Chapter Text
The first thing Sanji noticed was that the coffee had gone cold.
He stared down at the cup in his hand, vaguely annoyed with himself. He'd made it less than ten minutes ago. Somehow, he'd managed to get distracted by a newspaper, two unanswered questions, and the deeply unfortunate sight of Luffy trying to convince Usopp that eating breakfast twice counted as a balanced diet.
Now the coffee was cold, the newspaper was upside down, and Luffy was shouting about meat. A perfectly ordinary morning aboard the Thousand Sunny. Sanji took a sip anyway.
"Disgusting."
"Then make another cup."
He glanced toward the doorway.
Zoro stood there, one shoulder against the frame, looking as though he'd only just woken up. His hair was a mess, his shirt was wrinkled, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from whatever surface he'd used as a pillow.
Sanji stared.
"Did you sleep in a bush?"
"No."
"A ditch?"
"No."
"Then why do you look like something the sea spat out?"
Zoro yawned.
"Good morning to you, too, Curly-brow."
"Don't call me that before I've had breakfast."
"You've been standing in here for half an hour."
Sanji looked at the clock.
Then at the coffee.
Then at Zoro.
"...Get out of my kitchen."
Zoro smirked and walked away.
Sanji watched him go, scowling. The bastard was getting far too comfortable.
That was the problem with Zoro lately. He'd stopped making a fuss about everything. He still insulted Sanji, still got lost in corridors he'd walked through a hundred times, and still had the audacity to take naps in places where perfectly reasonable people would never consider sleeping.
But there was something different about the way he acted around Sanji.
He didn't hover. He didn't ask whether Sanji had noticed anything strange about his body every other hour. He didn't look at every cut as though it were the beginning of a disaster.
Sometimes, he simply showed up.
And Sanji had begun to find that irritatingly reassuring. He finished his cold coffee, grimaced again, and set the cup down. Then he glanced at the newspaper. A thought had been bothering him for days.
He'd tried to ignore it. He'd told himself that Chopper was looking into the medical side of things, that Robin was studying the records, and that there was no point in asking questions for which nobody had answers.
But there was someone else he could ask. Someone who had grown up in the same house. Someone who knew Judge better than almost anyone. Someone who had watched the modifications happen to her siblings and had survived the same family without becoming what their father wanted. Sanji pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
He needed to call Reiju.
And this time, he wasn't going to let her reassure him without answering his questions. By late morning, the Sunny had settled into its usual rhythm.
Franky was working on a new modification near the workshop. Brook was practicing a melody on the deck, occasionally interrupted by Usopp's increasingly dramatic commentary. Jinbe had taken over steering while Nami studied the charts, and Robin sat beneath the shade of the mast with a book open on her lap.
Chopper was in the infirmary, reviewing the notes he'd made about Sanji's accelerated healing.
Sanji found him there just before lunch.
"Oi, doc."
Chopper looked up immediately.
"Sanji! Is something wrong?"
"No. I'm looking for the snail you use to contact people."
Chopper blinked.
"The Den Den Mushi?"
"That's the one."
"Why?"
"Because I want to call someone."
Chopper hesitated, and Sanji's expression sharpened.
"Don't start."
"I didn't say anything!"
"You were about to."
"I was just wondering who you wanted to call!"
"My sister."
Chopper's ears lifted.
"Oh."
Sanji folded his arms.
"She might know something about the modifications. Things that weren't in the files we found."
Chopper considered that.
"That's actually a good idea."
"Try not to sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised! I just—" Chopper stopped, then looked at the medical notes scattered across his desk. "Sanji, if she knows anything about the original experiments, it might help us understand what's happening now."
"That's why I'm calling her."
Chopper nodded. Then his expression grew more serious.
"Do you want me there?"
Sanji looked at him for a moment.
A few weeks ago, he might have interpreted the question as another attempt to monitor him. Another person trying to make decisions on his behalf.
Now, he recognized the uncertainty in Chopper's voice. The little doctor was trying to help without crossing a line.
"No," Sanji said. "But I'll tell you what she says afterward. Anything useful, anyway."
Chopper's shoulders relaxed.
