Chapter Text
Office of the Special Prosecutor
Enies Lobby
By eight in the morning, Sanji was already at his desk. The office floor had been quieter when he'd arrived, but the building was waking quickly now. Doors opened and closed along the corridor, assistants moved between conference rooms with files tucked against their chests, and somewhere downstairs the first court sessions of the morning were already beginning. Through the windows, Enies Lobby was washed in pale morning light, the courthouse complex gradually filling with the movement of lawyers, clerks, police officers, and witnesses. The office's scent-neutralization system had been running since before dawn, keeping the air neutral despite the number of people already moving through the floor.
Sanji had been in his suit for nearly an hour. His hearing file lay open in front of him, divided into sections with colored tabs. Discovery requests occupied one side of the desk. Draft subpoenas sat beside them. A printed copy of the preliminary conference order had been annotated in the margins, while a legal pad carried a short list of requests he intended to narrow before the judge made him narrow them himself.
Nami appeared at his doorway with a tablet in one hand and a thin folder tucked beneath the other arm. "GLMA sent the supplemental records."
Sanji looked up. "Anything missing?"
Nami walked in and placed the folder beside his hearing file. "Two categories." She opened the folder and checked the index. "Secondary-gender safety assessments and post-market correspondence."
Sanji's eyes dropped to the list. "How far back?"
"Safety assessments go back to the original approval period. The post-market correspondence is less complete."
"How incomplete?"
"Enough that I wouldn't call it complete."
Sanji leaned back slightly. "That's not a number."
"I know." Nami tapped the tablet. "I've asked them to identify everything they haven't produced."
Before Sanji could answer, Robin stepped into the office. She carried no stack of files. Just a slim folder and a cup of tea, both held with the same unhurried ease she seemed to bring to everything. "The gap may be more useful than the missing documents themselves."
Sanji looked toward her. Robin placed the folder on the desk and opened it to a marked section.
"There's an eight-month period in the regulatory correspondence where nothing has been produced."
Nami glanced over. "Nothing?"
"Nothing from the GLMA archive we've received."
Sanji reached for the folder. "How long after approval?"
Robin gave him the date. "About two years."
He scanned the timeline. "Eight months?"
"Eight months."
Sanji's thumb rested against the edge of the page. "Any explanation?"
"Not yet."
He looked up. "Then that's one of the things we ask for."
Robin nodded. There was no need to say more. Sanji turned back to the hearing file.
The morning conference wasn't about proving the case. Not yet. The judge had limited the session to the parties' preliminary discovery disputes and the scope of the government's requests. They needed access to the records before they could establish what those records meant.
He ran a finger down the list. The preservation order was first. Then the scope of the subpoenas covering Fullbright's internal pharmacovigilance material. Access to prescribing physicians and identified witnesses. The outstanding GLMA records. Internal communications concerning adverse-event reporting. Manufacturing and post-market safety documentation.
He made a small correction beside one of the requests. "We narrow the physician subpoenas."
Nami looked over. "To the treating physicians?"
"And anyone directly involved in the relevant safety assessments."
"Not the entire clinical network?"
"Not unless we can show why we need them."
Robin nodded. "That should make the judge happier."
"I'm not here to make the judge happy."
Nami's mouth twitched. "No. You're here to make the judge think you're reasonable."
Sanji looked at her. "Same thing."
"Not remotely."
A quiet knock sounded against the open door.
Koby stepped inside, carrying a thin stack of court notices. Unlike the others, he looked as though he'd been awake for several hours already. His tie was properly knotted this time, though the papers in his hands were arranged with enough care to suggest he'd reorganized them at least twice on the way upstairs.
"The court clerk sent the updated schedule." He placed the notices on the corner of Sanji's desk. "The preliminary conference is still at nine. The judge gave both sides forty minutes."
Sanji glanced at the clock. "We won't waste twenty."
Koby smiled nervously. "I thought you'd say that." He opened the top notice. "There's one other procedural point. The judge wants both parties to identify which discovery requests are genuinely disputed before the hearing begins."
Sanji nodded. "Good."
Koby looked relieved.
