sanji twisted his mouth into a crooked smile.

“You say that ‘cause you’re a chicken, huh?”

“I’m a phoenix, dammit!” Rosi roared, indignant.

“A chicken with fire. Same thing.” Sanji chuckled.

“Better to follow the foxes. They’re family.”

“No! The birds!”

“All right, all right, calm down, you dizzy hen.” Sanji teased, already walking in the direction the birds pointed.

The forest seemed to watch them leave.

Their footprints etched into that white stuff neither of them understood, while the animals kept their distance in silence.

Sanji didn’t know if they were being watched, honored, or simply observed. But still, under his breath, he murmured a clumsy “thank you.”

The forest closed behind them—heavy, as if reluctant to let them go. It hadn’t been home, but it hadn’t been a prison either. It was a path.

Then came the sound: a distant rattle, metallic, constant. A heart of iron beating against the earth.

Sanji lifted his head, eyes burning with exhaustion. Rosi straightened on his back.

“…Dad.” His voice trembled—but not from fear. “It’s a train.”

Sanji took a deep breath, raw relief in his chest.

“Yeah, my sunshine. A train.”

After so much white forest, the certainty of rails, machines, people—it felt like a hug.
The sound grew closer, and when it passed, it was like a chained monster: black smoke, screeching metal, the ground vibrating beneath their feet.

Sanji spat to the side, swallowing dust and soot.

“Well, my sunshine and my sky,” he muttered, half-laughing, “looks like we’re not in the middle of nowhere.”

Rosi laughed with that raspy giggle that made him seem older than he was.

They followed the tracks, stumbling over gravel. The snow slowly gave way to mud that clung to their ankles, then to damp earth, with puddles reflecting a sky the color of ash. And then the landscape changed.

No more black branches or ice stuck to stones. The ground grew firmer, drier, greener. Tall grass, weeds, winter flowers.

Sanji stopped for a moment. He sniffed the air. No scent of danger. No scent of blood. It smelled like countryside. Rosinante felt it too.

He threw himself to the ground like he’d reached the promised land. Rolled in the grass, exaggerated, kissing the weeds between bursts of laughter.

“Green! I love you, green! You’re my favorite color!” he declared theatrically, arms wide.

Sanji looked at him, head tilted, exhausted—but with a crooked half-smile.

“Wasn’t orange your favorite color?”

“Nooo!” Rosi jumped up, hair full of grass bits. “Green!”

Sanji adjusted Sora in his arms and teased:

“Right. Like your sister’s poop this morning.”

Rosi stared at him in mock horror.

“Ew! By Nika! You’re disgusting. An emotional degenerate. I can’t believe you’re my father.”

Sanji chuckled softly, gave him a playful smack on the head, and kept walking with his head down.

“Don’t disown your father, brat.”

“Brute,” Rosi muttered—but still smiled, running a few steps to catch up and tugging on his sleeve.

“What do we do now?” he asked, not letting go. “Are we still running?”

“Maybe not,” Sanji replied, without looking. “There’s something salty in the air.

Something tells me this might be it. But we’ll see.”

Hours later, they rounded a bend—and saw it. A small coastal town, noisy and alive.

Houses with smoke curling from chimneys, painted white with colorful shutters and moss-stained tile roofs. Fishing nets hanging from porches, drying in the sun.

Chickens pecking between low houses.

Wooden boats stranded on the sand like sleeping sea creatures. Seagulls fighting over scraps on the shore.

Beyond that, hills covered in dormant vineyards—bare vines waiting for spring.

The air smelled of salt, of fish, of life.

“It’s here,” they said at the same time.

Chapter Text

The third train they’d seen had passed a while ago, but the whistle was still buzzing in their ears. They’d been coming down the hillside for hours, the cold slapping their faces like it had a grudge, sneaking through the rags that passed for clothes. But Rosinante walked like he didn’t feel it, excited, tugging his dad forward with one hand, the baby wrapped tight against his chest, mumbling nonstop.

“This way, dad, come on, come on, we’re almost there.”

Sanji had no idea where the hell the kid got that kind of energy after nights without food and nothing to keep warm but their own tails. But there he was, Rosi, jumping over frozen mud puddles, laughing like a maniac every time the sludge tried to eat his boots.

They followed the train tracks along the coast, heading toward the station: “Grey Terminal of Punta Batchee”. The sign was rusted, crooked, the letters half-erased by salt and time. And as they got closer, the town started to change.

The colorful little houses they’d seen from the hill? Gone.

What they saw now were bare walls, barred windows.

Fishing nets weren’t drying on porches or balconies; they were dumped, torn, tangled.

The chickens had been replaced by skinny dogs with crusty eyes.

The boats didn’t nap in the sun, they were rotting open like whale ribs.

The seagulls weren’t squabbling; they were screaming over trash like it was the end of the world.

The air smelled like salt, yeah, but also rust, old grease, gasoline, rotten fish, and promises no one believed anymore. The “postcard” was rotting with every step.

“This isn’t the port we saw,” Sanji muttered, lowering his voice.

“Where are the painted houses?” Rosi asked, scrunching his nose. “And the pretty boats? And the poetic seagulls? This place smells like fish ass, dad. For real.”

“From up there it looked like it said ‘Welcome,’ not ‘We’re gonna ruin your life,’” the omega spat.

The kid laughed, but didn’t let go of his hand. Sora sighed in her sleep, her warm little body pressed against Sanji’s chest. The omega swallowed hard and straightened his back.

In the distance, a crooked sign greeted them with sarcasm:

“Punta Batchee - The Jewel of Dawn Island”. The blue paint was peeling off the wood like sick skin. Like the sign itself had mange.

“They stole the jewel,” Rosinante muttered. “You sure this is the place?” he asked, staring at the sign like it owed him an explanation.

They walked down the main street, dodging potholes, mangy dogs, and puddles of oil. There were signs with pretty words: “Progress,” “Tourism,” “Family.” None of them matched what they were seeing.

Rosi wrinkled his nose.

“Why do they call it the Jewel of Dawn Island?”

“Because ‘The Dump of Dawn Island’ doesn’t sell,” Sanji replied, voice dry.

The kid let out a raspy laugh and kept walking like nothing.

“See, dad? If no one robs us first, we might sleep under a roof tonight. I’m telling you, small-town alphas are worse than city ones.”

“What do you know?”

“I’m still right though,” he shrugged. “I’m always right”.

Sanji couldn’t help looking at him with a mix of pride and dread: Pride, because that mouthy spark hadn’t been crushed by hunger or beatings. Dread, because in a town full of alphas, a kid like that was a magnet for trouble.

“Watch your mouth, brat. I don’t want our first day here ending in a fight. I’ve been bleeding like a stuck pig and I’m in no shape to protect anyone.”

That wasn’t true. Even if they broke every bone in his body, Sanji would still fight tooth and nail for his pups.

The sun was already high when they spotted the cleanest building on the street. A huge sign, painted in faded gold letters, read: “Municipal Office - Mayor Buggy the Magnificent”.

Rosi tilted his head.
“‘The Magnificent’? What kind of clown name is that?”

“The kind that screams shitshow,” Sanji muttered, and they kept walking.

A group of men watched them from the doorway of a bar. Two alphas on the corner laughed. Another one whistled. A couple more, unloading crates nearby, let out a sharp catcall.

“Hey, blondie! If you’ve got milk to spare, we’ll take a mouthful!” one of them shouted. The other burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing ever said by a man with three teeth.

Sanji lowered his head further, jaw clenched, swallowing the rage with the same broken dignity he always carried.

Rosi, on the other hand, did answer.

“Go suck your mom’s hairy ass, you dick-faced pig!” he yelled, red to the ears

Sanji grabbed his shoulder hard and forced him to keep walking.

“Rosinante—Nika’s sake, shut your damn mouth.”

Rosi huffed and pressed closer to his dad. Sanji kept his head down without lowering his pride, a balance he was still learning. They kept walking down the main street, or what was left of it.

Sanji scanned for a sign that said “lodging” or, in a perfect world, “somewhere that doesn’t mind broke omegas dragging cubs and trauma”.

The first place that offered lodging was a two-story house with blue lanterns by the door.

The sign read “Mirror Ball Inn”, though it looked more like a nightclub than anything else.

The place sparkled way too much for a town made of tin and cardboard.

Sanji stepped in first, Sora asleep against his chest. Rosi trailed just behind, hair a mess, clothes stained with grass and mud.

Inside, it smelled like old fryer grease and cheap strawberry wine. The walls were lined with dusty string lights, ready to flicker on at night when the dining room turned into a dance floor.
Someone had tried to make it look fancy. They’d failed. Spectacularly.

At the front desk stood a beta in a sky-blue shirt and pinstriped suit, pink hair slicked back with too much gel, a scar on his right cheek. He wore an oily smile and held his chin high. His eyes slid over Sanji like he was licking his lips.

“Well, well…” he said in a theatrical voice, like he was on stage. “What a waste. So pretty and dragging cubs around.”

Sanji leaned forward to speak. Exhaustion dripped from his voice, but he clenched his jaw. He wasn’t about to show weakness.

“One room. I’ve got no money. I cook, clean, whatever you need.”

“No alpha?” the man smiled slowly, like sniffing a wine he already knew he’d hate. “How quaint.”

Rosi huffed. Sanji pressed his lips together and swallowed hard.

“No alpha means no pack. No pack means no guarantees. And I don’t rent to trouble.”

Sanji lowered his head further. He didn’t argue. He’d heard worse. Back then, at least, he could flash a shiny ring, a gold choker, and people would shut up. Now there was nothing left to offer.

Rosi stepped forward like a rabid dog, hair wild, face twisted in fury.

“There’s nothing wrong with us, asshole! We’re not trash!”

Only then did the receptionist look at him, sneering before letting out a dry laugh. From inside, another beta appeared, a tall, skinny man in a ridiculous sequined hat and heart-shaped sunglasses.

“Oooh, look what we’ve got here, Fullbody,” he sang, spinning like he was already mid-show.

“Scrubbing floors isn’t really your thing, kid. We all know how omegas make a living when they don’t have a pack.”

Rosi bristled and stepped forward.

“Zip it, sparkle freak!”

The betas’ laughter echoed through the empty lobby.

Rosi was shaking, but Sanji caught him by the sleeve. He didn’t raise his voice, just murmured:

“Keep it down, sunshine.”

Then he turned back to the beta, face serious, drained.

“I just need a bed. One night.”

The man clicked his tongue, savoring the moment.

“This is a classy place, you see? If you want a bed, go to Krieg’s dump.”

“Kid, Jango’s doing you a favor,” the other one added. “Head to the west end of the port. They take in… folks like you.”

The word hit like spit. Didn’t need repeating, it was already carved into his skin.

Sanji clenched his jaw. Said nothing. He grabbed Rosi’s hand and walked out without looking back.

Outside, in the cold, damp street, the boy was trembling with rage.

“Dad, come on! It’s always the same! They treat us like shit and you just take it! Screw them!”

Sanji grabbed his shoulder, rough, barely holding himself back.

“Shut it, dammit! You want us kicked out of the whole damn town before we even reach the town square?”

Rosi stared at him, eyes red with anger and fear.

“I don’t give a crap!” he shouted. “If they don’t kick us out here, they’ll kill us back home!”

“Rosinante!” Sanji’s voice cracked. “Don’t say that kind of thing out loud!”

The kid was shaking but didn’t back down.

“You know it’s true. We’re not safe.”

Sanji took a deep breath, the smell of fear and guilt mixing with the sour scent of his own milk sticky on his clothes. Sora whimpered in her sleep, like she could smell it too.

“Chick… listen. People act like this because I screwed up. I broke the rules. I left my pack. Left the alpha I… belonged to. So this is what I get.”

His voice dropped, rough and hollow, as he clumsily stroked Rosi’s hair.

“I don’t want you carrying that crap too, my sun. It’s bad enough you have to hear this shit because of me, or worse, that they look at you like you’re some kind of punishment.

Don’t let my mess stain you.”

Rosi spat on the ground and looked at him like he didn’t understand a single word. His face twisted, eyes filling with fury.

“Dad, you’re such a freaking idiot. Stop saying you’re trash. Or that you deserve this. You don’t ‘get’ anything. You play with me, you sing to me, you hug and kiss me even when I’m a pain in the ass. And I love you. But if you keep talking like that, I swear I’ll smack some sense into you myself.”

He slammed into Sanji’s chest, hard, like he could shove the guilt out of him, swallowing his rage like it was broken glass. Sanji stood still, soaking in the warmth and love of his pups.

He stroked Rosi’s head, hugged him tight, and through tears, whispered:

“I love you too, my sun. You’re my whole damn life.”

And then came the firm ear tug.

“And don’t call me an idiot, or threaten me, dammit. I swear I’ll give you a good old chancla spanking, right here on the sidewalk”. His voice was rough, cracked, the voice of someone raising kids with their bare hands. “You don’t insult your father. Got it? Even if you’re right.”

“Oew, dad! Don’t pull! I was defending your honor, dammit!”

He rubbed his ear with a tragic face.

Sanji gave it another little tug, gentler this time, and pulled him into a hug.

“Drama queen,” he murmured, voice broken but steady. “And loudmouth. But mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

He repeated it as he covered Rosi in noisy kisses. Rosi laughed through his snot.

Once their nerves had settled just enough to keep walking without crying, they headed to the place Jango and Fullbody had pointed out. It had rusted tin roofs, walls stained black, thick smoke pouring out from inside, and rats scurrying across the threshold like they owned the place. The nailed-up sign read: “Foul Play Krieg”. The stench was a disgusting cocktail of alpha pheromones, stale beer, wet tobacco, and piss.

Sanji pushed the door open with his shoulder, Sora in his arms, Rosi clinging to his leg.

Inside: sticky tables, wobbly chairs, flies, and a low murmur from sailors whose faces had been chewed up by salt and sun. The noise was a blast: laughter, glasses slamming, a wheezing accordion in the corner.

No one had to say a word. They all looked up at the same time. A young omega, baby strapped to his chest, a kid trailing behind him, hungry and worn out, the picture of misery. The murmur changed color.

“Well, well…” chuckled a wide man with black teeth and a heavy coat covered in fake pearls. “A washed-up whore with a litter.”

Sanji kept walking anyway, even though one breath of that air made his head spin. It was thick, bitter, and clawed at his throat. Sora whimpered, and Rosi pressed closer, breathing in short, shaky bursts.

Behind the counter stood the owner, a massive alpha with spiked shoulder pads and a kitchen apron that might’ve been white fifteen years ago.

“What d’you want?” Krieg growled.

Sanji lowered his head, swallowing hard. Every muscle trembled. His glands screamed for surrender and obedience.

“Looking for a bed and a meal. I can cook or clean in exchange.”

“And your alpha?” Krieg asked, same as Fullbody, but without the fake politeness.

“There isn’t one.”

The silence didn’t last. The man let out a laugh that smelled like gunpowder and booze.

“No alpha…” he snorted, savoring the words. “And you walk in here alone. Brave or just stupid.”

Sanji took a deep breath.

“I can cook. I’m good.”

Krieg looked up, and his smile was the worst part—somewhere between mockery and calculation.

“Work, huh?” He looked him over slowly, pausing at his neck, at the way his body still bent with pain. “The only kind of work a lone omega can do is in bed. And you’re not even good for that, smelling like fresh birth.”

Rosi stepped forward, fists clenched.

“My dad cooks better than any of your rats!”

The laughter in the back rose like a swarm of flies.

“Shove those laughs up your asses, you crusty bastards!”

Krieg looked ready to leap over the counter, and Sanji grabbed his pup’s arm mid-motion, shaking.

“Rosi, please!” His voice cracked, caught between fury and fear.

Just then, another man appeared, skinny, hunched, with a crooked smile and deep shadows under his eyes, hunger gleaming in every glance. He leaned against the doorway like he’d been waiting for them his whole life.

“Leave it, Don Krieg. Don’t be so harsh with the family.” The voice was soft, almost kind, but the intentions were clear underneath. “They can stay… the omega might bring in good money. Though with those pups hanging off him…” Gin clicked his tongue, more direct. “If you leave the brats outside, someone might even buy you a drink.”

He stepped closer, tilting his head like he was sniffing something interesting.

“I’m Gin, by the way. And the rules here are simple: you obey.” He smiled, crooked. “You want a roof for your little ones? Learn fast.”

Alpha pheromones flooded the room like poisonous gas, heavy, designed to break will. Sanji’s body reacted instantly: knees weak, throat tight. Against his chest, Sora started crying with a sharp, piercing whimper.

Rosi stepped forward, trembling, eyes wide.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” he shouted, voice cracking, fighting to breathe.

Gin laughed with a hollow sound.

“Relax, kid. If your daddy works a little for me, you won’t go hungry.”

“You pig! Don’t talk about my dad like that!”

The hit wasn’t seen, just the sound: a slap, a dry grunt, and Rosi slammed against the wall.

Sanji turned with a roar of pure desperation. He shoved the skinny bastard, chest burning, the scar pulling under his shirt, the tears from childbirth splitting open again. Gin grabbed his arm and slammed him against the counter. Sanji kicked him in the gut and sank his fangs into Gin’s wrist no thought, no hesitation.

A glass fell somewhere, but no one moved. The betas in the corner looked away, like it wasn’t their problem.

“Look at the fresh meat biting back.”

“Come on, Gin, quit playing.”

The voices mixed with the stench of fryer grease and the alpha pheromones from Gin and Krieg, hot, toxic, designed to crush.

Gin growled, fed up. He kneed Sanji in the side, right where the scar split. Sanji let go with a dry gasp, legs buckling, body shaking. The alpha slammed him into the counter again, gripping his jaw like a vice.

“Lone omega. Marked. Filthy. You won’t last a day here” he hissed in his ear.

Sanji spat blood, his or Gin’s, he didn’t care.

“Don’t. Touch. Him,” he growled, voice broken but firm.

Sora screamed, high and desperate, and that was the only thing that stopped the next blow.

Gin let go with disgust.

“Get out before I change my mind.”

The pheromones in the room thickened, overlapping like a wall of heat and stench pressing down on their chests. Sanji felt his knees buckle, instinct dragging him toward submission. Sora choked in his arms, eyes squeezed shut, and Rosi struggled to breathe.

Sanji stepped back. Then again. He didn’t say a word. Just yanked Rosi by the arm, hard, almost too hard. The boy understood, bit his tongue, swallowed every curse.

Krieg laughed, loud and cruel.

“Take a good look, boys. An omega with fangs. Let’s see how long that pride lasts once he’s sleeping in the street.”

“He’ll be back.”

“When hunger hits.”

“Or when the brat freezes to death.”

“Remember, he bites.”

“Yeah and he better not whine when we treat him like a dog.”

Sanji didn’t answer. He kicked the door open and stepped into the cold, filthy air of the port less suffocating than that room full of alphas.

They stumbled forward until they were sure no one was following them. Sanji collapsed against a wall, shaking, hurting, breathing like someone had dunked his head underwater and never let him come up. His jaw throbbed like it had been dislocated, he was pretty sure at least one rib was broken, and the stab scar pulsed along with the tears from childbirth.

But he didn’t let go of Rosi or Sora. He kissed his eldest on the forehead, a broken but steady smile. He cradled Sora, who slowly calmed down, warm against his chest, catching her breath.

Rosi walked beside him, trembling with rage and fear, eyes full of tears, cheek burning—the mark from the slap already swelling. That hurt Sanji more than any of his own wounds.

“I should’ve kicked him. Punched him. Something,” Rosi said, voice cracking.

The omega looked at his son with that kind of seriousness only people who’ve lived through horror can carry.

“And he would’ve killed you.”

The boy hugged him tight, burying his face in his chest, brushing against his sister’s tiny body. Sanji hugged them both even tighter. Sora, half asleep, breathed warm between them. He kissed Rosi softly, right where it hurt. Then on his forehead. Then on his nose. Then behind his ear, where he was ticklish just to make him laugh.

“It’s over, my sun,” he whispered, tired, soul and body in pieces. “It’s over.”

But nothing was over.

Rosi pulled away slowly, cheek still red, and started walking along the edge of the street, making fight noises.

“Pow! Bam! Take that, you shitty alpha! Spinning kick! Omega attack—kitsune level!”

Sanji watched him, hurting and amused.

Rosi crouched, spun around, and finished with a clumsy jump that nearly made him fall.

“And then you bit him! Chomp!” he said, baring his teeth. “And you growled—‘Don’t touuuuuuuuuuch hiiiiiiiim yeeeeeeeh!’” He threw his arms wide like he was on stage at a punk rock concert.

Sanji covered his face with one hand, torn between scolding him for the cursing and dying of laughter.

“Brat, stop swearing…”

“But you hit him! And bit him! And screamed like a rockstar!”

“That doesn’t make it better, dammit!” Sanji said, trying to be a good example and failing miserably.

Sora let out a sound that almost sounded like a giggle. Rosi puffed up like a ninja chicken.

Sanji chuckled, even though everything hurt.

“You’re so insolent.”

“That’s because you’re my dad. It rubs off.”

Sanji ruffled his hair with tired affection.

“Shut up and walk. I’m starving.”

And so, with Sora asleep, Rosi chewing air, and Sanji pushing fear away with sarcasm, the laughter faded like a candle in the wind.

Sanji walked fast, clutching Sora against his chest. The baby wailed, like she already knew the world was a sewer, squirming with that raw strength newborns have.

Rosi followed with his mouth tight. No more cursing, no more laughing, the situation had settled into his body. His face was stiff, like when Doflamingo used to barge into the bedroom without warning and drag his father away in strings and claws, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. That memory clung to the walls of his stomach, and the encounter with Gin had brought back the old nausea, not so old, really. Just never gone.

Sanji noticed. He slowed down, took a deep breath, and leaned toward him with that clumsy tenderness that was all he had. He ruffled his hair, brushed his ear with his lips, made him look up.

“Heyyy…” he said, voice rough but with a crooked smile that was pure trench warfare. “They don’t know shit, you hear me? They have no idea. We’re the sky, the sun, and the sea, we don’t need anyone. Yesterday we almost went to hell, but we made it out. That’s what matters.”

Rosi stared at him, eyes full of water and fury.

“I don’t wanna go back, daddy.”

Sanji squeezed his hand and held his son’s gaze.

“Never again,” he said. And it wasn’t a wish. It was a promise he’d only break by dying.

They walked in silence to the far end of town.

The “Davy Back Fight Hotel” stood at the end of the main avenue: three floors, iron balconies painted gold, violet curtains perfectly pressed, and a sign that shone brighter than the rest of the town combined. Definitely the fanciest spot. Rosi let out a whistle. They’d been told it was “the last place” that might let them in.

Sanji picked up the pace, Sora in his arms, Rosi dragging his feet behind.

The lobby smelled like strong soap. The furniture looked like it belonged to another century: red velvet, fake gold, stopped clocks, vases full of plastic plants without a speck of dust. Like the hotel had frozen in time, right before it turned to rot.

At the front desk stood a beta with ridiculous hair spiked into two peaks, orange pants with suspenders, and a fur coat. He put on a whole welcome show. His smile stretched like a slash the moment he saw them.

“Ah, finally! Thought you’d be quicker,” he said, like he’d known them forever.

Sanji didn’t get it.

“Work for lodging,” he said, straight to the point. The words came out rough, like stones.

Foxy tilted his head, theatrical.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” His index finger wagged like a metronome. “This is a hotel, not a… shelter. My guests expect peace, good smells, good company. And you…” He looked Sanji up and down, no shame. “You bring exactly the opposite.”

Rosi, who’d held it together until then, let out a snort.

“What do you care how my dad smells!”

“It matters,” Foxy replied, calm and firm. “The scent of an unclaimed omega, kid. It sticks. I know what you are, and I’m not gonna be the idiot who puts you under his roof”.

Sanji looked at him for a second but found nothing to hold onto. No negotiation, not even open contempt, just a flat refusal from someone who’d made up his mind before meeting him. He lowered his gaze, swallowing the insult rising in his throat. A hand on Rosi’s nape was his only answer. His son understood: no more words.

Foxy smiled, satisfied.

“Good. Glad we saved time. Small town, you know? News travels fast. Too bad you blew your chance to sleep under a roof when you said no to Krieg’s boy.”

And he turned away, disappearing behind the counter like they didn’t exist.

Rosi kicked a cobblestone, throat tight.

“They’re all the same! All of them!” He bit his lip until it bled.

Sanji let him vent. Then looked at him, eyes sunken, and smiled worn out. No roof. No bed. Just winter cold, sea salt, the smell of wet earth, and the realization that in this town, every door had closed.

They crossed a line of stones and a row of old lanterns.

The cobbled streets widened, rising and falling between whitewashed houses, wooden balconies, and green or blue shutters. Smoke curled from chimneys, winter flowers bloomed in pots, and chickens darted across the road. The sea was close, you could feel it in the salty, damp air, in the smell of fresh fish.

Sanji didn’t notice the exact moment the shadows stopped feeling hostile. There were still curious stares, whispers, furrowed brows but no more shouting, no more spit. They were being watched openly, followed with the eyes like new livestock at a country fair.

“An omega?”

“Smells like birth”.

“But… alone? Where’s the pack?”

“And the kid? Brother?”

“Too young to be the father”.

“Outsiders, for sure”.

Sanji pressed his lips together like he hadn’t heard a thing. He leaned over Sora, brushing her damp crown with his fingers, the only comfort he had to give.

Rosi, on the other hand, heard everything. And answered with a tongue that had no brakes:

“Stare all you want, we’re not charging admission!”

A woman with a basket crossed herself. Another, apron still dusted with flour, leaned toward her neighbor:

“A freshly birthed omega should be in bed, with flowers and broth”.

“Poor little things”.

Sanji tugged on one of Rosi’s curls in quiet scolding. Rosi pressed up against his side, still messy with grass, mud, and life itself, grinning like a little devil.

Sanji couldn’t help but be grateful for that grin and for the fact that, at least for now, no one was kicking them out.

His legs were done. He walked on autopilot, Sora asleep against his chest, warm and tiny, and Rosi ahead, an unstoppable storm kicking pebbles and cursing each one like they owed him money.

“Careful with the ditch, pup!” Sanji hissed through his teeth.

“It’s not a ditch, it’s a baby river,” Rosi corrected, and jumped anyway, splashing mud up to his ankles.

Sanji sighed. It was cold, not the kind that cuts, but the kind that licks you slow until it sinks into your bones.

The square appeared around the corner: a massive ombú, like an old gentle beast, so big it looked like it was holding up the sky. He didn’t think. He just saw thick roots like benches, and even in winter, it called to him.

“Just a minute,” he whispered, more to himself than to Rosi.

Rosi had already run ahead, dazzled like he’d found treasure.

“Dad, look at this! It’s huge! Look, look, I can hide!” He hugged the trunk, laughing out loud.

A sharp screech cut through the air. A pair of teros circled overhead, threatening like they always did when someone got too close to their turf. Sanji tensed instinctively, shielding Sora against his chest.

But Rosi, instead of flinching, waved at them with cheeky flair.

“Hey, neighbors! Chill out we come in peace!”

They circled a few more times and, as if reaching a verdict, landed nearby, firm, wings ready to fight. They guarded the tree and, by extension, them.

Sanji dropped between the roots, sighing deep, half cursing, half grateful. He unwrapped Sora from her ragged sling and settled her to nurse more comfortably. The pain in his nipple made him grunt, but the steady suckling calmed him.

“That’s it, my little piece of peace. Pretend we’ve got everything we need.”

“Dad, look at this beast!” Rosi ran over to hug him. “Can I climb it?”

“No, you can’t climb a tree that looks like a sleeping god.”

“But if it wakes up, I’ll say hi.”

“Rosi! Get down, dammit! You’re gonna crack your skull and I’ve got no arms left to carry you!”

The pup was halfway up when he slipped and landed on his butt between the roots. Hand to his forehead, he let out a dramatic sigh.

“Great. Awesome. If the cold doesn’t kill me, my own enthusiasm will. Dumbass”.

Rosi burst out laughing and hugged the ombú’s trunk.

“It’s huge! Dad, look! It’s got more roots than you’ve got tails!”

“Don’t mock my tails, brat. One of them might be your blanket if we don’t find a roof”.

Rosi flopped onto him, still laughing, pressing against his side, smelling of joy, sweat, and childhood. It felt like that shitty day had been a bad dream. Sora nursed one last time and fell asleep with a soft whimper.

“Well then, prince, princess… welcome to our luxury palace. A throne of roots, winged guardians, and your old man falling apart. Real royalty.”

Rosi giggled, and his father ruffled his hair with a trembling hand, pulling him close.

“Laugh, brat. These birds have our backs more than half the damn world. That’s worth gold.”

The lapwings squawked now and then, firm, like they were warning everyone that this patch of ground was taken. And for a moment, Sanji seriously considered never leaving that sun warmed hollow of roots.

But peace lasted only as long as Rosi stayed still. Laughing, he ran around the trunk, climbed, jumped between roots, hugged the ombú like it was talking to him. Sanji couldn’t take his eyes off his little one playing, his heart tight with that mix of pride and exhaustion that only comes when love hurts in the best way.

Rosi, messy and covered in dirt, crawled back to his side.

“I’ll help take care of her, dad.”

“Sure you will. You’re my level seven ridiculous bodyguard.”