"Okay."
Sanji picked up the Den Den Mushi.
"And, Chopper?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't spend the entire afternoon staring at my blood samples." Chopper's face went red.
"I DON'T STARE AT THEM ALL AFTERNOON!"
Sanji grinned as he walked out.
"Sure you don't."
Behind him, Chopper muttered something about ungrateful cooks. Sanji couldn't help smiling. It felt good to have a normal conversation with him. Even if normal, aboard the Sunny, usually involved someone shouting.
He waited until he was alone on the aft deck before making the call.
The sea was calm, the sky almost cloudless. A light breeze carried the smell of salt across the ship, and the distant sound of Brook's music drifted from somewhere near the mast.
Sanji sat on a bench, placed the Den Den Mushi in front of him, and dialed. It rang several times.
Then the snail's expression changed.
"Sanji?"
Reiju's voice was unmistakable. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed hearing it until that moment.
"Hey, Reiju."
There was a brief silence.
Then Reiju laughed softly.
"Well, this is a surprise. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten you had a sister."
Sanji leaned back against the bench.
"Please. You're impossible to forget. You show up in my nightmares every time I remember how embarrassing my childhood was."
"Oh, really? I thought those nightmares were reserved for Father."
"He's in a separate category."
"How thoughtful of you."
Sanji smiled.
For a few seconds, the conversation felt easy. Familiar. They were back to teasing each other, trading remarks as though nothing had changed.
Then Reiju's voice softened.
"How are you, Sanji?"
He looked out at the water. There it was. The question he'd been avoiding whenever someone asked it.
"I'm fine."
"Sanji."
He sighed.
"Physically? Mostly."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
Reiju didn't interrupt.
She'd always been good at that. She could tease him relentlessly, but when he was struggling to find the right words, she knew when to let him speak.
Sanji rubbed the back of his neck.
"There's something I need to ask you."
"All right."
"It's about the modifications."
The Den Den Mushi went quiet. Sanji could almost picture her expression changing. The smile fading, the amusement disappearing from her eyes.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing dramatic."
"That isn't an answer."
"Everyone's becoming a damn doctor these days."
"Sanji."
He exhaled slowly.
"After Wano, I started noticing some things. My wounds heal faster. I'm stronger than I used to be. Sometimes I don't feel pain the way I expect to."
He glanced at his hand. The small cut he'd received earlier in the week was already gone.
"And Chopper's been checking on me. He thinks the modifications might be reactivating."
For several seconds, Reiju said nothing. Then she asked, very carefully, "What exactly did you notice first?"
Sanji described the changes he'd observed. He didn't exaggerate them, but he didn't leave anything out either. He told her about the cuts, the strange moments when he felt stronger than he expected, and the way his body sometimes seemed to recover before he'd even had time to register an injury.
He didn't mention the notebook. He wasn't sure why.
Perhaps because the notebook belonged to a different part of the problem. It was something he could control, something that belonged to him rather than to Judge's experiments.
When he finished, Reiju took a slow breath.
"Sanji, I need you to understand something. The modifications weren't a single switch that Father could turn on and off. He altered your bodies from before you were born. Different traits developed at different rates, and your case was unusual from the beginning."
"Because I was the failure."
"No."
The answer came so quickly that Sanji looked up.
"Don't call yourself that."
He said nothing. Reiju continued, her voice firmer now.
"That was Father's judgment. Not a medical fact. You didn't fail at being a soldier. You simply didn't become what he wanted you to be."
Sanji stared at the horizon. He'd heard versions of that before. From Zeff, from his crew, even from Reiju when they were younger.
But it was different hearing it now, when his own body was beginning to behave in ways he couldn't explain.
"Whatever," he muttered. "The point is, the modifications might be coming back."
"Yes. They might be."
"And you don't know what that means."
"I know what the modifications were designed to do. I know what Father expected from them. But I don't know what will happen in your particular case, especially after everything that happened in Wano."
Sanji's jaw tightened.
"Could the changes stop?"
"I don't know."
"Could they be reversed?"
"I don't know."
"Could I—"
He stopped. The question lodged in his throat. Reiju waited. Sanji forced himself to finish.
