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The sea stretches out, calm and wide, embracing the horizon with its vastness. The boat gently sways on the smooth surface, a tranquil silence surrounding them, as if time itself has paused. Sanji didn't know if the boat was moving at all. The ship might as well have been an island, leaving him stranded. There was no current bubbling beneath, no seagulls cawing overhead, screaming at the sight of land on the horizon. It is strangely empty where joy usually inhabits, leaving the ship with an impression of vacantness. This voyage was different; the sea usually tosses them around, shaking them up with its madness, its innate wildness. It should dance with cyclones and whirlpools, flipping between freezing snow and blazing sun, surprising them like a game of poker, their lives being handed to Lady Luck. And yet, calmness engulfed the ship, echoing through the halls like gentle whispers.
Today, the sea is all tranquil. It was calm yesterday too, and it will remain long after they’ve died, so long that the sun god himself will have flickered out. It’s nigh on impossible to escape the stillness of a calm sea, especially under the relentless sun, so bright that shadows run and hide from its glare. The water hangs heavy and stagnant, salty and lifeless. It is useless to drink it, and it takes too much energy to clean and replenish. Energy that is not there, not here.
And the fish…
There are no fish. No birds singing their songs. There’s not enough clean water to nurture the plants, as all the freshwater was devoted to their survival and their selfish need for life. They have only a few meagre supplies tucked away in the pantry, deep within the belly of the Sunny: a bag of rice, crates of fruit and vegetables that will soon spoil, small chunks of meat, three loaves of bread, two jugs of water, and a box of cigarettes.
He intended that box just for him, a way to stave off hunger and dull the familiar flavour, numbing his tastebuds to keep him from craving the meals he prepared. He counted the rations again, noting their nutritional value, their caloric density, and how quickly they would spoil.
Sanji was familiar with the aching pangs of hunger, of pain . As he gathered a jug of water, carrots, onions, potatoes, peas, and a chunk of meat, he planned portions to last three nights for a group of nine, but he could stretch that. He could make it last weeks, if he planned correctly. He didn’t need to eat; he didn’t want to eat—he was accustomed to hunger.
But looking at his friends—his comrades, his Nakama —he could see it in their eyes; he knew it. They recognised hunger too. They had experienced the bitter scent of their muscles wasting, felt the fat being consumed as their stomachs shrunk until water was all they could manage. His crew knew that agony, as if it were one of their own. They’d savoured despair, licking their skin for the faint taste of salt, picking at nails and lips for a hint of nourishment, driven by desperation to uncover new flavours in the flesh of those they knew best. Sanji wondered if human flesh tastes good. Zeff always avoided the subject with an odd, wistful smile.
If Sanji ever got the chance, he would savour every part, sucking out the marrow, cooking the organs—tasting their skin, meat, fat, and bones. To love was to consume, after all.
Hunger wasn’t new to this crew, yet their reactions varied a great deal. He remembered his experiences with Zeff ( Dad ). Zeff couldn’t stand idle; he wanted to help others after that life-changing, harrowing experience, in hopes that no one else would face starvation on these harsh seas. Sanji, on the other hand, found himself more selfish. He would stash food beneath the bed or floorboards, eating even the rot and mould because food was food, and he craved the taste of anything on his tongue, fearing the emptiness of hunger, fearing the emptiness of death. Zeff found out, of course, but he didn’t scold him. Instead, he looked down, a stern frown crossing his face, as he patted Sanji’s head when the tears began streaming down his cheeks, wracked with hiccups and sobs.
“This isn’t right, eggplant. You know that, don’t you?” he murmured gruffly, pointing to the decaying food tucked away in a bag on the bedside table. Sanji nodded, suppressing his sniffles, as Zeff explained proper food preservation. Some of this he already knew, having spent the first 25 days staring at the slowly rotting supplies on the rock. The next 60 days were empty. Yet, this conversation with Zeff stayed with him, holding significance not only as a cook but as someone often left hungry.