The kid smiled and rested his head against him, gently cuddling Sora with a tenderness that didn’t match his muddy clothes or foul mouth. The three of them stayed tangled in a messy hug. Winter bit at their skin, but the warmth of his two pups was enough.

“Let’s rest a bit, okay? Then we’ll keep looking for a corner with a roof.”

“What if we sleep here? It’s nice.”

“No, love. If we sleep here, we’ll wake up frozen and the teros will bury us as decoration.”

Rosi giggled softly, snuggling closer.

“I don’t care. I like it here.”

“Yeah,” Sanji said, looking at the black branches cut against the sky, sunlight slipping through. “It’s nice. It lets us stay a while.”

Rosi’s stomach growled quietly, like it didn’t want to bother anyone. Sanji’s body ached, but what weighed most was the guilt. He had no food for his son. And he hadn’t been able to fix it. Once, they had food to spare, but Rosi didn’t laugh. Now they had freedom, but nothing to eat.

Sanji thought maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he should’ve said yes to that offer. Just once. So his pup could eat. He clenched his jaw in frustration, and the pain reminded him, no. Not unless there was no other choice. So his plan became distraction. Keep Rosi smiling while he gathered strength. He’d get up in five, ten minutes. To keep looking. For a place, a corner, something. Because Rosi was hungry. And he was still his father.

“I spy with my little eye…” he said suddenly, voice low, with a crooked smile.

Rosi looked at him, confused.

“I spy…” Sanji repeated.

“Something beginning with the letter A.”

Rosi squinted like it helped him think. “A tree?”

“That’s a T, genius.”

“Ugh—okay, um… ‘Alligator?”

Sanji snorted a laugh. “Nope.”

“Apple?!”

“No, dummy. It was ‘air.’”

“You can’t see air! You’re such a cheater!”

“Of course you can. Look how it moves through your curls.” He blew gently.

Rosi laughed, all teeth, forgetting the hunger for a second.

Around them, the benteveos returned, chirping their mocking songs. But the ones that really scared people were the teros—screeching like demons, wings spread wide, showing off those sharp spurs like blades. Anyone who got close to the plaza ran off.

Sanji didn’t know why they did it. But he was grateful no one came near.

And just like that, an alpha appeared…

He’d never cared about that kind of thing. He’d never protected anyone. He wasn’t sentimental, didn’t cry at sad stories, didn’t hand out smiles. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. He didn’t look at people. Didn’t greet them. Didn’t care if you had problems or fell into a ditch. Not his business.

He ran a tavern with a decent reputation, so long as you weren’t expecting manners. And a well-earned reputation as a grumpy old bastard. He worked hard to keep it that way.

But as he passed near the central plaza, something made him stop. He thought he was mistaken, because the sound of laughter, too honest for such a cold afternoon, was coming from the ombú. And those damn red eyed birds hadn’t let anyone near that tree in generations.

The old man stepped closer, curious. Just to look. Not because he cared, of course not. He just wanted to know why the ombú’s soldiers weren’t dive bombing the intruders.

And then he saw them.

It was a jarring picture, out of place in that tight-laced town: a skeletal omega pup, trembling, eyes sunken but arms steady around a tiny baby, playing with another pup, muddy feet, hunger written all over his face. But inside that fragile scene, there was something stronger. A fierce tenderness. Alive.

Something shifted inside him. A corner of his heart he didn’t know he had clenched tight. For a second, he thought he was having a heart attack. Then he realized it was something like tenderness. And it pissed him off.

Sanji smelled him instantly. Alpha. His stomach flipped. His head screamed to lower his gaze, shrink down, swallow the fear like always. But after the birth and the shitstorm of a day they’d had, his body, his damn body was ready to lunge for the throat if the man got too close.

The silence lasted one second… until Rosinante spoke.

“What’re you staring at, you mustached fossil?”

Sanji nearly choked.

“You little shit,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Shut your damn mouth right now!”

“Why?” the kid shot back, locking eyes with Zeff. “He’s looking at us like we’re bugs”.

The lapwings shrieked in unison, wings spread, spurs flashing like they were backing the kid, daring the alpha to step closer.

The old man looked down at them… ignoring the birds, until he realized the older pup was holding his gaze with something that wasn’t submission or defiance, but a dangerous mix of both. And the younger one was challenging him like a scrappy rooster.

Sanji sized him up. Old. Tall. Wooden leg. Weird. Didn’t have the rotten stench of the others who’d come near, but that meant nothing. They all pretended. All of them.

Zeff sighed. Looked up at the sky like he was cursing the whole damn universe for what he was about to do. Then looked back down and spoke.

“Aren’t you cold, kid?”

Sanji tensed even more. The question threw him off completely. No one asked him that.

“I’ve got a tavern two blocks from here. Hot tea, fresh bread, soup.” He said it like it was no big deal. “If you’re interested, you can come warm up”.

Sanji froze.

“What?”

“If you want to eat, dumbass. I’ve got a restaurant”. Zeff snorted through his nose, scratching his beard.

“I’ve got nothing, old man,” Sanji said, dry and direct. “Not looking for charity. Just a plate for him.” He nodded toward Rosi. “What I don’t have…” He swallowed hard, bracing for the usual rejection. “…is an alpha or a pack.”

Zeff stared without blinking.

“So what?”

Sanji narrowed his eyes, confused. No one had ever answered like that. It was always the first objection. The first judgment.

“I’m saying I’ve got no one to vouch for me. No name to back me up.”

“Even better,” Zeff grunted, turning away. “I’ve got no patience for idiots with fancy names. If you can work, you start by cleaning.”

Rosi looked up at him, tiny hand squeezed in his.

“Can we pleaaaase?”

Sanji swallowed. Looked at the old man, looked at his pups, and nodded.

Zeff turned, chewing on his own irritation. His wooden leg hit the cobblestones harder than before.

“I hate whiny brats. But I hate hungry ones even more.”

The Baratie was half full and half hostile. The walls were old wood, decorated with dried fishing nets. It was the hour when fishermen ate, old men played cards, and sailors took turns telling lies. Too many sideways glances. Too many whispers about “that stray omega with kids.”

Zeff walked in first, muttered a curse, and made his way through the tables. He wasn’t soft, but he wasn’t stupid either, so he sat them at the back, far from the noise and close to the kitchen. Fewer problems for everyone.

Sanji didn’t sit right away. He looked around with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe this place existed in the same world they’d just escaped from. It felt like they belonged here.

He was still staring when Rosi tugged on his sleeve.

“Dad… it’s warm,” the boy said, with a smile that hit him in the chest like a punch.

“Here,” Zeff grunted, pointing to a table against the wall.

Sanji understood instantly. Of course. So we don’t bother anyone. So we don’t ruin the atmosphere. So no one notices there’s an omega without an alpha in the room. He said nothing. His kid was finally going to eat.

Sanji obeyed. Rosi, on the other hand, climbed onto the chair like a crowned prince.

“This place is awesome, old man! Do you make dessert too?”

Sanji nearly choked on his own shame.

“Rosinante,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “What did we say about calling people ‘old man’?”

“But you called him old first!” the boy protested, full of righteous indignation. “And he is old. Super old.” He patted the table like it was his throne. His voice bounced cheerfully through the silence. “Look, dad, there’s bread! Can we eat it?”

“That doesn’t give you permission to be rude,” Sanji sighed, covering his face. “One day. Just one day without you copying my worst habits…”

Zeff narrowed his eyes, but instead of kicking them out, he snorted and stomped off. A few minutes later, he returned with two bowls of soup, which he dropped with a loud clunk.

“Eat. And stop making a damn scene”.

Rosi dug in without asking. Steam fogged up his face. He took a sip, and his eyes lit up.

“Mmmmmmmmmm! This is amazing!”

Sanji smiled, relieved… until the kid opened his mouth again:

“It’s almost as good as my dad’s.”

The universe collapsed.

Sanji froze mid sip, nearly dropping his spoon into the bowl. He turned slowly toward his son, face a mix of rage, horror… and barely hidden amusement.

“You don’t say that, dammit,” he muttered, reaching out to pinch the boy’s arm like a man trying to enforce order with zero credibility. “Is that how you talk to someone feeding you?”

“Ow!” the kid yelped, still grinning.

Zeff stood frozen. Utterly frozen. The only thing moving was a twitch in his eye.

“What did you just say, you little punk?”

Rosi slurped another spoonful of soup, happy as ever, and looked him dead in the eye.

“I said my dad cooks better than you, old man.”

Sanji turned red as a tomato.

“Rosi, for fuck’s sake!”

“But it’s true!” Rosi protested, turning to his dad with a face that screamed defend me!

Zeff slammed his fist on the table, making the spoons jump.

“You insolent brat! I oughta toss you in the pot so you learn some respect!”

Rosi didn’t flinch.

“Ha! You couldn’t catch me even with giant wings, you funny-mustached fossil!”

Sanji closed his eyes for a second. Not from shame, resignation. The feeling of being under a roof had been nice while it lasted.

Half the Baratie’s customers had turned to watch the old man and the kid yelling like cotorras.

“Oh yeah?” Zeff’s voice dropped, rough. “And where’s this dad who cooks better than me? I wanna see him.”

Sanji looked up and stabbed him with his gaze.

“You’re looking at him.”

Zeff stared like he’d just heard nonsense.

“Don’t fuck with me, kid. You? I thought you were his brother, for fuck’s sake.”

“Exactly,” Sanji grinned, defiant. “I’m his father. What the hell do you care?”

“I don’t give a damn,” Zeff growled, though his stomach twisted. “You look like you just ditched high school.”

Sora made a soft noise, and Sanji kissed her forehead. No one said anything for a long second.

“You want more soup?” Zeff grunted.

“Yes,” Sanji answered, very quietly.

“Bread too?”

“Please.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Eggplant,” Zeff said, pointing his wooden spoon at Rosi. “If you ever compare me to this scrawny half-assed cook again, I’ll have you peeling potatoes till your fingers fall off.”

Rosinante shrugged, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth like nothing.

“Depends on the type of potato. Agria, Monalisa, Russet, Red Pontiac. My dad sautés them with rosemary, or mashes them with butter and thyme…”

“Rosinante!” Sanji groaned, caught between bursting with pride and wishing the floor would swallow him whole. “Stop provoking him, dammit!”

“But he likes it!” Rosi grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s growling, but he’s not mad. It’s like when you say I won’t get dessert, but then you give me flan with dulce de leche anyway.”

Sanji slumped back in his chair, exhausted. Sora slept on his chest, her tiny pink mouth twitching now and then like she was still tasting milk. And Rosi, right beside him, kept talking nonstop listing potato recipes like he was giving a masterclass at Le Cordon Bleu.

Zeff, who was pouring himself a coffee behind the counter, slowly turned on his wooden leg to test the waters.

“Well?” he said, arms crossed. “What’s in the soup?”

Rosinante looked up, cheeks full. He swallowed and pointed with his spoon.

“Celery, carrot, potato, squash, a bit of turnip, corn, beef shank, and… leek? Right, dad?”

Sanji nodded slightly, still slouched.

“Leek!” Rosi confirmed, beaming. “Oh, and you add bay leaf while it’s boiling, but take it out at the end, right?”

Zeff rubbed his mustache and pointed at them with the spoon like he was about to declare war.

“All three of you, kitchen. Now! Looks like your taste buds aren’t completely wrecked by misery!”

Sanji looked at him like he’d just been offered an adoption contract without reading the fine print. (Spoiler: they’d already been adopted.)

“Why?”

“Because you’re working, dammit. And the brat’s peeling potatoes under supervision. He better not cut himself!”

Rosinante jumped off his chair.

“Yes! Dad, he’s letting me help! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Sanji was still frozen.

But Zeff was already turning away, grumbling.

“You don’t have a choice, kid. I’m already paying you in soup. Now you owe me.”

“Perfect,” Sanji said, with a small but real smile. “Because I didn’t come here for charity.”

They stepped into the kitchen. Heat, steam, clanging pots. Two big men in aprons chopping, stirring, loading trays. Sanji paused when he noticed them staring. Not with contempt but with curiosity.

“What the hell are you looking at?! Get back to work before I bash your heads in with a pot!” Zeff barked.

They turned back immediately, moving faster than before.

Rosinante was practically vibrating with excitement. He climbed onto a crooked stool, legs dangling, as Zeff placed a knife and a potato in front of him.

“Alright, Eggplant. Show me how you peel without slicing off a finger.”

“Yes, chef!” Rosi puffed out his chest like he was part of an elite brigade, sworn to defend the honor of his father’s kitchen.

Zeff kept muttering under his breath.

“I’ve lost my damn mind. Letting in this mini-mafia and the other brat…”

Sanji didn’t answer. He lowered his gaze slightly.

“Thanks… for the food,” he said, like swallowing nails. “I don’t want to owe you anything.” He added quickly, with that steady tone of someone used to paying in blood. “I can clean, wash dishes, cook whatever you need. Just tell me.”

Zeff looked him over. The kid was a mess, split knuckles, busted lip, skin so pale his veins showed. He stood by the wall, one hand holding the ragged sling where the baby slept, wrapped in a tenderness no one teaches.

“You know how to cut anything besides stale bread?” Zeff grunted, arms crossed.

Sanji didn’t move. He glanced sideways.

“What do you want me to cut?”

Zeff yanked open the pantry and tossed him an onion.

“Impress me.”

Sanji caught it midair. Asked for a real knife. Zeff eyed him again.

Then handed it over.

And the pup (because that’s what he was, a pup) peeled the onion with the precision of a veteran chef. Barely looking. He sliced it into feathers, then brunoise, then mirepoix, then julienne, just to show he could.

Zeff said nothing. But the eye twitch was back.

“Where’d you learn to cut like that?”

“None of your business.”

“And what the hell are you doing hauling two kids around instead of working in a kitchen like this?”

“Still not your business.”

Zeff snorted. Turned to Rosinante, who was still peeling with half his tongue sticking out.

“And you, brat how are those potatoes coming?”

Rosi didn’t even look up.

“Almost done,” he said. “Dad says you can’t leave them with ‘clothes.’ Potatoes with clothes don’t cook right.”

“You call the skin ‘clothes’?”

“Obviously. But only if they’re round potatoes. The long ones don’t wear clothes, they wear layers. Duh.” He said it like he was explaining quantum physics.

“Layers, huh?” Zeff grunted, arms crossed. He turned to Sanji. “You trained him.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to apologize?”

Zeff snorted.

“Hell no. Brats. All of you. A whole damn gang of loudmouth punks. Spoiled, the lot of you.”

Rosinante, meanwhile, let out a theatrical sigh, shaking off his starch covered hands.

“We didn’t know the world could turn white,” he said suddenly, voice serious. “The ground, the trees, the clothes, the air.”

Zeff, who was sharpening knives, looked at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean, white?”

“Yeah. White that hurts. Like cotton, but shiny, it sticks to your eyelashes. We thought it was like salt falling from the sky. And then I kinda died because we didn’t have coats, so my dad…”

He stopped. Sanji glanced at him quickly, and Rosi held back.

“He wrapped us in magic. The whole time.”

He said it with pride puffing up his chest, like he was congratulating himself for saying it right, without revealing his dad’s secret. He was a champ, a genius, a legend. Deserved an alfajor.

His father said nothing, but his hand moved, soft, to rest on the back of Rosi’s neck, relief and pride. Knowing his pup was a walking disaster, he’d done pretty damn well.

Zeff scratched his head like his brain itched.

“Cold salt falling from the sky?” he muttered. “You mean snow?”

Rosinante looked at him like he’d just discovered Laugh Tale and burst out laughing.

“Snow?! Seriously?! That word is so dumb! Snow! Snow! Sounds like a cow’s name!”

Sanji looked at him, half amused, half confused.

“That’s what it’s called?”

“Yeah, brat. You’ve never heard it? Not once? Not in school? Not in stories, songs, TV?”

Sanji shook his head.

“And how the hell did you survive without knowing what it was?”

Sanji shrugged.

“We managed.”

Rosinante kept repeating the word like it was a ridiculous spell.

“Snow, snow, snow! But now I know snow is shiny ash that wants to kill you. And it doesn’t let you run. That’s not okay. I like running. Also, Sora didn’t like snow either. She cried a lot. But I didn’t let it touch her”.

Zeff leaned against the counter, thoughtful. There’s no snow in Goa. Even less in Punta Batchee. Snow’s up in the mountains, on Mount Colubo. But that made no sense. The baby didn’t look like she was weeks old.

“Where the hell were you that had snow?” he asked, voice rough.

“A frozen forest up there,” Rosi answered, like it was obvious. “We were there for days. We got out after my sister was born.”

He smiled, chest puffed with pride.

“She was tiny. Really tiny. Like a kitten, but she’s an aguará, so more like a little fox. Her eyes were closed and she made these sounds like…” He clenched his fists against his cheeks and let out a nasal squeak, clumsy and tender, imitating his sister.

“How long ago was that?” Zeff asked, still stunned.

Rosinante shrugged.

“Today. Before sunrise.”

“Today?”

Zeff dropped onto a stool. Took off his chef’s hat and wiped his face. Breathed deep. Really deep. Muttered a curse under his breath. His eyes locked onto Sanji, who lowered his gaze split knuckles white against the edge of the table.

The old man stepped forward, wooden leg thudding against the floor.

“You’re telling me that baby was born today, in the middle of Mount Colubo’s forest?”

The silence thickened.

Rosi nodded, proud.

“I helped! I caught her. So she wouldn’t touch the snow.”

Zeff looked back at Sanji, who didn’t answer.

“Is that true?”

“Yes. Around four.”

And he said it so dry, so brutally real, it hurt.

Zeff bit the air and slammed his wooden leg against the floor.

“You’re a damn idiot! That far out, in last night’s blizzard, even seasoned alphas wouldn’t survive, and you… you’re telling me you gave birth out there?”

“Stop yelling at me,” Sanji growled back. “You don’t know what I had to do.”

Rosi cut in.

“I saw it! I saw the whole thing! It was gross.” He made a dramatic face of disgust, slipped, and had to grab the edge of the stool to keep from falling.

“Shut it, brat!” Zeff roared.

“No! Because it’s true!” Rosi slammed the cutting board on the table, wobbling on the stool, suddenly serious. “My dad held it together. And so did I.”

Zeff let out a dry, disbelieving laugh that came out more like a growl.

“Are you insane? That forest’s miles away. Full of bears, tigers, bandits. And you”. He stopped cold. Took a deeper breath. Paid closer attention to the omega’s scent. That raw mix of blood and milk. Fresh. Real.

“And who the hell left you alone in the woods, with a newborn, in this storm?”

Sanji didn’t look up.

“You don’t give a damn.”

Zeff stood still for a second. And yeah he didn’t. He raised his hands, resigned but firm.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but freshly postpartum, you can’t just be chopping vegetables like it’s nothing! And that kid looks like he’s about to peel the skin off his own fingers with those potatoes.”

Rosinante raised an eyebrow and shot back, smug.

“Hey, peeling potatoes is an art. And I’m an artist.”

Zeff looked at him like he couldn’t decide whether to throw a pot at his head or give him a medal. He settled for slapping the table with an open palm.

“And what the hell are you doing still chopping onions, dammit?!”

“What, you want me to sit down?” Sanji shot back, defiant.

“I want you to stop being so damn stubborn!” Zeff thundered, pointing the ladle at him. “No one gives birth less than a day ago and goes straight to work!”

Sanji held his gaze. Not with defiance just resignation.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How the hell does it not matter?”

“Because it already happened.”

And with that, like it closed the subject, he turned back to the board and repositioned the onion with his knuckles.

“I don’t care!” Zeff barked. “Sit down! Now! I don’t want to see you on your feet another damn second!”

Rosinante jumped up, his knife clattering to the floor. He stood in front of Sanji, arms spread wide.

“Don’t yell at him, old man! He didn’t do anything wrong! We walked a lot from the mountain and… and everything hurt, and I know dad hurt more. And he didn’t sleep. Not one bit. He stayed up keeping us warm and safe from the beast.”

Zeff shot him a glare so sharp the boy went quiet instantly. Then, without a word, he kicked a chair behind Sanji.

Sanji looked at him with lowered eyes, like he was bracing for a blow. They’d been yelled at, insulted, lost in a kitchen full of alphas.

Instead, the old man muttered:

“You could’ve died”.

Sanji looked down.

“Almost. But we didn’t”.

Zeff clenched his jaw, voice tight with genuine anger and something else.

“When an omega gives birth, they’re supposed to be cared for. Fed. Let to rest.”

Sanji looked up, confused, like he’d just heard a language he didn’t speak. And in a way, he had. Not the words. The meaning. Omegas serve. They’re not served. He tried to speak, to explain, but nothing came out.

Zeff clicked his tongue. He didn’t know why he was still standing there, arguing with these two. He’d never cared about anyone. It wasn’t his problem. It shouldn’t be. And yet, there was something in the way that omega looked at him, like a cornered dog. And in the brat’s shameless defense of him, that twisted something in his gut, something unfamiliar, but not entirely new. He’d never wanted to kick the world in the teeth for letting someone end up like this.

Still, here he was, chest tight, staring at a skinny kid who, under all that fear, smelled like the sea. With two pups clinging to him. And all Zeff wanted was to never see them curled up under a rotting tree again.

“Tsk,” he growled, turning away like he could shake the feeling off. “Goddammit.”

Patty leaned toward Carne, speaking low, like they didn’t want to interrupt, but couldn’t keep quiet either.

“You heard that? It’s done. The Baratie crew just got bigger.”

“Fifty berries says the old man adopts them”.

“He’s totally giving them the attic,” Patty added, glancing at Sanji. “Besides, this one already seems to know more than we do”.

“They’ve got no pack, you know?” Carne whispered. “But so what”.

“And if the old man won’t admit it, we’ll push him into it,” Patty grinned. “No way he lets go of a kid with kitchen attitude. And the little one’s a beast at peeling potatoes”.

Zeff snorted without turning around.

“I can hear you, idiots!”

“And we can hear you too, chef!” Patty shot back, still smiling.

Rosinante moved to push the chair from the side.

“Dad, please,” he whispered. “Sora’s asleep. She won’t mind if you sit. This place isn’t like the others.”

Sanji paused and glanced sideways at his son.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It’s weird.”

Then he slowly lowered himself into the seat. Rosinante smiled, satisfied, resting his head on his dad’s arm with affection. Sanji kissed the top of his curls.

Zeff muttered something under his breath before speaking again, voice a little calmer.

“You got a place to sleep tonight?”

Sanji opened his mouth, ready to say don’t worry, old man, but Rosi beat him to it, mouth full of bread he’d swiped from somewhere.

“Nowhere. No inn would take us. We’ll probably sleep under the ombú or under a log like last night.”

“Fuck’s sake… I’ll regret this tomorrow, but I’m not letting a newborn sleep under a fucking log tonight. Stay here. There’s space.”

Sanji stood up sharply, Sora against his chest, and placed a firm hand on Rosi’s shoulder to keep him seated.

“Still.” His voice was sharp. The kid opened his mouth to protest, but Sanji shut him down with a look. Rosi froze like a statue.

The omega stepped toward the old man, tired but steady, stopping just short of the wooden leg.

“Tell me right now what the fuck you want in return,” he spat, locking eyes, jaw clenched. “I can clean, cook, scrub the floors till I bleed. But if you want something else, we’re gone. Right now. I don’t care. I’m sick of being offered a bed just so they can crawl in once the kid’s asleep.”

Zeff stared at him for a second. Something twisted in his gut. Heat surged up his neck.

“Are you fucking sick in the head, kid?!” he roared from deep inside. “How the hell could you think I… that I…?!”

His voice cracked at the end. A knot that left him dry. He hadn’t felt that in decades, a mix of disgust, helplessness, and the urge to cry. And Zeff hadn’t cried since he was six, when the sea swallowed his father.

Sanji didn’t look away. He was ready to fight, even if his legs were shaking.

“That’s what they all do, old man.”

Zeff felt like throwing up. His arms prickled with pure, visceral disgust. In those tired, broken, too young eyes, he saw something he hadn’t expected: the brutal innocence of someone who’d never known anything else. A skinny, wrecked omega, with a newborn still warm from the womb and another pup glued to him, thinking that was just how the world worked?

Zeff grabbed his arm, rough but not violent, pulled him close enough their noses nearly touched. Rosinante flinched. Sanji’s heart was racing, frozen in place, Sora clinging to his chest, eyes wide. Instinct told him to look down, to shrink. But he didn’t.

“Listen to me, dammit!” the old man spat, mustache trembling. “I would never do that. Got it? Never! I’m not that kind of alpha. Don’t you dare lump me in with those fucking bastards!”

Sanji held the fury in his blue eyes. And for some reason, he believed him. For the first time in his life, he believed an alpha. Because this one wasn’t angry at him, he was angry for him.

Zeff let go like he’d been burned, chewing on rage at the world. Something in his face shifted. Not pity, something harsher. Sudden, brutal respect that hit like a punch.

“What they did to you…” He clenched his jaw, nearly choking on the words. “The whole fucking world’s a sewer.”

Sanji swallowed, uncomfortable, still braced for a fight.

Zeff snorted, ran a hand through his beard, and turned away to hide whatever was stirring in his chest.

“That bit about scrubbing till your hands bleed sounds good.” He spat to the side, trying not to drown in his own fury, and the instinct screaming that the omega should be resting.

Rosi, who’d been watching nervously, jaw slack, let out a low whistle.

“Whoa… he almost sounds nice.”

“Shut your mouth, insolent Eggplant!” Zeff bellowed, red with a rage even he didn’t understand.

“I don’t wanna!”

Sanji, against all odds, bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Don’t talk to the gentleman like that. Even if he’s got a broom beard and a face that hates children.”

“I heard that, twig” Zeff growled from the back, not even turning around.

“And I didn’t deny it, old man” Sanji shot back, a spark in his voice that surprised even him. “I can start cleaning now if you want,” he added, standing carefully so as not to wake Sora.

Zeff shook his head.

“Tomorrow. Tonight, eat, warm up, and put your pups in the attic. It’s empty. Not much, but it’s got a roof and clean blankets.”

“You sure…?”

“Do I look like someone who repeats himself?”

Sanji lowered his gaze, nodding with a restrained smile.

“Thanks, old man.”

“Old man my ass,” Zeff grunted, turning with his wooden leg thudding hard. “Tomorrow I want you sweeping out the cobwebs. And if the brat compares my cooking to yours again, he’s washing dishes too.”

Chapter Text

Zeff went up first, climbing the narrow staircase that creaked with every step. He shoved the attic door open and stepped into a dusty room with low ceilings, a skylight, and cedar-scented wooden floors. There wasn’t much: a single bed with clean sheets, a closed trunk, and boxes with faded labels, who knew what was in there, probably not even the alpha.

As Sanji crossed the threshold, he let out a quiet sigh. It had walls, a door, no bars. And it wasn’t a train, or a station, or a stable, or a cave. It was a roof, finally, even if temporary.

"There you go," grunted the old man, nodding toward the single bed with his chin.

The mattress was clean, just a little sunken in the middle. The wool blanket at the foot of the bed was thick, though it smelled a bit like storage.

"Don’t break anything."

The omega stepped in behind him, Sora in his arms and the backpack hanging off one shoulder. He set it down on the floor and, with a sharp gesture, stopped Rosinante mid-step as he was already taking off his shoes.

"Freeze. You’re not setting foot in here until you shower."

"But, dad…" he tried.

"No buts," he muttered through clenched teeth. "You’re not jumping into that bed with all that grime on you, damn it."

Zeff snorted a short laugh, like it amused him that someone so skinny and sleep-deprived still had that much authority in his voice.

"We won’t be a problem, and we won’t stay longer than necessary," Sanji said, voice cracking on the inside.

Zeff didn’t answer right away. His eyes paused for a second on the old backpack with the broken zipper slung over the omega’s shoulder.

Sanji set it down gently and started unpacking the few things inside: Two changes of clothes for the kid, too thin for this weather. A scruffy stuffed sheep that had seen better days. And an old storybook with bent pages, treated like gold: “Legends of Noland the Liar.” That was it. Nothing for him. Nothing for the baby.

Zeff clenched his jaw. He wanted to ask what the hell had happened, but didn’t, he could see it. He looked away with a huff that tried to sound casual, shook his head, and walked out grumbling. He came back a while later with a big box and dropped it on the floor with a dull thud.

"With what you’ve got, you won’t make it past the corner," he grunted. "Here. Clothes left behind by staff and customers who never came back. See what fits. Might have stains, but it’s all clean. The baby’s gonna need something better than that if you plan to go out tomorrow," he said without looking at them."I don’t have baby stuff, but you can cut up an old shirt. Or a big sock."

"I can work with that," Sanji replied, shaking out the blanket carefully, still kicking up dust.

Zeff huffed again and handed him a dented blue tin.

"Here. Do whatever you want. Patch up rags, invent diapers, something."

Rosinante grabbed it before Sanji could, eyes sparkling.

"Cookies?!" he exclaimed, like the universe had just sent him a sign that everything was finally going to be okay.

"It’s a Danish cookie tin!

I bet it has the round ones with sugar on top! Or the flower-shaped ones!"

Sanji glanced at him sideways, already knowing what was coming.