"Could I end up like them?"
The silence that followed was longer this time. When Reiju finally spoke, her voice was quiet.
"Yes. It's possible."
Sanji closed his eyes. He'd already known that. Chopper had warned him. The reports had made the possibility painfully clear.
Still, hearing it from Reiju made the fear feel more real.
"But it isn't certain," she added. "And I won't tell you it is. I won't pretend to know what will happen to you when I don't."
Sanji swallowed.
"Thank you."
"Sanji—"
"No, really. Thank you for not giving me some bullshit about how everything will be fine."
Reiju's voice softened.
"I wish I could tell you that."
"I know."
He looked down at his hands. There were no visible changes. His skin looked the same. His fingers were steady. His nails were clean, his knuckles familiar.
He still looked like himself. He wanted that to mean something.
"There's something else," he said.
"Go ahead."
"Do you remember what the modifications were supposed to do to our emotions?"
"Of course."
"Then tell me something. If the changes progress, would I know?"
Reiju didn't answer immediately. Sanji's grip tightened around the edge of the bench.
"Would I notice if I started feeling differently? If things that mattered to me stopped mattering?"
"Sanji, I can't give you a definite answer. Emotional responses aren't as simple as a switch, either. Some changes could be gradual. Some might be difficult to recognize from the inside."
He stared at the sea.
"That's a lovely thought."
"I know."
"Could I stop caring about people?"
Reiju took a breath.
"The modifications were designed to suppress emotional responses. But I can't tell you exactly how that would manifest in you. Your development didn't follow Father's expectations, and we don't have enough information about what is happening now."
"So I might not notice."
"You might notice some things. You might explain other things away. That's why it's important to keep talking to Chopper and to tell him what you're experiencing, even if it seems insignificant."
Sanji's gaze drifted toward the open door leading inside the ship. For a moment, he thought of the notebook. The blank page he'd struggled to fill the night before. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Everyone had days when they couldn't think of anything to write. It meant nothing.
"All right," he said.
"Promise me you'll take this seriously."
"I am taking it seriously."
"Sanji."
He sighed.
"I promise I'll tell Chopper if something changes."
"And Robin?"
"Yes, Reiju."
"And the rest of your crew?"
Sanji hesitated. Reiju noticed.
"You don't have to tell everyone everything at once," she said gently. "But don't isolate yourself because you're frightened of what they might see."
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You make that sound easy."
"No. I make it sound necessary."
He had no clever response to that. Reiju had always been irritatingly good at knowing when to stop indulging him.
After a moment, Sanji asked, "What happened with you? After we left?"
"The usual. Father continues to be Father. Germa continues to be Germa. I've been doing what I can."
"That sounds exhausting."
"You have no idea."
He smiled faintly.
Then the conversation turned to smaller things. Reiju asked about the Sunny, and Sanji told her about the crew's latest arguments, Luffy's appetite, and Zoro's remarkable ability to get lost while standing perfectly still.
Reiju laughed at that.
"Oh, I would have paid to see him manage that."
"He somehow got lost looking for the training room."
"Again?"
"Again."
"Perhaps you should tie a bell around his neck."
"I've considered it."
"Sanji?"
"Hm?"
"I'm glad you called."
The words caught him off guard. He looked down at the Den Den Mushi.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Me too."
"And, little brother?"
"Don't call me that."
"You're still my little brother."
"Unfortunately."
Reiju chuckled.
"Whatever happens, Sanji, you're still you. The things Father did to you don't change the fact that you're my brother."
Sanji didn't answer straight away.
He wanted to make a joke. To tell her that she was getting sentimental, that she'd clearly been spending too much time around people who enjoyed emotional conversations.
Instead, he found himself staring at the sea.
"Thanks, Reiju."
"Anytime."
They said their goodbyes, and the call ended.
Sanji remained on the bench for a long time afterward. He had wanted answers. He'd received a few facts, several possibilities, and a great many things that even Reiju couldn't know. It wasn't much.
But at least he no longer had to wonder whether she would take him seriously. He stood, tucked the Den Den Mushi away, and headed back toward the kitchen.
