Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were all stupid, violent, and devoid of empathy. I should have hated them right away.

That day, when Sanji returns to the ship, he feels strangely light. He walked through the streets distractedly, as if something were preventing him from staying alert, even though his observation haki covers the entire city. He feels as if nothing can affect him.

The wind blows pleasantly, and a little pollen swirls in the air. Passersby cross paths and greet each other in a friendly atmosphere.

Chapel Island is densely populated, with a few towers dominating the center while the suburbs stretch out in pretty houses adorned with flowers. A quirky modernity mingles with historic brick and stone, as if two worlds, two architectural styles, had clashed before absorbing each other. A gigantic clock strikes the hours, decorated with crosses and spikes. Sanji is almost certain Robin is wandering around there, looking for archives only she can decipher, much to the delight of the local curators.

Sanji is laden with provisions, and he can’t wait to try out this new recipe he got from a street food vendor.

“Oooh! Sanji! Good timing, food!”

Luffy is covered in dust. The cook wonders what kind of adventure he got himself into to end up in this state. They’re in civilized territory, for crying out loud! Then his captain flashes him one of his sunny smiles, and Sanji feels himself melt.

Luffy is special, he knows it. He’s known it ever since he saved the Baratie, and perhaps even since a swordsman with an absurd ambition swore allegiance to him, chest cut in half and blade in hand. He becomes a little more special in his eyes with every victory, every heart and every body saved in battle, just as he saved his own. Luffy is special because of the smile he shoots at him, which represents everything the cook never dared hope anyone would feel for him.

Sanji drops his groceries and throws himself at his captain, hugging him tightly.

“Right away, captain. Always a pleasure to see you smile like that,” he adds, because it’s true.

The young man chuckles and returns his embrace, wrapping his long, flexible limbs around him. Sanji feels safe, loved, even, and he blesses Luffy for his very existence. They stay like this until the cook has had his fill of affection. When he pulls away, his captain follows his movement.

Sanji kisses his powdery hair with the flat of his lips, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then orders:

“However! Filthy captains are banned from my galley. Go take a shower.”

He knows Luffy doesn’t like to wash, but he has standards, and he’s willing to fight to ensure they’re respected on his territory. All the more because Luffy touches everything, and while Sanji tolerates dirt as well as any other pirate, the kitchen is an exception he spends enough time cleaning as it is.

Luffy disappears from his field of vision, and the feeling of security his embrace gave him lingers in all its warmth. A few seconds later, cries erupt from the bathroom. Sanji rushes to Nami’s rescue.

“Aaaah, Nami-swan, I’m sorry!” he shouts when he sees her storming out of the damp room. “I’m the one who sent him!”

She’s wearing mini shorts still open over blue panties, a bikini top, and the rest of her clothes are clenched in her fist. Her other hand is busy holding a soaked book.

“Why am I not able to spend five minutes in the bathroom without being interrupted?! No one ever even washes on this boat! For fuck’s sake!”

“I’ll wash less often if it makes you happy, Nami-san…!” coos Sanji, but she gives him a cold stare.

“Please, don’t. You’re the only one who makes an effort.”

He receives the information with pleasure, but he is far too busy bleeding from his nose in front of the panties. Yet, his gentlemanly reflexes take over.

“Nami-san, let me carry all this while you get dressed.”

She gives him a suspicious look, both resigned and furious, but she hands him her clothes and her book. He turns away slightly to give her a sense of relative privacy, then his eyes drift back to where the last millimeter of blue cotton is disappearing.

“I know you’re watching, Sanji-kun,” Nami growls, hitting him on the head. “I’ll add that to your debts.”

The navigator snatches her crop top from his hands, then her shoes, then her ruined book. She stares at the object in despair.

“What a waste, I still had notes to take…”

Sanji senses her disappointment and irritation, even though she doesn’t resent Luffy as much as she claims, and doesn’t really care that he saw her panties. She just likes to be angry, to express her wild and untamed nature by growling and hitting whenever she gets the chance. He indulges her freely, because she’s beautiful when fulfilled and in control. Because he loves her and he enjoys being her outlet.

When he glances at the cover of the book, he notices the profile of a traditional mage and reads part of the title. It’s an ancient work on aerial travel. An important part of the navigator’s dream.

“Come to the kitchen,” he suggests, “we can try to wring it out. Robin-chan taught me how to.”

As they pass by outside, they spot Usopp on the dock, hauling a snail shell bigger than himself. The poor sniper is sweating, out of breath, and Sanji feels a pang of pity, among other emotions he didn’t think he was capable of, prompting him to hail his peer in a strangely new way. It only seems more sincere to him.

“Hey, handsome!” he calls out, gesturing wildly. “Need some help?”