"That's all?"
"That's all." Koby hesitated. "Should I stay?"
Sanji glanced at the stack in his hand. "You've done your part."
The relief on Koby's face was immediate. "Right." He turned toward the door. Then stopped. "Oh. The clerk also confirmed that opposing counsel has checked in."
Sanji didn't look up from the document. "We know."
Koby nodded quickly. "Right."
He left.
For a moment, the office was quiet again.
Sanji looked down at the hearing file. The discovery requests had been reduced to a single page. That was better. The case itself was not. He closed the GLMA folder and reached for the witness list. Eleven names. He knew several of them now without needing to read the corresponding files.
Rebecca.
Kaya.
Bepo.
The names no longer sat on the page as anonymous entries attached to jurisdictions and report numbers. He had spent enough hours inside their medical histories to know where certain timelines broke, where prescriptions continued, where warnings had been recorded and where they hadn't.
He didn't linger. He simply checked the list against the documents in front of him, making sure nothing had been omitted before the hearing.
Then his eyes returned briefly to the line beneath the witness list.
Fullbright Biotech — Defendant/Corporate Respondent.
Below it, the name of their counsel. Sanji closed the file. The movement was quiet but final.
Nami gathered her tablet.
Robin picked up the GLMA folder.
Koby was already waiting outside with the court notices.
Sanji stood and adjusted his cuffs before reaching for the hearing file. He adjusted his cuffs, then checked the edge of the patch beneath his collar out of habit.
"All right."
He looked once around the office. Everything they needed was in their hands. Everything they didn't have yet was now on the list. He stepped into the corridor. The hearing was waiting.
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Sea Train to Enies Lobby
The sea train had been running for nearly twenty minutes when Zoro turned the page for the third time.
Morning light moved across the window in broken bands as the train followed the elevated tracks away from Water Seven. Canals and warehouses gradually gave way to stretches of open water, the city shrinking behind them beneath a pale blue sky. Zoro sat by the window with the hearing file open across his lap. He had already read the materials twice before leaving the office. This wasn't another first pass. He wasn't looking for facts he had missed or trying to learn the case on the way to court. He was checking the points he intended to make that morning, comparing Fullbright's latest production with the requests filed by the prosecution and marking the places where their positions were likely to collide.
The hearing itself was limited. Discovery scope. Preservation. Access to records. Nothing that would decide the merits of the investigation. Those were the hearings that could become dangerous if handled badly. A judge didn't need to agree with either side to make a case more difficult. Sometimes all it took was one request that was too broad, one document that couldn't be explained, one argument that sounded more interested in winning than finding what the court had actually ordered.
Zoro turned another page.
Across the aisle, Perona was scrolling through her phone with increasing irritation. Monet sat beside her, reviewing a printed copy of the supplemental production. She had marked several pages with small adhesive tabs, each one placed with the same precision Zoro had seen in the conference room at Dracule & Partners.
"The lead prosecutor is an omega," Monet said without looking up.
Zoro's eyes remained on the brief. "Okay."
Perona glanced over. "That's all you have?"
Zoro turned another page. "Should I have more?"
Monet closed the folder in front of her. "Most of the complainants are omegas."
Zoro looked up then.
She continued in the same measured tone. "The defense could argue personal bias. The prosecutor shares the same secondary gender as the majority of the alleged victims."
"They can argue whatever they want."
Perona's mouth curved. "And?"
Zoro looked back at the page. "They'll have to prove it."
Monet studied him for a moment before reopening her folder. "Fair."
The train rocked gently beneath them as it passed over a long stretch of water.
Perona went back to her phone. For perhaps thirty seconds, the carriage was quiet. Then she looked up again. "You know you'll probably enjoy this."
Zoro didn't lift his eyes. "What?"
"A prosecutor who actually reads his own case." His finger stopped at the bottom of the page.
Across from him, Monet glanced briefly toward Perona. "You've already decided he's good?"
Perona shrugged. "I've read his filings."
Zoro finally looked up from the brief.
Perona smiled.
"Stop talking."