Dinner wouldn't prepare itself. And whatever happened to his body, he was still going to make sure the idiots aboard this ship ate properly.
By the time evening settled over the Sunny, Sanji had almost convinced himself that the conversation hadn't affected him.
Almost.
He cooked dinner, argued with Luffy over the proper distribution of meat, threatened to throw Usopp overboard for putting his muddy shoes on the clean deck, and listened to Franky describe a modification that Sanji suspected was mostly an excuse to shout the word SUPER at everyone within earshot.
Jinbe complimented the meal.
Brook requested seconds.
Nami complained about Luffy's table manners.
Robin smiled into her cup.
It was a good evening. Sanji was grateful for it. He was also aware of Zoro watching him from the other side of the table. Not constantly. Not obviously. Just enough that Sanji noticed. When their eyes met, Zoro looked away first. Sanji frowned.
What the hell is his problem?
He returned to his food.
Across the table, Zoro picked up another piece of meat and silently placed it on Luffy's plate before the captain could steal it from someone else.
Luffy cheered.
Nami shouted.
Usopp laughed.
And the moment passed. Later, when everyone began clearing the table, Sanji found himself standing beside Zoro at the sink. Neither spoke for a while. Zoro washed. Sanji dried.
It was an arrangement they had fallen into years ago, back when working together without arguing had been almost impossible. Now the silence was different. Not entirely comfortable. But familiar.
"Called Reiju," Sanji said eventually.
Zoro glanced at him.
"Who?"
Sanji sighed.
“My sister.”
“Oh. Okey.” Zoro nodded
"She doesn't know what's going to happen."
Zoro's hands paused beneath the water.
"Did she tell you anything useful?"
"Some things. Nothing definite."
Sanji dried a plate and set it on the rack.
"The modifications were designed to suppress emotions. But apparently, no one can tell me exactly what that would mean for me now."
Zoro resumed washing.
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"What do you think?"
Sanji looked down at the plate in his hands. He could have said that he was frightened.
He could have admitted that sometimes he caught himself thinking about the possibility of losing everything that made him who he was. Instead, he shrugged.
"I think I don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting for something terrible to happen."
Zoro was quiet. Then he nodded once.
"Fair enough."
Sanji glanced at him. That was all? No lecture. No warning. No promise that everything would be fine. Just an acknowledgment that he had a point. For some reason, that made it easier to breathe.
"You're learning, mosshead."
"Don't get used to it."
"There he is."
Zoro flicked a few drops of water at him. Sanji retaliated with the dish towel.
Within seconds, Chopper was yelling at them not to break anything, Nami was threatening to charge them for damages, and Luffy was demanding to know whether they were fighting over the remaining dessert.
It was ridiculous… It was ordinary.
And Sanji found himself laughing.
That night, the dream began with the sound of a door closing. Sanji stood in a corridor he hadn't seen in years. The walls were white. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. Somewhere far away, metal scraped against metal. He knew this place. He didn't want to know this place. He tried to turn around, but the corridor stretched behind him, longer than it should have been. A voice spoke from somewhere ahead.
"Stand up."
Sanji's stomach twisted. He knew that voice, too. He started walking. The door at the end of the corridor opened onto a room that smelled of disinfectant and old metal. There was a chair in the middle of it, straps hanging loose from the arms.
He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.
He couldn't remember why he was standing in front of it.
He only knew that he had to leave.
Now.
His legs refused to move.
"You're wasting my time."
Sanji looked down at his hands. They were trembling. He tried to clench them into fists, but his fingers felt strangely numb.
"You're a failure."
The words echoed around the room. Sanji opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He tried again.
"I—"
His voice broke. The room seemed to grow colder.
"You are not my son."
Sanji stumbled backward.
"No."
The word was barely audible.
"No, no, no—"
The door slammed shut behind him. He reached for the handle, but the metal was burning hot. He jerked away, clutching his hand to his chest. When he looked down, his skin was unmarked.
No burn.
No pain.
He stared at his fingers in confusion. Then he heard laughter.
Not Judge's.
His brothers'.
They stood at the far end of the room, their faces expressionless, their eyes fixed on him.