The Strawhats showcased their understanding of hunger in a distinctly different way compared to him and Zeff. Luffy immediately came to mind; after years of living in the vast jungle, scarcity became ingrained in him, despite his seemingly never-ending appetite. Luffy would consume and consume anything from meat to hearty broths, until he couldn’t anymore, only to burn it off and start the cycle again, always yearning to feel full. Sanji wondered if Luffy ever actually felt satisfied, if he could ever truly do his job, and keep Luffy from hunger. He decided he didn’t want to know, as he already had an unsettling answer in the back of his mind.
In contrast, Nami-swan required snacks throughout the day, and sometimes breakfast or lunch, otherwise, she would be too focused on navigation and the safety of the ship to eat until dinner. She spent her days gazing at the sky, oblivious to herself yet acutely aware of her surroundings. He wondered if that was merely a habit, a remnant of childhood’s long past.
As for Robin-chan, her politeness stemmed not from societal expectations, but rather from her nature. Sanji recognized a hint of starvation in her; she cherished every tiny bite, almost as if reminding herself that she could eat. It struck him as cruel to be denied that right, a feeling he understood all too well. He wondered vaguely if this was a secondary reason for his pampering of her. Did she really think he would deprive her of the joy of food? Well, unfortunately, he was. He had no choice, and he wished he had one.
Sanji never let himself get too distracted by work to eat. His role involved food, making it a challenge to ignore his hunger. Instead, he chose to refrain, letting himself feel the numbing ache—knowing that things could be so much worse—and reminding himself that he was alive amidst it all, that he was not his blood. Then he would indulge, filling himself with warmth and affection, allowing himself to feel free with the Strawhats, far from Judge’s presence. Far from the Vinsmokes.
Yet, amidst this freedom, calmness prevailed. Sailors whispered about an old superstition: being caught in the calm belt was a curse, an affliction to one’s freedom—the very essence of their existence. To be a pirate was to be free. To be a Strawhat was tenfold.
Returning to the galley, he set up his chopping board and retrieved his sharpest knife from the block. He placed a carrot on the board and sliced through it cleanly. The earthy scent was inviting. He peeled the skins off, nibbling them before tossing them into the compost pile. He couldn’t shake the bothersome thought that plants require water to thrive, that this was pointless to maintain. Ironic, surrounded for miles by water, yet completely deprived of it.
His stomach rumbled as he cut the carrot into thin slices, his hands shaking. He ached to taste just one piece, to indulge himself. Indulgence was to be selfish, and his job was to be the pinnacle of selflessness, to provide for others and not himself.
It was maddening. In the past, indulgence meant a feast that he shared with his Nakama, eating and drinking their fill. Now, there were rations enough to last a month for nine people, and indulgence was a slice of carrot. So, Sanji sacrificed his well-being for his true family in the hopes that even if he did not live to see their exit from the calm belt, that maybe they would.
Just as his teeth grazed the sweet flesh, Sanji’s lips parted and his eyes closed in blissful anticipation. Suddenly, the galley door swung open with a loud crash against the opposite wall. Startled, Sanji dropped the food and cursed softly under his breath. He steadied himself against the counter, his back to the door, and picked up his knife again.
The familiar sound of sandals slapping against the wooden floors brought a slight sense of relief. “Sanji... When’s dinner?” Luffy whined, wrapping his rubbery arms around Sanji’s middle, his chin resting playfully on his shoulder. Luffy was remarkably observant, which made him a trusted member of the Strawhats. He could sense when something was amiss just by looking at one’s face, and Sanji was determined to avoid his gaze.
Nothing was wrong, he reassured himself. The crew was fed, and their captain was fed, too. All would be well once they sailed back to the Grand Line. This thought felt unconvincing to both him and Luffy. When Luffy leaned over his shoulder to grab a few peas, he paused and studied Sanji’s face.