She returned to her phone, apparently satisfied. Monet's mouth twitched. Zoro lowered his eyes again.
The filing in question lay open beneath his hand. He'd read Sanji's requests carefully the night before. There were no broad accusations in them. No attempt to turn every missing document into evidence of misconduct. The requests kept narrowing toward the same things: what Fullbright had known, when it had known it, what had been reported internally, and what had eventually reached the regulator. That was useful. More importantly, it was disciplined.
A prosecutor could make a case look impressive by asking for everything. A good prosecutor knew what he actually needed.
Zoro made a small mark beside one paragraph.
He didn't know Vinsmoke Sanji. Personally. They had never appeared on opposite sides of a hearing. They had never argued across a courtroom or exchanged a filing directly. But the legal community was small enough that reputations traveled. He'd seen Sanji's name on motions before. He'd read a few of his opinions in other matters. There was a certain economy to the way he built an argument. He didn't waste pages proving things the record already established. When he wanted something, the request was usually tied to a specific factual question. That was enough.
If the prosecutor was good, then he was good. Zoro had no reason to care beyond that.
He closed the brief and looked out the window. The train had left Water Seven far behind now. Enies Lobby's approach was visible in the distance, its government buildings rising above the surrounding water with the courthouse complex at the center. He had been there often enough that the route required no thought. He knew which entrance was faster in the mornings. Which security checkpoint moved quickly. Which corridor became congested when several hearings were scheduled at the same time.
The train slowed as it approached the station.
Perona slipped her phone into her coat pocket. "Finally."
Monet closed her folder and gathered the documents into a neat stack.
Zoro secured the hearing file with a black elastic band and stood.
The station doors opened onto the cool morning air. They moved with the rest of the passengers toward the courthouse district, passing through the security entrance without slowing for long. Credentials were checked, names confirmed, bags scanned. Their government-issued identification displayed the usual information, including secondary gender, without anyone paying it particular attention.
Inside the courthouse, the scent-neutralization system was stronger than in most public buildings. The air carried that familiar clean absence of scent, almost clinical in its neutrality. Zoro barely noticed it. Neither did Perona.
They passed beneath the wide archway leading toward the judicial wing. Lawyers and court staff moved through the corridors in steady streams, some carrying case files, others speaking quietly into phones as they hurried toward elevators.
At the far end of the hall, several people from the Office of the Special Prosecutor were gathering near the courtroom entrance. Zoro recognized the insignia on their credentials. He slowed for half a second. He hadn't seen the prosecutor yet. He didn't need to. He knew he'd be there.
Zoro checked his watch.
Nine twelve. Plenty of time.
He glanced once at the hearing file under his arm, then closed the last page he'd been reviewing.
"Let's go."
Perona followed.
Monet fell into step beside him.
Ahead, the courtroom doors opened. And somewhere beyond them was the prosecutor whose filings had been occupying more of Zoro's attention than he cared to admit.
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The Preliminary Conference
Enies Lobby Courthouse
9:16 A.M.
Sanji had just reached the end of the corridor when he saw him. Roronoa Zoro was coming out of the judicial wing with two women from Dracule & Partners, a hearing file tucked beneath one arm. Sanji recognized him before he had time to think about it. Sanji had seen photographs of him before. The photographs had made him look harder to read. In person, Sanji wasn't sure that had been an improvement.
Zoro stood a few feet away with the same hearing file Sanji had seen attached to the firm's filings. It was thinner than Sanji had expected. Several tabs marked its edges, but there was no loose stack of papers, no frantic last-minute review, nothing that suggested he was still trying to familiarize himself with the case. He looked as though he had already done that somewhere else. That was the first thing Sanji noticed.
The second was how little Zoro seemed to move. He stood with an easy stillness that might have looked careless on someone less attentive. His posture wasn't rigid, but his eyes moved constantly—taking in the courtroom entrance, the clerk, the people around him, the documents in Sanji's hand. He didn't appear nervous. He appeared ready.
Two women stood a short distance behind him. One carried a slim portfolio; the other had her attention fixed on her phone. Sanji didn't know either of them yet, though he assumed from their proximity and the absence of any unnecessary movement that they were part of Zoro's legal team. No introductions came. Zoro didn't seem interested in making them. Sanji appreciated that.