"There are no cookies, Rosi. The old man just said it’s for sewing. It’s probably full of needles, thread, and buttons."

"Huh?"

Zeff raised an eyebrow, amused, watching the birth of a trauma from the front row.

Rosi opened the lid slowly, still clinging to hope. He looked inside. Silence.

"No…" he whispered, voice cracking. "This can’t be real."

Sanji bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"What’s wrong, chick?"

"Tell me this is a nightmare!" Rosi said, eyes wide, like the world had betrayed him. "Why would anyone do this?! Why put ugly stuff in a happy tin?!"

Zeff snorted, almost laughing.

"Ugly, he says. Look, thanks to that ‘ugly stuff,’ your sister’s gonna have diapers, you little punk."

"But there’s not even one cookie! Not one! Not a single crumb!" He turned dramatically, hugging the tin like it had personally betrayed him. "I’ll forgive you. But not today."

Sanji covered his face, laughing openly.

"Sunshine…"

"Don’t talk to me! I need to process this." He sat on the floor with the tin in his lap, like he was in mourning.

Zeff crossed his arms and cleared his throat loudly.

"Alright, enough drama. Come on. I’ll show you where the bathroom is."

Sanji nudged Rosi gently toward the door.

"Shower. Now."

The kid obeyed, grumbling just a little, because he knew his dad wouldn’t budge.

"So much fuss over a shower!" Rosi huffed, throwing his arms out like he was the victim of a crime, the tin rolling across the floor. "I haven’t showered in weeks and I’m still alive!"

"And you’ll stay alive because you’re going to shower," Sanji shot back, voice calm but already carrying the threat of a slap.

The old man let out a dry, scratchy laugh. "The brat’s got a point.

Shower first. Bed later."

"Such an unfair alliance…" Rosi muttered, rolling his eyes.

Sanji nudged him toward the door with his elbow, gentle but firm. "Move it. Go."

That skinny omega, covered in half-healed cuts and dark circles down to his chin, gave orders like a damn admiral. And the kid… The kid had a tongue longer than the sails on a brig.

Rosi, meanwhile, already had half his body out the door, following Zeff with barefoot hops.

"Where are the showers? Come on, old man, don’t be stingy with the hot water!"

Zeff led them to the mezzanine where the staff bathroom was, muttering curses at the two brats. Those two had given him more gray hairs in a few hours than the rest of the little punks in the pack.

The bathroom was cold, with worn-out tiles, but it was functional.

"Don’t drain the tank, got it?" he snapped, pointing at them, especially at Rosinante.

Sanji nodded quickly, though his face clearly said he had no idea how a “tank” worked.

"And one more thing." Zeff rummaged through a cabinet, pulled out a metal first-aid kit, and tossed it to Sanji.

The omega caught it mid-air.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Sanji asked, suspicious.

"Patch up those wounds, dumbass. I’m not blind, kid, I can see how you’re walking."

Sanji held his gaze, defiant, but didn’t argue this time. Sora shifted against his chest, and the baby’s warmth climbed up to his throat. For a second, he thought about saying “thank you,” but what came out was:

"Weirdo."

Zeff clicked his tongue.

"Little shit."

Rosinante, watching them with amusement, crossed his arms at the doorway.

"I like this place."

"Shut up and go wash the mud off your feet," Zeff barked, turning around.

"I don’t want to," Rosinante grumbled the moment he saw his dad soaping up a rag and realized what was coming.

"I didn’t ask," Sanji replied, peeling off his sweater like a stubborn onion.

"But I know how to shower by myself!" the boy insisted, not exactly whispering. "I’m almost eight!"

"And you smell like a skunk."

Rosinante scrunched up his face as he was pushed under the water.

"Ow, it burns!" Rosi yelled, jumping back.

"It’s lukewarm, idiot, stop being dramatic," Sanji grabbed his arm and scrubbed his filthy neck with the soapy rag like he was trying to peel off the first layer of skin.

The kid screamed like he was being tortured.

"Stop!" the boy shouted, kicking, his curls stuck to his face like seaweed. "You’re sanding me down like an old table!"

"You’ve got grime in your soul."

Sanji, soaked up to his elbows and still fully dressed, held him steady while the soap lifted crusted dirt and old scabs.

The water running toward the drain came out black.

"You’re killing me! Dad! With love, damn it!"

"You want love or you want me to get the mud off your neck, dear?"

Sanji jammed the rag behind his ear without mercy.

Rosinante, despite everything, wasn’t really resisting. He closed his eyes when Sanji scrubbed behind his ears, let himself be turned to wash his back, and even lifted his feet when told. The complaining was pure theater.

The metal door down the hall creaked open.

"Quit the racket, sounds like you’re slaughtering pigs in here," Zeff growled from the doorway, carrying a pile of stuff under his arm. "Here."

Sanji looked up, surprised.

The old man set down clean towels on a bench, a couple more bars of soap, and on top of everything: toothpaste, shampoo, and two brand-new toothbrushes still in their packaging.

"They’re extras I had, alright?" Zeff’s tone was rough, like he was over-explaining. "I don’t want brats smelling like a chicken coop in my place."

Sanji opened his mouth to reply, but Zeff raised a hand to shut him up.

The old man turned on his heel and muttered as he walked straight toward Rosi.

"I don’t want to hear another whine, Eggplant."

Rosi watched him go, mouth twisted. As soon as the door closed, he murmured:

"Grumpy old man with a soft cookie heart."

Sanji smacked him on the head with the wet rag.

"Get in the water, punk!"

The kid screamed again, but he was still laughing and so was Sanji.

The steam had already taken over the bathroom by the time Sanji finished scrubbing Rosi.

It wasn’t that the kid didn’t know how to shower, at seven, he had the habits of an old man, but the grime stuck from months of travel needed firm hands and real soap.

Rosi came out of the shower huffing like a wet chicken, wrapped in a towel dragging across the floor like a cape, skinny legs dripping water.

"You scrubbed my ears off."

"Dry yourself properly," Sanji handed him another rag so he wouldn’t drip everywhere.

Rosi stood in front of the rusty mirror, wet hair stuck to his face. "Look what you did to me. I’m shiny. Like a gold statue."

Sanji chuckled under his breath, tired but glad to see him alive, loud, and cheeky.

On the wooden bench, with steam making the walls drip, Sanji laid Sora down on a stretched towel. The little fox barely squirmed, her two golden tails twitching when the damp cloth touched her skin. Her wet aguará ears looked like crepe paper. Sanji cleaned her umbilical cord and every fold with brutal care, gentle movements, but firm on her wrinkled newborn body.

Sanji opened the tin of intergenerational trauma. Measured, cut, sewed. Even made buttonholes and stitched buttons with inhuman speed, the kind only mothers summon when it starts raining and the laundry’s still out.

"What are you doing now?" Rosi asked, curious, peeking over his shoulder.

"Real diapers."

Nothing like that morning, when he’d fought with scraps of cloth in the middle of the woods to make one. Now his pup and he had eaten, they were warm, the fabric cooperated, his head too. No urgency, no cold, just a peace so unfamiliar it felt borrowed.

Sora breathed deeply, mouth barely open. Sanji fastened the new diaper. No bulk, no twist.

A dignified piece, like formal wear.

Rosinante watched in silence, eyes wide.

"Hey… that looks really nice. Like, actually made."

Sanji smiled faintly, without looking up.

"Now I can think."

When he finished, he handed her over. The boy held her like a living treasure, and to them, she was.

"She looks so pretty. Like a princess."

"Princess, yeah."

Sanji leaned in and gave each of his pups a big kiss. "Don’t squish her."

Rosi laughed, hugging Sora with exaggerated care.

Then he got up and headed to shower. Undressed without ceremony, dropped his dirty clothes on the floor. Stepped into the water and let it fall over him. And it was like opening a floodgate: Blood poured down in streams, old and new, sticking to his legs.

Postpartum was a torment: Every step a pull, every contraction a stab. Cuts on his skin, bruises in every color, and a scar that still throbbed and made him dizzy. The water turned red. Sanji shut his eyes tight not to scream. Scrubbed his body with rage, peeling off weeks of fear and filth. But the tremor in his arms wouldn’t go. He untangled his hair with his fingers until his curtain of golden curls fell again. Washed the birth wounds, the ones from the snow and the woods, the ones from the last night in the gilded cage. All of them. One by one. The water carried away the dirt, but not the exhaustion stuck to his soul, not his skin.

"You washed behind your ears?" Rosi shouted from outside, voice like a vengeful demon. "Because if not, I’m coming in with the rag."

Sanji slapped the wall with a wet hand, smiling. "Shove the rag in your mouth, you insolent brat!"

"Hey, I’m just asking!" Rosi replied, laughing, kissing Sora’s cheeks.

Sanji came out minutes later, hair wet and stuck to his face, skin flushed from the hot water, body thin and covered in marks. He felt almost like someone else, with skin and hair free of blood, sweat, dust, and grime. He’d prepared folded towels ahead of time to manage the lochia, and secured them firmly.

Put on a long blue shirt from the box, it fit like a nightgown.

He dressed Rosi in another shirt, blue and white stripes, reaching down to his knees. The boy spun in front of the rusty mirror, striking poses and making faces.

Sanji smiled, tired, lips pressed together as he tied his chick’s hair into a high ponytail, he knew if he slept with it loose, he’d wake up with as a Pirincho.

Then, in two minutes, with skilled folds and a few strategic cuts and stitches, he turned a worn lilac shirt into a small wrap tunic. Comfortable, with room to fasten and unfasten without bothering the baby.

"Look what your old man made for you, mon chéri… even Pappag couldn’t top it," he whispered, brushing his nose against hers.

With another piece of cloth, he made a firm sling and tucked Sora against his chest, tightening the knots.

Rosinante ran around the attic, telling Borreguito all about the day’s adventure.

Sanji stroked his head, trying not to show the tremor in his hand.

"Dad, can I help set up the sleeping spot?"

"Of course, my sunshine," he replied, smiling as he tucked Sora in better.

Together they dragged an empty box against the wall, folded the blanket over the mattress, and found a position that didn’t leave the omega’s feet hanging.

Rosi placed Borreguito at the head of the bed, with all the seriousness the moment deserved.

"You guard against bad dreams," he whispered to the plushie, like a bodyguard on duty.

Sanji spread a blanket over the three of them, careful not to crush the baby.

"Is this okay?" Rosi asked.

"Perfect," Sanji said, already lying down, Sora on his chest.

Rosi slipped in beside him, close, cold feet and oversized shirt.

Sanji felt his chest loosen, everything that hurt and burned in his body drifting far away. His eyes were wet, but he didn’t cry. Instead, he leaned in, brushed Rosi’s forehead with his own, and let out a small laugh, the kind you feel more in your belly than your throat. They were alive. Clean, warm, full. Alive. They were alive.

Sora, half-asleep, stretched out a tiny hand and found a curl. Rosi lay on his side, facing Sanji, eyes shining with pure joy, crooked smile stuck on his face.

"See?" he whispered, proud like he’d planned the whole miracle. "We’re complete."

"Thank you, Rosi." He said it softly, no solemnity, voice rough and real. "For welcoming your sister and not letting go… even when I was falling apart. If it weren’t for you…"

"Don’t say bullshit."Rosi shrugged. "I wasn’t gonna leave her, old man. She’s mine too."

That hit Sanji so hard he had to press his lips together. He looked at him, and the smile escaped anyway, crooked and damp. To keep from crying, he thought of something else. He smacked him in the ribs.

"Hey, you want a boob again?"

"What?!" Rosi nearly screamed, choking on laughter and outrage. "Not a chance, you sick bastard! That was survival! You’re disgusting!"

Sanji burst out laughing, pain shooting through his belly, but he couldn’t stop. "Last night you were crying from hunger and cold, and I stuck you on the boob, huh?"

"It was that or die!" the kid protested, red as a tomato. "And you say it like it’s nothing! You forced me. ARRRGGGGHHHH you’re the worst!"

"It’s nothing, idiot." Sanji ruffled his hair with that fierce tenderness that softened everything. "You’re my son. Mine. What else was I supposed to do?"

Sora, like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment, turned and yanked the curl she’d grabbed.

"Shit!" Rosi grunted, trying to escape. "This little gremlin’s stronger than me."

Sanji, half-smiling and tired, blew the damp fringe off his forehead. "Of course, mon chéri has character. She likes what she likes."

He brushed her forehead with his lips. "My wild little pup, my princess of stolen curls."

Rosi groaned, indignant. "You can’t just take her side! She’s ripping my soul out!"

"You deal with it. That’s what big brothers do." Sanji ruffled his hair again. "Though yeah… she’s got weird taste. She likes your scrubby mop."

"Scrubby mop your ass!" Rosi shot back, laughing with that raspy joy that sparkled in his eyes—then quickly covered his mouth, realizing he’d crossed a line.

Sanji shot him a death glare.

"Rosinante!" he snapped, swatting his shoulder lightly.

"Okay, okay! I know… Sorry." Rosi shrugged, but the laughter still shimmered in his eyes.

Sanji couldn’t help letting out a soft chuckle, covering his face with one hand. "Sleep, dumbass. Tomorrow you’re gonna drive me crazy again."

The kid reached out, brushed his cheek with clumsy fingers, and then, in a softer voice, murmured: "Old man… will you tell me a story?"

Sanji looked at him with that mix of annoyance and tenderness that came so naturally. "A story? With that filthy mouth of yours?"

"Come ooon. A lullaby, anything." Rosi curled up even tighter around Sora, his smile trembling in his eyes. "I’m really happy but… I don’t wanna sleep alone in my head. And you curse better." It came out cheeky, but honest.

Sanji rolled his eyes, but his mouth was already curving the same way. He couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

Sanji sighed, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again with resignation.

"Alright, let’s see… Once upon a time, there was a very handsome cook, the most handsome of all, who lived on a flying ship made of pan marsellés."

"Pan marsellés?"

"Yes, mon soleil. Pan marsellés. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, dusted with cornmeal. It smelled so good that the chingolos wanted to move onto the roof. But the cook didn’t live alone. He had a son who was a wild little beast, with untamable curls and a tongue longer than a tamanduá."

Rosi giggled softly, already half-buried under the blanket. "And did the beast have a name?"

"Itos," Sanji said, very serious. "He was famous for eating everything he found: bread, soup, buttons… and once he tried to eat a candle because he thought it was vanilla. And when he got mad, fire came out of his nose."

"Liar!" Rosi protested, still laughing.

"And one day, in the middle of a noodle storm, the cook and his son found a magical creature: a little fox with two golden tails, wrapped in a shooting star."

"What was her name?"

"Itá. She carried the sky in her eyes, and when she cried, it rained. But when she laughed…" Sanji lowered his voice, like he was sharing a secret. "When she laughed, flowers grew from the floor."

Rosi smiled, eyes already closed, voice dragging.

"And then what happened?"

"What happened was that the cook and his son took care of her. They made her a little bed out of breadcrumbs, sang her songs made of soup, and promised she’d never be cold again."

Rosi didn’t answer. He was already asleep, breathing slow, mouth slightly open. Sanji leaned in and gently stroked Rosinante’s blond hair with the tip of his fingers. Sora, still asleep, moved one tiny hand and rested it against her brother’s cheek.

That touch, so simple, so tender, was the last stone his soul couldn’t hold. He brought one hand to his mouth, the other to his stomach. The knot he’d carried there for months finally came undone. All the fear, the exhaustion, the guilt, the desperation of not knowing what he’d do tomorrow… it all hit him at once.

And he cried. He made no sound, he couldn’t risk waking his children. He cried in silence, tears falling down his cheeks, one after another, soaking his hand, making his shoulders tremble. The pain wasn’t new, but the safety was. They were safe. And that, more than comforting him, broke his heart. Because it reminded him how close they’d come to not being safe at all.

And he thought that no matter how hard things got from now on, they had escaped, he had them both and that would be enough. It had to be enough.

When he finally calmed down, he wiped his face with the edge of the blanket and slid carefully into bed, curling up at the edge so he wouldn’t disturb the embrace between his children.

He draped one arm over his eldest. Sora sighed in her sleep, and Rosinante instinctively snuggled closer to his sister.

Just two hours later, Sora let out that high-pitched whimper that sliced through dreams. Sanji’s eyes snapped open, even though his eyelids felt like they were made of lead. He sat up slowly, belly and chest on fire, hot blood soaking through the fabric. He lifted her against his chest.

"There, there, my little flower, my golden-tailed damsel…" he whispered, voice rough. "Don’t cry, your knight is on duty, see?"

The baby latched on immediately, nursing fiercely, and Sanji smiled like a fool even though the pain twisted through him. Beside him, Rosinante didn’t stir. The moment Sanji got up, the brat stretched out and took over the whole bed, snoring softly, hair a mess, one leg dangling off the edge. Sanji glanced at him, tired and smiling all the same. He stood up slowly, feeling every tear and pull.

Lowered his head for a second to avoid cursing from the pain, and walked carefully across the attic with the baby latched to his chest. Sora nursed with determination, her golden ears twitching. Sanji stroked her head, drunk on love, exhaustion, and pain all mixed together.

He walked with her, humming lullabies, until he felt the diaper go damp. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, mon chéri. Is this how you repay my midnight serenade?" He sighed, but with a crooked smile. "Doesn’t matter. I’ll change you anyway."

He headed down to the mezzanine bathroom, body creaking with every step. Set Sora down on a clean towel on the wooden bench and began the diaper operation: open, clean with warm water, scrub the stained cloth in the sink, wring it out, hang it on a hook.

"See this, my little jewel? This is called ‘reality,’ and it’s way better than any royal court." He spoke and gestured like he was presenting a menu in the kitchen. "Instead of gold, we’ve got cheap soap. And instead of servants, you’ve got your dad cleaning you."

Sora stared at him wide awake, eyes huge and locked on his face like she understood every word.

Sanji froze for a second, swallowing hard.

"Don’t look at me like that, golden aguará, you’ll melt me…" he whispered, kissing her nose. "You’re pure mischief. Just like your brother."

When he picked her up again, clean and warm, he stood there a moment longer, just looking at her.

"We’re gonna have another life, little fox… even if I have no damn clue how to do it." He kissed her forehead. "But we’re gonna have it. I swear on this heart that isn’t mine anymore because it belongs to you two."

And so he returned to bed, body begging to collapse face-first and never move again, but with that foolish smile of having both his children safe, pressed close to him.

The night was a hell of love and boobs.

Every time Sanji managed to close his eyes, Sora decided it was the perfect moment to demand another round. She latched on with those tiny gums like she wanted to drain him dry. Milk dripped down his side, soaking his shirt and the sheets. By the fourth time she woke him, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"You’re a damn adorable little pest, you know that?" he whispered through clenched teeth, still wearing that stupid smile. "If you keep this up, you’re gonna suck me down to the bones… even more than I already am."

Rosinante, meanwhile, slept like a log with his mouth open. Sometimes he mumbled something and rolled over, completely oblivious. Sanji looked at him with tired tenderness. He preferred the kid to sleep, he’d been through enough.

When the attic skylight began to glow with the first hints of dawn, Sanji decided that was it. He got up slowly, Sora tucked into the sling on his chest, and headed to the mezzanine bathroom. Changed the blood-soaked towels, washed the used ones with soap until his fingers stung, and came back with more resolve than rest. The old man had said something about "a roof in exchange for work."

And Sanji wasn’t going to owe anyone anything. So he grabbed a broom, rags, bucketsm whatever he could findm and got to work. First the attic: dusted, organized, swept every corner.

Then down to the dining room. But not cleaning like someone who sweeps just to get by cleaning like someone shouting "please don’t kick us out."

He pulled out chairs, moved tables, scrubbed the floor with hot water and vinegar. Wiped down walls, doorframes, corners where grime had lived for twenty years.

Sora watched from the sling, her golden ears twitching like antennae. Sanji spoke to her softly, like he was teaching her a secret art.

"This, my little flower, is what you do when you’ve got no money but plenty of pride." He scrubbed a black stain that looked like part of the decor. "And this, my sky, is called ‘guilt cleaning.’" He sighed, smiling. "The most effective kind."

Sora dozed off, warm and snug, while he scrubbed tables, benches, floors, Windows

At dawn, Zeff shoved open the side door of the Baratie like he’d done every day for the past thirty years, ready to start his usual routine of grumbling, with the bad mood of any man dragging a wooden leg and suffering from coffee withdrawal.

The cold air carried the usual mix of smells, salt, harbor… and something new. The smell of cleaning. But not regular cleaning. Indecent cleaning. The kind you don’t expect even on municipal inspection days.

The Baratie had never, ever been this clean, not even on opening day. Zeff blinked, scratching his braided beard. For a moment, he thought he’d walked into the wrong place.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "Where the fuck am I?"

And there he was, the skinniest, most sleep-deprived, stubborn omega Zeff had ever seen. Pale, with the little fox asleep like a sack of flour with ears, and a rag in his hand. Hair tied under a scarf to protect his curls from dust, lips cracked, sweating, hands red from scrubbing. And on a chair. On a fucking chair. With a rag in his hand, polishing a lantern.

"Morning, old man," Sanji said like it was nothing.

Zeff stared, eyes bouncing from the chair to the omega, and from the omega to the sling.

"Morning, my ass!" he barked, voice cracking with rage. "Get off that damn chair, you lunatic!"

Sanji jumped but kept his balance, pure parental instinct keeping the baby from waking.

"What the hell are you doing, you reckless little shit?! You gave birth yesterday, yesterday! And you’re climbing like I’m gonna pay you to drop dead!"

"Settling the score," Sanji replied dryly. "You said roof for work, right? I’m holding up my end."

Zeff went silent for three whole seconds—which, in his scale, was a transcendental meditation.

Then he exploded (the previous scene was clearly his version of zen).

"Work means washing dishes, chopping vegetables, taking out trash, not scrubbing the tavern so clean I feel like raising prices because it looks like a fancy restaurant!"

He stormed into the kitchen, smoke practically coming out of his ears.

"And what the hell did you do to that stain on the stove?! That thing was fifteen years old! It was historical, you little piece of!"

Sanji smiled with that irritating pride, like a cat that just killed a cockroach. "Vinegar, lemon, and a bit of persistence."

"A bit of persistence...!"

Zeff looked ready to have a stroke. It wasn’t the cleaning. It was the fact that an omega who had just given birth was moving around with the baby strapped to him like she was just another rag. It went against everything his old eyes knew, against the tradition of the lunar guard. An omega didn’t dirty their hands with work after giving life. They rested. Didn’t lift a finger. Were pampered by their pack, with flowers, gifts, chocolates. Honored. And yet this skinny pup had nothing but stubbornness and cheek.

Zeff marched over and kicked the chair with his wooden leg, making it wobble.

"Down, I said! You’re gonna tear something open, damn it!" he ordered, more scared than angry.

Sanji got down immediately, offended by the chef’s outburst, with the dignity of someone who’d survived worse.

"I don’t have stitches," he replied. "I healed on my own."

"That makes it worse!" Zeff roared, on the verge of collapse. "Sit down! And if you touch another rag before breakfast, I’ll make you eat it with mop water!"

Sora, as if sensing the tension, let out a tiny whimper from the sling. Sanji looked at her and smiled softly, the perfect contrast to the lion’s fury in front of him.

Then he looked up, perplexed.

"You know… you don’t have to do this," he said seriously. "Yesterday you fed us. Gave us a roof, water, clothes. I… I still owe you for all that."

Zeff turned his head just enough for Sanji to see the vein pulsing in his temple.

"Are you telling me you’re not gonna eat what I cook?"

"I’m not saying that… I’m saying I haven’t earned it yet. If I have to pay, I will. I can wash more, chop wood, whatever you want. But you filling my plate just like that…" Sanji pressed his lips together, searching for words that didn’t sound too raw. "It’s not right."

He said it with brutal innocence. No sarcasm. Almost confused, like the idea of eating without owing someone felt dangerous.

Zeff stared at him for a long time, so long that Sanji looked down, like he’d been caught stealing. The old man let out a huff that seemed to rise from his wooden leg all the way to his mustache.

"Fuck your ‘not right,’" he growled, slamming the pan against the stove. "You don’t get to decide how I spend my food, got it?"

That’s when Sanji started to suspect. He straightened slowly, leaning on the broom handle, and raised an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh… and I’m Oden."

Zeff stared at him, and for the first time, the anger faded. He still growled, he didn’t know how to do anything else.

"What you are is a mouthy, underfed brat who’s gonna go get the other kid. And all three of you are gonna sit at the damn table."

Sanji let out a bitter laugh. "You’re kidding… if only it were that easy."

"It is easy. You’re just an idiot who makes everything harder."

Sanji muttered curses in French as he climbed the stairs, Sora nibbling against his chest.

The alpha huffed with a strange mix of command and frustration, because he didn’t want to admit how much it hurt to see a kid that broken. Still didn’t know why the hell those pups had shaken him more than all the storms he’d sailed through on the Grand Line.

He opened and closed cabinets like he was searching for excuses not to think, preparing what he swore was his usual breakfast. But instead of coffee, fried eggs, and toast, the pan ended up with four eggs, onion, cherry tomatoes, chives, cheese, and fish.

"Protein, iron, vitamins…" he muttered, cracking the eggs harder than necessary. "Someone’s gotta hold up that stubborn sack of bones. And for the other one, something to entertain his damn tongue so he stops whining about everything."

So in another pot, he boiled milk with cinnamon and sugar. And in a small pan, he tossed butter and sugar to make caramelized bread.

When he realized everything he’d made, what he was thinking, he froze, wooden spoon in hand, staring at the stove like it had forced him into it.

"Son of a bitch…" he muttered, gritting his teeth. "They’re not mine. They’re not my problem. They’re not part of my pack. And look at me cooking like a damn fool for one kid who turns the place upside down and another who I can’t tell if he’s more hungry than loud or more loud than hungry." He smacked the edge of the stove with the spoon. "I never wanted to raise anyone, damn it!"

Upstairs, Rosinante was still sprawled out in the attic, mouth open, drool on the pillow, snoring softly like a drunk.

Sanji watched him for a moment while adjusting the sling with Sora.

"Look at you, you little rascal… first time in your life you sleep like a real pup."

He tucked the blanket over his shoulders and headed down the stairs.

In the dining room, Zeff was wrestling with the pots. It wasn’t delicate cooking, pans clanging, knives clashing, his wooden leg marking the rhythm against the floor.

When Sanji peeked in, he was greeted with a growl.

"Go get the brat, I said!"

"He’s still sleeping, old man. I’m not waking him up."

"Don’t be soft. Let him come down drooling, I’m not reheating anything."

"You’re such a pain in the ass," Sanji muttered, looking at him.

"But I cook better than you."

Sanji stared at him, mouth agape, like he’d just been insulted in the most sacred way. "Go to hell, you limping fossil!"

Zeff spun around, pointing a spoon at him like it was a harpoon. "Shut up and sit down!"

Sanji stared back, that mix of confusion and defiance lighting up his blood. An alpha yelling at him… but not flooding the air with pheromones. Just yelling. And what surprised him most was that he could yell back, without expecting a blow.

Barefoot steps coming down the stairs interrupted their argument. Rosi stretched with an epic yawn on the last step and launched himself into the dining room with all his usual swagger. His face was still round with sleep, hair a mess, and a smile that could melt an iceberg. He threw himself onto Sanji with all his weight.

"Dad, I slept sooo good. Best bed in the universe!"

He said it with a sleepy voice, grabbed Sanji’s face with both hands, and planted a slobbery kiss on his cheek that nearly melted him.

"Tsk, get off me, goofball," Sanji muttered, hugging him anyway, red to the ears.

Rosi ignored him completely and leaned over to give Sora a kiss on the forehead.

"And for you too, sleepyhead. You smell like a biscuit."

Sanji let out a clumsy laugh and hugged him tighter. That dumb smile of a new dad spilled out, even though he tried to hide it behind curses.

Zeff watched them from the kitchen with a face like he’d bitten a lemon.

"Cut it out with the sweetness! Enough with the soap opera, damn it!" He slammed a plate onto the table. "Eat before it gets cold!"

Rosi, with zero remorse, pulled away from Sanji and went straight to the old man. He hugged his leg, squeezing with the confidence of someone who believed the world, today, was good.

"Thanks, mustached old man," he said with all the seriousness a seven-year-old could muster. "I slept great and this breakfast is amazing. And you don’t treat my dad badly."

Silence. A silence that smelled like breakfast and something none of them could name. Zeff cleared his throat, and for the first time since they’d met him, his voice came out like it was hard to chew.

"Mustached old man, my ass," he grumbled, but his ears had turned red.

Sanji, caught between dying of embarrassment and exploding from tenderness, pressed a hand to his face. The urge to grab Rosi and never let go burned in his throat.

Instead, he let out one of his favorite complaints, but it came out more like a hoarse whimper than an insult.

"Rosi, shut your damn mouth. You’re gonna kill me," he said, like it hurt his soul how sweet it was. "I’m gonna kiss you to death, you little punk…"

Zeff, pretending to make noise with the pans to hide the strange thumping in his chest, turned and set down the spatula. He did what tough guys do: started barking orders like nothing had happened, but with a voice just a little less rough.

Rosi stuck out his tongue.

"They act all tough, but they’re actually super nice."

Rosi was already sitting at the table, legs swinging, holding a piece of bread with goiabada jam, when he looked straight at Zeff.