Sanji tried to speak. Tried to tell them to stay away. But the words wouldn't come. One of them stepped forward.
"You were always the weakest."
Another followed.
"You were never one of us."
Sanji backed away until he hit the wall.
"No," he whispered.
The figures kept approaching. He wanted to fight. He wanted to run. He wanted to do anything except stand there and let them come closer. But his body wouldn't obey. He looked down again. His hands were steady now. Too steady. He couldn't feel his heart racing. Couldn't feel the terror that should have been tearing through him.
He knew he was supposed to be afraid.
He knew something was wrong.
But the knowledge sat in his mind like a fact he had read in a book, distant and unimportant. One of his brothers reached for him. Sanji stared at the outstretched hand. And for one horrible moment, he couldn't remember why he should pull away. Then, somewhere far beyond the room, someone called his name.
"Sanji."
He turned toward the sound.
"Sanji."
The voice came again. He knew it. He knew, he knew it. But he couldn't remember who it belonged to.
.
.
.
.
Zoro woke to the sound of someone struggling to breathe. At first, he thought it was the ship creaking. Then he heard it again. A strained, broken sound from the room next door. He sat up immediately. For a moment, he listened. The Sunny was quiet. The sea rolled gently against the hull, and the wind moved through the rigging above. Then Sanji spoke.
"No."
Zoro was on his feet before he had fully woken. He came to Sanji’s side. Sanji was asleep, tangled in his sheets, his face twisted with distress. His breathing was uneven, and sweat darkened the hair at his temples.
One hand gripped the blanket so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale.
"No, please—"
Zoro froze. He'd heard Sanji have nightmares before. Not often. Not like this. The words came out in broken fragments, barely more than whispers.
"Stop... I didn't... please..."
Zoro's jaw tightened. He knew enough about Sanji's childhood to understand where the dream had taken him. He also knew that waking Sanji abruptly might only make things worse.
"Cook," he said quietly.
Sanji didn't stir. His breathing grew more ragged.
"Don't—"
Zoro moved closer to the bed.
"Sanji."
Nothing. He could shake him awake. Call his name louder. Drag him out of whatever nightmare had trapped him.
Instead, he hesitated.
Sanji had spent weeks trying to reclaim the right to decide what happened to him. Zoro wasn't going to take that away just because he was frightened by what he saw. So he sat down on the floor beside the bed.
For a while, he did nothing.
He watched Sanji's face, the furrow between his brows, the way his mouth tightened around words he couldn't seem to finish.
Zoro had never been good at comforting people. He could fight. He could endure pain. He could stand in front of someone and refuse to move, no matter what came at him.
But this was different.
There was no enemy to cut down. No clear threat to face. There was only Sanji, trapped somewhere Zoro couldn't reach.
"You're all right," he murmured, though he wasn't sure Sanji could hear him. "You're on the Sunny." Sanji turned his head sharply against the pillow.
"No... no, I—"
His hand slipped over the edge of the mattress. Zoro stared at it. Sanji's fingers twitched, searching blindly for something that wasn't there. Zoro looked toward the door. No one else had heard. The corridor remained quiet.
He could go and fetch Chopper.
He could wake Robin.
But Sanji's hand was still hanging over the edge of the bed, his fingers curling and uncurling in the empty air.
Zoro reached out. For one brief second, he hesitated before touching him. Then he took Sanji's hand. Carefully.
Not gripping it tightly, not trying to pull him anywhere. Just holding it between his own, his thumb resting lightly against Sanji's knuckles.
Sanji's fingers closed around his. Almost immediately, his breathing hitched. Zoro went still.
"Easy," he whispered.
Sanji's face remained tense, but the desperate movement of his hand slowed. Zoro shifted a little closer to the bed, keeping his hold gentle.
Sanji's lips moved. A faint, broken sound escaped him. Zoro couldn't make out the words. He didn't ask him to repeat them. He simply stayed. Minutes passed.
The tightness in Sanji's brow began to ease. His breathing was still uneven, but the sharp gasps grew farther apart. His fingers, which had been clamped around Zoro's hand, loosened gradually.