They had crossed paths before. Courthouse corridors. Bar association events. Once across the lobby of a regional court where neither had been involved in the same matter. Always at a distance. A nod. A brief acknowledgment. Nothing that had ever required more.
This time, Sanji stopped. "Roronoa."
Zoro's gaze settled on him. "Vinsmoke."
The recognition was immediate.
"We've crossed paths before," Sanji said.
"A few times."
Sanji's eyes dropped briefly to the file beneath Zoro's arm. The tabs were familiar. He had seen the same structure in the defense filings. So Zoro had brought only what he needed. Not everything he had. Just what he expected to use. Sanji filed that away. Then Zoro's gaze shifted to the file in his own hand.
"You're Fullbright's counsel."
"And you're the prosecutor."
Neither statement was really a question. They already knew. But seeing the opposing counsel in person changed the shape of the case in a small, practical way. Until now, Roronoa Zoro had been a name beneath a firm's letterhead. Now he was standing across from him.
Sanji had expected the reputation to announce itself somehow. It didn't. There was no theatrical confidence, no deliberate attempt to occupy the corridor. Zoro simply stood there as though he had already decided there was nothing here that required his attention twice. Which, somehow, made him more convincing.
A court clerk appeared at the courtroom entrance. "Counsel. We're ready."
Sanji turned toward the door.
As they moved, the courtroom opened and a brief current of cooler air passed through the corridor. The courthouse's scent-neutralization system was stronger inside the judicial wing, stripping the crowded hallway down to the clean, almost sterile absence Sanji had long since stopped noticing.
Then the airflow shifted.
For barely a second, something remained beneath it.
Alpha.
Sanji registered it before he consciously identified it.
His gaze moved toward Zoro.
Zoro's had already moved toward him.
The recognition lasted no more than a second. Neither reacted. There was nothing to acknowledge.
Sanji turned back toward the courtroom. "We should go."
"Yeah."
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The preliminary conference began minutes later. Once Judge Issho Fujitora had taken the bench and the appearances were entered into the record, the room settled into the particular silence Sanji knew from years of hearings. No one was there to tell a story yet. No witnesses. No testimony. Just lawyers, documents, and a judge deciding how much information each side was entitled to see.
Sanji rose and opened the relevant section of his hearing file.
"The prosecution is seeking a preservation order covering Fullbright Biotech's internal pharmacovigilance records, adverse-event reporting, communications concerning Suppress-X's safety profile, and correspondence with the Grand Line Medicines Authority."
He kept his voice measured. The request had already been narrowed twice before they entered the courtroom. He knew exactly which categories mattered and which ones could be defended if the judge questioned their breadth. Across the table, Zoro listened without looking down at his notes. When Sanji finished, he waited.
Zoro stood. "The defense doesn't object to preservation." His tone was even. "Fullbright has no interest in destroying or altering records relevant to the investigation."
Sanji watched him. A reasonable concession. Cleanly phrased. Almost reassuring. He knew better than to mistake it for generosity. Zoro wasn't giving anything away that Fullbright could reasonably afford to give away. No corporation facing a criminal investigation could credibly argue that it intended to destroy evidence. The useful part of the statement came next.
"We object to the scope."
There it was. Sanji's eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction. He had read Zoro's filings. He knew the objection would come. But hearing the lawyer frame it in person was different. Zoro wasn't trying to make the request sound improper. He was going to make it smaller.
Sanji rested one hand against the table. "Which portion?"
A simple question. But it forced an answer.
Zoro's gaze met his. "Communications."
"Between whom?"
"Any employee or contractor who may have discussed Suppress-X."
Sanji glanced briefly toward the judge before looking back at Zoro. "That's not the request."
"I understand." Zoro didn't hesitate. "The request includes communications reasonably related to adverse-event reporting, regulatory concerns, safety assessments, and internal decisions concerning the product. Across the entire company. Across the departments responsible for those functions."