"Hey, old man, breakfast is a ten out of ten," he said, chewing with his mouth full and pointing at him with the bread. "But I gotta say, you’re really rude."

Sanji nearly choked on his coffee.

"ROSINANTE! How can you say that?! This old man probably thinks I raised a criminal!"

The kid shrugged with all the chill in the world. "But it’s true, dad. He didn’t tell us his name."

Zeff froze for a second, spoon in hand, somewhere between surprised and pride-bruised. "Rude? Of course I’m rude, you cheeky brat! And why the hell do you care? I’m not here to teach you manners!"

Sanji was already red down to the roots of his hair. "Sorry, old man, the kid doesn’t know when to stop…"

Rosi kept going like nothing happened. "Well, then tell us your name. We can’t live together and keep saying ‘old man this, old man that’ all day. You’re old, but you must have a name."

Zeff snorted and shifted his wooden leg under the table.

"What a little gem of a brat…" he grumbled, but didn’t take his eyes off the boy. "Bah… Akaashi no Zeff," he said at last, like it cost him a tooth. "Chef Zeff to you."

Rosi smiled like he’d won the lottery. "See? Now we’re good. Hi Zeff. I’m Rosinante, but my dad calls me Rosi."

Sanji covered his face with one hand. "Gods, just kill me now."

But the kid was on a roll.

"And this is my little sister, Sora. She’s a teeny tiny aguará guazú, doesn’t know how to do anything yet but she’s super cute. And my dad is Sanji."

Rosi, mouth sticky and full of caramelized bread, kept talking nonstop. "And well, we don’t have a last name because Dad said we can’t use it anymore. And I can’t tell you where we come from, or who our alpha was, or why dad has marks, or why we don’t have a pack…"

Sanji nearly choked again on his coffee and gave him a soft thump on the head. "Kid, shut that mouth! What part of ‘don’t say it’ didn’t you get?"

Rosi laughed, full of shameless innocence. "But I’m not saying anything, Dad! I’m just saying what I’m not allowed to say. That’s not breaking the rule."

Sanji wanted the earth to swallow him and spit him out in a dimension without reckless children. "Rosi, please, shut up for a bit!"

Zeff, meanwhile, watched the scene with one eyebrow raised and an air of “I don’t give a damn” that fooled absolutely no one. He didn’t say anything, but the way his jaw tensed made it clear something had hit him.

"Rosi… Sora… Sanji," he repeated, like testing the names.

Sanji, swallowing hard, forced himself to straighten up and look at the old man. It was the first time he showed his pup to someone other than Rosi. Carefully, he unhooked the sling and pulled back the fabric.

"Sora… look," he murmured, lowering his voice. "This is Zeff."

The little fox barely opened her eyes, smelling sweet like newborn milk, and yawned before falling back asleep. Zeff didn’t say anything. Just stared at her for a moment, chewing the air, then huffed to break the moment.

"Alright, alright. Introductions done. Eat before everything gets cold."

Rosi laughed, delighted with his own show. "See? That wasn’t so hard, Zeff."

Sanji gave him a pat on the neck, somewhere between resigned and proud. "You little menace…"

As they finally chewed in something close to silence, Zeff asked, trying to sound casual, though his heart was already making room for three pups.

"And you, kid, how old are you?"

Rosi straightened up, chest puffed out. "Seven!"

"Seven, huh?" Zeff murmured, scratching his beard. "Well, you’re pretty grown up, Eggplant."

"Eggplant?" Rosi repeated, offended. "There you go again with Eggplant. Dad, tell him if he’s gonna give me a nickname, I want a better one. Like Crimson Swordsman of the Immortal Ashes or something cool like that."

Sanji covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

Zeff snorted, but the smile slipped out anyway. "Well…" he cleared his throat. "There’s a school in town."

"Really?!" Rosi nearly fell off his chair.

"Of course, brat," Zeff said, rougher than he meant to. "What do you think this town is, a rock in the middle of the sea? We even have a library."

"School…?" Sanji said it softly, like the word was made of glass and might shatter if he said it too loud. He’d never even dreamed of it. He kissed Rosi’s hair quickly, voice trembling with contained joy. "You heard that, sunshine? School! You’ll have friends, teachers, games, you’ll learn letters like the ones in your storybooks."

Rosi stared at him, mouth open, crumbs stuck to the corners. "Friends? Like… other kids my age?"

"Of course, kid," Zeff shrugged, like he was talking about mussels in the harbor. But inside, something boiled. That reaction, like school was a mythical right, twisted his gut.

Sanji laughed nervously, tiny tears clinging to his lashes. "Ah, holy shit! You’re going to school, Rosinante. I can’t believe it…"

Zeff cleared his throat loudly, uncomfortable with so much emotion at the table. "Well, it’s not fucking Laugh Tale, alright? It’s a village school. Old desks, broken chalk."

"Doesn’t matter!" Sanji hugged the pup so fiercely he nearly knocked him off the chair. "You have no idea what this means, old man!"

Zeff mumbled something under his breath, because no, he didn’t know. Not like that. But his alpha instinct told him the answer wouldn’t be pretty, so he cut it short.

"Alright, don’t look at me like I invented fire. There’s a school. If you stay, the kid gets enrolled. Done."

Sanji swallowed hard, chest tight between fear and a tenderness he didn’t know how to name.

To distract himself, Zeff rummaged through his office desk and came back with a stack of papers, tossing them onto the table.

"Listen up, brat. This is my kitchen, my restaurant. But if you’re gonna work here, it’s yours too.

If you’re hungry, you eat. If your kids are hungry, they eat. Work has hours, none of that starting at four in the morning crap. I don’t have slaves, I have paid staff. So I need some info. Fill that out, name, age, the usual crap they ask for in the registry. We’re a tavern, and while most in hospitality don’t give a damn, I like my employees on the books."

Sanji grabbed the paper like it might be a deal with the devil, squinting at it, trying to sniff out traps, ownership, submission, anything that smelled wrong. But there was nothing. Just blank boxes. So he filled it out in silence. When he finished, he folded the sheet and handed it to the old man.

Zeff opened it, read the lines, and his face hardened. His eyes burned as he stared at the pups in front of him.

Nineteen years. Seven years. Two days.

"God fucking damn it!"

His wooden leg slammed against the floor with a dry clack. Zeff grabbed his face with both hands, like he wanted to rip the rage out of himself.

"Goddamn son of a bitch…"

Suddenly the air turned unbearable, acidic, thick with alpha pheromones, raw and furious.

Sanji dropped to his knees like he’d been shoved. He pressed his forehead to the floor, arms crossed beneath him, body curled in a learned posture of submission. His shirt shifted, exposing the back of his neck. And there it was.

An old scar, inflamed, edges dark and hardened. The skin around it looked tense, pulled tight, like it was still fighting off the invasion. A bite so wide it looked like it came from a beast. No symmetry, no care, just twisted teeth, brutal pressure, flesh torn without precision. A claim mark that was rot in living form, made to hurt, humiliate, dominate. Not to bond.

And the way it sank into the base of the neck made it clear: it had gone deeper than skin. It had pierced the glands, the center of instinct, the place where the body speaks without words.

The air became unbreathable, pressing on their lungs. Sora whimpered in the sling, curled up, struggling to breathe.

"I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…" His voice shredded into threads.

Rosi lunged toward him, but Sanji caught him mid-air, clutching him to his chest, shielding him with his arms. His father instinct wrapped around him, even as he trembled. Sora writhed in the sling, letting out a choked cry, gasping for air. Sanji held them both tight, shaking, hunched over, whispering apologies from the gut in a desperate loop.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…" Each word smaller. More broken.

Rosi felt it in his chest, his throat, his belly. His eyes burned, his arms shook, he couldn’t breathe right, but he exploded anyway.

"Stop it!" he shouted straight at the old man, voice raw. "You’re breaking him like the others, like always! He didn’t do anything wrong!" Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t stop. His voice was hoarse, wrecked. "They always break him! And you’re just like them, you bastard old man, making him say sorry when he didn’t do anything!"

Sanji stroked his hair, trembling, kissing his head, voice in tatters.

"No… no, I’m sorry… sorry for him… he didn’t mean to… please… don’t punish him… it’s my fault…"

Tears fell, but his fists stayed clenched against his father’s back, shaking with helplessness.

"It was supposed to be different here!" He screamed, voice cracked, barely any air left.

In seventy years, the old lion had seen famines, wars, shipwrecks, natural disasters. But never an image so rotten, so unjust, so ripped straight out of hell. A seven-year-old calling out the lie of promised safety. A nineteen-year-old omega in pieces. A newborn baby who couldn’t even breathe from fear.

Zeff realized it all at once. A roar cracked in his throat, rough, guttural. The scent burst out of him anyway, uncontrollable, and he had to bite his tongue until it bled to force it down.

"God fucking damn it…" he spat through his teeth, grabbing at everything within reach. "It’s not you, damn it. It’s not you! Shit, kid, lift your head! No one’s gonna touch you here. No one."

He yanked open the windows, kicked the back door wide, and turned on the exhaust fans. The winter air punched into the room, slowly sweeping away the alpha stench.

Sanji gasped, coughed, and clutched his pups tighter, still whispering apologies, rocking Rosi, Sora whimpering weakly against his chest. Rosi cried in rage, soaking his shirt.

Zeff crouched down slowly, close but not touching, knuckles pressed to the floor, his leg burning from the prosthetic. He didn’t know what to say, so he acted like he did. He stood up with effort and stormed into the kitchen, cursing every ghost he didn’t know by name.

The sound of a kettle boiling, the knife pounding herbs on the cutting board, it was brutal even for making tea. Like he was about to fillet someone. And deep down, that’s exactly what he wanted.

On the floor, Sanji stayed curled around his two pups. Rosi sobbed with fury, chest heaving in bursts, clinging to his dad and sister. Sora whimpered, a cry that faded and returned, infected by the poisoned air. Sanji trembled with them, tears falling too, but he kept kissing them, rocking them, trying to calm the storm with broken words and trembling hands. His scent was sharp, acidic, like a slap to the nose, but still he whispered comfort, trying to lace sweetness into the sea of desperation.

Zeff returned with a ceramic tray. Three mugs and a pot of tilo tea with honey. He set it down with a hard thud on the table.

Then crouched and held out a hand to the blond. "Up. Come on. Sit down."

Sanji looked at him like that was the sentence. And obeyed. He stood, Rosi still clinging to his neck, the baby latched to the sling. He moved like a broken thing, but without hesitation, because orders were to be followed, not questioned.

Once they were finally at the table, Sanji curled around the two of them, Zeff dropped into the chair across from them, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Sanji tested the air, like someone checking if the beast that bit him had calmed down.

"I… I’m sorry," he started, voice low.

"No," Zeff cut him off, sharp, raising a hand. "Don’t apologize again, kid. It wasn’t about you."

Sanji blinked, confused. "Then…?"

Zeff leaned forward, eyes burning with rage. "I lost it because some bastard touched you when you were a kid."

Sanji stared at him, puzzled. "Touched? No, it wasn’t that," he said slowly, genuinely confused. "I’m an omega. I got married. Omegas are supposed to raise children. That was my duty to my husband. To have babies."

Zeff went silent for a second, knuckles white around the mug. The air turned heavy again, but not with pheromones this time. With horror.

"What did you just say?"

His voice came out hoarse, barely controlled. "It was… after I got married." Sanji said it with a terrifying kind of ease. "My father arranged it. It’s the proper thing. Omegas should marry before their first heat, makes them more fertile, better for ensuring the alpha’s lineage."

Zeff clenched his teeth until they creaked. Bit the inside of his cheek, because he knew he was seconds away from losing control again.

"Proper?" he growled through his teeth. "God fucking—" He stopped, rubbed his face. "Kid, that’s not proper. That’s a fucking crime."

Sanji looked at him, not understanding. Sincere. Like a scolded pup who didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

Zeff forced himself to swallow the roar and not break anything.

"And the alpha they married you to, was he a kid too?"

"No. He was an important alpha. A… a very rich man… um… owned a lot of land." He spoke slowly, choosing words like they might explode. "It didn’t matter who he was. I didn’t know anything. I left my father’s house for the wedding ceremony and from there to my husband’s. No one asked me. Omegas aren’t asked, so they don’t get nervous. It’s the custom."

Zeff let out a sound between a snort and a laugh with no joy in it.

"Custom, my ass. That’s insanity." He huffed. "So, the two pups, are they his?"

Sanji nodded again, eyes on the floor, wincing.

"Yes. But… I left him. I left the pack." His voice shook. "I know I don’t deserve to stay. But now that you know, please… don’t kick us out. Not Rosi, at least."

Rosi pressed his lips together, furious.

"Don’t say that, dad! I’m not staying anywhere without you!" He growled at the old man. "If you kick us out, I’ll bite you!"

Zeff let out a dry, bitter laugh.

"Kick you out? You’re already woven into the damn tablecloth, brats." He pointed at the mug. "And while we’re at it, drink that tea before it dies completely."

Zeff’s stomach still churned, like he’d swallowed stones. He chewed on his anger, thinking about Sanji’s father and the other bastard who thought marrying a child was a good idea. But the past couldn’t be fried twice.

"Look, kid," he said at last, pointing at him. "I don’t give a shit if you left your pack. That’s not a crime. No one’s obligated to have one."

Sanji looked at him, confused.

"What do you mean? If the alpha…"

"The alpha who tells you that, you dunk his head in a bucket," Zeff growled. "Omegas have rights. And alphas and betas have responsibilities. It’s in the fucking Coexistence Statutes, damn it."

Sanji stared at him like he’d just spoken about a new constellation. "Is that… true?"

"Of course it’s true, for fuck’s sake!" Zeff slammed the table and huffed. "I didn’t make it up it’s written down, kid." He sighed, tired. "Listen up: no one’s going to dominate you here. If anyone tries, you tell me and I’ll beat the shit out of them."

Rosi nodded solemnly, gripping the mug with both hands. "We’ll beat them up. Both of us," he added.

Zeff gave him a crooked half-smile. "That’s right, brat."

Sanji, on the other hand, looked small and confused. "… So then… you’re not going to use your pheromones on me?"

The old man straightened like he’d been insulted. "Not a fucking chance! That’s for cowardly, shitty alphas. I’m not one of them."

Sanji blinked, confused, hugging Rosi tighter. "… You’re not?"

"Of course not, damn it! First, because I’m not a monster. Second, because it’s illegal." Then he looked him straight in the eye, and the silence thickened. "You’re kidding me you didn’t know that?" He huffed. "They teach that in school, for fuck’s sake! Everywhere. All six seas."

Sanji looked at him like he was describing a new galaxy. "But… I never went to school," he said softly. "I’m an omega."

Zeff blinked slowly. "So what the hell does that have to do with anything?" His tone was pure confusion.

"Omegas don’t go to school," Sanji repeated, like it was obvious.

The silence lasted a beat.

Then Zeff let out a dry laugh, with no trace of humor. "What kind of bullshit is that?" he scoffed. "Kids go to school at six or seven. Secondary genders don’t even show up until puberty. Who the hell put that crap in your head?"

Sanji’s eyes drifted to the tea, already cooling.

"But they knew I was an omega from birth. So they trained me to fulfill my role." He said it without drama. "The usual stuff. How to behave, regulate my scent, hide emotions, obey without question, always be presentable and available to fulfill the desires of alphas… that kind of thing."

His words hung in the air, more rotten than the alpha pheromones that had filled the Baratie earlier.

Zeff stared at him, unsure whether to curse or punch a wall.

"Motherfucking hell," he said at last, slowly, brow furrowed. ‘Trained to fulfill your role.’ Disgusting." Then it clicked. "Wait… wait, wait…" He looked at him directly. "You’re a pure omega?"

Sanji nodded, not realizing how unusual that was.

Zeff shot up like his guts were on fire.

"Of course they trained you, kid!" he roared, slamming the table. "And of course they married you off! You’re a pure omega! And for pigs like your father, that’s like having the fucking goose that lays golden eggs." He ran a hand down his face, huffing. "They sold you like a slab of Kobe beef, goddamn bastards! They fed you all that bullshit so you’d never think to kick them in the teeth."

Sanji flinched at the outburst more from the tone than the words.

Zeff had to breathe deep to keep from shouting again.

He didn’t know whether to hug the kid or kick him into clarity, so he settled for one of those stares that made knives tremble on the shelf.

"Air’s cleared," he muttered, rubbing his wooden leg against the floor. "Eggplant, close that before my balls freeze off."

The kid obeyed, grumbling, dragging his feet and slamming the door so hard the glassware rattled. He came back, climbed into his dad’s lap, arms crossed, glaring with a mix of fury and distrust.

"I don’t like yelling," he said flatly, with a look that from an adult would’ve been a direct threat. "I get it was an accident… but still."

The old man watched him for a moment.

Sanji did too, uncomfortable, not because of the scolding, but because he understood exactly where that fear came from. The omega hugged him with a sigh, stroking his hair, still trembling a little.

"It’s okay, my sunshine."

Rosi nestled deeper into his chest against Sora, then asked softly: "Old man… why did they treat him bad?"

Zeff went still. "Because some people see something special and enjoy breaking it," he said at last, voice rough.

Rosi frowned, thinking. "But my dad’s not broken," he said seriously. "He’s just tired."

Sanji let out a dry, quiet laugh, eyes still damp.

"I’m tired because you don’t shut up even when you sleep, chick. And I think old man Zeff only yells because his throat was calibrated to ‘fire alarm’ at birth."

Rosi blinked, surprised. Then he laughed, a small laugh, through snot and tears, but a laugh nonetheless.

And so the morning passed, between explanations, denials, and strange silences. Until the sound of footsteps and voices outside signaled the staff was arriving.

Sanji tensed, but Zeff stepped forward without hesitation.

"This is Sanji. He’s helping in the kitchen. Treat him like anyone else. And if anyone says some dumb shit about ‘no pack,’ I’ll knock their teeth out. Got it?"

A cook with round sunglasses raised his hands. "Easy, chef. We’re not the gossip committee."

"The committee’s already outside, Meat," Zeff growled, glancing out the window at the group of old ladies spying on the Baratie’s door. "Small town, big hell."

The staff looked on, curious. The first to approach was a tall alpha with oversized forearms, sweaty and cheerful.

"So you’re the new guy. I’m Patty. Hey, the baby’s adorable, huh? Look at those little ears."

"And you’re ugly as a kick to the balls," Zeff replied without looking. That was enough for everyone to carry on like nothing happened. "Less talk, more work."

Sanji, red to the ears, started chopping vegetables with Sora strapped to his chest in the sling, moving slowly so she wouldn’t wake. Rosi climbed onto a stool to peel carrots. And the Baratie became a new beginning.

Chapter Text

The tavern was in full swing, prepping for the lunch rush.

Patty was throwing dumb jokes around, Carne laughed like an asthmatic seal, and between dish and dish, Sanji moved quietly with the baby asleep in the sling (now on his back so she wouldn’t get splashed with oil). Pale and sleep-deprived, he was like a ghost on duty. The omega cleaned, chopped, peeled, swept, washed, and still found time to make sure Rosi didn’t slice a finger with the peeler.

The kid was locked in. Peeling boniatos at a near-competitive pace, tongue out, wearing a face that screamed “look how badass I am, old man.”

Patty passed by and teased him:

"How about peeling faster?"

"How about working, lazy?" the kid shot back without looking up.

Carne choked on his laugh, and Patty nearly swallowed his own.

"That sass is factory-installed," Zeff muttered.

Sanji didn’t say anything, just smiled at seeing his son so cheeky, troublemaker by birthright.

At one point, Rosi got too close to the stove. Sanji tugged his apron gently.

"Back up, sunshine. That stuff splashes."

"It’s not even sizzling!"

"I said back."

And the tone came out pure parent, not pup. Rosi huffed but obeyed. That tone didn’t go unnoticed in the kitchen. It was the kind that came with a high probability of a slap, not from violence, but from instinct. Patty lowered his voice, Carne adjusted his hat, one waiter stopped whistling, another stood straighter. Zeff said nothing, but he saw it. Sanji didn’t ask permission, he parented like someone who knew the world wouldn’t give him a break.

Sanji tried to stay invisible. He glanced around now and then, noticing everyone was either alpha or beta. A few waiters gave him odd looks, more curiosity than anything else, but no one said a word. Still, Sanji stayed tense, waiting for the aggression, the command, the threat. Even though Zeff had made it clear no one would hurt them.

The murmurs in the dining room continued. Not openly hostile, but not friendly either. What Sanji didn’t notice was that no one looked at him with disgust. And some… respected him.

The air was full of curses, knives, pots… Until the service door slammed open and the world filled with shouting (more shouting).

Sanji tensed instantly. Rosinante dropped his boniato in shock. The voice was loud, like a drum, and hit straight into their nerves.

A boy around twenty burst in, straw hat, overflowing smile, skin sunburned from the sea. He carried a massive basket on his shoulder, overflowing with live mussels squirming like they wanted to escape. He radiated sunshine, sea salt, and zero filter like it was his natural aura.

Luffy crossed the room leaving a trail of water behind, greeting everyone at full volume.

"Old man! I brought the mussels! Jinbe caught them, I counted them, washed them, found three sneaky crabs, and chased off Morgans the seagull who tried to steal the basket. You blink and boom! Ten mussels gone!"

"Luffy, goddamn it, stop yelling!" Zeff barked from the back. He was dripping water, leaving footprints all over the freshly mopped floor. "And close the door, idiot! We’re proofing the bread!" Zeff shouted.

Luffy laughed loudly, unfazed. Then he saw them and his face lit up.

"Hey! You’re the new omega?"

Sanji froze. The kid walking toward them was clearly an alpha, you could smell it from miles away. But there was something different. He was all noise, grin, and ocean.

"And who the hell are you?"

"Luffy!" he said like the name explained everything. "I fish with Jinbe. Live over there with Torao. So you came with two little ones?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just saying you’re new." Luffy approached with the insolent ease of someone who doesn’t know what ‘personal space’ means. "And you’ve got help."

He looked at Rosi and ruffled his hair. "Look at those boniatos contest-worthy!"

"I’m really good, see?"

"Awesome!" Luffy bumped fists with him like they were old friends. Rosinante grinned with all his teeth.

Sanji nudged him gently with his leg to keep peeling. "Peel, brat. Don’t talk to strangers."

"I’m not a stranger, I’m Luffy!"

"I’m Rosi," the kid replied, chin up, cocky smile.

"And where’s the other little one? Weren’t there two?"

Sanji watched him for a second, wary. It was strange, no one talked to him like this. No one looked at them like this.

When Luffy leaned in to peek at Sora, asleep on his back, Sanji stepped back.

"Don’t touch her. She’s sleeping."

Luffy looked at him and nodded, not offended.

"Relax, I wasn’t gonna touch her." He smiled, sincere, like the world was simple again. "But… she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

This guy had no shame, no malice. But also no filters. No sense of distance. And he was… an alpha. Only instead of dominance, he radiated wonder. Light.

Rosi grinned from ear to ear. Zeff let out a rough chuckle.

Sanji stared, confused.

"Can you stop looking at me like you know me?"

"It’s just… I saw you in a dream."

Sanji swore he misheard.

"In your what?"

"Yeah. You and the kids. You were made of fire. But not the burning kind, the kind that warms you in winter." Luffy said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I think the red moon showed me, to let me know new friends were coming. Because after that, the whole town started talking about you."

Sanji looked at him like he was completely insane. Which he was.

"You’re out of your damn mind, monkey."

"Everyone says that!!" Luffy burst out laughing, like it was a compliment.

"The baby was born yesterday," Zeff grunted. "And your voice could kill her if she wakes up startled."

"Oh! Sorry!" Luffy covered his mouth like he could actually contain himself. Then his eyes widened, like something big had just clicked. "She was born yesterday… and you’re working?"

Zeff huffed. "I didn’t know. I explained it already, but there was no stopping him."

Luffy looked like he’d been slapped. "That’s not okay," he said, without shouting.

"I’m fine," Sanji replied, uncomfortable.

"It doesn’t matter if you’re fine. You should still be able to rest."

"I’m fine," Sanji repeated, uncomfortable.

Luffy looked at him for a second, then spoke with the simplicity of a child and the soul of a sage.

"But it doesn’t matter if you’re fine. What matters is… you can make babies. And that’s like having fire inside. And when someone has fire inside, you take care of them. Because that’s powerful. And it’s exhausting. So… I don’t know. Maybe you don’t have to prove anything. Because you’re already enough."

Sanji stared at him, bewildered. He didn’t know whether to laugh or kick him. Because it sounded like Luffy meant it. Like he wasn’t joking. Like he truly believed it. Sanji didn’t know how to react to an alpha saying that. So he turned toward the stove. Sora still slept on his back.

His hands moved on their own, prepping a stew with the leftover vegetables Rosi had peeled so seriously that morning. Yes, he’d started cooking without Zeff asking. Because his body moved on instinct. On the need to prove he could. If he cooked well enough, worked hard enough, then maybe he’d earn the right to stay. To stay. That word scared him as much as it seduced him.

"What smells so good?!" Luffy exclaimed. "You cooked this!" He rushed over, nearly sticking his nose into the pot. "Smells amazing! Can I try it?"

Sanji, surprised at himself, didn’t feel uncomfortable. Luffy was an alpha, sure, but he didn’t trigger fear.

"It’s not ready yet," he replied, lowering the heat so it wouldn’t stick. "And it’s not for the restaurant. I’m just… making use of what was around."

"You make use real good!" Luffy grinned, settling onto the stool next to Rosinante. "I’m staying! You’re cooking stews that smell better than the old man’s."

"Just what I needed. Another brainless fool with no palate comparing my food to this scrawny brat’s," Zeff grumbled without looking up from the inventory.

"Can I try it before I leave? I’m hungry," Luffy asked, ignoring Zeff completely.

Sanji grew more and more confused. Not because of the request, but because of the absence of judgment. No “Where’s your pack?” No “Who’s your alpha?” Just hunger. Genuine, simple hunger.

"Out of my kitchen, you gluttonous brat!" Zeff’s voice thundered, making even the pots tremble. "If you want food, wait for lunch hour. And you " He turned to Rosinante, still standing by the counter with a knife in hand. "Go do pup things! Play, run, get dirty! Whatever seven-year-olds do. Out!"

Sanji couldn’t help the bitterness. He stepped forward, unsure. Looked around, he didn’t know the place beyond the kitchen. Didn’t know the town’s kids, where his son could go without getting lost, what the other alphas were like. He didn’t even know if Rosi felt safe. Instinct burned inside him.

Rosinante seemed to read him instantly. He lowered his gaze, kicking the floor with the tip of his shoe.

"Well… actually… I haven’t finished peeling all the boniatos yet. I’ll go out after. When I’m done."

It was a weak excuse, so poorly built even he didn’t believe it. But he said it with such seriousness, such care to protect his dad from guilt, that Sanji felt his heart crack a little more. He crouched beside his son and looked him in the eyes.

Smiled, gently. "My sunshine… if you want to go play, you can. I’m okay, alright?"

Rosinante hesitated. Not for himself, but for his father. Then shook his head.

"I don’t feel like it yet," he said with a shrug.

Then, with a small smile, added: "Besides, the old man said I’m good at peeling stuff."

Zeff snorted from the other side of the kitchen, but said nothing.

Sanji chuckled quietly. Ruffled his hair with affection, then hugged him, Sora still asleep on his back. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself hold a thought he still struggled to believe: We’re safe. Because it wasn’t fair that Rosinante knew so well when and how to take care of his dad.

Meanwhile, Luffy was already talking to Sora.

"Hey, little fox. You’re tiny now, but someday you’ll run down the pier. You’ll see. I’ll teach you.

And your brother too."

Once the stew was ready, Sanji served two bowls.

Luffy grabbed the spoon with joy. "Tastes like a moon hug. You cook with fire in your heart."

Sanji froze for a second… then let out a dry, barely audible laugh. "That’s a weird way to say you liked it."

Rosi watched, fascinated, spoon suspended in midair. "Is that good?"

"It’s amazing!" Luffy bumped fists with him again. "That’s how you cook for your pack!"

That phrase hit Sanji like a stone and a blanket. Something that warms, but also hurts. He swallowed hard. But said nothing. 

Zeff watched in silence as Luffy finished breakfast like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Rosinante, beside him, was already asking for seconds and chatting with Luffy like they’d known each other forever. The old man noticed the subtle shift in the air:

Sanji’s stiffness had eased a notch. The shadow on his face was less heavy. All because of that straw-hatted brat. Zeff walked over slowly, served a small portion into a bowl, and tasted it with a serious expression. It wasn’t gourmet, it could be improved. But it was made from peels, stems, scraps; everything others would throw away. Sanji had turned it into something comforting. The kind of food that warms the soul. There was knowledge and skill in it. And zero waste. That, to the alpha, was sacred.

Zeff calmly wiped his hands on his apron and said, in a dry but firm tone:

"Hey, brat. You wanna be a chef’s apprentice?"

The world seemed to stop. Sanji was stunned, in shock. The omega hadn’t expected anything.

His hands trembled. There was no praise, no tenderness, just a door cracked open.

Rosinante straightened on his stool, hands still smudged with boniatos, and grinned wide.

"He does! He totally does!" he exclaimed, like there was no doubt in the world.