He’s almost certain he can feel his heart rising into his eyes, but he doesn’t try to figure out why. Luffy’s hug made him happy, and now he can support Nami with her book and cook a new dish… He feels like he’s just allowed himself a little break, a moment to himself, a whim. Maybe that’s the case, in a way? Maybe he should just keep enjoying it without thinking too much about it? He’s not sure he can stop anyway, and he’s curious about this new development that seems to be happening as if in reverse.

“Oh, Sanji?! Not gonna say no to that, thanks!” Usopp groans before collapsing under the shell.

It threatens to roll over him. In a protective reflex, Sanji makes a move forward.

Nami gives him a puzzled look he doesn’t fully understand. He turns to her and explains the first step in saving her book:

“Press it between towels. The outside first, then slip in every ten pages, and press again. Until all the water has been squeezed out. I’ll be right back, I have a sniper in distress to save first. See you soon, navigator of my heaaaaart!”

The real hearts coming out of his eye seem to soothe Nami. She giggles with a weary but affectionate air.

“Yes, yes… Take your time!”

Sanji arrives just as the shell flips over onto the poor sniper, stopping it with his foot. Usopp, sprawled on the ground, looks up at him with relief.

“Phew, I thought I was a goner. Thanks!”

“No problem,” Sanji smiles, holding out his hand. “I wasn’t gonna let you get crushed.”

Usopp accepts it, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“What is it, by the way?” Sanji asks, deftly picking up the object.

Usopp explains that it’s a rare dial he and Franky found at a flea market. Meanwhile, the cyborg is gathering supplies to repair it. They haven’t yet figured out what it does, but it might have something to do with telecommunications.

Sanji finds it difficult to concentrate on the speech because of how his peer shines beside him. Usopp loves tinkering. He has the mind of an engineer, the ingenuity of an inventor, and the cook always wonders if he made a mistake by becoming a sniper. Or even a pirate. In another life, wapometal bears Usopp’s name. Then he remembers Usopp’s ambition has nothing to do with his many skills. He admires him all the more.

He stares at him with interest, filled with affection, then suddenly asks:

“Wait, Franky asked you to bring this back all by yourself?”

Franky knows Usopp isn’t as strong as he is. Sanji frowns at this thought: the cyborg doesn’t always have a sense of reality and sometimes gets carried away by his enthusiasm, but he carefully protects his young pupils.

“Oh, no, I volunteered! Makes for a good workout, aha!” Usopp justifies, raising his biceps to flex it.

The arm is still tense and swollen from the effort, and Sanji stares at it for a moment, impressed. Usopp is very well built, full of charm, and strangely charismatic. It’s no surprise Sanji gets a little lost in contemplating his inimitable physique.

“I can see that, hot stuff…!” he simpers, drooling at the corners of his mouth.

This time, he’s sure his heart is beating in his eye, and he sees no reason to hold it back. Usopp, too busy scratching the back of his head, both embarrassed and flattered, doesn’t notice his expression.

Sanji guesses what really happened: Franky had too much to carry, Usopp assured him he could take the object to the Sunny because he has the strength of a hundred men, and after asking him three times if he was sure, Franky let him deal with his lie.

Sanji leaps onto the ship, the dial on his shoulder. When the sniper joins him, he bows and offers his hand to help him down from the rail. This time, Usopp stares at the outstretched palm, looking dumbfounded, but accepts it wholeheartedly.

“Wow, Sanji, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but you’re even nicer than usual!” he says, waving the fingers of his free hand.

His face lit up with an appreciative smile, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed with what looks like embarrassment. Sanji returns his delighted expression.

“Glad you like it,” he whispers sensually. “Where do you want me to put this?”

They leave the dial on deck – Franky will decide later whether to take it to his workshop – and join Nami in the galley with the groceries.

“Nami-san, how are you doing?”

The navigator is busy pressing her book on the table and cursing Luffy, but she’s doing just fine.

“Hey! I know I’m not easy to spot, but you could have at least heard me yelling at you,” Franky says behind their backs.

Sanji is indeed surprised he didn’t see the man. Franky is gigantic, his round shoulders gleam in the sun, and his voice carries far. Was he so lost in the sniper’s eyes, too busy admiring him?

“Thanks for helping Usopp with the dial, I would have been too late to prevent an accident,” Franky adds, addressing Sanji.

The cyborg chuckles and gives him a thumbs up. Sanji affectionately places his hand on his enormous forearm.

“No problem, Franky. Hey, we need a fan, and a press tomorrow. Would you have those somewhere?”

This is the next step in recovering Nami’s book, and while Sanji knows how to prioritize danger, he never forgets the support he promised, especially to the pretty navigator. With the book wrung out, Franky invites her into his workshop so they can place the open item in front of a large fan.