Sanji studied him for a moment. The answer had come too quickly to be improvised. He'd already separated the request into categories. He knew exactly what he intended to challenge. That explained the thin hearing file. The tabs. The lack of loose papers. He hadn't brought everything. He'd brought what he expected to need.
Sanji turned one page in his own file. "The preservation request is limited to records reasonably connected to Suppress-X's safety, reporting, and regulatory history."
"Your definition of reasonably connected is broader than ours."
"Then let's be specific."
Zoro waited.
Sanji looked down at the chronology in front of him. "The prosecution is not seeking every internal communication mentioning the product. We're seeking communications concerning adverse events, internal safety reviews, regulatory reporting, and decisions regarding whether those matters required escalation."
Zoro's expression remained unreadable. "That's still potentially thousands of employees."
"Not if the departments are properly defined."
"Which they aren't."
Sanji looked up. "Which departments do you believe are outside the scope?"
"Marketing. General sales. Regional distribution. Human resources."
“We haven't requested those.”
Zoro paused. “Not explicitly.”
Sanji almost smiled. There it was. He had found the actual objection. Not the existence of the preservation order. Not even the categories of documents. The possibility that a broad definition might sweep unrelated personnel into the obligation.
Fujitora tilted his head slightly. “Counsel, are those departments actually included in the request?”
Zoro paused. “Not by name, Your Honor.”
Sanji looked at him. “Then the concern is about how the order will be interpreted.”
“Exactly.”
Fujitora was quiet for a moment. “Then make the interpretation clear.”
“The order can be limited to personnel and departments directly involved in pharmacovigilance, regulatory affairs, clinical safety, manufacturing, and internal review or escalation of adverse-event reports.”
A flicker passed across Zoro's face. Not amusement. Something closer to acknowledgment.
Sanji considered it. That was narrower than the prosecution's proposed language. It was also defensible. He glanced toward the judge. "The prosecution can accept those categories, provided the order includes personnel who participated in internal review or escalation of adverse-event reports regardless of department."
Zoro didn't answer immediately. Sanji watched his eyes dropped briefly to the draft order. His thumb moved once along the edge of the file. Then he looked up.
“That's acceptable.”
The judge looked down at the draft order. "Any further disagreement?"
Sanji shook his head. "Not on the preservation categories."
Zoro sat.
Sanji followed.
Only after he had returned to his seat did he let himself acknowledge what had just happened. Roronoa Zoro had not tried to win the preservation issue. He had tried to define it. And he'd done it without wasting a sentence. Sanji looked across the courtroom. Zoro was already turning to the next section of his file. No satisfaction. No visible reaction. Just moving on.
Sanji lowered his eyes to his own notes. So that was why Dracule & Partners had sent him. Not because he was aggressive. Because he knew where to put the pressure. Sanji made a small mark beside the next disputed request. Fine. That made two of them.
The next dispute concerned the GLMA records.
Sanji opened the supplemental regulatory file and turned it toward the judge.
"The prosecution is requesting the secondary-gender safety assessments underlying the original approval of Suppress-X, as well as the assessments conducted during subsequent regulatory review. We are also seeking the related post-market correspondence concerning reported adverse events."
He had expected an objection. Zoro stood.
"The defense doesn't dispute the relevance of secondary-gender safety data."
Sanji looked up. That was not the objection he had expected.
"But relevance does not eliminate the need for comparability," Zoro continued. He rested one hand lightly against the table, the other holding a single sheet from the hearing file. "If the prosecution intends to rely on differences between secondary-gender populations as part of its safety or causation theory, then the underlying studies need to be evaluated under comparable conditions. Different populations, dosage protocols, sample sizes, monitoring periods, or clinical endpoints can produce materially different results."
Sanji listened without interrupting. There was nothing careless about the argument. Zoro wasn't denying that secondary-gender data mattered — he was questioning what could legitimately be inferred from it. That distinction was important. And it told Sanji something he hadn't known from the filings alone. Roronoa Zoro understood the substance. He wasn't simply standing there to object to subpoenas because that was what defense counsel did.