Sanji turned to look at him, surprised.

The boy looked back with certainty, because Rosi saw and knew his dad was different when he cooked. Lighter. Less pain. Smelling of sea and freedom.

Zeff already had half a smile hidden in his beard. "Hey, Straw Hat! Stop eating my inventory and go get your partner!"

"Torao? Why?" Luffy tilted his head, curious.

"Wouldn’t hurt to have him take a look at a few folks here," Zeff said, not looking at anyone in particular.

Luffy, who wasn’t dumb (even if he looked it), understood. "On it! Torao’s gonna love this!"

"On foot, brat. No yelling," Zeff growled as Luffy ran off anyway.

Zeff let out a huff, half annoyed, half resigned. "That kid’s gonna give me an ulcer."

Rosi was still smiling. "I like him."

"That proves you’ve got no sense," Zeff grumbled, but didn’t hide the half-smile.

Sanji turned slightly, jaw tight. "Why do you want us to see a doctor? We’re fine."

Zeff looked at him. No softness. No kindness. "Because you need it," he said. And without waiting for a response, went back to what he was doing.

The omega blinked, a knot stuck in his chest he didn’t know how to untie. "I don’t understand why you’re doing this."

Zeff looked at him this time, with a less harsh expression. "Because someone should’ve done it a long time ago." 

 The bell above the door rang.

Luffy walked in first, smiling like the sun followed him everywhere even though it was three degrees below zero.

"Old man! I’m back! And I brought Toraooo!"

"That the doctor?" Sanji asked, eyeing the serious-looking guy with tired eyes and a steady gait. Sora was still asleep on his back, and Rosinante was sleeves-rolled, washing lettuce leaves.

"Yeah," Zeff replied without looking up from his knife. "He’s good. Though he’ll hit you like a punch to the liver."

Sanji didn’t get a chance to respond.

Luffy was already pointing enthusiastically.

"That’s him! That’s the new guy! The cook with the two kids! And try the stew he made today!"

"Luffy-ya, please," Law sighed. Not a whisper, but not a command either. A controlled weariness like someone who lives with a daily storm.

Sanji couldn’t tell if this was a trap or a joke. Two alphas, together? He looked at Luffy, then at Law. And no one was throwing stones? The world outside hell was strange.

Zeff, behind the counter, watched him from the corner of his eye. He said nothing. His instinct told him to let the kid process things at his own pace.

Sanji dared to ask, more to himself than to anyone else:

"You two are…?"

"Partners," Luffy said, mouth full of bread. "Been together a long time! Torao cooks well but not as good as you. Hey, do you know how to make ramen?"

Sanji looked at him, unsure whether to laugh or run. And then, as always, Rosinante spoke up.

"My dad cooks everything! He even made mooncakes once!"

"For real?! I want one!" Luffy shouted.

"I’ll make you some if you stop yelling!" Rosi shot back.

"Good morning," Law said, stopping at a respectful distance, not invading Sanji’s space or the baby’s. "I’m Trafalgar Law, town doctor."

Law took a deep breath. Stepped forward. Sanji froze, didn’t move.

"I’m not going to touch you."

He approached slowly. The air shifted, his alpha scent turned sharper, more clinical, but not threatening. Sanji noticed: the doctor was scenting him. Law frowned slightly. Said nothing. But in his head, the diagnosis was already forming: latent infection, exhaustion, complicated postpartum, anemia, cortisol and adrenaline through the roof. And the pups… The boy: stress overload, vitamin D deficiency. The baby… premature, heart working overtime.

"You need someone with more tact to check you out," he said, blunt.

Sanji blinked. "Excuse me? We’re fine," he replied, curt. Almost defiant.

"No, you’re not. You need to go to the town clinic. Let Chopper see you. Now."

Sanji frowned. "Why not you? If Zeff called you, I thought…"

"Because I don’t want you yelling at me during the exam," Law replied, flat.

"Yell at you?" Sanji repeated, incredulous.

"Yes."

"At you? An alpha?" Sanji was confused and a little amused by the idea. "You’re out of your mind."

"It’s precaution," Law said, unfazed. "Luffy says you’re fire. And while he talks a lot of nonsense, he’s never wrong about that kind of thing."

Sanji looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time. An alpha who thought an omega could raise his voice. Who saw him as a… threat? Him?

"That’s… fair, I guess," Sanji muttered, clicking his tongue. "Good instinct."

Zeff grunted under his breath. "Kid’s clearly trying to act tough. And you’d know better than anyone, with a nose sharper than a whole damn pack."

"Yeah. He hides pain well. But they don’t have to anymore. And this can’t wait," Law said, voice even, emotionless, but to Sanji, it felt like recognition. Like he mattered.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. Didn’t answer.

His hands gripped the edge of the counter like the steel might hold him up.

"But I have to…"

"Now."

Zeff cut him off with the voice that could shake walls. "Your shift’s over. You’ve been busting your ass since four. Move before I kick you out myself."

"Then I’m free?!" Rosi shouted, running toward Luffy, laughing. "No more lettuce washing!"

"Out of my kitchen, insolent pup!" Zeff roared, pointing with the wooden spoon.

Rosi laughed harder. Luffy was already shouting again. And Law allowed himself the faintest smile. And Sanji, still unsure, felt a flicker of warmth in his chest.

He sighed. He didn’t stand a chance. The kid was already holding Luffy’s hand, talking to him like they’d been friends forever.

"You fish every day?" he asked, eyes shining.

"Yeah! With a friend. Sometimes the fish bite me, look at this scar!"

Luffy showed him a finger, and Rosi laughed so hard even Sora twitched her ears.

The four of them stepped out into the winter air. The walk to the hospital was short and straight. Sanji felt out of place, Sora asleep in the sling on his chest, Rosi walking beside Luffy, talking nonstop. He kept glancing at the alphas: Luffy chatting like a parrot, Law listening in silence with a face that somehow still looked fond. He didn’t understand how that worked, but it did. The contrast between them unsettled him. Both were alphas, he could feel it in his skin. But they were… how could he explain it? One was pure noise, light, warm energy without brakes. The other, a precise shadow, cold. And in the middle of all that chaos, Sanji let his guard down. Just a little.

"And then the fish jumped this high!" Luffy said, gesturing like he was describing a monster.

"Liar!" Rosi laughed.

"If it was that big, it’d eat you first, idiot."

Sanji sighed. "Rosi, don’t call Luffy an idiot."

"But he is an idiot," the kid replied with a huge grin.

"Well, yeah, but don’t say it out loud."

The hospital was just a big white house, tall windows, and a wooden sign that read “Goa Public Hospital.” It smelled of eucalyptus and hand sanitizer. Sanji expected something like Germa’s labs, clinical, soulless, cold. But it wasn’t. It was warm, quiet.

Sanji frowned. "Goa? I thought we were in Punta Batchee."

Luffy and Law turned at the same time. "Batchee’s across the avenue," Luffy said, like it was obvious. "This is Goa."

"When did we cross?" Rosi asked, just as confused as his dad.

"Literally one street ago," Law added, emotionless.

"It’s the wide street with the old lanterns," Luffy explained. "No sign. Just the smell changes."

"Oh. Well. We didn’t notice."

"You were busy," Luffy said, glancing at Rosi and Sora. "And kinda bleeding out."

Sanji was about to reply, but Luffy had already walked ahead, greeting everyone like he’d done at the Baratie.

"Choppeeeerrr! I brought new patients!"

From the hallway came the sound of tiny hooves. And then they saw him. A kid, well, a kid-reindeer in a white coat. Partially in animal form. And omega.

Sanji froze, eyes locked on the hooves, the antlers, the stethoscope.

"Don’t yell, Luffy! I’m working!" the reindeer protested in a high-pitched voice.

"Exactly! I brought you work!"

Chopper huffed… but when his brown eyes landed on Sanji, he went quiet. The blond omega was pale, dark circles as deep as the lines on his wrists. The baby breathed softly against his chest, and the boy beside him held his hand.

"Dad! He’s a reindeer doctor and omega!"

"Shit… Yeah, I see him, sunshine…" Sanji whispered, barely breathing.

Law leaned toward Chopper, speaking quietly. The little doctor nodded, professional.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Tony Tony Chopper," he said with a grin from ear to ear. "Let’s go to my office." He said it with a tone that didn’t allow excuses. Zeff wasn’t there, but his spirit seemed to follow them, same bossy energy.

Rosi stared at him, mouth open.

"That’s so cool! Is that how you treat people?" he asked, genuinely fascinated as they followed.

"Of course," Chopper replied. "I’ve got better smell, better hearing, and my hands are magic."

Sanji looked at him like he was seeing a ghost. "Is that allowed?" he whispered. "Don’t people say stuff about… being like that?"

Chopper raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Of course it’s allowed," he replied like someone had asked if he knew how to breathe. "Why wouldn’t it be? It’s my body… Anyway, you’re the famous newcomers, huh?"

"Not sure about famous, but newcomers, yeah," Sanji said, shrugging. "This is Rosi, and the baby’s Sora. I’m Sanji."

"I’m first!" Rosi said, climbing onto the exam table.

"Of course, go ahead," Chopper laughed.

"That’s the spirit brave."

"Don’t even think about biting," Sanji warned.

"Tsk… You’ve got a terrible opinion of me," Rosi said, sticking out his tongue.

"Alright, Rosi, shirt off."

Rosi took it off without fuss. The kid was all ribs and big eyes hidden behind curly blond hair. Chopper examined him with a seriousness that didn’t match his size. Checked his chest, abdomen, reflexes. His movements were gentle, no sudden gestures.

"All done. No fever, no parasites, nothing serious. But he’s thin." He looked up at Sanji. "Very thin. Both of you."

Rosi shrugged. "We eat when we eat."

Sanji lowered his gaze, ashamed. "It’s been a while since we ate properly," he said quietly, like confessing a crime.

Chopper looked up from Rosi’s arm, which he was measuring, with that kind of anger that doesn’t sting, it wraps around you.

"Hey, no. I’m not scolding you," he said gently. "If you brought him here, you’re doing things right. The rest we’ll fix it, okay?"

Sanji stared at him like he was joking. No one had ever said that to him.

"He’s low on vitamin D," Chopper explained kindly. "Nothing serious. He just needs sun, fresh air, and more playtime outside. Also, you’ll need to eat like a beast for the next few months. I’ll give your dad a diet plan to follow."

"I can do that," Rosi nodded like he’d just received an important mission.

"I doubt it," Sanji huffed. "You get full on half a potato."

"Because you don’t make dessert," the kid shot back.

Chopper chuckled.

"Well, his personality’s healthy, at least."

"See, dad? I’m not that messed up."

"You’re all bones, brat. Don’t get cocky," Sanji grumbled, but with a half-smile.

Chopper turned back to Rosinante.

"Now let’s take care of those scrapes."

"They don’t hurt!" the boy said, crossing his arms.

"Rosinante," Sanji growled. "Manners, damn it."

"Still, I want to make sure. You seem like the kind of big brother who needs to be okay, right?"

That was enough. Rosinante pulled up his pants to his knees and let himself be treated. Chopper cleaned the scrapes, dabbed on honey-scented ointment, and stuck on bandages with little ducks. Rosinante was thrilled.

Then Chopper turned to Sanji.

"Want me to check you now? Or Sora first?"

"I already said I’m fine."

"You’re not." Chopper’s voice stayed soft but firm.

Sanji swallowed. Held Sora tighter against his chest. It was strange, so many people caring about him.

"I took care of it. It’s nothing."

"I’m not here to judge. I just want to help."

Chopper lowered his gaze for a moment, respectfully.

"I want to check how you’re doing after the birth. See if there are tears, if the bleeding’s under control. And your side, I don’t like how it smells."

Then Rosinante spoke from the exam table:

"Daddy… I know it hurts. You don’t have to hide it anymore."

Sanji looked at him. His pup didn’t have fear in his eyes, he had concern. And he’d used “Daddy.” He knew Sanji couldn’t resist when he used that nickname.

"What if Rosi goes with Law for a bit?" Chopper asked calmly, finishing notes in a notebook. "Luffy’s with him in the next room and… well, it’s basically like having a friend his age. They’ll draw. Or fight with crayons. Not sure. But I promise he’ll have fun."

Rosinante looked at him, then at his dad.

"Can I go outside with Luffy? Pleeease?"

Sanji hesitated, then lowered his head.

"Yeah. Stay close. If anything happens, you yell got it?"

"Come on, dad, I’m not a baby."

Chopper walked him to the door and handed him off to Law, who was waiting against the frame, arms crossed. Law didn’t say much, just nodded. And Rosi ran off laughing, Luffy chasing after him like two happy goats.

Sanji watched them go, a quiet tension still clinging to his back.

Once they were alone, the office suddenly felt huge.

"Can I see the baby first?" Chopper asked, voice gentle, eyes alert.

Sanji was terrified. Afraid of everything, that they’d take her, touch her wrong, say she was a mistake. That they’d kill her… That fear never fully left, maybe it never would, after everything he’d lost.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he untied the sling with care. Sora opened her eyes for a moment, bright, blue. Chopper held back a gasp of tenderness. Her two golden tails moved slowly, like they knew they were being watched. Her skin was translucent, her ears delicate, and she smelled faintly of warm milk.

Chopper smiled, unable to help it.

"She’s so beautiful," he whispered. "I’ve never seen a little fox like her. Look at those tails…"

Sanji eyed him, wary. "Doesn’t she… seem weird to you?"

"Not weird. Special. She’s a kitsune, right?" Chopper smiled with genuine fascination. "You never see them. I’m lucky! She’s a celestial shapeshifter. Mythical."

Sanji blinked. Lucky. Celestial. No one had ever used those words for a kitsune. They always called them demons. Aberrations. He’d been forbidden to use that form.

Sanji exhaled, almost without realizing.

"Has she nursed well?" Chopper asked softly.

"Yes. A lot. I think she eats more than she weighs."

"Perfect. How long ago was she born, and how many moons?"

"Thirty-three hours ago. Seven moons," Sanji said simply.

Chopper went silent. One second. Two. His face twisted as he processed the information: panic, horror, disbelief.

"What…?" he whispered, but didn’t finish the sentence.

His ears drooped. His fur bristled. He grabbed his head with his hooves like he needed to hold himself together. Chopper turned, took two steps, like he needed air.

"No way. No way. No way." "Chopper…" Sanji murmured, but the reindeer was already rummaging through cabinets, searching for blankets, for something. "She’s a premature baby! Seven months! And she’s alive! And you’re standing! And no one killed you!" His voice came out high-pitched, like it didn’t fit in his body. "I need to start the exam now."

Sanji stayed close. Just centimeters away. Every time Chopper adjusted a blanket or moved her tiny arms, Sanji’s eyes followed every motion.

Chopper placed the stethoscope gently. Sora stirred slightly, like the cold tickled her. The reindeer listened. And listened again.

"She has a murmur from a persistent ductus arteriosus," he said quietly. "But it’s the kind that closes. It’s because she was born early. Doesn’t seem serious. She’s breathing well."

Sanji stared at him, confused.

"What the hell did you just say?"

Chopper looked up, calm.

"It’s an innocent murmur. It means the heart makes an extra sound. Sometimes a valve takes longer to close."

"And if it doesn’t close? Does it hurt?" Sanji was the next to panic.

"We’ll monitor it. But in most cases, it closes on its own. And no, it doesn’t hurt or bother her. It just means her heart works a little harder. Like pedaling against the wind. But she’s doing fine."

Sanji lowered his gaze, held Sora tighter against his chest. Guilt rose in his throat like bile.

"She came early because of me," he murmured. "The cold, the walking, not eating, because…"

"No," Chopper said, firm, but without raising his voice. "She came early because she came early. And she’s alive because you’re her father."

Sanji swallowed hard. "But if something happens to her…"

"If something happens, we’ll be here. And even if nothing happened, you’d still be scared.

Because that’s what parents do. They feel fear. Now let’s keep going, okay?"

Sanji nodded, small, throat tight.

Chopper was already moving, thermometer in hoof.

"Let’s start with the basics," he said, placing it gently against Sora’s ear. "Temperature: 36.2. Good. No fever, no hypothermia."

He checked her reflexes, one by one, without any roughness. "Palmar, plantar, sucking… She responds well. She’s strong. That’s great."

He touched her skin with the back of his hoof, gently.

"She’s hydrated. No signs of sepsis. Skin looks good—no strange spots."

As he spoke, he checked her ears, eyes, fontanelle.

"No jaundice. Fontanelles are soft, like they should be. No sinking, no tension."

He looked at her tails, moved them slightly.

"Symmetrical, mobile, no fractures. And yes, they’re perfect," he added, with a smile he couldn’t hold back.

Sanji exhaled, but said nothing.

Chopper kept going, without pause.

"Breathing is regular. No retractions, no wheezing. Abdomen is soft, no distension. Muscle tone is loose, but responsive. Normal for seven moons." He paused for a moment. Looked at her. And his voice cracked. "She’s okay. She shouldn’t be. But she is."

Sanji swallowed.

"Are you sure?"

Chopper looked at him, still holding Sora gently in his hooves.

"No infection. No fever. No signs of trauma. Nothing tells me she’s unwell."

"And the murmur?"

"It’ll close on its own. We’ll monitor it. She’ll be fine."

Sanji lowered his gaze.

"She has to be fine. They took everyone… But not Sora… Not her."

Chopper looked at him for a long time, not understanding what Sanji meant. But he didn’t press.

"Sanji, you’re alive either by miracle or sheer stubbornness. I don’t know which, but I’ll figure it out. Listen, here in this town, anyone who gives birth, beta or omega, rests for two full lunar cycles. That’s 59 days. They call it the Lunar Watch. No cooking, no cleaning, no nothing. They stay put and let themselves be pampered while they recover."

Sanji looked at him, genuinely confused.

"That’s… a law? Zeff and Luffy already chewed me out for this."

"More like a tradition. But if it were up to me, I’d make it mandatory. You have no idea how many calories an omega burns while nursing." Chopper settled on the stool, with the tone of someone about to give a chalkless lecture. "After birth, the body keeps working. A lot. The uterus has to shrink back, hormones are on a rollercoaster, and on top of that, you’re producing milk, regulating temperature, holding your baby, and trying not to die of exhaustion."

Sanji looked at him like he was speaking another language.

"And if you’re a male omega, you’re at higher risk for anemia, infections, tears that don’t heal properly, way more than a female omega or beta. The postpartum period is for recovery. If you don’t take care of yourself, your body will make you pay later."

"Oh," Sanji said softly.

"And your nervous system is on high alert. Everything can make you cry, or snap, or want to hide. It’s normal. And if no one takes care of you, it becomes unbearable."

Sanji didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What came out was a nervous chuckle.

"I’ve never been pampered. Never rested. I don’t know if I can stay still."

"Well, now we’re going to take care of you, okay?" Chopper winked.

"Me?" Sanji laughed nervously, a little tired of the insistence. "I’m fine."

"You just gave birth, Sanji. No one is ‘fine’ after that."

"Well, I am."

Eventually, the reindeer managed to convince him. Sanji insisted on keeping Sora on his chest. He said she cried if he let go. What he didn’t say, and what Chopper could smell, was that her scent calmed him too. Milk, honey, jasmine, and that newborn fox-animal warmth that clung to the exam table.

"I’ll be very gentle, okay?" Chopper murmured, preparing gloves and a clean blanket. "If anything hurts, just tell me."

"Everything hurts, doc," Sanji rasped with a crooked smile, more habit than joy. "But hey, the snow was worse."

Chopper wanted to say, “That wasn’t normal,” but the way Sanji cradled Sora, eyes soft, destroyed him. It was like tenderness and tragedy had fused into one being. "I need to check the tears, okay? Can you take off your pants and lie back a little?"

Chopper’s voice was low, professional, but kind. "I won’t look at anything I don’t need to. And I won’t touch you without warning, alright? If anything feels wrong, you tell me and we stop."

Sanji nodded without looking at him, with the tense obedience of someone who’s been examined many times, but never by someone kind. He obeyed in silence. Not because he fully trusted him, but because Chopper was an omega. And in his mind, that meant he wouldn’t hurt him.

He loosened the knot of his pants with a clumsiness that didn’t feel like his own, trying not to wake Sora, or make her cry, or look at him with those eyes that undid him.

Sanji lay back slowly, resting his legs in the stirrups of the obstetric table as Chopper instructed, Sora still on his chest.

Chopper draped a sterile blanket over his legs and approached carefully. When he lifted the blanket, his breath caught. What he saw wasn’t what he expected. Not what he’d seen in other male omegas. Not what the textbooks called a “common variation.” This was something he’d only studied in theory: one in a million. A fully integrated anatomy: An uncircumcised penis, scrotum with internal testes confirmed by gentle palpation in the inguinal area, and below, a complete vulva, with a functional vaginal opening, palpable cervix, and sensitive uterus, no structural anomalies. A pure omega. An integrated anatomy.

Chopper continued the exam in silence. Sora’s birth had left tears and heavy bleeding, he expected that. But not like this. Not this many. The body’s natural sutures hadn’t had time to close. And others… Others spoke of violence. Of careless interventions. Of a body used as a battlefield. Some scars were old. Some poorly healed. Others recent, overlapping, torn again and again, extending inward, through the vagina, reaching the cervix. The whole area was feverish.

Chopper swallowed the bile rising in his throat. His eyes stung with tears.

"Sanji… this?" he began softly, already knowing part of the answer.

The cook clutched the baby to his chest, eyes welling up.

"I know…" he whispered, voice so broken it hurt to hear. "I don’t want to talk about it."

And the air shifted. Chopper smelled it before he understood it: that stench of adrenaline, of repressed panic, of pain that doesn’t leave even when it’s over. The scent of bodies that have lost more than a soul can carry. He didn’t need more answers. He simply placed a small, warm hand on Sanji’s knee. Not as a doctor. As an omega. As someone who knew what it was like to be afraid of closing your eyes.

"You don’t have to tell me," he said at last, softly. "But promise me you’ll let me take care of you. Just that."

The reindeer stood, walked to the shelf, and returned with a thicker blanket, an IV bag, and a jar of ointment.

"We’re going to bring down the fever, control the bleeding, and give you what you’ve been missing for years," he said as he prepared everything. Real care. The good kind.

Sanji nodded, lips trembling with emotion.

Chopper leaned in a bit more, drawn to a specific mark on his ankle. Impossible to miss: a pale, sunken ring just above the bone. Not old, but not new either.

"What happened here? Only if you want to tell me," he asked gently.

"It was to keep me from going outside. Outside was dangerous for omegas," Sanji replied without bitterness. "But later, when I left, I realized inside was worse."

Chopper passed his fingers near it, without touching.

"Does it hurt?"

Sanji shook his head.

"Not anymore. Though sometimes I still feel like it’s there."

Chopper prepared the IV with steady hands.

"I’m going to prick your hand, okay? It’s easier than finding a vein in your arm right now."

Sanji nodded, not looking. Sora was still asleep, her warm little tails resting on his chest.

The reindeer disinfected the area, chose the finest needle, a pediatric one, and worked in silence.

"Feeling dizzy?"

"A bit."

"Chills?"

"Yeah."

"Any spots or blurry vision?"

"No. Just hard to focus."

"It’s the fever. And the exhaustion, the fear, the malnutrition, and probably anemia too. All of it. It’s incredible you’re still standing."

Sanji swallowed.

"Will it go away? The fear?"

"Yes. But not all at once. The body defends itself however it can. It takes time to get used to being safe."

"And if it can’t?"

"Then we help you. Like we’re doing now."

The needle slid in without resistance, but Sanji still clenched his teeth. Chopper secured the catheter, connected the IV, and let it flow.

"I’m going to give you something for the pain too. It won’t take it all away, but it’ll ease it."

Sanji shook his head immediately. "No. I don’t want it. It’ll pass into the milk,I don’t know if it’ll hurt Sora. I don’t want to mess up again."

Chopper paused. "Hey. It’s okay. What I use is breastfeeding-safe. It doesn’t pass into the milk, or if it does, it’s in such tiny doses it won’t harm her. And you haven’t messed up, Sanji."

Sanji looked at him, still unsure. "Are you sure it’s safe?"

"Absolutely. But if you’d rather not take anything, I respect that. I just wanted you to know there are safe options."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You don’t have to thank me."

"I do. No one ever explained anything to me before. No one ever took care of me like this. It’s… new."

Chopper looked up. Sanji wasn’t looking at him, he was distracted, stroking his daughter’s curls.

"Chopper?" Sanji’s voice came out rough, broken. "Can I ask you something… stupid?"

"There’s no such thing as a stupid question," Chopper replied immediately, with a small, sincere smile.

Sanji frowned. "Why are there alphas who aren’t scary?"

Chopper paused. He hadn’t expected that. But it didn’t surprise him.

"What do you mean?"

"Since I got here… Zeff didn’t ask for anything. He let us stay. Fed us. And didn’t punish me when I was afraid." Sanji winced, uncomfortable with himself. "Then that loud kid showed up, Luffy, who doesn’t understand personal space, but… he doesn’t smell like the others. He doesn’t have that… slimy thing. He doesn’t look at me like I’m meat hanging from a hook. He’s… nice."

Chopper sat nearby, on a low chair.

"And then Law. He’s cold as stone, but he didn’t try to touch me either. Didn’t demand anything. He even took Rosinante so I could feel safe. How…?" Sanji closed his eyes for a second. "How can alphas like that exist—and I never saw them before?"

"From what I’m learning about you," Chopper said gently, "it’s because you lived trapped. And the alphas you knew weren’t alphas. They were monsters."

Sanji let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"I grew up thinking that’s what alphas were. All of them. That it was natural. Until now, I didn’t even know an omega could be a doctor. I thought that was forbidden or something."

Chopper blinked.

"Forbidden? Why would it be?"

"I don’t know. They told me omegas were… property. Born to serve alphas. "He said it with a shrug, accepting the reality he’d been sold. "But you’re a doctor. And you shift. That’s insane. Like, everything forbidden at once."

Chopper smiled, sweet and pained.

"Most places aren’t like that, you know? Here, anyone can study if they want to."

Sanji looked at him, fascinated. "Really? And alphas don’t get mad?"

"They don’t have a reason to." Chopper chuckled. "I’ve got tons of alpha friends, Luffy and Law to start. We’re all equal, Sanji. Secondary gender doesn’t matter. Alphas aren’t more, or better, or the only ones who make decisions."

Sanji stared at him like he’d just told him a myth.

"Amazing…"

"When was your first heat?" Chopper asked, just gathering basic info, without realizing the abyss he’d just opened.

"Twelve," Sanji answered without thinking. Or maybe eleven. I don’t remember."

Chopper’s pencil paused on the page.

"Twelve…" he repeated carefully. "That’s pretty early. And… how was it?"

"A nightmare," Sanji said without hesitation. "My husband locked me in a room with him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I had a high fever, everything hurt, my head was splitting, my skin was burning, my nose bled, I felt like I was dying but I never died…"

"Your husband?" Chopper repeated, one ear twitching. "Are we talking about when you were eleven, twelve?" The reindeer froze.

Sanji looked at him with the misplaced calm of someone who never knew anything was wrong. "Yeah." Sanji scratched his neck, nervous. "I didn’t like it. I really hate heats. They hurt a lot. Everything hurts, really… heh. I don’t even think about it anymore… But then… then Rosi was born." He said it with a confused kind of pride, like surviving was a badge, not a tragedy. "I thought all omegas went through that, right?"

Chopper took a deep breath. A very deep one. His stomach felt hollow.

"Sanji… that’s not… That’s not allowed. It’s illegal. Very illegal."

The blond looked at him, genuinely surprised.

"Really? Zeff said that too, that it was a crime. But I thought he was just pitying me. He was really mad about the marriage." Sanji continued, with that calm voice of someone who doesn’t know they’re saying something monstrous. "He yelled and released so many pheromones I thought he was going to kick me. He said you don’t even do that to a beast." Sanji shrugged. "But I didn’t really believe him. I thought he was just trying to comfort me."

"That’s a crime, Sanji! You can’t marry a child!" Chopper’s voice cracked. He had to cough to keep from crying. "No one should go through that."

Sanji shrugged, wearing that awkward smile he used to mask when something threw him off.

"Well, it’s over now. What matters is my pup turned out beautiful."

Chopper rubbed his forehead with a hoof, breathing deep.

"Gods, Sanji… I don’t know if I want to hug you or put you in a sterile capsule. Come on, let me help you sit up. I want to see that mark. Take off your shirt, please."

Sanji obeyed without question. He settled Sora beside him and pulled off his shirt. When the fabric fell, the world stopped. Chopper stepped back, covering his mouth to keep from screaming. It was grotesque. A mark of total rejection. Sanji’s body had never accepted that bond, yet he’d survived eight years with it.

"That’s not a mark. That’s a soul amputation," Chopper whispered, horrified.

"I guess he did it wrong," Sanji said, uncomfortable. "He said omegas are softer. We break easier."

"Because he was hurting you!" Chopper snapped, fury slipping between his teeth. "There’s nothing wrong with you, Sanji. What they did to you was barbaric. You probably have chronic pain. I know a lot of omegas, and none of them are weak. And neither are you!"