Nami gives Sanji a wink of thanks. He melts onto his counter, his cheek resting on his folded arms.

“Aaah… Some beauties just can’t be made up…” he mutters as his cigarette emits little gray enamored hearts.

“You talking about me?” Usopp teases him, batting his eyelashes.

Sanji straightens up, staring at the sniper, crosses his hands in front of him, and exclaims in a high-pitched voice:

“Oh, I could just say the same about you! Don’t be jealous, Usopp!”

He waddles behind the counter while the sniper looks at him with increasing astonishment. He pays it no mind and realizes that instead of flirting – that’s what he’s doing, right? – he has to get to work. Especially since his captain is hungry.

“Can you help me put away the groceries? You’d be a sweetheart.”

If the nickname snaps Usopp out of his stupor, it’s only to make him look even more surprised. Sanji finds it hard to understand why: it’s not the first time he’s asked one of his peers for help with this kind of household chore, especially Usopp. The sniper may have a shifty attention span, but Sanji often finds him more reliable than he lets on – or than he thinks he is.

Usopp continues to stare at him strangely, but eventually shakes his head and gets involved. They have a pleasant time, talking about anything and everything. Usopp invents an adventure way too long for the time he spent on Chapel, and Sanji listens to him lovingly. It’s a thrilling murder mystery about an assassin working for the royal family.

The sound of the crew gathering begins to be heard. Luffy welcomes the new arrivals, drawing the sniper outside while Sanji starts cooking. Someone is surprised Zoro didn’t get lost, but Robin’s giggle informs them she picked him up at some unlikely place where fate wanted him to be.

Sanji fondly recalls the time Zoro climbed a tower to head north, and wonders if Robin found him perched on the giant clock.

At that moment, the swordsman enters the galley in search of refreshment.

Sanji is already reaching for the refrigerator when he realizes the magnitude of his new problem. A huge problem he never thought he would have to face. A problem along the lines of, “I used to have a thing for pretty women with large bosoms, and now I also have a thing for handsome, muscular warriors.”

He thought Usopp was an exception, a manifestation of his attachment to the sniper. But if the nosebleed threatening to burst in front of Zoro’s physique wasn’t clear enough, Sanji hears himself swallow when the swordsman passes behind him, pretending to ignore his presence to open the unlocked fridge. An intrusive thought prompts him to imagine powerful hands sliding around his hips, and the muscular chest pressing against his back as Zoro’s deep voice whispers, “What are you cooking?”

He feels his eyes fluttering in a half-moon shape, a blissful grimace distorting his features, and already imagines sending the swordsman packing so he can stay focused. Zoro pays no attention to him, grabs his bottle, and is about to slip away when Sanji stops him:

“Zoro…”

The swordsman stands behind him, ready to fight for the cold sake he plans to drink for hydration purposes – Chopper is going to strangle him. Sanji turns around and gives him a big smile, a heart fluttering in his pupil.

“Or you could ask, you know?”

Zoro is so disturbed by the accent and expression he doesn’t resist when Sanji snatches the bottle from his hands.

“Wait, I’ll open it for you. Handsome warriors have the right to be served in a manner befitting their feats.”

He juggles the object, uncorks it with a flourish, then presents it to Zoro as if offering a sword in inheritance.

“No glass, I presume?” he asks sarcastically.

The swordsman stares at him suspiciously for a moment, but then snatches the bottle and growls:

“Nah, thanks. And since when do you try to fight in your own kitchen? We’ll settle this outside. I’m thirsty.”

Sanji is fine with settling this outside – whatever this is –, but he waves his fingers at the man walking through the door, shouting after him in a high-pitched squeak:

“At your service, chéri! Come back whenever you want if you need anythiiiiing!”

Zoro reflexively places a hand on the hilt of a katana and turns around violently.

He narrows his eyes at Sanji’s innocent expression. Sanji doesn’t understand what he could have said or done to anger the swordsman, and decides to give him a knowing little smile. Zoro frowns, as if to tell Sanji he’ll get him back for this provocation, and slams the door behind him for good measure.

Sanji knows he’s not acting exactly like his normal self, but he doesn’t care. Behind his sometimes nonchalant mask, Zoro is a real peach, and the cook has no desire to pretend he doesn’t notice. The swordsman deserves to be cared for, pampered, loved, and told so as directly as he expresses his affection for Nami and Robin.

Moreover, Sanji enjoyed the interaction: he offered something, he was sincere. He intends to continue down this path, especially if it’s a new way to confuse his rival.

Sanji has never felt better in his entire life. He feels like something magical is happening to him. It’s as if he were drunk, as if a tasteless alcohol with no side effects had freed him from his inhibitions. He plays with the equipment and ingredients in front of him, mad percussionist turned expert in the art of improvising melodies with whatever means are at hand. The urge to sing takes hold of him.