Sanji lowered his eyes to the regulatory file. "We're not asking the court to draw that conclusion today." Zoro's gaze remained on him. Sanji turned one page. "We're asking for the records that show how the regulator reached its own conclusion."
Silence settled across the courtroom for a moment. Not long — barely a second — but Sanji noticed it. Zoro hadn't expected the distinction. Or perhaps he had, and was simply reconsidering the direction of the argument. Either way, his eyes dropped briefly to the document in front of him, then back to Sanji.
"The defense understands the distinction." His tone had changed by almost nothing. That was what made Sanji notice it. "Then the prosecution's request should be limited accordingly," Zoro continued. "To the assessments actually relied upon by the GLMA in its approval and subsequent safety review."
Sanji considered the wording. It was narrower than the request they'd filed. It was also exactly where he needed the documents to go.
"The assessments relied upon by the GLMA," he repeated. "Including the supporting regulatory correspondence?"
"Where the correspondence formed part of the assessment."
Sanji looked toward the judge. "Agreed."
The judge made a note. "Then that will be the order."
Sanji sat down, closing the regulatory file halfway, his thumb resting against its edge. Across the courtroom, Zoro returned to his seat. No victory in his expression. No irritation in Sanji's. Just two lawyers who had found the boundary of an argument and recognized that neither had any reason to cross it.
Sanji glanced once more at the tab marked SECONDARY-GENDER SAFETY. He had expected Fullbright's counsel to fight the request. He hadn't expected him to understand why it mattered. That made the next part of the hearing considerably more interesting.
The final dispute concerned the GLMA correspondence. Sanji had been waiting for it. He opened the regulatory file again, turning past the approval records and subsequent safety assessments until he reached the section Robin had flagged that morning. The correspondence was arranged chronologically, or at least it appeared to be. The first documents were dated consistently. Then, without explanation, the sequence stopped. Eight months. Nothing in the production.
Sanji rose. "The prosecution also requests the post-market correspondence between the GLMA and Fullbright concerning Suppress-X during the eight-month period identified in the production."
Zoro stood almost immediately. "The defense objects." He held the edge of his hearing file with one hand. "The prosecution has identified an eight-month gap in the materials it received. It hasn't established that the gap represents missing records rather than records that never existed."
There was no accusation in his voice. That made the point harder to dismiss. Sanji had anticipated it.
"The prosecution is aware that an absence in production does not, by itself, establish that responsive documents existed."
"Then the request should not assume that they did."
"We're not asking the court to assume that."
"You're asking for documents you haven't established exist."
Sanji let the silence sit for a moment. Then he lifted the production index from the table. "That's why we're asking for the production index."
Zoro didn't move. "Which Fullbright has already provided."
Sanji turned the index toward the judge. "The index identifies categories of documents." He tapped one section with his finger. "It does not identify whether communications within those categories were withheld, excluded as non-responsive, or never existed."
Zoro answered before the judge could. "Because the defense isn't required to reconstruct a document that may not exist."
"I'm not asking the defense to reconstruct anything."
"Then what are you asking them to produce?"
"The record that tells us what happened to the records."
For the first time, Judge Fujitora spoke. "Counsel." His voice was calm enough that the room quieted without being asked. "What exactly are you asking for?"
Sanji turned toward the bench. He had expected the question. "The prosecution is asking for a supplemental declaration identifying the categories of responsive post-market correspondence maintained by Fullbright during that eight-month period, the custodians responsible for those records, and whether any responsive material was withheld, deleted, destroyed, or determined not to exist."
Fujitora tilted his head slightly. "You're asking for an explanation of the gap. Not production of documents that you believe should exist."
"Not yet."
Zoro's gaze shifted toward him. Sanji continued. "If the records existed and were produced elsewhere, we'll follow them there. If they were withheld under a privilege or other lawful basis, the defense can identify that. If they were destroyed, we need to know when and under what retention policy. And if Fullbright's position is that no responsive correspondence existed during those eight months, the prosecution needs that position on the record."
Fujitora was silent. Sanji could almost feel the distinction settling into place. He wasn't asking the court to treat the gap as evidence of concealment. He was asking the court to let them determine what the gap actually was.