Chopper had seen many things in his years of study. Bodies torn apart by beasts. Bones healed wrong. Bite marks. Heat scars. Births that went well, and others that ended badly. But never anything like this, Sanji’s body looked like a war map: Fine cuts, perfectly straight lines, too precise to be made by knives. Old bruises mixed with new ones. And on his right side, a thick scar pulled the skin like time hadn’t decided to close it yet. At a glance, you could see the marasmus, extreme malnutrition. Rosi was well below his weight. But Sanji was a freshly postpartum omega with ribs, sternum, and spine visible. Skin pale from too long without sun. And when Chopper passed his hand gently over his belly, he felt it: Bones healed wrong.

"Does this hurt?" he asked.

Sanji replied, "Only when I breathe," so calmly it made Chopper’s stomach churn.

"And this?" Chopper pointed to a curved line on his side.

 "Stab wound." He said it like he was mentioning a mosquito bite. "Wasn’t a great day."

"And what did you do to get stabbed with a sword in the ribs? Because even if you’d set fire to the World Government’s flag, there’s no excuse for that."

"I got old." Sanji shrugged, uncomfortable. "My husband… or ex-husband, I don’t know. I don’t even know what the hell to call him. Anyway, he found another omega. Younger, prettier, less marked… And this omega didn’t want to be a concubine or a secondary spouse. He’d only accept if he was the main one."

Sanji spoke with that misplaced calm of someone who doesn’t realize they’re telling a tragedy. "And my husband, all smitten with this omega, gave him what he wanted. Tried to get me out of the way. Just like that. He was always…" Sanji snapped his fingers. "Practical. Quick, final solutions. A broken toy goes in the trash."

Chopper stood still. He wasn’t breathing.

"Rosi snapped me out of it and I fought back, an you believe that? I stood up for myself. That little brat saved my life. But it’s fine now. It doesn’t hurt that much." He said it with pride, like surviving was a badge of honor, not a desperate necessity. "I rushed it a bit and didn’t have anything to stitch with," he added, so casually Chopper’s tongue locked up. "But it turned out okay, right?"

The reindeer opened his mouth and closed it without a sound. He forced himself to breathe. Part of him wished he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t asked. But he had. So he swore that this body this body that had survived so much alone, would never bleed alone again.

"You rushed it a bit…?" he repeated, incredulous. "Sanji, this is a deep stab wound. If you’d moved wrong, you could’ve died on the way."

"Well, I didn’t die," Sanji replied with a crooked smile, like that fixed everything.

The reindeer stared at him, horrified. But Sanji spoke with an innocent, almost clumsy frankness. Chopper broke. His voice turned thin, shaky, like he couldn’t get air in.

"Sanji, you’re nineteen. That’s not aging, it’s growing up. You’re barely an adult. That alpha is a predator. A pedophile. A fucking monster." He rubbed his face with his hooves, like he wanted to scrape the rage off. "Arghhh… I can’t believe you had to go through all that. Or that you think any of it was normal. You’re reckless," he said at last, with that doctor’s tone that sounds like a hug disguised as a scolding. "It must’ve hurt down to your soul."

Sanji, meanwhile, looked at him confused, like he didn’t understand why the doctor seemed so sad about things that, to him, were just life.

Chopper, trying to break the tension, added:

"Still, the stitching’s not bad. For someone who did it half-dead, it’s decent."

Sanji let out a small, genuine laugh. "Well, at least I survived, damn it. That’s gotta count for something."

"Out of sheer stubbornness, not technique." Chopper sighed, though with a small smile. "And you still have an infection."

He grabbed some gauze, disinfectant, and ointment, moving with the measured calm of someone holding back a scream. He continued the exam.

Saw the marks on Sanji’s back, on his belly, fine, repeated lines. Too symmetrical to be accidental. Too cruel to be punishment.

"What did this to you?"

"The threads. And these, claws. When I had trouble staying still," he answered, sincere, without drama.

"Threads? Like sewing threads?"

"The other kind. The ones that move on their own." As he spoke, he lifted his hand and moved all his fingers, like playing piano, like pulling invisible strings.

Chopper let out a hysterical laugh, pure horror. He didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. He drew a line. He couldn’t hear more. Not yet. The reindeer went to his bag, pulled out some special towels, and laid them on the bed. He needed a change of subject. Urgently.

"You’re going to use these for the bleeding. They absorb better. No more rags, okay? They can hurt you or cause infection. These are clean, soft, and you change them several times a day. Then you wash them and reuse them. They’re yours. No need to return them."

Sanji touched them with curiosity.

Chopper also left a smaller bundle, wrapped in sky-blue cloth.

"This is for Sora. Reusable diapers too. They’re more comfortable than the ones she has, and they’ll last longer."

Sanji looked at him with wide eyes, like it was a luxury.

"Really? How much does all this cost?" he asked immediately.

"Nothing. The hospital provides them." A lie. But he wasn’t about to explain that to someone who recites horrors like it’s just another Thursday, even though it was clear that, for this omega, it really was just another fucking Thursday.

 The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was strange, almost warm. Sanji looked at Sora again, stroked her little ear, and murmured something softly in a language no one spoke anymore. They waited for the IV to finish dripping, and from the courtyard, Rosi’s laughter echoed, loud and carefree, with Luffy.

"You look calmer now," Chopper said gently.

Sanji smiled at him, tired, but sincere.

"Can I tell you something? It’s been a long time since I saw another omega," he said suddenly. "Not since my mom. She died when I was nine."

Chopper felt something tighten in his chest again.

"Then let me greet you the way omegas greet each other, like she would have," he murmured. "I didn’t do it before because of medical protocol. I needed your scent as it was to treat you properly."

He held out his hands. Sanji hesitated, then mirrored him. Chopper turned his wrists until their scent glands brushed, just a light touch, a whisper of scent: sea and forest. An ancient greeting between omegas, more instinct than tradition.

Sanji blinked, confused, then laughed through tears.

"My mom… used to do that," he whispered. "I didn’t know it was a greeting."

"It is," Chopper nodded, smiling. "But back then, your glands hadn’t developed yet. That’s why you didn’t understand it, you just felt it was something nice."

Sanji thought about it, wearing the face of someone fitting together pieces they didn’t know were missing.

"She used to say… that with her, I was safe."

"Exactly." Chopper looked at him, tender and steady. "And now I’m telling you the same."

Sanji smiled, crooked, like someone who doesn’t know what to do with that much kindness.

Chopper removed the IV carefully, and while packing up, his tone lightened.

"Alright. Officially, I forbid you from lifting anything heavier than a spoon for the next 58 days."

The cook snorted.

"And what the hell am I supposed to do? Tell old man Zeff, who gave us a bed yesterday, that I’m not lifting a finger? He said I could cook to stay. If I don’t do anything, he’ll kick us out."

"Zeff won’t do that," Chopper said, looking up. "He’s part of the pack. If he gave you shelter, he won’t take it back. We can talk to him together."

"Zeff’s in your pack?"

"Yeah. Always has been. We’re not many, but we’re strong."

Sanji frowned.

"And you’re the omega of the pack?"

"I’m an omega, yes," he said slowly. "But there’s no ‘the’ omega. There are alphas, betas, omegas. The pack belongs to all of us."

Sanji’s face darkened with memory.

"Then… do they… use you too?"

His heart jumped, like someone had poured ice water on his chest.

"What?" Chopper said immediately, voice trembling. "No, Sanji. No. No one uses me. No one uses anyone."

He rubbed his hooves against his pants, distressed. "In the pack, there are bonds. There’s affection, desire, yes, sometimes. But it’s mutual. Consensual. And private."

Sanji stared at him, not understanding.

"There are people. Bodies. Boundaries." Chopper sighed, a mix of tenderness and exasperation. "Oh Sanji… you’re going to need classes with Robin. Lots of them."

Sanji blinked, confused. "Who’s Robin? Classes about what?"

"She’s a librarian. Knows everything and explains it without making you feel stupid." "Alright," Chopper said, patting his notes. "Now, doctor’s orders: you’re having coffee with me at the park. Then we’re talking to Zeff."

Sanji nearly choked on his own breath. "What? No, no, doc. I can’t. People look at us weird. They say things. Because of me."

"Because of you?" Chopper raised an eyebrow.

"Because I don’t have an alpha." Sanji shrugged, looking at Sora like that explained everything. "They say I’m shameless. That I probably don’t even know who my kids’ father is… You know, that kind of stuff. And if they see me with you, they’ll talk bad about you too."

Chopper let out a dry laugh.

"Let the gossiping old hags shove their prejudice up their asses. I know them, and they’re no saints."

"Chopper…"

"No ‘Chopper.’ You’re getting dressed, we’re grabbing the kids, and we’re going to the park. I said coffee, sun, and swings. No arguments."

Sanji looked at him, half surprised, half amused.

"You’ve got a temper, doc."

"I’ve got boundaries. And you’re going to learn to have them too."

He dressed quickly, wrapped in the clean towel, Sora nursing at his chest, the new diapers tucked into a bag.

Suddenly, Luffy burst in, without knocking, because Luffy and doors are natural enemies. "You abandoned us!" Luffy declared, barging in with zero respect for clinical silence. He had Rosinante by the hand, who was dragging a crumpled piece of paper and grinning with childish pride. "Chopper, look at the drawing we made! It’s me catching a fish bigger than Law’s whole office! And the kid drew a little fox with stars!"

Rosi was all messy hair and red nose from the cold.

"Three hours for a band-aid?!" Rosi protested, arms wide, pointing at the IV bandage on his dad’s hand.

"It wasn’t that long," Chopper muttered, not looking at them.

"An hour and a half at least," Rosi said, dramatic. "I was about to go get reinforcements."

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

"Are you seriously using that tone with me? We were going to the park, but with that attitude, I might change my mind, you know?"

Rosi lowered his head, mumbling something that sounded like "sorry, Dad."

"Good. And behave like a person. No running wild or yelling at bugs, got it?"

"But the bugs yell at us first!" Luffy protested, outraged.

"Then you yell back, quietly. With respect," Sanji said, like he was teaching a class on manners.

Which was ironic, considering he literally grew up between dungeons and dragons.

Sanji carried Sora asleep on his chest. Rosi bounced like he had springs in his shoes. And Luffy caught up with a bag that smelled like sugar and questionable decisions.

"Pasteles from Doña Terracotta!" the gorilla beamed. "Dulce de leche, membrillo, custard, chocolate, and one I don’t remember."

"Why’d you buy that one?" Chopper asked.

"Because I don’t remember."

Rosi doubled over laughing, and Sanji did too, though he tried to hide it.

The townspeople didn’t find it as funny. Their stares felt like pebbles on the back of the neck: long, nosy, the kind that try to stab without speaking. Sanji lowered his head, old instinct.

Luffy looked at him. "Don’t worry, Sanji. If they keep staring like that, I’ll dance in front of them until they snap out of it."

"No, please," Sanji begged horrified and laughing at the same time.

Chopper pointed out the surroundings with enthusiasm.

When they turned the corner, the reindeer gestured toward a brick building. "Look, that’s the school. It’s twelve blocks from the Baratie."

Rosi tugged on his father’s sleeve, eyes shining.

"Dad… it’s…"

"Yeah, my sunshine…"

Sanji’s eyes were shining too.

A couple blocks later, they reached the park.

It had playgrounds, a gazebo, and a little snack shop.

Luffy went straight to the counter and came back with four cups and a massive bag of food.

"Hot chocolate for everyone!" he announced—spilling half of it on the way.

"Thanks," Chopper said, wiping himself with a napkin.

"Truly, a masterclass in coordination."

"Thanks, Luffy," Sanji echoed quietly.

You could tell it had been a long time since he’d received something like that, without a reason. Maybe never. Rosi had claimed the park as his own. He ran, climbed, shouted nonsense, and narrated everything to his dad, even if he was just two meters away. He ran back to point out ducks, then a bench, then a rock that “looked like a cat,” and ran off again.

"Dad! Look! A giant tree! And another! And another! And…"

"Rosinante, brea—" "And a squirrel! Dad, look, look, look!"

"Don’t yell at the squirrel," Sanji told him.

"But it gave me a dirty look!"

"Because you’ve got the face of a plucked chicken."

Chopper choked on his chocolate.

"Sanji!"

"What? I said it with love," he replied with that half-smile that came naturally. Sanji could barely breathe from laughing and from the dizzying rush of so much love.

Chopper smiled, half moved, half amused. "Kid’s got endless batteries."

Sanji shrugged, but the smile escaped anyway. "I’ve never been to a park before," he said softly.

Chopper let out a quiet “oh.”

Meanwhile, Luffy had decided Rosi couldn’t go without a swing.

"Hop on!" he said, giving him a gentle push.

Rosi squealed with joy, and Sanji watched him heart ready to burst.

From the swing, Rosi shouted: "Higher! I wanna touch the sky!"

"No! Rosinante, you’re gonna…! Luffy, slow down, damn it!"

"Yes, dad."

"Don’t call me that!" Sanji snapped, blushing and smiling despite himself. And in that simple moment, something loosened inside him. He allowed himself to laugh in public, a clean, fearless laugh that made Sora stir in the sling, half-asleep.

Chopper glanced at him.

"Look at that. The park heals better than medicine."

"Hot chocolate helps," Luffy added, foam mustache and idiot-happy grin in full display.

Luffy pushed with just the right force, though his face said “if he flies, he flies”, and Chopper and Sanji watched from the bench, hot chocolate in hand.

Everything felt… natural. Ordinary. Like they belonged there. Sanji didn’t know what to do with those emotions.

That calm shattered when a shout tore across the park.

"UNCLE LUUUFFFYYYYY!!"

A whirlwind of scarf and red beanie slammed into Luffy with meteor-like force.

"ACE!"

Luffy caught him on reflex, laughing.

"You came, brat!"

"You’re playing without me!" the kid scolded, then spotted Rosi and his face changed instantly.

"Who’s he?"

"Rosi!" the other shouted from the swing. "Wanna play?"

"Obviously!" Ace replied, and before anyone could say a word, they were already running like lifelong friends.

"Well, that was fast," Chopper said, smiling.

"Kids have better noses than adults," Sanji murmured.

"And better hearts," added a new voice warm and deep. A blond alpha approached slowly, scarf undone, radiating that “I’m responsible but exhausted from it” vibe.

Luffy waved at him, churro in mouth. "Sabo! We’ve got chocolate!"

"And blood sugar through the roof, I see," he replied, dropping onto the bench beside Chopper and Sanji.

Sanji tensed immediately. This alpha had a calm but powerful presence, the kind that made your heart race out of habit. Still, Sabo offered his hand with such simple warmth that Sanji accepted without thinking.

"Sabo," he introduced. "I work at city hall. I’m the mayor."

"Ohh," Sanji said, unsure what to reply. It wasn’t common for an alpha to treat him as an equal, especially one with power. Especially one who didn’t smell like an alpha.

Sabo noticed the tremble in Sanji’s fingers and, without a word, took off his scarf.

"You’re freezing," he said, handing it over. "It doesn’t smell like alpha, I use suppressants for work. It’ll help. And I don’t want you getting sick."

Sanji touched it like it was gold. No, better than gold. It was warmth woven into kindness.

"Thanks… but I can’t accept it."

"Yes, you can. Babies aren’t radiators," Sabo replied with that gentle smile that melts any protest.

Sanji tried to give it back, but the warmth of the fabric, and the gesture unsettled him more than the cold.

"Thanks… really."

Sanji opened his mouth, ready to launch his classic “I can pay for it with work” speech

but Chopper beat him to it.

"Don’t even think about it," he said, pointing at him with the hot chocolate spoon. "You’re on rest."

"But—"

"No ‘but.’ You gave birth two days ago, Sanji. Two. Days. Two."

"I’m fine.

Sabo laughed, low and sincere.

"Omegas under the Lunar Watch should rest, eat well, and be pampered," he said. "Not work or wash dishes."

Sanji looked at him, tired.

"Ugh… that again… Yeah, I’ve heard it like twenty times already. But I don’t want anything handed to me."

Luffy came over with a tray, handing him another cup of hot chocolate.

"Take the scarf, cook. Sabo doesn’t give up. He once tried to adopt one dog and ended up with three."

"They were siblings!" the blond protested, laughing.

Rosi and Ace came running back, cheeks red, eyes shining.

"Dad! Ace taught me how to dive headfirst!"

"No!" Chopper shouted.

"Yes!" the two yelled in unison.

"No!" the reindeer repeated.

"Dad, look!" Rosi said, trying to climb the slide again.

Sanji caught him mid-air like a cat. "Don’t even think about it."

Rosi huffed, arms crossed, just like him. But with so much to do in the park, the sulking didn’t last long.

"He’s insane," Sanji muttered, eyes on Luffy, who had just belly-slid down the slide.

"Yeah, a little," Chopper admitted fondly. "But he’s the best guy I know."

Luffy climbed back up with Rosinante hot on his heels. Sanji jumped up when he saw them trying to scale a loose railing.

"Brats, no! Luffy, you too, you’re an adult!"

Rosinante and Ace laughed so hard they collapsed to their knees. Sanji watched them a moment longer, warmth blooming in his chest.

Chopper let out a dry laugh.

"Hey, you’re being pretty diplomatic, from what I’ve heard."

"Yeah… don’t remind me. I’m practicing restraint," Sabo said, then looked Sanji up and down. "Winter’s coming in hard. With that outfit, you’re gonna freeze your ass off."

Sanji grimaced. He couldn’t imagine anything colder than the last two weeks. Winter hadn’t even started?

"The old man at the Baratie gave it to me. Mine wasn’t good enough…"

"It’s still not enough for this weather," Sabo said, frowning. "I’ve got extra clothes, something will fit. We’re about the same size, you’re just a bit thinner. Nothing a belt and a hem can’t fix. And Ace left good stuff from last year, Rosi could use it."

Sanji blinked, thrown off.

"Thanks… I… I can… clean your house… or city hall if needed, or cook something, or…"

"Sanji," Sabo interrupted, calm but firm. "Sometimes accepting help is an act of courage too."

"Thanks, Sabo! If Sanji keeps trying to work like this, he’ll end up hospitalized!" Chopper added, indignant.

"Well… thanks," Sanji said, very softly.

"You’re welcome," Sabo replied, already moving to stop Ace from diving headfirst again. "Listen… I don’t want to lie to you, or have you hear it from someone else. Since you arrived, I’ve been getting complaints. Absurd, unfair, some downright disgusting. People get offended by everything except what they should."

Sanji paled. Lowered his gaze. His chest tightened. His scent soured and spilled out he couldn’t suppress it anymore. Probably the postpartum.

"I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just… I just want to work, raise them, take care of them. If it’s about the complaints, I’ll do whatever it takes. I can talk to whoever I need to, explain…"

Chopper turned his head, worried. But Sabo didn’t seem surprised. He just looked at Sanji more closely. Sanji didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the ground like he was waiting to be judged.

Sabo leaned in slightly, eyes soft.

"I’m not letting you go anywhere. Especially now that Ace and Rosi are friends, and when that kid makes friends, it’s for life. This town isn’t perfect. There are still people with garbage in their heads. But I don’t care who you are or how you are. And don’t worry about the letters, I’ve got a big fireplace to burn them in."

Just then, Sora stirred with a soft whimper, and Sanji focused on her. Chopper stood with a smile.

"I think today’s been intense enough. How about I walk you back to the Baratie? We still owe Zeff a chat."

Sanji nodded, heart still tangled. Luffy came running back, leaf stuck to his forehead and shirt covered in mud.

"Did you see that?! I lost to Ace and Rosi by half a second! They’ve got talent!"

"You’ve got talent for falling, Luffy," Chopper laughed.

"That’s a talent too!"

As they got ready to leave, with Rosi saying goodbye to Ace like they wouldn’t see each other tomorrow, Luffy walked up to Sanji and adjusted Sabo’s scarf around his neck. A gesture of care Sanji didn’t quite recognize.

"Hey, Sanji."

"What?"

"You know what? You’re funny and you cook amazing. I want you to be my cook forever. Tomorrow I’ll bring fresh mussels for you to make."

Sanji looked at him like he’d been hit with a brick. Was that… flirting? He didn’t feel the crushing pheromones of an alpha trying to dominate him. And didn’t Luffy have a partner?

Luffy ignored Sanji’s stunned expression.

"You and me, we were meant to be friends. You three belong with us. And I always find my people."

Luffy was already chasing Rosi and Ace again, like he hadn’t said anything important.

But Sanji stood still, Sabo’s scarf wrapped around his neck, heart beating strangely.

“We were meant to be friends.” No one had ever said that to him. Ever. Friends. He didn’t know what it felt like to have one. And that moved him almost as much as it scared him.

The Baratie was in full chaos when Rosinante burst in like a stampede of buffalo.

"I WENT TO THE DOCTOR!" he shouted the moment he crossed the door, arms flailing. "AND I SAW THE SCHOOL! AND WE WENT TO THE PARK AND I PLAYED WITH A KID NAMED ACE AND HE HAS A REALLY NICE DAD AND…"

"BREATHE, DAMN IT!" Patty yelled, throwing a dish towel at him.

"DON’T INTERRUPT THE STORY, YOU IDIOT!" Carne shot back, laughing. "Go on, tell us, was the kid strong? Did you win?"

Rosinante climbed onto a chair and began narrating the odyssey like it was an epic, with a full audience. Some customers, already warming up to the omega and his pups, applauded.

Patty and Carne added to the noise. And Zeff, behind the counter, said nothing, but the old lion had that half-smile that betrayed pride. Until he saw Sanji and Chopper walk in behind. Sanji looked like a soaked dog. Chopper, like a reindeer who’d lost all faith in humanity.

"Office. Now," Zeff said without raising his voice.

And that was enough. Rosinante kept talking, but Sanji silenced him with a single raised eyebrow and a firm tone. The kid went quiet instantly.

"I’ll be right back. Behave."

"Yeah, dad," he said, rolling his eyes, then immediately resumed his heroic tale.

The three disappeared into the back, leaving the noise behind like they’d shut a door to hell. Sanji stood, twisting his fingers, not daring to sit. Sora slept against his chest in the sling.

Zeff placed his hands on the desk and watched him with the patience of someone who already knows he’s about to get mad.

"So? What the hell’s going on now?"

"I…" Sanji began, staring at the floor.

"Spit it out, brat, I don’t have all day," Zeff said, arms crossed.

"It’s just…" He swallowed. "I can keep working, it’s just that…"

"For the love of the gods!" Chopper exploded, eyes wide. "No! He can’t work!"

Zeff frowned. "What are you saying, Chopper?"

"I’m saying this idiot has massive tears, two broken ribs, and, get this: AN INFECTED FUCKING STAB WOUND IN HIS GUT," Chopper said, with the tone of a doctor who’d run out of patience.

Zeff straightened, eyes blazing. "A stab wound? And you didn’t say anything?"

Sanji shrank. "It’s not that bad."

Zeff cut him off with a roar. "YOU THINK THAT’S NOT SERIOUS?! YOU GOT STABBED AND YOU TELL ME ‘IT’S NOT THAT BAD’? YOU BRAINLESS LITTLE SHIT!"

Chopper crossed his arms. "Stab wound, yes. But with a sword, Zeff. Not a kitchen knife."

Sanji raised his voice. "I don’t want to bother anyone, damn it! I’m not an alpha. I’ve been kicked out for less. If I want to stay, I have to be worth something."

"Kid…" Zeff’s voice dropped without him meaning to, like the rage melted in his chest. "You know I’ve seen tough alpha chefs take a whole week off for a broken finger? You don’t have to prove anything here."

"Thanks, Zeff. That’s what I’ve been telling him."

Sanji glanced at them, tired but firm. "Exactly. Because I’m not an alpha. I’m not staying here doing nothing. I don’t want you to kick us out, old man. My son slept without fear for the first time in seven years. I’m not losing this."

Zeff stared at him in silence. There he was, an omega, standing, stubborn, proud, wounded, with his baby on his chest and fire in his eyes.

Chopper sighed and said quietly: "I told him you wouldn’t do that. But he needs to hear it."

Zeff looked at him for a long time, and the roar faded into a sigh.

"Idiot…" he said at last. "No one’s kicking you out, brat. Stop thinking you’ll end up on the street the moment something goes wrong."

"But…"

"No ‘but.’ Two weeks of light tasks. And if I see you lifting a pot, I’ll throw it at your head."

Sanji blinked and ran a hand through his hair, relieved.

"Really? Ugh… Thank you!"

"Really," Zeff said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You earned it."

"No, no, no!" Chopper threw his arms in the air. "What part of ‘absolute rest’ do neither of you understand?! What you’re going to do is lie down and not move!" He pointed at Sanji with the fury of a possessed doctor. "Absolute rest!"

Zeff ignored him and patted Sanji’s shoulder.

Sanji exhaled and looked at him, eyes slightly red. "Why the hell do you care so much?"

"No damn idea. But you’re one of mine. Whether you like it or not."

Sanji swallowed. He didn’t know whether to cry or laugh for the hundredth time. The day had been too much, too beautiful, too strange. He felt cared for. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

"You’re a shitty old man," he muttered.

"And you’re a mouthy brat," Zeff shot back with a half-smile.

"Zeff!" Chopper protested, on the verge of collapse. "He can’t!"

"Two weeks. And you sit down to nurse the little fox."

Sanji, between laughter and tears, tears he finally let flow, collapsed into the chair. The warmth of the place, the voices, the safety… For the first time in a long time, he felt safe.

Chopper stormed out, yelling that they were both idiots, stubborn, and that he wouldn’t come back if Sanji bled out, a lie even Sanji recognized. The little doctor was too good.

By dinnertime, the Baratie was a boiling pot of voices, frying pans, and sizzling oil. Rosi had already claimed a permanent spot on a hallway stool, peeling potatoes with deadly focus and talking nonstop. No one had asked him to, Zeff had kicked him out five times. But the kid kept coming back.

"Because my dad’s an amazing cook, you know?" he said proudly, tongue sticking out as he peeled. "He makes stuff that smells good, and he does it fast, and he never burns himself. And he moves his hands like fwoosh-fwoosh and things fly."

"Oh yeah?" Carne called from the grill. "And what makes you think that, kid?"

"Because he doesn’t burn the potatoes like you, dumbass."

A round of laughter exploded.

Sanji nearly choked, he was sitting with a cup of tea Carne had made, Sora nursing quietly. He hadn’t said a word in a while, stunned by how cared for he felt. But the blush of pride gave him away.

"Rosi!" he barked. "What did I tell you about swearing?"

"That I shouldn’t. But I still do," the kid replied with a shameless grin.

Patty burst out laughing. "Ha! Just like him."

Sanji lowered his head and muttered: "Yeah, a real gem… And stop inflating my ego, brat!" he added without looking, and Rosi laughed.

Zeff, listening from the doorway, chewed on a toothpick with the face of a tired old lion.

"Doctor’s orders, brat can’t lift pots," the alpha growled.

"But he can use a pan!" Rosi jumped in.

"Shut it, kid!...

But if he brags so much, let him prove it."

The cooks surrounded him, chanting: "Pan! Pan! Pan!"

Sanji raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"A small pan," Zeff clarified, pointing with the toothpick. "If you collapse, Chopper’ll kill us both."

The cooks formed a semicircle.

Sanji huffed.

"You’re gonna ask for the recipe later, old man."

He grabbed whatever was nearby: potato peels Rosi had peeled, a chunk of stale bread, onion scraps, and some grease Carne was about to toss. The smell… the smell… holy hell. In under five minutes, the tavern smelled like heaven.

Patty approached cautiously.

"What the hell did you do with garbage?"

"Cooked, idiot," Sanji replied without looking.

Rosi laughed like he’d just watched his dad score a goal from midfield. "See?! I told you! He’s the best cook in the world!"

Zeff crossed his arms, sniffing the air. "Didn’t waste a thing," he murmured. "Not a single scrap."

Zeff was the first to taste. He said nothing. Just nodded once and kept chewing.

Carne took a bite and froze.

"Shit, this is amazing."

"Told you," Rosi said, puffing his chest. "And he didn’t even break anything, right dad?"

"Shut up, Rosi," Sanji said, but he was already smiling.

Zeff looked at him a moment longer.

"Tomorrow you make the same thing for sixty customers."

Rosi clapped like a maniac, and Patty hoisted him onto his shoulders.

"Your old man’s a genius, kid!"

"I already knew that!" Rosi shouted. "He’s the best cook in the world!"

Sanji turned red all the way to his ears.

"Put him down, for fuck’s sake, he’s gonna fall!"

"I won’t fall, dad!"

Zeff looked at him with a mix of annoyance and pride.

"Alright, enough. Back to work, you bunch of suck-ups. You…" he said to Sanji, "go read. There’s an Escoffier book on the back shelf. Study it, it’ll be useful. And you, insolent brat, " he pointed at Rosinante, "I don’t want you anywhere near my sight."

"But I wanna help!" Rosi protested, stomping his foot in a full tantrum.

"And I want rats to stop sneaking into the pantry. Sometimes you don’t get what you want."

Rosinante stuck out his tongue and ran off to keep peeling potatoes, right in plain view of the old man.

Sanji laughed. And trembled a little from so much strange normalcy. He did what he was told but for the first time, not out of obedience. Out of pure curiosity.

By the end of dinner, the kitchen door facing the harbor burst open.

"Goddamn draft again!" Patty yelled, nearly spilling the pot.