He hums softly at first, then gains confidence and lets himself be carried away by the music.

Raise your horns into the air
There is plenty ale to share
All are welcome, take a chair
And sing a song loud and strong

It’s a song from his native sea, warm and welcoming, the kind Judge couldn’t stand. It speaks of community, sharing, and the comfort of coming home. Sanji didn’t think he could enjoy it again, but it floats in his mind, soothing, and instead of evoking memories of violent soldiers stripped of their souls, it conjures up images of his crew in his heart. Sanji is at home, after all.

By the time he finished the verse, he decides it’s a little sad to sing alone when his family is within earshot. He shouts out loud:

“Hey! Brook! Can you play Skal on the violin? Jinbe! I need a bass!”

Brook opens the galley door like a rock star entering the stage, armed with a violin and his lipless smile.

“Yohohoho! A request from the cook? How rare! Let’s make the most of it!”

“Have I been called? asks Jinbe, appearing behind Brook.

“Jinbe-san, it’s a song from North Blue,” Brook explains. “Do you know it?”

The fishman nods, and, guided by Sanji, they try the first verse. Jinbe’s deep voice complements his lighter tone, then vibrates in echo to Brook’s improvised solos.

Men of war and men of care
Maidens fierce and maidens fair
Raise your horns into the air
And sing a song loud and proud and strong

The sound of a stampede spreads through the ship. The rest of the crew rushes into the galley, drawn by the harmonies.

“Ooooh, Sanji started a musical session?! It’s the first time!” shouts Chopper.

“Sanji! We want to sing too!”

“Nice traditional tune, very festive,” Robin notes with a giggle.

“Yoho! In that case, allow me to orchestrate the ensemble!”

Brook takes charge, asking for volunteers to sing, others to hum along, and explaining how to clap and stomp their feet to the beat. Sharing this melody with Brook and Jinbe is already a privilege, but once the musician has assigned the roles, Sanji feels a liberating euphoria wash over him.

Luffy, with his innate sense of rhythm, claps his hands and stomps his feet, laughing and shouting during the chorus:

SKAL!
SKAL!

Zoro bangs his fist on the table in canon with Nami, and, against all odds, Sanji is sure he can hear him half-singing long, slightly off-key subharmonic notes that give him chills. The navigator and the swordsman look at each other with that knowing, almost pure expression that reveals their deep friendship. Their small, wild grin, almost competitive, adds another layer of goosebumps to his skin as he waltzes around the kitchen.

Sing loud and strong

Usopp and Chopper contrast their voices in perfect harmony, with the sniper managing to imitate both low and high notes thanks to his flexible range. He chokes on Zoro’s bass notes, falls back on Jinbe’s, while Chopper sings the chorus in unison with Luffy.

SKAL!
SKAL!

Sanji plays the sounds of the kitchen in rhythm, carried away by the frenzy he has unleashed. Pots, pans, utensils and ingredients sing under his fingers, musicians under the command of their own conductor, and he glances ecstatically at Brook. To match the song, he serves drinks to the gathering.

A toast and a thundering song

Sanji takes the time to turn to Nami and Robin with each “maiden fierce and maiden fair”. The beautiful archaeologist does not sing or clap her hands, but she watches the whole scene with a benevolent gaze and sways from side to side, sitting on the sofa next to Franky, who has taken out his acoustic guitar.

Then the cook points out the men on the ship one by one, and even Zoro gives him a sullen yet flattered look when he includes him. In the midst of his rhythmic work, between two batches, he sees them all staring at him when “men of care” echoes again. Something burns inside him, like a happiness strong enough to trigger a rush of adrenaline.

Brook keeps singing the song until everyone knows it by heart. He finishes it in a solo with Franky.

“Thanks. That was awesome,” says the cook, smiling as he takes a puff of smoke.

Applause erupts, congratulations all around. Nami laughs heartily. Luffy gets a snack, Zoro obtains more alcohol without even asking. He looks up at him in surprise, to which Sanji responds with a playful grin that lets slip an incongruous heart. The swordsman raises both eyebrows, but refrains from making any comment: he got what he wanted.

Sanji serves some petit fours, then goes back to the kitchen to finish up dinner.

“Another one!” demands his captain.

The cook stares at him for a moment, touched, then happily resumes singing.

Sanji is used to the chaos of his crew. He is also used to surprises, incongruous revelations, and his own emotions running wild. However, they’ve never been as wild as they are right now, and he’s beginning to think that, perhaps, the problem is more serious than he initially thought.