Zoro rose again. "The defense has no objection to providing a sworn statement concerning the categories of records maintained during the period. But we object to any requirement that Fullbright certify the existence or non-existence of individual communications it cannot locate."
Sanji considered that. Reasonable. He knew it the moment he heard it.
"Agreed," he said. "The prosecution isn't asking them to certify what they cannot establish."
Zoro nodded once. "Then we have no further objection."
Fujitora made a note. "The defense will provide a sworn declaration identifying the relevant record categories, custodians, and applicable retention policies for the eight-month period. If the defense maintains that responsive correspondence did not exist, was not retained, or was destroyed in accordance with policy, that position shall be stated clearly." He paused. "The prosecution may renew its request upon a showing that additional responsive records existed."
Sanji inclined his head. "Understood."
Zoro sat. Sanji returned to his chair. For a moment, neither of them looked at the other. The issue hadn't been resolved in the way either side had initially wanted. Sanji hadn't obtained the missing correspondence. Zoro hadn't eliminated the gap. Instead, the court had forced the question into a narrower shape. And that was enough.
Sanji closed the regulatory file. Across the table, Zoro was already writing something in the margin of his own notes. Sanji watched him for half a second before looking away.
The irritating part was that the defense had just helped clarify the question the prosecution actually needed answered. Not whether the missing correspondence existed. What Fullbright's records could establish about the absence. Zoro had forced the request into a form the court could grant without asking it to make an assumption.
Sanji wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. He settled for both.
He had spent most of the morning testing the limits of Roronoa's arguments. Now he was beginning to understand why the man had been assigned to this case. He didn't object to make things difficult. He objected to make the other side prove exactly what it was asking for. And when the request survived that test, he didn't waste time fighting it simply because he could.
Sanji looked toward the judge as Fujitora closed the final file. For a preliminary conference, that was probably as close to a clean fight as either side was going to get.
Judge Fujitora closed the final file and adjourned the conference. The room began emptying in the unhurried way courtrooms always did — no rush, just the quiet reshuffling of papers and the scrape of chairs against the floor.
Sanji gathered his files methodically, sliding the regulatory binder back into its folder while Nami stacked the loose exhibits beside him. Robin was already halfway to the door, murmuring something to Nami about the afternoon's schedule. Sanji barely registered it. Part of his mind was still in the hearing — sorting what they'd gotten, what they hadn't, what Robin would need to chase down by end of day.
Across the room, Zoro was doing the same with his own team. Monet said something to him in a low voice. Perona was already checking her phone.
Neither of them moved toward the other immediately. That, too, felt right — like something that didn't need to be rushed. Then, as Sanji stepped into the corridor, he heard his name.
"Vinsmoke."
He stopped. Zoro had peeled away from his team, closing the distance without any particular urgency.
"You're thorough."
Sanji glanced at him. "That's a compliment?"
"For a prosecutor."
"I'll take it."
A beat passed. Zoro's gaze didn't waver. "You narrowed the physician subpoenas before I had to challenge them."
"You were going to."
"Yes."
"Then I saved us both the time."
"You did." A pause. "You still challenged them. The original request was broader."
Sanji felt the corner of his mouth threaten to move. He didn't let it. "Fair."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite done. Then Zoro asked, almost offhand, "You've handled pharmaceutical cases before?"
"Not this one."
"Neither have I." A beat. "Lucky us."
Sanji laughed — short, involuntary, gone almost as soon as it arrived. Zoro exhaled something that wasn't quite a laugh either, but came close enough.
"Zoro." Perona's voice, from down the corridor. Not impatient. Just a reminder that the day hadn't ended.
Zoro glanced back, then at Sanji. He gave a small nod — not quite a goodbye, more an acknowledgment that this particular exchange was over for now — and turned to go.
"Sanji." Nami, from the other direction, holding two files against her hip and clearly ready to move.
Sanji tucked the hearing file beneath his arm. Roronoa Zoro was going to be a problem. Not because he was difficult. Because he wasn't.
He followed Nami toward the elevators.
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