The cold street air rushed in, followed by the cheerful voice of an alpha.

"Evening," Sabo greeted, shaking the fog off his coat. He carried a huge suitcase in one hand and a bag hanging from the other. "Am I interrupting, or just in time for dessert?"

Rosi was the first to peek out from behind the bar.

"The president! He brought sweets!"

"Clothes," Sabo corrected, with the patience of someone used to this madhouse. "For you, your dad, and the baby. And I’m the mayor, not the president, pup."

"Right! The mayor-president!" Rosi insisted, eyes glowing like lanterns.

"Like I promised. My wife Koala would’ve killed me if I left it for tomorrow."

Rosi was already at the edge of the suitcase, eyes sparkling. "Can I open it?"

"Hold on, damn it," Sanji grumbled, but with a hidden smile.

"She already spoke to the school. You start tomorrow, champ," Sabo said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "She’ll be your teacher. She’s adorable, but if you piss her off, run like hell."

Rosi froze for a second, like the info hit him with a delay.

"Tomorrow? Really tomorrow? Dad! Tomorrow! Tomorrow, daaaad!"

"For real," Sabo confirmed. "You don’t need to bring anything. Koala sorted it all out."

Rosi let out a squeal of joy. "I’m going to school tomorrow! Tomorrow! To-mor-row!"

And he dashed to the bathroom. "I’m showering now, I’m not showing up smelling like Zeff’s stew!"

Patty whistled. "That kid definitely didn’t inherit his dad’s slowness."

"Go to hell," Sanji replied, arms crossed with a half-smile.

Being able to insult an alpha without fear was a new pleasure.

Zeff and Sanji both ran a hand down their face, a gesture that, if you didn’t know they’d only met two days ago, looked like father and son.

"This brat’s gonna kill me," they said at the same time.

Sabo smiled with that dangerous warmth you can’t buy or fake. "Let him be excited. It’s a good start."

Sanji wanted to reply, but all he managed was a crooked "thank you."

"Thanks, Mr. Sabo. For the clothes. And sorry you had to go through all this trouble."

"You’re welcome," the alpha said, unfazed. "And please, just Sabo."

"You’re the mayor. ‘Mr.’ is the least I can…"

"It is necessary," Zeff interrupted, not looking up. "Here, you’re a person. Not a thing."

Sanji clenched his jaw. "Tsk… nosy old man."

"I heard that, brat."

"That’s why I said it, nosy old man. Fine," Sanji relented with a huff. "Sabo, then."

Sabo placed the suitcase on the bar.

"Tashigi, a friend, gave me baby clothes from her pup. The rest is from Ace and me. Good stuff. Coats, shoes… and some new things too. You don’t need to pay, so stop frowning."

Sanji, already frowning, bit his tongue, uncomfortable.

"You didn’t have to do that."

"I wanted to," Sabo replied simply, taking off his gloves. "It’s cold. And you’re part of the town now, whether you like it or not."

Zeff looked up from his book. "Coffee?"

"Sure," Sabo accepted, with that calm smile of people who lead without forcing.

Patty and Carne exchanged amused glances.

"Look at the poetic mayor."

"Hard to believe he’s in your pack, Zeff," Carne said. "Though with Luffy as alpha captain, the bar’s pretty low."

Zeff kicked both of them with his peg leg. "Get to work, you clowns. Customers don’t serve themselves."

"You’re kidding me Luffy’s the head alpha of his pack?"

Sanji said, a mix of intrigue, concern, horror, curiosity, fascination, and something dangerously close to hope. He crossed his arms, frowning, trying to process the absurd information.

"The fisherman? The one I had to yell at for belly-sliding down the slide? That Luffy? Are we sure we’re not talking about a different Luffy? One with more than two brain cells, maybe?"

Zeff chewed his toothpick again, old lion face in full display.

"Luffy is Luffy. He’s a kid we all follow, because he never asks for anything he’s not willing to give first."

Sanji didn’t know what kind of asylum he’d landed in. Though to be fair, his last pack was the Donquixote, and that was hell. And Germa… He still shivered remembering that damn iron helmet. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to get to know a pack that didn’t resemble anything he’d known. In fact, it tempted him. Terrified him. But he’d lived scared his whole life, and this fear, these butterflies in his stomach, felt good. Maybe it wasn’t fear.

"Look, I get it. My brother’s naive, impulsive, has no clue what personal space is, but his heart’s so big it barely fits in his chest. He’s… how do I put it… freedom. Luffy’s like a piece that connects omegas, betas, and alphas who wouldn’t share space otherwise, and it works."

Sanji didn’t reply. But Zeff and Sabo’s words watered a seed inside him, a seed that had already started sprouting earlier, with the simple “we were meant to be friends.”

After Sabo left, Sanji climbed up to the attic with Sora asleep in his arms, and the suitcase Patty had carried for him.

He opened it carefully, almost afraid it was a joke. But inside was a miracle: clean, soft, warm clothes. Cotton shirts, colorful sweatshirts, shoes, socks still sealed, brand-new underwear. Among the items, he found a towel with dinosaurs.

"Look at this, my love…" Sanji whispered, showing the towel to the baby sleeping on the mattress. "It has dinosaurs, my darling. D-i-n-o-s-a-u-r-s. This is luxury. Not the crap they used to make your brother and me wear."

He sat on the bed with a tired sigh, no drama, just routine. "You know what was the worst, Sora? Back there, everything sparkled. Gold, silver, diamonds, even on the underwear, when they let me wear any." He chuckled, that kind of laugh that isn’t really a laugh. "Though honestly, what did I know? Until three months ago, I thought all omegas lived with shackles. No one’s gonna knock our teeth out over a crooked button. That, my love, is luxury. Not nobility, this."

He looked at her with fierce tenderness, checking her breathing while continuing to unpack the suitcase.

"Your brother hated all that crap too. He had to wear embroidered tunics, loafers, cloaks with silver thread. Pretty but useless. The little chick couldn’t run, get dirty, or just be a kid. Once he used one of his princely cloaks to play," he said, fluttering his fingers like a bird. "And that bastard of a father nearly beat him to death for it." His voice didn’t tremble, just dropped a tone. "I tried to step in, but my chain didn’t reach. And of course, that little act of defiance didn’t come cheap either. It doesn’t fade, my love. It doesn’t fade."

He paused, chewing on the rage and swallowing the grief, because the memory hurt too much.

"And me, pff…I wore a damn jewelry box, my divine little fox. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires. A golden shackle with rubies on my ankle. Always half-naked in sheer fabrics that didn’t cover a thing. I don’t even know why they made me wear them. It was… humiliating. Everyone looked at me like a cat in a fish market. And treated me worse… But you… You won’t suffer any of that. And for us, it’s over."

The baby sighed and twitched an ear. Sanji smiled, defeated.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Chatty old man,’ right?" he murmured, kissing her forehead. "But understand me, Sora, this is the first time I have someone to question all that with."

"And now, little lady, let’s get you even cuter," he said, stretching out one of the reusable diapers Chopper had given him. "Look at these, they’re like little pillows. No rash, no weird smell, no praying to Nika to avoid fungus. When I can, I’ll find out what Chopper likes to eat and build him a tower of his favorite food. And for Sabo too."

The baby sighed in her sleep, tiny fist resting on her cheek. Sanji laid her gently on a towel on the bed and changed her diaper.

"That’s how I like it, dry little butt." He gave her another quick kiss on the forehead. "You’re smaller than a sigh, my love. This onesie’s gonna fit like a tent." He dressed her with care. "Perfect. Style: cloud bun." He adjusted the collar with a goofy smile. "Your brother’s gonna die of love.

Come on, let’s see what he’s up to."

He pulled out a fuzzy pajama with rockets and stars for Rosi, thick socks, and new underwear. Also the towel he knew would blow his son’s mind.

In the bathroom, the kid was singing like it was a concert.

"♪ Tomorrooow, I’m goooing to schooool, I’m a smarrrt phoenix… ♫"

"Rosi, wrap it up, you’re gonna flood the damn floor! It’s like a fucking sauna in here!" Sanji shouted, not even mad. "Sunshine, I left clean clothes on the stool."

"Yes, dad!" Rosi replied in his booming voice, peeking out from behind the curtain, soaked in steam and foam up to his eyelashes.

"Whoa! Holy crap! Look at this pajama, it’s got rocketsss!"

"Lower the volume, damn it, the baby’s sleeping. And watch your mouth!"

"She sleeps all day, dad. She knows I yell. Hey, can I wear it? Really?"

"Yes, my sunshine. And come here, I’ll dry you off with this towel. You’re gonna love it."

"Ohhh I’m a dinosaur phoenix! Super powerful!" the kid said. "Can I sleep in this?" he asked, covering his face with the towel and laughing.

Sanji looked at him with that clumsy postpartum smile.

"You can sleep, run, or make a turban out of it if you want. No one’s gonna say a word." He said while combing his wet hair. "But first, you dry off, if you catch a cold, the reindeer doctor’ll kill me."

Rosi gave him a crooked smile, that mix of innocence and mischief only he could pull off, and launched himself at Sanji, showering him and his sister with slobbery kisses. Sora, wrapped in clouds and the new sling gifted by “President” Sabo, barely twitched her ears. Her dad and brother were chaos, and she was at peace with that.

Later that night, Sora lay in his lap, latched to his chest, nursing with closed eyes and tiny hands resting on his skin.

Sanji held her with instinctive tenderness, like she was the only thing that existed in that moment. And in a way, she was. Rosi slept beside him, one leg out of the blanket, hugging his plush borreguito. His breathing was deep, with that hiccupy rhythm of someone who laughed too much and passed out.

Sanji pulled out the rest of the clothes just to look at them again: three-piece suits, shirts, pants, ties.

"Like the ones in novels," he thought, with a flutter in his chest.

Sora nursed peacefully, warm against his skin.

"They’re spoiling us too much, huh?" he whispered, stroking her cheek.

The baby made a sound, half yawn, half growl.

Sanji let out a low, tired, beautiful laugh.

"Yeah… I don’t know what to do with this much kindness either."

He tried one on in front of the bathroom mirror. It was too big. And perfect.

For the first time, he didn’t feel ashamed looking at his reflection. It was… dignified. Comfortable. He pressed his lips together, feeling something crack in his chest. But it wasn’t sadness. It was that feeling again, that new, unfamiliar emotion that had repeated itself over the past three days.

Relief.

Chapter Text

Sora had spent the night in full carnival mode: opening act with crying, medley while nursing, solo walk around the attic, and finale falling back asleep for half an hour. A full murga set, with repertoire and all.

Sanji, eyes half open, body turned to mush and soul overflowing with joy, ended up pacing in circles around the room until the sun threatened to rise.

"There, there, my love, there, there…" he murmured, voice hoarse, hair a cloud of messy blond curls. "You have no idea, my little fox, what a night you gave me. Dad can’t feel his legs anymore, but he still loves you, okay? Loves you with all the dark circles."

The baby replied with a tiny whimper and a yawn that sounded like a meow.

Sanji chuckled softly, ruffling his curls even more with one hand.

"Oh, sure, acting all important, just like your brother. Same factory, damn it…"

And when she finally fell asleep and Sanji tucked her in, Rosi hugged her like a plush toy, and she latched onto her brother’s hair.

The omega was discovering the new family dynamic: a nocturnal fox with a thing for her brother’s curls.

He took a quick shower, mainly to bleed in peace, put on the new absorbent towels which, yes, were comfortable and let the area breathe despite being constantly soaked with lochia. While choosing what to wear, his memory drifted back to royal pomp: In Germa, he wore perfectly tailored suits with no soul, red cloaks, white shirts with frills. In Dressrosa, he was decorative meat, a voiceless trophy. And this… this was something else. Thick wool, clean.

Even though Sabo used suppressants and the clothes were washed, they still had a pleasant scent. Ramen? Yes, ramen, the alpha’s scent. A garment made to warm, not to display. He let out a quiet laugh. Finally, something that was his. He chose a gray wool suit with a dark vest and white shirt. The new boots were slightly big, but it was the kind of discomfort that made him feel human. He adjusted the belt because yes, the little doctor was right, he was very thin. And he still had his soft postpartum belly. If he were still in the palace, they would’ve erased it by force like everything else. But here it was, soft, stretch-marked, real. Because this time, the body wasn’t erased. This time, something remained. Proof that Sora lived.

Sanji stayed in the attic, organizing the new clothes on some boxes. And just as the sky turned blue, Rosi woke up with a scream worthy of a war for independence.

"Daaaaad, it’s today!! IT’S TOOODAAAY, DAMN IIIIT!!"

"Shhh, shut up, feathered demon. They heard you all the way out at sea," Sanji threw him a sock. "Tone it down, damn it."

"I can’t tone anything down! I start school today and look! I’ve got carpincho clothes with sunglasses!"

The phoenix shrieked, rummaging through the pile his dad had left on the chair and dancing barefoot around the attic.

He pulled out the thermal shirt first, then the pants.

"Look at this, dad! It’s soft! It’s light! It won’t hurt when I move!" He rubbed them on his face like they were sacred relics.

"Yeah, yeah, soft. Now get dressed before your butt freezes," Sanji gave him a quick smack on the rear, more affectionate than anything, while picking out Sora’s outfit: a yellow coat with little ducks marching across the chest.

Rosi squealed at the smack, not from pain, and kept running around.

"Look how cute I am! And there’s a jacket with flames, like me when I get mad! It’s perfect for me. It’s destiny. It’s destiny that Ace and I are friends."

"Destiny, huh?" Sanji murmured, buttoning up Sora’s coat. "You and Luffy are conspiring to drive me insane, aren’t you?" He stroked her nose. "Oh, my golden-tailed fox, my little sky-and-ducks darling… When you grow up, they’ll have to bow to you, you know that, right? Look at your sister, sunshine, didn’t I make a beautiful creature?"

Sora, bundled up in her coat and a little hat with ear holes, stared at him with those deep blue eyes, pure calm.

Rosi stepped forward and gave her an exaggerated bow.

"I’ll go first. Princess Sora of the Yellow Ducks, your humble brother the Crimson Phoenix reporting for duty."

Sanji chuckled softly.

"Clown. You’ve been obsessed with ‘crimson’ ever since you learned that color."

Rosi came closer, hugged them both, and let out a small sob.

"Oh dad… Look at us. We look… free."

Sanji looked at him, felt a lump in his throat, and tugged his hair.

"Don’t cry, idiot, you’ll make me cry too!"

"But I’m going to school, dad!" Rosi shouted through tears and laughter, pressing his face against his chest. "To school, damn it!"

Sanji laughed, broken, tearful, full of pride.

"Yeah, sweetheart. You’re going to school. And you’re gonna crush it. And if you misbehave, I’ll spank you. Got it?" He said before smothering him with kisses. 

When they came downstairs, Zeff was already behind the counter, wearing a clean apron and standing next to a stack of pancakes the size of a lighthouse. There was also chopped fruit, coffee, mandarin juice, and hot chocolate.

Rosi froze in the doorway. "Is all that for us?"

Sanji came down slowly behind him, the baby in his arms wrapped in the new white sling. And when the old man saw the three of them, something in his soul shifted for a second. They weren’t healthy, not yet. They weren’t strong. That would take time. But they were dressed like people, not like ornaments or shadows.

"No, it’s for the dock rats," Zeff grumbled, because that was the softest tone he could manage. "Sit down and eat, brat. Go on."

"Good morning, grumpy old man!" Sanji sang cheekily, with that smile he knew raised Zeff’s blood pressure.

"Morning, my ass," Zeff muttered, wiping his hands on the apron to hide the lump in his throat.

Rosi ran up and hugged him tight. "Thanks for breakfast, Grandpa!"

The silence lasted only seconds, but it dropped like an anchor.

Zeff froze. "What did you say, brat?" he growled, voice rough.

Rosi, with the purest smile in the world, repeated: "Grandpa! Old deafie."

Zeff let out a curse that fooled no one.

Sanji felt his chest tighten. Rosi’s grandfather had been a monster, a scar with a name. And in three days, this old bastard had been more warmth than all the alphas in their past combined.

Zeff coughed hard, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and tossed a bag at the kid.

"Here, you insolent little punk. From me, Patty, Carne, and the other useless ones."

Rosi opened it and started squealing again: a brand-new crimson backpack (not red, crimson) with a keychain shaped like a fish with whiskers.

"Thanks, Grandpa!"

"I told you not to call me that, damn it!" Zeff growled, voice hoarse, adjusting his chef’s hat to cover his eyes.

Sanji looked at him, the little fox asleep in his arms, heart shattered in the sweetest way.

"Old man… thank you."

"Shut up and eat, brat," Zeff replied, turning toward the kitchen. "You’ll be late for school if you keep screaming like a drunk seagull."

Sanji could only laugh, the little fox asleep and his chest tight.

"Old man," he said softly. "You’re a mess."

"And you’re a spoiled brat.

Sit down and eat before I kick the chair out from under you," Zeff replied, voice trembling.

The walk to school was just a few blocks of frost-covered grass and bare trees. Chickens pecked at the mud, and the air smelled of damp firewood. Rosi hopped from tile to tile in his white school tunic, narrating everything he saw out loud. Sanji adjusted Sora gently, heart melted, nerves raw. It was the first day. His son’s first damn day of school.

"Look, dad! That dog’s tail is fluffy like Sora’s! But hers is more babyish!"

"Because she’s a baby, idiot," he replied, laughing softly.

But as they walked, the laughter faded. The stares fell on them like stones. A woman sweeping the sidewalk murmured to the man beside her: "Look at that. The omega from the tavern. Two kids and no alpha."

"No alpha, no shame," the man replied, quiet, but not quiet enough.

Sanji lowered his head. Don’t listen. Don’t look. Don’t exist. The old reflex: make yourself smaller, quieter. If people looked at them like that, maybe he deserved it.

But Rosi did listen. And he did look.  He turned around, calm as ever, and shouted:

"My dad doesn’t need an alpha, lady! He’s got legs and a killer fire gaze!"

"Rosinante!" Sanji jumped, flustered. "Shut your mouth, for Nika’s sake!"

"But it’s true! You’re better than alphas, dad! And I said ‘lady,’ I didn’t insult her."

"You’re still losing dessert for mouthing off!" It wasn’t serious, but he needed to regain some control.

"Totally worth it!" Rosi replied, grinning with all his teeth. "Hey… are you sure it’s okay for me to stay all day? Don’t you want me to go back to the tavern and help?" he asked suddenly, glancing up at him.

Sanji squeezed his little hand and spoke seriously, because what he was about to say mattered.

"No, my sunshine. Starting today, your only job is to be a real kid. You need to learn, make friends, and enjoy. I’ll do everything I can to make that dream come true."

"I promise I’ll always protect you, dad."

"And I promise I’ll work hard and get stronger, so you’ll never have to protect me again."

With a tight hug and a few tears, they sealed that promise. 

Now, up close, seeing it better, the school was a living building. Sanji could see the garden on the side, a bunch of fruit trees, swings swaying in the wind, and a little soccer field in the back.

Some kids were playing in the yard. And others, as soon as they saw him, were pulled away by their parents.

"Don’t hang out with the son of the unmated omega."

"Bet the older one doesn’t even know who his alpha is."

"Don’t go near them, sweetheart," a woman said to her child, yanking him back by the arm.

"You don’t play with people like that."

Sanji decided to ignore them. He was learning the balance between existing and what he’d been taught. There was nothing he could do about their opinions. But he still had things to do.

He adjusted Rosi’s scarf and said:

"Gloves, hat, handkerchief. Lose anything and I’ll cut your fingers off, got it, chick?"

"Yes, dad," Rosi replied, barely holding back a laugh.

"And no swearing, no fighting, no biting, don’t stain your tunic, it’s white, and don’t climb trees without permission."

"Well, if I give myself permission, then I can."

"Rosinante."

"Okay, okay."

Sanji kept going with the lecture until a cheerful voice cut them off halfway.

"Rosi! Hey, Rosi!"

Ace came running from inside the building, wearing a red scarf and a smile too big for his face.

Rosi froze for a second, then shrieked: "Ace!!"

The hug made a sound. Literally made a sound.

Ace squeezed him tight. "That jacket looks amazing on you! I swear, better than when it was mine."

"Really? Look, it has flames!"

"And zippered pockets!" Ace showed him proudly. "So your rocks and treasures don’t fall out."

"Or cookies."

"Exactly." Ace nodded, then added with childlike logic: "Hey, since I’m the mayor’s son and my mom’s the teacher, I’m kinda the boss of the school."

"Really?"

"No, but still."

And off they ran, straight to the yard, no fear, no shadow.

Sanji stayed still. The morning air started pressing on his chest. Breathing without him was hard. No moment away from his pup had ever felt okay. It was a reflex. He knew Rosi was fine.

Just then, the teachers in their white tunics came out of the building. A red-haired woman with shoulder-length hair, sweet and kind, saw him and called out from afar, waving.

"Welcome! I promise I’ll take care of him like he’s mine. I’ll tell you how it went after class, I’m short on time now. Come back at 3."

Sanji waved shyly and nodded. He didn’t trust his voice yet. He looked around for Rosi and saw him running back toward them. He gave loud kisses to both him and Sora.

"I love you, dad! I’m gonna learn to read and write and then teach you!"

"Go on, ridiculous. Get moving before I start crying, damn it. I love you more, my sweet sunshine. You’re so beautiful." Sanji said, laughing and pinching his cheek.

"Byeeee!! I love you, I love you, I love you! Today I’m gonna make friends for you too, little sister!"

Sora whimpered softly, her little tails trembling under the coat, and he cradled her, speaking in that syrupy tone that came out only for her.

"Look at him, mon chéri. Your brother’s a student now. I’m so fucking proud, but don’t tell him, or he’ll get cocky."

And as he walked back toward the Baratie, with stares trailing him and whispers prickling the back of his neck, he realized something new: For the first time in his life, what he had weighed more than what he’d lost. And for an omega like him, that was a dream come true.

That day at the Baratie, the air felt heavy. Something, or someone, was missing.

Sanji walked in with Sora asleep in the sling, and everyone who’d just started their shift looked at him like they expected him to pull Rosi out of his pocket. There was no mercy that morning. Between prepping breakfast, lunch, and the daily menu, Zeff taught him through shouts and kicks. Patty and Carne kept an eye on him too, though with heavy jokes and teasing. The three cooks looked after the omega, not because he was an omega, but because he was injured, and because he was part of the Baratie family. So when Sora cried out in hunger, without a word, any one of them would grab their knife or pan so Sanji could sit comfortably wherever he wanted to nurse her. No one made him feel like a burden. And that… that threw him off.

Sanji sliced apples with slow but steady movements. He was bleeding, everything hurt, but that wasn’t the problem. He was trying not to push his body, just like he’d promised Chopper.

Zeff watched him from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

"You planning to peel the whole crate of apples, brat?" he grumbled.

"Better that than staring at the door like an idiot," Sanji replied, without looking up.

"You could peel that sour face of yours, though. Hey, it’s only been half a day," Zeff said, pretending to be calm. It had only been three days with the kid in the kitchen, and he already missed the little brat’s noise. "Half a day is a hell of a long time, old man!" the omega huffed, dropping the knife.

"Since I left him at that school, I haven’t stopped thinking, did he eat, did he go to the bathroom, did someone mess with him, did he fall, did he get into a fight?"

"Knowing that kid, I’ll bet on the fight right now," Zeff muttered.

"Shut up, grumpy old man," Sanji replied, weakly, but he still said it.

"If you’re gonna salt the food, use the shaker, not your tears."

Sanji threw the kitchen towel at him. Zeff didn’t even flinch; he dodged it like swatting a fly.

"I’m not sad," Sanji said, flipping the pan as he caramelized the apples. "I just… didn’t know pride could hurt this much."

Zeff silently placed a cup of chamomile with honey in front of him.

Sanji sniffed it and chuckled softly.

"I’m not a kid, old man."

"No, but you’re just as unbearable as one."

Sanji huffed, but a small smile escaped.

"Shitty old man."

"Hysterical brat."

"I heard that."

Sanji grumbled under his breath, but the knife started tapping faster and faster.

"Let him be, old man," Patty muttered, passing by with a tray.

"He’s giving birth to empty nest syndrome."

"Shut your damn mouth, Patty," Zeff and Sanji said at the same time.

Just then, the back door burst open and Luffy walked in, fishnet slung over his shoulder, basket in hand, and a smile like a happy kid.

"Sanji! Look what I brought! This is for you!"

Zeff snorted.

"And you’re not gonna greet the owner of the tavern, you ungrateful gorilla?"

"Hi, old man," Luffy replied without looking, heading straight for Sanji like he was the only person in the world.

"Thanks, Luffy," Sanji said, holding back a laugh as he inspected the fish and mussels.

Later, at lunchtime, Luffy came back and planted himself in the middle of the dining room like he owned the place.

"Old man! I want Sanji to cook for me!"

Zeff raised an eyebrow. "You’ll eat what’s on the menu or I’ll kick you out."

"No. I want whatever he makes."

Sanji, in the middle of the prep line, felt his knees go soft. Not because it bothered him, actually, it stirred that paternal instinct he got with Rosi, that urge to feed a hungry kid (even if that kid was Luffy). And the ridiculousness of the scene cracked him up.

Zeff grunted, wiped his hands on his apron, and planted a kick on Luffy’s rear that nearly sent him flying out the door.

"Out!"

"Not until he cooks for me!"

Zeff ran a hand down his face, exasperated, and looked at Sanji, who started making Provençal mussels. Once they were done, he silently brought them to the bar where Luffy was waiting.

"Here. Just this once."

"You’re the best!" Luffy said, happy as a kid.

Zeff gave Sanji a soft kick on the leg as he passed.

"Don’t spoil him," he muttered. "He’s like a stray dog, feed him once and you’ll never get rid of him."

At the bar, Luffy kept talking. And talking. And talking.

"…so we thought it was Usopp and took him on the boat to go fishing, but the next day we woke up hungover and realized it was Kaku, not Usopp. Turns out Usopp was still locked in Franky’s workshop." He laughed. "And Nami woke us up with a bucket of water. Well, freezing water."

Sanji snorted without meaning to. He didn’t say it, but he liked that stupid story. Even though he didn’t know any of them, he felt sorry for Usopp and thought what Nami-san did was totally justified.

He also liked how Luffy told it, with that unfiltered voice, like life didn’t weigh a thing.

"Do you always talk this much?" he asked, not sarcastically, just curious.

Luffy laughed.

"Want me to stop?"

Sanji thought about it for a second, spatula in hand.

"No. It’s just… I don’t know how you make me not scared."

Luffy blinked.

"Scared?"

"Yeah. You’re an alpha. I don’t know how… but talking to you doesn’t scare me. I don’t feel… I don’t know, trapped, or watched, or in danger. And that’s weird."

He shrugged, going back to the stew like it was nothing, though his chest was burning.

Luffy looked at him and smiled, lowering his voice a bit.

"Maybe it’s because I don’t want you to be scared. I just want to be around you because I like you."

He’d leaned in so close to say it, he ended up falling off the stool.

Sanji snorted a dry laugh that hurt his broken ribs but loosened his chest.

"You’re an idiot."

"Yup!" Luffy raised his hand like he was waiting for a high five.

Sanji looked at him. Really looked. His nails were bitten, his hair a mess, and he smelled like salt and sun, but not in a cloying way. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t want that kid to change a single thing.

"Alright, it’s time. Let’s go! Let’s go pick up your little sunshine!"

"Why are you coming? Don’t you have other stuff to do?" Sanji grumbled, drying his hands on the apron.

"Friends do that. They show up." He said it like it was a law. And for Luffy, it was.

Sanji was already waiting under the tree by the gate, Sora asleep against his chest in the sling, his coat buttoned only halfway so her little body wouldn’t lose warmth.

Next to him, Luffy bounced from one foot to the other.

"Why am I nervous if I’m not even here to pick anyone up?" he asked suddenly, like it was a revelation.

"I don’t know," Sanji murmured, eyes fixed on the door. "Maybe because you’re hopeless."

"Or maybe because I’m about to see the son of my new friend, the coolest cook in the world."

Sanji shivered. "Don’t say things like that."

"Why not? It’s true."

"Because I’m neither cool nor the best."

Luffy frowned. "Sanji’s so dumb sometimes. Of course you are. I don’t lie, I say what I see."

Just then, Rosinante shot out like an arrow from among the other kids.

His cheeks were red from the cold, and his smile spilled out through his eyes. He ran and launched himself into Sanji’s arms before even reaching him fully, laughing, and Sanji nearly fell on his ass.

"Daaaaad! I got into a fight at recess! But Ace defended me and Moku too, and now we’re three so we have a name: We’re the Monstrous Trio!" All in one breath.

Sanji didn’t let him finish, he grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into his chest, laughing and crying at the same time.

"Goddamn it, Rosi! Already got into a fight? You lasted half a day, huh?" He said, covering his face in kisses, ignoring the growing pain in his broken body.

"It was a small fight. And we won."

"The Trio what?" Luffy asked, crouching to his level.

"Monstrous! Because Ace says monsters don’t let themselves get stepped on."

"Well, that I believe. Monstrously annoying."

"The Monstrous Trio? Sounds awesome! I wanna be the fourth!"

"You can’t. You’re super old," Rosi said mercilessly.