During the rest of supper, he was too busy to notice. As surprising as it may seem to those who only know him superficially, he’s always been slightly more interested in cooking than in flirting. He’s aware that even his passion for romance and sex takes a back seat when he focuses on a meal and the pleasure it will bring to its recipient. Nothing can match his fascination with the culinary arts, which allows him to give his love freely and receive a few crumbs in return through the smiles he elicits.

The only other thing that competes with and, to his dismay, supplants his romantic obsessions is his rivalry with Zoro. He’s not sure he’s been aware of it until now, but as he watches the swordsman devour his food, he realizes that while his aesthetic appeal is not unrelated to the sudden attraction he feels for him, it would be nothing without the strong conflicting emotions binding him to his best rival.

Then there’s Usopp, with his false courage and true bravery, who gives him hope and reminds him he’s not the only one plagued by anxiety and fear of doing wrong or not doing enough. Sanji admires this peer who has learned to use his own abilities to become part of the crew, without ever denying who he is. Sanji is fortunate to have developed martial skills that allow him to compensate for the weaknesses he was born with, but Usopp doesn’t need that strength to be himself. He’s handsome, endearing and complete with his visionary lies and imaginative realism.

Sanji wonders if he should think about the consequences of this incongruity he discovers in himself. However, he prefers to let his mind drift to the observations of the present and appreciate these new nuances in all their richness. Loving, giving, and loving to give are in his nature, after all. Isn’t it a good thing he can indulge in it with more people?

Of course, he doesn’t usually flirt openly with Usopp the way he does with Robin, and he doesn’t giggle stupidly every time he manages to get Zoro’s attention the way he does with Nami. It’s just two more people he swoons over. Two people, and still just as many complex emotions that he has long since given up trying not to wallow in, because he’s not his brothers.

However, now leaning against the railing while part of the crew participates in a mime game, he begins to contemplate some questions. The primary one is quite materialistic, far from the concerns he should be considering, but it predominates as Sanji’s tendency to fall in love, desire, and flirt predominates in most of his interactions: Why is everyone so hot?

Luffy laughs out loud, and Sanji wants to hug him, or continue to look at him like an idol until the end of time. Zoro is criminally sexy, his attention to his peers adding to his raw charm and samurai values. Usopp is mimicking a dung beetle, and the laughter he elicits shakes Sanji to his core.

Of course, Nami is gorgeous, with her slightly mean look and total control over her life. And then there’s Robin, as wonderful as ever even in her peaceful silence, enjoying a cup of jasmine tea he’s made especially for her.

Usually, only the beauty of these two women makes him panic. Or the beauty of several other women. This isn’t the first time he’s felt this sense of not knowing where or who to look at, so stimulated are his senses by the beauty of those around him. Women, exclusively. How can all ladies be so beautiful? is a question he’s been asking himself since he was a child, never bothered by not having the answer.

Now, as if a veil had suddenly been lifted from his eyes, he can see the same charms in other genders. No. He already saw them. He’s able to define precisely why a man can be attractive, pleasant to look at, and even sexually appealing. It’s just that he never took the time to think about it, and he thought he was comfortable with this lack of questioning. He never needed to, he doesn’t see why he should have changed the way he operates.

The difference now is that the beauty of men is no less dazzling than that of women. Especially that of his male peers, for whom he feels a deep affection that draws him into their arms as easily as it draws him to Nami or Robin.

Sanji examines the crew before him once more, anxious about what he might discover.

Chopper doesn’t count, he’s a reindeer.

Neither does Brook, for obvious reasons, even though the skeleton would probably be offended by that thought.

Franky and Jinbe are attractive, although his relationship with them keeps him at a distance that prevents him from considering them as potential partners – but they remain attractive nonetheless.

Luffy? Not really my type, but I wouldn’t say no if you were interested, given how irresistible you are, body and soul.

Usopp? Could we go and have a romantic make-out session in a corner like, right now? Let me show you how valuable you are.

Zoro? Fold me in half and take me whenever you want. Or the other way around. Or whatever you desire that keeps us back to back or face to face.

In case the situation is more serious than expected, he once again reflects on his feelings for the two women.

Nami? You could ride me until the end of time if it helps you let off some steam. You have so much to express, and I want to be there for any of it.

Robin? I want to make tender love to you until you forget for a moment everything that has hurt you in your life.

With some relief, he notes that everything is in place. Even his inability to differentiate between physical attraction and romantic attraction remains: Sanji cannot desire without loving, perhaps because he’s incapable of not loving at all. He knows what limerence is. He also knows that it pushes him to unusual extremes, but his crew is special: limerence is far away, since he first met them. His feelings are not linked to the excitement of novelty or the enthusiasm of a fleeting “coup de foudre.”