Then Sanji whispered one last word.
"...Zoro."
The swordsman stopped breathing for a moment. Sanji didn't wake. He only turned his face slightly toward the edge of the bed, his expression finally relaxing. The restless movement of his lips ceased. His breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm. And the hand in Zoro's grew still. Zoro stared at him. He waited another minute, then another, unwilling to move in case the nightmare returned. It didn't. Sanji slept peacefully. Zoro lowered his gaze to their joined hands.
He could feel the warmth of Sanji's skin against his own. The slight pressure of his fingers. The steady rhythm of his breathing. It was such a small thing. Ridiculously small. And yet Zoro found himself sitting on the floor in the middle of the night, afraid to let go.
He thought about the reports. About the possibility that Sanji's body might change in ways neither of them understood. About the promise Sanji had asked him to make in Wano.
If I lose my mind...
Zoro shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. Not tonight. Tonight, Sanji was asleep beside him. His hand was warm, his breathing steady, his face peaceful for the first time since Zoro had entered the room.
That was enough.
Zoro leaned his head back against the side of the bed. He told himself he'd stay for a few minutes. Just until he was sure the nightmare had passed. Somewhere in the darkness, Sanji shifted in his sleep. His fingers tightened faintly around Zoro's. Zoro didn't move.
.
.
Morning arrived with a shaft of sunlight across Sanji's face. He woke slowly, blinking at the ceiling.
For a moment, he couldn't remember why he felt unusually warm.
Then he noticed the ache in his shoulder from sleeping in a strange position, and the faint cramp in his fingers. He turned his head.
Zoro was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his head tilted awkwardly against the mattress. His eyes were closed, and his free hand rested loosely on his knee.
Sanji stared.
Then he looked down. Their hands were still joined. He went completely still.
"What the hell...?"
Zoro's eyes opened. They stared at each other. For several seconds, neither spoke. Then Zoro glanced down at their hands, as though he had only just remembered where he was. He released Sanji immediately and pushed himself upright.
"Your hand was hanging off the bed."
Sanji blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You were moving around in your sleep."
"And your brilliant solution was to sit on floor, next to my bed?"
Zoro rubbed the back of his neck.
"You were having a nightmare."
The irritation on Sanji's face faltered. He looked away.
"Oh."
He remembered fragments. A corridor. A door. A voice he hated. He didn't remember Zoro being there. He didn't remember reaching for him.
"Did I say anything?"
Zoro hesitated.
"Some things."
Sanji's shoulders tightened.
"Like what?"
"Nothing important."
"Zoro."
The swordsman met his eyes.
"You were asleep. I'm not going to repeat things you didn't choose to tell me."
Sanji stared at him. He had expected a joke. A crude remark. Perhaps an insult about how he'd managed to have a nightmare loud enough to wake the entire ship.
Instead, Zoro was sitting beside his bed, looking exhausted and stubbornly refusing to make him feel embarrassed. Sanji swallowed.
"...How long were you here?"
Zoro looked toward the window.
"Not long."
Sanji narrowed his eyes.
"You look like you've been dragged through the Grand Line backward."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
A pause.
Then Sanji glanced at the empty space beside him.
"You could've woken me."
"Could've."
"Why didn't you?"
Zoro thought about it.
"Didn't seem like you needed me to."
Sanji frowned.
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Didn't say it had to."
He stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. Sanji watched him move toward the door.
"Oi."
Zoro stopped. Sanji hesitated. The words felt awkward in his mouth, unfamiliar and much too sincere for the early hour.
"...Thanks."
Zoro looked over his shoulder. For a moment, his expression softened. Then he shrugged.
"Get up before Luffy eats all the breakfast. Mr. Nosebleed"
Sanji threw a pillow at him.
"GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU DAMN MOSSHEAD!"
Zoro caught the pillow against his chest.
He smirked.
"Our room."
And then he left. Sanji sat in the quiet room, staring at the doorway long after Zoro had disappeared. His hand still felt warm.
He rubbed his thumb against his palm, trying to understand why that small, ridiculous detail had stayed with him. Then he shook his head. He was tired. That was all. He had work to do.