"Old?! Me?!" Luffy pouted, and Ace and Moku laughed so hard they fell onto the grass.

"Kid, you’re filthy, like you rolled in the mud."

"Because I did! It was the best day of my life, dad."

Sanji swallowed. The relief was so intense it made him dizzy for a moment. It wasn’t fear.

It was emotion, the kind that hurts and heals at the same time.

"You liked it?"

Rosi gently hugged his sleeping sister, kissing her forehead.

"I love it. There’s a huge map! And letters everywhere! And Koala is super nice, like a fairy.

And when some kids said mean things about us, dad, like that you were bad or dirty or some dumb lie, I was gonna beat them up, but then Ace jumped in, threatening them with the Great Sorceress, and Moku stared at them like he was gonna turn them to dust with mouth spells. No one messed with us again!"

Sanji blinked, a mix of pride, guilt, shame, and dry pain swirling in his chest. Before he could respond, Koala approached, folder in hand and a warm smile.

"Sanji, right? I’m Koala." She extended her hand, and when Sanji took it, she gently rubbed her wrists, releasing a soft trace of pheromones, warm, sweet, kind.

Sanji blinked, surprised, eyes glossy, chest full of affection.

"Pleasure to meet you, Koala-san. I didn’t know teachers like you could exist. Tell me, dear… did he do well?"

He asked in a low voice, like he still needed confirmation, despite Rosi’s enthusiasm.

"He adapted quickly," she said sincerely, amused by Sanji’s flowery speech, she could’ve sworn ten seconds ago she heard him cursing like a dockworker.

Sanji felt the knot in his chest loosen a little.

"He’s smart, alert. You can tell he was raised with love."

"I raised him by yelling," Sanji replied, crossing his arms, then lowered his voice with a crooked smile. "But if a lady as beautiful and intelligent as you says he turned out okay… I’ll consider it. And yeah, he’s a genius, my little boy."

Koala smiled. "Well, keep yelling with confidence, it works. He’s a little behind, but he’ll catch up in no time. He’s got a good head. Just like his dad."

Sanji laughed in disbelief. "Me? No, no… I’ve got just enough brains not to trip over tables."

"I don’t believe that for a second," she said, half smiling.

Sanji bit his lip, trying to hide how much his voice was shaking. He swallowed, discreetly.

"Thank you, mademoiselle. For taking care of Rosi. For not… looking at him like the others do. And for being so gentle, I don’t know if it helps the kids, but it loosens my ribs."

Koala shook her head, amused. "Oh Sanji, Rosi doesn’t need to be taken care of. Just given space to be himself," she replied. "And thank you for trusting me. Not all omegas would, so soon."

Sanji smiled, looking at the sun setting behind the school roof. "Not all alphas act like Luffy either."

In the distance, the alpha in question shouted: "Ace, Moku, Rosi! Race to the tree! Last one’s a rotten egg and first one eats it!"

And the four of them took off, leaving behind a cloud of dust and laughter.

Koala looked at Sanji and, with that calm voice of someone who knows how hard beginnings and judgment can be, said: "Not everyone in this town thinks the same. I promise. And if you need anything, I’m here too."

Sanji closed his eyes for a moment. The shame was still there, like a warm stone in his stomach.

But her words helped keep it from crushing him.

"Thank you, Koala-san," he whispered. And he meant it. No flourishes.

Koala laughed again, this time with a sparkle in her eyes.

"You’re a sweetheart."

"And you’re a balm for my heart."

"Let’s go to Cocoyashi Market first!" Luffy interrupted, bouncing beside him. "I want to eat Nami’s mandarins. And maybe Vivi’s there, she helps out when she gets off early from city hall."

"And why do I have to meet them, huh?" Sanji muttered through his teeth.

"Because they’re my friends and you’re my friend! So they’re your friends too, got it? That’s how life works, cook!" Luffy replied, with his usual chaotic logic.

"Life doesn’t work like that, idiot," Sanji grumbled, adjusting the sling where Sora slept like a warm little bun.

"Yes it does," Rosi chimed in, with the authority only a child with six hours of school experience can have. "Ace and Moku were friends before, and then I became friends with Ace, and now we’re three. So yes, it works."

Sanji stared at him, mouth open.

"That’s how it works?"

"Yes," Luffy said, convinced. "Friendship is like bread, if you share it, there’s enough for everyone."

Sanji laughed, lowering his gaze as he felt Sora shift slightly. The baby settled without waking, and Rosi picked up a stick he liked. In the distance, the market stalls were already visible colorful awnings and the constant murmur of voices.

Cocoyashi Market sat on the far side of town, past rows of houses, opening up to kilometers of open fields behind it. It was a small maze of colors and mixed scents , but not pheromones. As Sanji was learning, releasing pheromones in public spaces was forbidden. It wasn’t uncommon for people to use suppressants to mask their scent and avoid bothering others.

The place couldn’t be called orderly, it followed the logic of artisan fairs, where every stall felt like an open home and every vendor and customer had known each other for forty years. It was a mess of voices, offers, and haggling. The paths were packed dirt, with puddles reflecting the colorful awnings. Some stalls had palm roofs, others recycled canvas, and all were decorated with paper garlands, painted seashells, or banners made from fabric scraps.

There were stalls of tropical fruits: green coconuts stacked like pyramids, bananas hanging in bunches, pineapples sliced open like flowers. Also the flavors of the countryside: mountains of green beans ready to be shelled, apples, pears.

Further in, the market grew denser: cheese stalls with wheels wrapped in cloth, salamis hanging like garlands, thick slices of cured ham, and jars of pickled mushrooms and homemade fig jam, candied pumpkin in syrup. Grappamiel and artisanal liqueurs were sold in recycled glass bottles with cork stoppers and names like “Butiá harvested under the full moon.” The vegetable stalls were a beautiful chaos: giant squashes, shiny tomatoes, onions that made you cry from a distance, and leafy greens that crunched when touched. There were also paper bags of nuts, homemade bread wrapped in embroidered napkins, and even a corner of medicinal plants where a lady offered “tea for the evil eye” and “toad oil.”

Kids ran between the stalls with open backpacks fresh from school, dogs slept under tables, cats sprawled in the sun, and adults negotiated prices with gusto. Cocoyashi Market wasn’t just a place to shop, it was a place to exist.

Sanji and Rosi couldn’t take it all in. They wanted to buy, touch, smell everything. Sanji held back. Rosi didn’t. And Luffy got chased out of several stalls with brooms for stealing fruit.

Sanji had never been anywhere like this. The murmurs in such a casual setting weighed more than the cobblestone paths between the Baratie and the school, but he wasn’t alone.

And the distraction called Monkey D. Luffy worked wonders.

"Don’t touch that, Luffy!"

"I was just smelling it!"

"Your mouth was open, you animal!"

Luffy laughed, shameless, walking with a bag of vegetables in one hand and a bitten peach in the other.

Nami’s stall was the most organized. Wooden crates held citrus fruits sorted by color and size, with handwritten labels in flawless calligraphy: Mikan Mandarin, Clementine Mandarin, Eureka Lemon, Lime-Lemon, Duncan Grapefruit. There was an old-fashioned scale that worked perfectly and gave the whole setup a vintage touch.

Two women stood there: a beta with bright orange hair braided neatly, wearing a plaid coat in yellow, white, and orange tones; and beside her, an omega with natural elegance, deep brown skin, intense eyes, and long sky-blue hair, dressed in a white jacket with a fuzzy hood. They were laughing at something, sharing a peeled fruit between them, fingers brushing. And when they looked up and saw Luffy, they greeted him with joy.

Sanji felt something tighten inside him. They were beautiful, beautiful in a serene, luminous way. Like a childhood memory recalled with melancholy. Something that reminded him of his mother, the woman who sang to him even when the world outside was cruel. And immediately, a stab of shame and sorrow hit him. He didn’t deserve that image.

Didn’t deserve to share anything with people like them, like Zeff, Patty, Carne, Luffy, Law, Chopper, Sabo, Koala… Not with his stained hands, not with a body still marked by other fingers, by whispered orders in the dark, by silences and submission that clung to him like a second skin. Not with the invisible label that burned him: omega, two pups, no alpha. A walking failure.

"Nami! Vivi!" Luffy shouted, dragging Sanji by the arm, oblivious to or maybe aware of the silence settling over the omega. "I brought Sanji! He’s got two kids and turns red if you say something nice!"

Sanji looked ready to turn into a pillar of salt. He dropped his gaze quickly, hiding his eyes behind the curls of his fringe. His face burned, and not from the winter sun, which still hit hard. How could he show up in front of them like this?

But Vivi spoke first, with a sweetness that warmed his soul.

"You’re the new chef at the Baratie? Nice to meet you."

"Thanks for keeping Luffy company," added Nami, smiling. "Sometimes it’s like having a big kid around."

"Hey!" Luffy protested. "I’m his first friend!"

Vivi giggled. She smelled… warm, dry, like the scent left on skin after walking under desert sun.

Like hot sand and blue jasmine. She approached slowly, with the kind of calm omegas use not to startle a wounded omega, and extended her hand, wrist exposed.

Sanji hesitated, body tense, but returned the greeting respectfully. The pheromone exchange was soft, warm, almost maternal. Sora sighed in the sling, and Sanji unconsciously lowered his shoulders.

"What a beautiful baby," Vivi whispered, reaching toward Sora. "May I hold her for a moment?"

Sanji swallowed. A protective impulse flared in his chest. But Vivi had that light, like Luffy’s. Warm and innocent. Not demanding or imposing, just present. This was new to him: being asked, not having his daughter snatched away and never seen again. Just… asked. As if he could say no without consequence.

"Just for a bit, mellorine," he murmured.

"Of course," she said with a smile.

Rosinante peeked out from behind him, hood up, holding a folded piece of paper.

"She’s my sister. Her name’s Sora. She sleeps all the time ‘cause she’s little and drinks milk!"

"Nice to meet you, Sora. And you are?"

"Rosinante. I’m the big brother. I started school today," he said, fascinated, with the purest smile Vivi had ever seen on a child talking about having to go to school.

Meanwhile, Sanji carefully loosened the sling knot and handed over Sora.

She opened her eyes for a moment, yawned, and nestled against Vivi without protest. As if she trusted her too.

"She’s so tiny…" Vivi whispered, stroking her cheek.

Sanji swallowed again. His eyes burned. He turned slightly, looking away and ran into chaos.

"Luffy, no! That’s gonna fall!" Nami shouted, catching her mandarin pyramid just before it collapsed.

"I just wanted to see if the one in the middle was sweeter," he said, offended.

"I’ve never seen a creature like this. Not even in books about mythical animals," Vivi murmured, stroking Sora’s little ears like she couldn’t believe something like her existed.

"She’s… too much for someone like me," Sanji said, watching Rosinante help Nami and Luffy (now sporting a bump courtesy of Nami) pick up the fruit. "Both of them are."

Vivi looked up gently. "You’re a perfect family, the three of you. You deserve each other."

Nami peeked over her girlfriend’s shoulder to see the little fox.

"Ohh… by Nika," Nami whispered, eyes shining.

Luffy grinned.

"Vivi always says nice things. And Nami acts like she doesn’t care, but she does. But she still negotiates like a pirate. Oh! Can I eat this?"

"That has a price, idiot!" Nami snapped.

Just then, a woman in glasses walking by muttered loudly, "Poor creatures, no alpha to guide them."

Sanji tensed, shoulders rising reflexively as if waiting to be kicked out, as if that beautiful moment would vanish like smoke. Because he didn’t deserve it. He already knew that. But that thought didn’t get far because the hour of self-loathing was interrupted by the beta.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, KALIFA?!" Nami shouted without hesitation, her voice booming like thunder. "Why don’t you shove your comments up your ass, you whore?!"

The woman vanished, red-faced, like a shadow at noon. Sanji blinked. He was red (or crimson). He’d never seen a woman curse, let alone to defend him.

"And if anyone else wants to comment, I’ve got fruit… and excellent aim," Nami added, turning back to the market with one eyebrow raised.

"You’re not gonna hit her with…?" Sanji asked, still stunned.

"Not yet. But I’ve got it ready," Nami said, gripping an apple like a projectile.

Luffy, sitting and eating a mandarin (stolen, of course), turned around mid-chew.

"Don’t mess with Sanji or the little ones, okay? Or you’ll have to deal with me! And Nami! And Vivi! And Law and Chopper. And the old guys at the Baratie. And Rosi, who knows how to negotiate now. And Sora, who has magical tails!"

Sanji let out a soft, dry laugh, the kind that had been stuck in his chest for years.

"You’re all insane…"

"So?" Luffy asked, with a smile so warm it melted any armor. "Isn’t that better?"

Just then, Chopper appeared from one of the market’s side streets. He had his backpack and a couple of herb packets tucked under his arm. When he saw Sanji standing there nursing Sora, holding a cloth bag of fruit Vivi had given him, Rosi’s backpack and hat, and laughing with Luffy as if he weren’t anemic, torn up, stabbed and infected, with broken ribs, he threw his hooves to his head.

"Sanji!" Chopper exclaimed. "I told you to rest!! What part of ‘absolute rest’ is this? You’ve got a fever, a wound that hasn’t closed, fractures, by the gods! You’re gonna collapse. I mean it. You can’t keep pushing your body like this. Or your mind. You’re a person."

"And who’s gonna do it if not me, Chopper?" the blond replied, with a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "If I let go of anything, the whole world falls on me."

"Do you hear yourself?! Your eyes are red, you haven’t slept, you haven’t eaten, and you’re carrying two lives like a pack mule! You’re not a mule! You’re a person! You’re my friend!"

Sanji lowered his gaze. He didn’t say anything. That word again—“friend.” That care, directed at him. He liked it. And it hurt. And he didn’t know what to do with it.

"Let me help with something, yeah?" Luffy said softly, placing the mandarin next to Sanji.

Sanji looked at him. That Luffy… Same smile as always, but his eyes a little more serious. In that moment, he wasn’t a kid, he was an alpha. But not the kind that scared or demanded. He offered. A “let me help,” not a “step aside, useless omega.”

"Hold this," Sanji said at last, handing him the fruit bag.

Chopper sighed, resigned, then looked at Sanji with that mix of tenderness and fury only caretakers have. "Being around people who don’t look at you like you’re diseased isn’t a bad thing, Sanji… And let yourself be cared for. You could’ve asked Luffy or Rosi to help. Or sat down to nurse comfortably."

Chopper, calmer now, extended his wrist to greet Sanji omega to omega, and then Vivi.

"And you can sit now," Nami interrupted, appearing with an empty wooden crate she set up as a bench under the awning.

Sanji felt like crying. But he didn’t. He just… sat down.

Vivi approached with a glass bottle wrapped in cloth. "It’s lemon and ginger water. And if you want me to hold Sora for a bit, I’d be happy to."

Rosi didn’t interrupt, but he stayed alert. He liked, really liked, when people pampered his dad. It felt good that others saw what he saw every day: that his dad was the best dad in the universe.

While Chopper checked Sanji’s eyes and tongue like he was a horse, and took his temperature very professionally (with the back of his hoof), Rosi was already onto something else: he’d pulled a crumpled drawing from his backpack and was offering it to Nami.

"Hey, Nami, I’ll trade this for a mandarin. It’s a limited edition, I made it myself."

Sanji spun around, heart in his throat.

"Rosinante, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" he growled through his teeth.

"Fair trade, dad. I didn’t steal it—I asked first," he replied, pure cheek.

Nami crouched down, amused. "And what does this masterpiece depict?"

"My dad cooking. Here he’s got eight arms ‘cause he cooks fast, and here’s a flying chancla in case I mess up."

"Looks like a depressed octopus," Nami said, and Rosi looked at her, scandalized. "It’s my artistic style!"

Vivi laughed. Nami did too, though she tried to hide it with a fake sigh.

"Alright, mini merchant," Nami said. "Today it’s worth one mandarin. And if you draw one of me and my girlfriend at the beach, I’ll give you a pear."

Sanji wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"Rosi, for all the gods of the sea and sky, don’t bother Miss Nami-san who—"

"Deal!"

Sanji had already given up.

"I don’t know him. He’s not my kid. Where did this little rascal come from?"

Luffy clapped enthusiastically.

"See, Sanji! We’re all friends!"

The market kept buzzing around them, but in that little corner under the awning, the world had softened. Luffy and Chopper were playing checkers (with Luffy cheating), Vivi had just handed Sora back for nursing, Rosi was still negotiating his drawings like he was at an art auction, and Sanji, though he’d never admit it, felt a little less alone.

"Listen, Rosi," Nami said, crouched at his level with a mandarin in one hand and the drawing in the other. "If someone gives you something, you have to make sure it’s worth what you offered. Don’t give your art away. Got it?"

"What if I really like that person?" Rosi asked seriously, arms crossed.

"Then you charge more, because affection costs extra," Nami replied, winking.

Vivi laughed behind the mountain of lemon crates, and Sanji looked the other way, as if ignoring that business logic could save him from the embarrassment.

And just then, a deep, lazy voice cut through the air.

"Don’t teach the kid stuff like that, witch."

*

**

***

He’d come by to drop off some parts Franky had asked for, and when he saw the commotion at the fruit stall, Luffy, Chopper, Nami, and Vivi all gathered, he wandered over with the casual laziness of someone who knew everyone… and who was kind of obligated to greet his pack, because otherwise the ruthless witch would raise his debt for not buying anything (yeah, he’d lose money either way).

The first thing he saw was Nami trying to teach a scruffy blond kid who didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. That couldn’t be good, she didn’t give advice for free. When he tuned in with his tiger ears and heard what she was saying, he had to step in. He didn’t know where the kid’s parents were, but he couldn’t let that slide. Plus, it was a great excuse to mess with his friend.

"Zoro! This brat is emptying my stall with ‘art trades’!"

Rosi looked at him with bright eyes and childish suspicion. Zoro winked.

"You’re bold, kiddo. I like you."

The tone wasn’t mocking. It was relaxed, amused. Rosi puffed up like a peacock.

But Sanji only saw an intimidating alpha approaching his son and blinking weirdly. Without knowing the context, his body reacted before his brain. He stepped forward, ready to fight if needed.

"And who the hell do you think you are, getting that close to someone else’s kid?"

Zoro turned slowly, fangs bared, ready to respond to that challenging tone, and then he really looked. Or rather, he smelled. A little and a lot of both.

The omega was way thinner than he liked to see in someone carrying a baby. Golden curly hair and… wait, were those curly eyebrows? He was tall for an omega, almost alpha height. Dark circles under his eyes, and his posture screamed "take one more step and I’ll break your teeth." And those eyes, those eyes burned like fire. And that scent hit him like a mule kick to the soul: omega exhausted, tense, wounded, postpartum, old fear. That smell of "I’ve been surviving since birth, pal, don’t mess with me." And underneath it all, hidden like a stolen candy in a pocket: tenderness.

Zoro was good at reading his pack, their emotions, happy, anxious, stressed… But this omega? He could read him like a book.

Sanji felt himself being smelled, really smelled. Not like when Law or Chopper did it. Not his skin, not his pheromones, not his blood, him. His essence. His soul.

Zoro smelled his exhaustion, his fear, the omega dad instinct pouring out of his pores. His fierceness to protect his two kids. His stubbornness, like someone holding the universe together with wire.

Luffy raised his hand, cheerful.

"Zoro! That’s Sanji. Sanji, that’s Zoro and…"

Zoro didn’t look at him. Didn’t hear whatever the gorilla was babbling. Because his eyes were locked on the guy in front of him.

Sanji, who had first confronted him, now saw him, really saw him. And smelled him (the omega screamed internally because he never smells anyone and this mosshead smelled like steel and home). He swallowed so hard Vivi heard it. He felt a pull in his chest. Not the learned fear of "alpha: danger, danger, danger", but something else. Something way worse. Or way better. Like a bomb that smiles before it explodes.

That guy made him tremble. But… he didn’t want to run. His body wanted to get closer. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? No one had ever taught him to want an alpha, only to obey them. In fact, he’d never felt desire before. He didn’t even know what this feeling was, but it was more like: “I want to grow old with you in a cabin in the woods and raise fifteen pups together.”

He was a tall alpha, sun-kissed skin, green hair messy like he didn’t give a damn about the world (spoiler: he didn’t). Wore a green haramaki and carried three swords at his waist and a toolbox over his shoulder. He was muscular, ridiculously muscular, with a scar slashing across his left eye and a gaze so intense it knocked the breath out of Sanji’s chest. He was everything Sanji hated in alphas,  but for some fucked-up reason, his instincts didn’t reject him.

They sought him out. Sora, sleeping peacefully in his arms, let out a tiny sigh, like a “mmm,” and wiggled her two little golden tails.

Sanji stared at her, horrified.

“What are you doing, mon chéri?”

She smelled the green-haired alpha the same way she smelled her blond omega, home. She found it comforting. She snuggled deeper into her papa’s chest, and her tails flared open.

Zoro looked at her. And his expression changed. Not to “aww, what a cute baby.” No, no… Something strange. A look that said: “These pups are mine too. I have to protect them, even though I just met them and have no idea how to react to this.”

This was the omega the whole town talked about. The one who arrived with two pups and no alpha or pack, like a living blasphemy in this conservative corner. The one old Zeff was backing. The same one Luffy wouldn’t shut up about, how good he cooked, drilling it into Zoro’s ears.

Zoro couldn’t stop looking at him. And he noticed: this omega didn’t carry the exhaustion of a new parent. It was something deeper. Like he hadn’t slept peacefully in his entire damn life. Like he’d lived so long on alert that even silence made him suspicious. He didn’t look weak, on the contrary, he looked like a wall that hadn’t crumbled even under earthquakes. And that hurt. But it also made Zoro furious, an irrational rage. Because no omega should carry that look of “I have to endure everything because I was born an omega.” That’s when instinct kicked in. Not the alpha reflex to protect his own, like with Vivi and Robin when that bastard got cocky with them… This was something else.

Zoro felt the primal, ancestral, wild, stupid urge to grab that omega, wrap him up, flood the air with calming pheromones, in the clothes, in the bones, in the ghosts. To stand between him and the whole damn world. He wanted to hold him, shelter him, pamper him, honor the life he’d brought into the world, train the older pup, lull the little fox, give them safety. Because no omega should hold a pup in his arms with his heart on guard, and defend his other pup from a potential alpha threat.

Zoro didn’t know his name. But his beast did. It was like coming home after years at sea.

The air turned HEAVY.

“Ohhh,” said Luffy, seeing things he didn’t say. “It happened.”

Nami pointed a mandarin at him. “What happened?”

“That,” Luffy said, pointing at Zoro and Sanji like he was pointing at a train crash.

Rosi, oblivious to his dad’s internal storm and the mossy alpha, leaned forward, completely fascinated.

“THREE SWORDS!!!” he shouted like he’d just seen Chopper Man and Sogeking at the same time. “Look, dad, look! Three swords and a giant box! He’s a warrior, a real samurai! So cool! Do you really use them? Do you cut stuff? People?”

“…hi,” Zoro said, ignoring the kid.

Sanji felt his knees go weak. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that a single “hi” hit harder than a lifetime of orders and abuse.

“…hi,” he replied, and his voice came out softer than he meant. So soft it embarrassed him.

In the background, Rosi kept talking, first with excitement, then frustration, then the logic of a kid abandoned in the middle of a soap opera. “How many people have you killed?” “Can I borrow one?” “Can I borrow one?” “Can someone pay attention to me, damn it?” “PAY ATTENTION, YOU MOSSY OLD MAN!” “Dad, I’m dyeing my hair blue.” “I’m having alfajores for dinner.” “I’m teaching Sora to say ‘whore.’”

Zoro swallowed hard, because the voice, that voice, that omega, was everything. And then, without meaning to, he released pheromones. Pheromones of deep calm. Sora made a happy little noise. Rosi went quiet, for the first time in ten minutes. Sanji felt the air wrap around him like a hug and it seemed to come from that alpha. Could an alpha do that with his scent?

“And who the hell are you?” Sanji asked, trying to sound sharp, sarcastic, elegant, anything but “I want to die in your pecs.”

“Zoro,” he replied. “Blacksmith.”

And without thinking, he added:

“Yours.”

The silence was so thick you could hear Luffy eating an entire mandarin, peel and all, and Rosi gasping in shock.

Sanji’s eyes flew open, and blood started dripping from his nose at the unexpected comment. To be fair, the mental image of himself buried in those pecs wasn’t helping.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY, MOSSHEAD?!" he barked, completely red, one second away from kicking him in the face.

Zoro blinked, or maybe winked, it could’ve been either. He was just as red.

"I thought it really hard. Sorry. I think it slipped out. Not my fault, pretty brows."

Oh no. Shit. He’d messed up again in under two sentences. Better shut up now, he couldn’t trust himself.

"Excuse me?!" Sanji said. "WHAT THE HELL?!" he shouted, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding.

Chopper, who’d been whispering with Nami and Vivi about the unfolding drama, sprang into action the moment he saw the omega bleeding.

"Nasal bleeding from emotional overload! This is serious!!" he cried, climbing a crate of lemons with his med kit in hand.

"IT’S NOT SERIOUS, IT’S HUMILIATING!" Sanji shrieked, while Chopper pressed a tissue to his face and checked his pulse like he was about to faint.

Zoro stood very still. As if staying motionless could undo what he’d just said. All he could think was: What the hell did that omega do to me?

Luffy beamed. "I told you it would happen! Zoro liked Sanji’s scent, because Sanji smells like a nest!"

"I DO NOT SMELL LIKE A NEST!" Sanji yelled, fully surrendered to the chaos, clutching Sora, trying to recover the control that was clearly at the bottom of the sea along with both their dignity.

But Rosi, the little traitor, chimed in:

"Dad, don’t be mean, the samurai’s cool! And he smells nice. Is he gonna live with us?"

"Rosinante! What did I tell you about saying things without a filter, huh?!" The omega looked like a snowstorm with fire inside, brows boiling, scowl blazing. "I swear if you say one more word, your butt’s staying warm ‘til spring!" He pointed a finger, red to the tips of his hair.

"I didn’t say anything! I didn’t say anything! I’m mute!" Rosi shouted, hiding behind Nami with a nervous giggle.

Zoro let out a short laugh, and Vivi covered her mouth to keep her own from escaping.

The green-haired alpha, arms crossed and a crooked smile slipping out on its own, muttered under his breath:

"Shit… even scolding, he’s cute."

Sanji, for his part, couldn’t move. Part of him wanted to tell that alpha to go to hell. The other… wanted to hear that tone again. Soft. Warm. Shit, he was bleeding again.

"Don’t tell me how to raise my kid," Sanji snapped, voice rising without thinking. He didn’t know why the hell he was talking like this, that tone got under his skin. And he loved it.

"Relax, bullseye brows," Zoro said, raising his hands, amused. "No one told you how. I liked how you put him in his place. Takes guts to do that."

Sanji froze. An alpha was… complimenting him? Him? Without mocking, without a smug grin?

And Sora, just as treacherous as her brother, opened her eyes and reached one tiny hand toward Zoro.

The alpha, who couldn’t walk straight without getting lost, moved like his nervous system had a built-in soulmate GPS, straight toward the pup calling to him.

Sanji saw him move, saw him look at Sora, and panicked. His daughter wanted to touch that alpha. And he wanted to touch him too. More than touch him… ugh, none of these obscene thoughts were helping the nosebleed.

"Don’t touch her!" he growled, louder than he’d ever allowed himself to be in front of an alpha. "What the hell is wrong with you two?!"

Zoro stopped instantly, lowering his gaze to the baby peeking out from the sling and coat. The sour scent of fear coming off the omega, clearly trying to suppress it, hurt. Because Zoro didn’t want to be a threat. He wanted to be the last reason an omega ever felt anxious. And it hurt that this one thought he had to hide what he felt by suppressing his scent. His expression softened, but his words didn’t.

The blond wasn’t someone to pity, and Zoro wasn’t going to treat him any differently. Because he was his equal.

"Chill out, curly brows. I wasn’t gonna touch her. She’s a beautiful pup," he murmured.

Sanji froze.

"What did you say?"

"Curly brows. You’ve got a spiral on your forehead. Have they always been like that or did someone curl them with pliers?"

And that was like lighting a barrel of gunpowder.

"You moss-covered walking disaster! All you need is a fern to complete the garden!"

Zoro laughed.

Sanji stared at him, confused. Because the alpha in front of him… was smiling. Not with mockery. Not with malice. He wasn’t releasing pheromones. He wasn’t humiliating him. He didn’t get mad when Sanji insulted him.

He smiled like someone who’d just been challenged and decided they wanted to play.

"You heard that, right?" Nami whispered to Vivi. "Zoro flirting?"

"I… I don’t know," Vivi murmured, cheeks flushed with tenderness.

Rosi, meanwhile, had snuck behind Nami, watching everything with wide eyes.

Zoro took a step back.

"Well, yeah. I’m off. Might… drop by tomorrow. See you, curly brows."

Sanji scowled.

"Go to hell, bargain-bin swordsman!"

Rosi shouted “see you tomorrow!” after the alpha, Nami choked on a laugh, Vivi poorly hid a sigh of wonder, Chopper wanted to run tests on Sanji for the unexplained bleeding, and Luffy just yelled, “See ya, Zoro!”

When had this town gotten so interesting?