It seems logical to him that these new emotions are plural, and that discovering them immediately involves this strong feeling of love he knows so well from feeling it every day.

He shrugs. It doesn’t matter if he panics a little more or a little less. He can deal with this new development. He’s happy with it.

Jinbe steps down from the bow at that moment, and Sanji, displaying his gentlemanly reflexes, steps forward at the foot of the stairs and says:

“Ah, allow me?”

He bows slightly and holds out his palm for support. Jinbe’s eyes widen, then at least four question marks appear above his head. However, he accepts the gallantry and thanks him sincerely.

Sanji senses a few curious glances directed at him, but pretends not to notice. He doesn’t see the problem. He genuinely enjoys making people happy. He likes being pleasant to others. He likes it because it’s in his nature, regardless of whether this nature has led him to seek ways to be useful at all costs in order to gain the approval of his peers. It’s not a burden, because it brings him joy.

Sanji approaches the group of mimes and sits down next to Zoro, whom they have failed to draw into their game, but is watching eagerly. His hoarse laughter rings out in the night. Sanji joins in, and they exchange a peaceful, knowing glance.

Chapter Text

I don’t know what was worse. That they forbade me from being who I was, or from doing what I loved.

“Ah, Zoro, wait!”

The swordsman turned around with a feeling of déjà vu. They landed on a small, wild island, and he was about to set off alone for some exploration when Sanji called out to him.

“If you come across anything edible, could you bring it back? It’ll make a nice change from sea kings.”

Zoro can’t resist repeating the hilarious pattern that established their rivalry.

“Oh? Okay, love-cook. I’m gonna catch something you could never catch yourself,” he says with a petty smile.

“Hey, is that a challenge? You think you’re stronger than me?! Wait a minute, you shitty…” sings the cook’s voice in his head.

“Oh, really?”

Zoro waits for the jibe, the furious reaction, the kick.

“Can’t wait to see what that’s gonna be! Thanks, Zoro.”

Zoro remains frozen, dumbfounded by the comment. Sanji turns away and enters the galley, where he begins to sing a bawdy song. The sounds of a sharp knife cutting into fresh meat echo rhythmically.

There once was a girl from the seas
Who liked to… crush quite a few knees
And without any complex
She sought the taste of… blood

His smooth voice censors the sexual terms and replaces them with his chef’s vocabulary, associated with the piece he cuts with enthusiasm. The verses elicit a shiver from Usopp, who witnessed the exchange.

They told her, one day, you’ll regret
Having so much fun… to eviscerate
She said try having a… good meat saw
See if you don’t enjoy it raw

The sniper is speechless. He turns his head toward Zoro as if his neck were a rusty clock.

“I… What just happened?!”

Zoro is just as surprised, and he has to pick up his own jaw. He listens for a moment longer to the cook’s improvisation, imagining his nimble hands juggling the knife and dismembering the meat without wasting a single millimeter.

There once was a girl from the seas
Who had a passion for… ribs
So all her life she was happy
To bathe herself in… bone marrow

Soon, with unexpected strength, Sanji will cut through the bones, extract the marrow, and turn it into ingredients for his delicious dishes. Zoro shakes his head and walks away. Now that Sanji has placed such trust in him, he must live up to his expectations. He will bring him something incredible, something that will make him regret declining his challenge.

The silence is a little awkward. Nami and Sanji stand in front of the creature he’s hunted down. Zoro is perched on the gigantic corpse, looking as proud as a kid who thinks he got a perfect score on his multiple-choice quiz, but moved all his answers by one line.

Nami isn’t too comfortable in jungles since Little Garden, so she asked her companions to survey the area for her. The cook has finished cutting up his meat supply, judging by the scarlet stains on his apron, forearms, and exposed cheek…

Zoro loves to fight, and he has a morbid fascination with blood, enjoying its fresh taste on his own skin – and perhaps on others’, but he’s never ventured that far yet. This man, so pale, so blond, so kind, covered in red splatters and armed with a butcher knife, is a vision he cherishes beyond reason. He likes Sanji with his serial killer aura, terrifying and in complete control of himself.

“And what is this supposed to… be?” asks Nami, making a disgusted face.

Zoro has no idea, but the cook has stuck the knife in his apron belt and is already examining the late thing.

It’s hairy, although it has two wings that weren’t much use against Zoro’s ranged attacks. It has no eyes, or at least Zoro didn’t identify them as such. However, it has a large number of legs, which he would have compared to tentacles if they hadn’t been shaped like cooked chicken legs. Its maw, lined with several rows of teeth, is located under its abdomen. Given the size of the beast, Zoro assumes it fed itself by sitting on its prey – something it tried on him before realizing his katanas were stronger than its fangs, which is why the swordsman is now covered in a kind of yellowish mucus that reeks of beef broth. The creature, impervious to haki, gave him a hard time.