Breakfast was loud enough to erase most of the morning's awkwardness.
Luffy was already halfway through his second plate - he stole from fridge - when Sanji arrived. Usopp was telling an exaggerated story about a sea king he'd supposedly spotted in the distance, and Franky kept interrupting to correct the parts that made no mechanical sense.
Jinbe listened patiently, occasionally offering a comment that only encouraged Usopp to make the story even more ridiculous. Robin sat beside Nami, smiling into her tea. Chopper waved enthusiastically when Sanji entered.
"Good morning!"
"Morning, Chopper."
Sanji set down a fresh plate of food in front of him.
"Eat something before you disappear into the infirmary again."
Chopper looked delighted.
"I was just about to!"
"Sure you were." Sanji moved around the table, distributing the last of the food.
When he reached Zoro, he paused. The swordsman was sitting with his arms folded, looking half asleep. Sanji placed a plate in front of him. Their eyes met. For a second, neither spoke.
Then Zoro said quietly, "Sleep well?"
Sanji almost dropped the serving spoon. He recovered quickly enough to glare at him.
"Better than you, apparently."
Zoro smirked.
"Yeah. Wonder why."
"Eat your breakfast before I put something poisonous in it."
"Thought you cared about feeding your crew."
"I care about feeding the crew. You're a regrettable exception."
"Sure, cook."
Luffy looked up from his plate.
"Why are you two talking so quietly?"
"We're not!" Sanji snapped.
Zoro reached for his food.
"Eat, idiot."
"I'm eating!"
"Then chew."
Nami sighed.
"Can we get through one breakfast without you two arguing?"
"I guess we can’t," Robin said pleasantly. Everyone turned toward her. Robin took another sip of tea.
"I simply thought it was worth acknowledging."
Brook burst out laughing.
Even Sanji couldn't keep the smile off his face. For a few minutes, the table returned to its usual chaos. And when Sanji glanced at Zoro again, the swordsman was eating as though nothing had happened.
But beneath the table, their hands brushed briefly when they both reached for the same fallen napkin.
Neither of them commented on it. Neither of them moved away quite as quickly as they could have…
.
.
.
That afternoon, Sanji found himself in the library again.
He hadn't intended to go there. He'd been looking for a particular cookbook and had somehow ended up wandering between shelves then he remembered his notebook.
His notebook was in his pocket. He took it out and sat by the window. The ship rocked gently beneath him. Outside, the sea glittered beneath the afternoon sun. He opened to a blank page.
For a while, he simply held the pen. Then he began to write.
I called Reiju today.
He paused.
She doesn't know exactly what's happening to me. Nobody does.
He stared at the sentence. It was true, but it felt incomplete. He continued.
The modifications were designed to suppress emotions. Reiju says the changes could be gradual, and I might not notice everything from the inside.
His pen hovered above the page. That thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
He wrote another line.
I don't want to become like them.
The words looked too stark on the page. He almost crossed them out. Instead, he let them remain. After a moment, he added:
I'm still me.
He read the words twice. Then he closed the notebook. He wasn't going to spend the entire afternoon thinking about the future. He had a crew to feed, a ship to live on, and a sea full of possibilities waiting ahead of them.
For now, that was enough. He slipped the notebook back into his pocket and returned to the kitchen.
.
.
That night, Zoro found himself standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand. He'd made too much. At least, that was what he told himself.
Sanji had complained earlier that he'd made too much tea, and Zoro had found himself remembering the way the cook always left a warm cup beside him when he trained late into the night.
It was a stupid reason. He knew that. He could have drunk the tea himself. Instead, he carried it to the men's shared bedroom.
The room was quiet when he entered. The others had settled in for the night, and the only light came from the small lamp beside Sanji's bunk.
Sanji sat against the headboard, one knee drawn up, writing in his little notebook. His cigarette rested unlit between his fingers, forgotten for once. He looked up when Zoro approached. Then he quickly closed the notebook.
Zoro raised an eyebrow.
"Secret recipes?"
"None of your business."
"Love letters?"
Sanji's face turned red.
"WHAT?!"
Zoro's mouth twitched.
"Guess not."