“Sanji’s sad?” Luffy muttered, popping a few peas into his mouth. “Why?” he asked, his cheeks full. Sanji only looked down at the counter, gripping the blade tighter.
Luffy slipped out from behind him, wedging himself between the Cook and the counter in an effort to meet his gaze. The Captain’s warm hands cradled Sanji’s cheeks, forcing their eyes to connect with a soft smile, brown to blue. Luffy tilted his head, searching for answers.
“Sanji doesn’t have to do this. He needs to eat,” he declared, stretching his arm to pick up the slice from the floor, pressing it to Sanji’s lips. Sanji recoiled and shook his head, pushing Luffy’s hands away. “It’s dirty now.”
The Captain frowned, but nodded with understanding, eating the slice himself. Leaning against the counter, he narrowed his eyes in thought. “Why isn’t Sanji eating? Didn’t you say food made you happy?” he asked, absentmindedly picking at his nails while keeping a steady gaze on Sanji.
The Cook simply shrugged and tried to push Luffy away from the counter. He needed to get back to work. Luffy’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he refused to budge. “Why won’t you eat?” He asked, in a tone entirely unfamiliar to him, commanding and dark.
Luffy is still stagnant, feet planted flat on the floor. “We caught fish. You can eat one.” He suggested, desperation creeping into his voice, eyebrows furrowing. Sanji sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. For a meal, he was unwilling to surrender his freedom. He didn’t want to be cursed by eating the product of a calm sea. He didn’t want to be in the calm belt at all.
“Sanji.” Luffy’s voice was a blade that sliced through his thoughts, forcing him to look down at the Captain.
He froze as his eyes widened, and his grip loosened, red marks still lingering on Luffy’s pale skin. “Because you all need to eat. I’m used to it. You guys need the food more than I do. I need to do this-” He began, Luffy already cutting him off, ever stubborn.
“Well, you shouldn’t be.”
Those dark eyes stared up at him, a glint in his eye, knowing each and every aspect of his Nakama. His hands fell away, and he set the knife back on the counter. “I know. But if we don’t get out soon, we won’t get out at all.” He reasoned, turning to leave, his shoulders drawn up to his ears. A rubbery hand gripped his wrist, binding him to his place.
“I will get us out.” Luffy huffed, his voice stern, a confident smile spread across his cheeks. “I’m your captain. I’ll do it. You trust me, so don’t lie.” He scolded, almost playfully, but laced with an underlying venom, a warning.
“I know. But if one of us has to go hungry, then–” A fist slammed into his ribs, making him stumble back, the strike aching more than it usually would. He turned to his captain, both their eyes wide, Sanji’s watering.
“I can feel Sanji’s bones.” He pursed his lips, fists shaking, muscles wound tight. He sniffed softly, his face falling as he flexed his hand. The cook shrugged, eyes mapping the wood grain as Luffy stepped closer, hand coming to splay across Sanji’s abdomen, soft skin meeting cloth and bone. Soft hands bracketed his hips, pressing inwards, smoothing over the thick cotton of his blazer. His captain stared at his stomach, head tilted; you could almost hear the gears whirring.
He then nodded to himself, his mind made up. “Sanji will eat. And I will get us out.” He wrapped Sanji tight in his arms, squeezing till the cook gasped for air. He righted himself and walked past Sanji, a determined grin spread across his face. Ever stubborn was his captain.
“By the way, Sanji?” Luffy began, looking over his shoulder, eyes bright. “Eat some food, captain’s orders!” He said, the cabin door rattling as he swung it closed behind him, the sound of his sandals dissipating.
Sanji sighed, head hung low. He came on this crew for a reason. He had almost died for Luffy, and he would do it all over again. If the captain ordered him to live, he would. For now, his trust was in Luffy, and if Luffy said they would make it out, then they would.
The sea was calm today. It stretches out into the horizon, vast and unmoving. The Sunny rocks side to side, and they will make it out, one day.
The sea will not be calm forever, only for a short while. Sanji would live for a long while. Captain’s orders.