“Oh, nice catch. I expected nothing less from you, chéri!”

Sanji gives him a sincere and mischievous smile, a little pink heart escaping from his lips.

Zoro feels a chill run through him, as if some cosmic element had shifted and refused to return in place. Nami feels it too, for she now stares at Sanji as if he just threw food overboard.

“It’s a tropical cowicken,” continues Sanji, unaware of the distress he has caused his peers. “It’s almost legendary in culinary circles for its combination of red and white meats.”

The kid who almost failed his exam got everything wrong, but moving down his answers saved the day.

“They say its legs have an incomparable chicken flavor… This is great, thank you! Just what I needed!”

Sanji blows him a fucking kiss, which he makes fly with his hand, and heads back to his kitchen to change knives, almost dancing along the way.

“You… It’s not me, right?” Zoro asks Nami, as if doubting the interaction.

“I… It’s not you”, Nami replies. “Sanji-kun just complimented you. And flirted with you, incidentally.”

Zoro takes the blow like a second slap in the face now that it’s been verbalized. Since yesterday, the cook has been acting strange. Not that he seems to be having a problem with it: Zoro has never seen him so enthusiastic, sociable, and full of smiles. Sanji is beaming, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that these emotions are real, otherwise Luffy would have intervened, or someone else, or…

“Zoro, could you assist me?” asks the smooth voice with a little too much hope to be honest.

He’s armed with two new meat knives. A childish grin adorns his face. Nami glances at him sideways, then walks off muttering:

“I’m not getting involved in whatever this is.”

Sanji shouts something to Nami about how it’s better this way, because they’re going to create a carnage and he doesn’t want her to see that – “Take the opportunity to relax, I love you!”

Normally, Zoro would have hissed sarcastically: “What, can’t you do that yourself?” But he has a feeling the cook won’t take the bait. Certainly not with his excited kid’s expression. Besides, the swordsman is already filthy… a little more, a little less…

Not that he dislikes cutting things with Sanji. It’s a rewarding activity, during which they manage to get along while throwing fake insults at each other.

Oddly enough, Sanji knows how to ask for help when it comes to cooking. Even from Zoro, who reluctantly agreed to use his katanas to heat up a huge rock on Skypiea. The swordsman has come to understand that, in Sanji’s eyes, it’s a team effort. A moment of sharing during which ill-tempered men give each other orders, argue and express gratitude, then move on to other matters. A compromise to produce a nourishing oeuvre that warms the heart and fills the stomach. Love made to eat.

He would never admit, but he enjoys being involved in these creations. The cook’s passion is contagious, his control and talent radiate so much from his body that Zoro himself accepts his directives, albeit grudgingly.

The new Sanji no longer hides his feelings behind verbal abuse, but his passion remains intact. Zoro won’t miss an opportunity to help him fulfill it.

They cut up the… cowicken together, and despite Sanji’s lack of repartee – he’s replaced his susceptibility with words of validation every time Zoro claims to be superior to him –, the swordsman has a good time. When they’re through, Sanji turns to him, a little out of breath, and flashes him yet another smile that catches him off guard.

“Thanks, I’ll make it up to you!”

“You owe me a bottle”, Zoro retorts reflexively.

Instead of getting angry – although he always gives him what he requests, even when the wine stock in the aquarium is still full –, Sanji steps over a few hairy chicken legs and stares at him intently.

Zoro steps back under the scrutinizing gaze. Out of habit, he waits for the jab, the aggression, the disparaging remark that masks the compliment. Once again, it doesn’t come.

Instead, Sanji lights a cigarette, which immediately emits ridiculous little hearts. He persists in his frank smile, raises his hand, and, hesitating in a shy gesture that doesn’t resemble him, whispers seductively:

“You have mucus there. May I?”

Zoro is so shocked that he nods stupidly. Nami’s right. Sanji is flirting with him. In his own way. In their own way, as if the cook knew how to handle him and keep his interest. Zoro has no idea what’s happening in this idiot’s head, but there’s no way he’s going to let him take control of their exchanges by refusing any confrontation.

Sanji wipes his cheek with his thumb, and Zoro feels his stomach churn at the movement. He’ll have to talk to Chopper about it; cowicken saliva might be toxic. In the meantime, he raises his own thumb, smiles through gritted teeth, and informs Sanji in a manner as awkward as it is terrifying:

“You have blood there.”

He tries to wipe away the mark on the pale cheekbone, but it’s already dry. He ends up pressing down until the cook has to take a step back. The latter bursts out laughing. Zoro can’t resist the absurdity of the situation and joins in his hilarity.