"GET LOST, MARIMO!"
Zoro smirked then held out the cup.
"Made too much."
Sanji stared at it. Then at Zoro.
"You made tea?"
"Don't make it weird."
"I didn't know you could operate a kettle without burning the ship down."
"Want it or not?"
Sanji took the cup. Their fingers brushed.
"Thank you," he said, quieter than before.
Zoro nodded toward the notebook.
"Still writing?"
Sanji glanced at it.
"Yeah."
"Good."
There was no teasing in his voice this time. Sanji studied him for a moment, as though trying to figure out whether there was something else behind that single word.
Zoro didn't offer an explanation. He simply stood there, one hand tucked into his pocket, waiting.
"You're not going to ask what I'm writing?" Sanji asked.
"No."
"Not even a little curious?"
"Not really."
"You're a terrible liar, marimo."
"Then stop asking stupid questions."
Sanji let out a quiet snort.
"Idiot."
"Curly-brow."
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Sanji turned the cup between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. Zoro had probably made the tea without thinking much about it. He probably hadn't considered how strange it was for him to come all the way here just to deliver a cup.
And yet, he had come. Sanji looked down at the tea again. It was such a small thing. Somehow, lately, the small things seemed to matter more than he knew what to do with.
"Oi, marimo."
Zoro glanced at him.
"What now?"
Sanji hesitated.
"You don't think it's stupid?"
Zoro's gaze shifted briefly to the closed notebook.
He remembered Sanji telling him about it before. He remembered the way the cook had spoken, trying to sound casual about something that clearly mattered to him.
"No."
"Just like that?"
Zoro shrugged.
"If it matters to you, it's not stupid."
For once, Sanji had no insult ready. Zoro seemed to realize he'd said something unexpectedly sincere, because he immediately looked away.
"Anyway, don't stay up all night. You'll burn breakfast."
Sanji found his voice again.
"GET LOST!"
Zoro laughed quietly and crossed the room toward his own bunk. Sanji stared after him. Then he looked down at the tea in his hands. It was still warm.
He sat quietly for another minute before opening his notebook again.
The page he'd been writing on was nearly full. He read through the last few lines, then turned to the page where he'd listed the things he didn't want to forget.
He added another line.
Zoro brought me tea tonight.
He paused, tapping the end of his pen against the paper.
Then he added:
He said the notebook wasn't stupid.
Sanji stared at the words. A faint warmth crept into his cheeks.
"Stupid moss-head," he muttered.
He considered crossing out the second sentence. He didn't.
Instead, he closed the notebook and set it beside his pillow. He took another sip of tea, finally noticing that Zoro had made it exactly the way he liked it. That realization made him pause. He couldn't remember ever telling Zoro how he took his tea. Perhaps the idiot had simply noticed. Sanji shook his head and put the cup on the small table beside his bunk.
Tomorrow, he'd write more. He was sure of it.
Across the room, Zoro lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
He could hear the faint rustle of Sanji putting the notebook away, followed by the quiet clink of the cup being placed on the table. He told himself it had been nothing. A cup of tea. A brief conversation. A small kindness between crewmates.
Nothing more.
He rolled onto his side, facing away from the room. He wasn't going to think about the way Sanji's voice had softened when he'd thanked him. Or the way the cook had looked at him after he'd answered that question.
He certainly wasn't going to think about how easily he'd remembered the kind of tea Sanji preferred. That would be ridiculous.
From the other bunk, Sanji shifted beneath his blanket.
"Oi, marimo?"
Zoro opened one eye.
"What?"
"Your tea was terrible."
"Then make your own next time."
"I will."
"Good."
A pause.
"...Good night, idiot."
Zoro looked toward the darkness above his bunk.
"Night, cook."
The room settled into silence again.
But when Zoro finally closed his eyes, he found himself hoping that Sanji would sleep peacefully. And for the first time in a long while, Zoro wished he could promise that he would. Not because he knew what tomorrow would bring. Not because he had any answers about the changes Sanji might be facing. But because, somewhere along the way, a cup of tea and a quiet conversation had become things worth remembering.
And Zoro wanted to believe that, somehow, they still had time…