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It all started with a screw. Four of them, actually.
It was an ordinary day aboard the Thousand Sunny — the sun blazed imperiously in the sky, not a single cloud in sight, and the heat was starting to get uncomfortable. Nami had warned them that they’d be passing by a few small summer islands and, although it wasn’t their destination, the weather would likely be affected.
Inside the galley, Luffy was still having lunch, finishing off whatever scraps he’d managed to steal with his sticky hands, his cheeks puffed out with food like a squirrel. Brook sat next to the captain, happy to let him have the last bite of his dessert, while Sanji prepared a cup of tea for him, Nami, and Robin. Law was sitting on the couch, his massive foreign-language medical volume open again as he quietly resumed reading after lunch.
Zoro burst through the door, Nami’s voice in the background rising a notch, as if she’d been complaining about something to him. The swordsman stepped into the galley and shut the door behind him, muffling her voice.
“Tsk. Damn witch.” Zoro muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel as he headed for the sink to grab a glass of water.
“Oi, marimo, don’t talk about Nami-san like that. If she’s arguing with you, she probably has a good reason.”
“Shut up, jailhouse cook.”
And it was in that moment of fragile peace — as Sanji set his own foot ablaze, aiming for Zoro’s head — that the final screw hit the floor and Franky removed the vent cover. See, Franky needed to do the maintenance on the ventilation duct, and if the soundproofing had to be removed along with the cover, well, that wasn’t his fault. This was as good a time as any, so why put off what needed to be done?
The sound of a door slamming echoed through the duct as if it were inside the galley itself, followed by Nami’s voice, carried clearly through the ventilation system.
“... after training, seriously.” A sigh was heard, followed by a soft chuckle.
“Oh, navigator-san, it’s not like he actually smells bad. He smells… musky, manly . I’d even say…” Robin’s voice grew softer. It was clear she was gesturing, trying to find the right words.
“Distractive?”
“Hmmm, distractive indeed.” Robin’s tone dripped with… malice? The girls broke into a fit of giggles.
Zoro froze mid-motion, eyes wide, his glass halfway to his lips. The galley went utterly still. Hell, time itself probably stopped inside that room. Not a single man dared to move. Even Luffy stopped chewing. Sanji’s face twisted with rage, turning a dangerous shade of red as if he might explode at any second, and the cigarette between his lips burned down to ashes.
“He has that smell… something musky, masculine, but with a floral note — must be the sword oil he uses. The expensive stuff… What’s it called again?”
“Cherry blossoms and… steel. Something raw, rough, like the rush before a fight.”
“Hmmm, something like that,” Nami agreed. “You know who doesn’t have that kind of manly smell?” She didn’t wait, answering her own question. “Luffy and Usopp.”
Silence stretched for a few seconds, as if Robin were contemplating her reply.
“Sencho-san smells like… sunlight and sea salt. Like a Sunday morning, comfort, and…”
“ Freedom ” the two voices said in unison. This silence carried with it a sincere smile, a restrained emotion.
All eyes in the galley turned toward the captain, who had set his sandwich down on the plate and folded his hands in his lap, fidgeting in embarrassment. His gaze was fixed on his hands, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“They don’t have that smell yet … Give them another year or two to ripen , like a fine fruit,” Robin said, and Nami let out a muffled laugh, as if covering her mouth.
“Robin!” Nami exclaimed, amused and surprised by the archaeologist’s choice of words.
“What?” the brunette feigned innocence.
“The way you say things!”
“Oh, hush! Sometimes it’s good to objectify men.” Robin replied in that knowing tone of someone with far too much life experience.
“If you say so… Well, Usopp smells like freshly cut flowers, gunpowder, and… coconut!” Nami said with certainty.
“Hm. Probably his hair cream… Then we’ve got the ‘in-between’ guys: Brook and Franky. I think Franky doesn’t have that ‘ manly ’ scent because of… you know, the lack of human parts.”
“I’ll give you that. He smells like engine oil and hair gel.”
“I’d say the smell of engine oil is… rather pleasant to the senses. It has nuances of nostalgia too — like an old ice cream parlor, milkshakes and cola.”
“Oh my… Poetic, aren’t you? And Brook?”
“Backstage. And that sweet, cold smell from dry ice. Something that makes me think of ancient ruins — that electric jolt you get when you stumble on a mystery that has to be solved with careful hands…”
“You sure that’s not just dust?”
More giggles floated down the duct. Brook’s jaw literally dropped to the table, and for a moment, it was questionable whether it would ever reattach. His stillness made him look like an actual corpse. Franky hadn’t moved since that damn screw fell, and now his left eye was twitching.
Sanji, leaning on the galley counter with one hand, brought a handkerchief to his nose to stem a nosebleed. The mere thought of Robin’s “careful hands” — plus his ladies talking so freely — had done him in. Law, for his part, just sank a little deeper into the couch and kept reading, his free hand pressing against his temple like maybe, just maybe, ignoring this conversation would make it stop.
“Now, back to the more… manly smells… they clearly come in different varieties,” Nami’s voice, laden with mischief, made the men in the galley collectively hold their breath.
“I like the way you think. And what would those variations be, navigator-san?”
“Well, Zoro has that smell, but it’s more… volatile? Rough?” The swordsman choked on his own saliva, his face burning crimson. No one dared make eye contact in the galley. “...but Sanji, he has that smell… I-I think it’s the mix of cigarette smoke, cologne, and all kinds of spices…” Nami was seeming to wrestle with her words, and Robin nodded, urging her to finish her thought.
“It’s the smell of a womanizer!” Nami declared in a louder tone, like someone who’d just made a great discovery. The laughter grew louder.
“No, really! From far away you know he’s going to say the sweetest things to you and then ruin your life! Total player. Naughty boy!”
“...but one who makes your time worth it.” Robin concluded.
“Robin!” Nami’s voice sounded scandalized, and the women’s laughter filled the galley, drowning out Sanji’s groan — whether from regret, pain, or pleasure, no one could tell. A second handkerchief went to the cook’s nose.
“You know who else would benefit from the cigarette smell?” Robin asked after the laughter subsided.
“Who?” Nami asked.
“Our dear guest,” Robin said lightly, and Nami made a choking sound.
“Let me appeal to your imagination, navigator-san. Picture it: those striking grey eyes, the scent of cigarettes, leather, and latex… from his jacket and medical gloves, of course.”
“ROBIN!” The laughter once again filled the galley. But embarrassment didn’t stop Nami from finishing the brunette’s thought.
“That manly , authoritative, commanding smell…”
“Oh, stop it. Enough of this. It’s gotten hot in here, hasn’t it?” Robin said, and the sound that followed was of air being moved — as if she were fanning herself to cool down.
“I need a bath. Cold. You coming?” Nami’s tone was pure innocence.
“Oh, I’d love to, navigator-san, but I’ll pass on the ‘cold’ part.”
The last giggles were followed by the rustle of clothing, wardrobe doors opening and closing, and then a bedroom door shutting. Back in the galley, eyes finally met again.
“R-Robot-ya, for the love of… Close it. Now.” The doctor’s voice came out strained.
Suddenly, everyone moved toward Franky and the ventilation duct as if it had personally offended them. In a flurry of exchanged looks and muttered words, they worked together to screw everything back into place, making absolutely sure the duct was sealed tight. Surely, never before in the history of all the seas had it taken five men to tighten four screws. When they were done, they left the galley under an unspoken pact — a vow of silence to never speak of the matter again.