Luffy finds them chuckling amid a veritable carnage of bones, guts, and slimy fur. Sanji takes the time to grill him a cowicken leg, then they stuff the refrigerator and storage space with all the fresh meat the Sunny can hold.

Zoro is almost relieved when he gets yelled at for putting mucus everywhere. However, Sanji doesn’t even throw him overboard so he can rinse himself off. Disappointed, the swordsman jumps into the water and decides to take a nap on the shore.

Sanji also flirts with Usopp. Ostensibly.

After taking a quick shower to wash off the blood, the cook went for a walk himself. He made no secret of his concern for the rest of the crew – and not just Robin –, as their two best fighters were already back on the ship. Zoro didn’t bother: Luffy asked to accompany Sanji, while they entrusted him with protecting Nami and the Sunny.

When they return, they’re followed by the rest of the group:

“The things I’ve seen, Nami! The things I’ve seen!” Usopp exclaims dramatically.

Robin giggles, having apparently enjoyed the things in question – according to Jinbe, it was a horde of vampire fairies. Chopper is almost traumatized, Brook’s legs are still shaking, even though he’s the only one of their peers immune to the little creatures.

“Ah, if only I had been there sooner, Robin-chan, Usopp! I would have protected you!”

“Sanjiiii!” whines Usopp. “Next time, I’m taking you with me!”

The image of Sanji in his serial killer costume comes back to Zoro’s mind, and he snickers. The cook would probably frighten even vampire fairies if he wanted to.

“With pleasure! I’ll be your knight in shining armor, your valiant warrior, your…”

The litany is lost in the general din, as if no one finds it strange that the love-cook has started hitting on Usopp – and that Usopp seems perfectly comfortable with the situation.

Then Zoro notices they’re all wearing flowers in their hair, except for Luffy, whose hat is proudly adorned with a small sunflower.

“Ah! Nwaaami-swaaaan!” cries the cook as the others move away from the cowicken’s corpse and set up a campfire for the evening. “I have a flower for youuuu!”

At least some things never change, he notes with relief. Then the cook’s whining grows closer, and Zoro hears distinctly:

“Zorooo chériiiii!”

Zoro wonders if he shouldn’t go back into the water, just to avoid confrontation. Sanji appears, a smoking bump on his head – despite his strange behavior, Nami is no kinder to him. He greets him gallantly, then holds a flower under Zoro’s nose.

“Hana wa sakuragi, hito wa bushi,” Sanji recites in his suave tone. “‘Of all flowers, the cherry blossom; of all men, the warrior.’”

Zoro doesn’t know why, but he feels his cheeks burning at the declaration, as if he had a fever. Another symptom he’ll have to talk to Chopper about.

The poem is an ode to bushido and its practitioners, often heard in the land of Wa. Sanji recited it sincerely, as if none of this were a complete joke and he had really thought about how he could please his best rival.

“There were cherry blossoms,” continues the cook, “but they’re too short-lived. I preferred to pick a chrysanthemum, it suits you better.”

“Longevity and perseverance,” comments Robin with a chuckle.

Sanji probably chose a flower for each of them. Something characteristic and thoughtful, which he usually reserves for the women on the ship.

“There was a huge field on the way back, it was beautiful!” explains Chopper, laden with bouquets of fragrant herbs.

Franky and Jinbe carry sheaves of wheat and millet bursting with color.

When Sanji slips the flower into his belt, Zoro feels that strange sensation in his gut again. The cook walks away to stow his new supply of grain in the kitchen, asking nothing in return for his affection.

Robin leans over to whisper in his ear:

“I understand it is also symbolic of male love among samurai.”

Zoro chokes on the remark. She takes advantage of his discomfort to clarify, amused:

“Usopp got a green carnation. A lovely declaration, also symbolic of homosexuality in old North Blue societies. Nami got a chamomile and I an anemone.”

Zoro knows nothing about flower language, but he’s afraid of what she’s about to explain. Rightly so:

“Submission.”

He chokes once more, looks at her with annoyance, and blurts out:

“Too much information, Robin. Really. Too much.”

She lets out her deep, soft laugh, gives him a mischievous look, then runs toward the campfire to join the others. Long gone are the days when this incredible, dignified woman had a survival instinct…

“If it makes you feel any better, it remained very platonic for the rest of the crew!”

He can’t help but smile – he is indeed a little reassured. It doesn’t matter that the cook is going completely off the rails: he’s happy, and his joy is transmitted and shared to all their peers.

The next day, they land on Faunus, a barren island whose village consists of pretty white houses with rounded blue roofs. There they learn the area they are crossing is actually an archipelago. This explains why all these lands are so close together, unlike the weeks it sometimes takes the Sunny to reach her next destination.

Each inhabited island has its own culture, but trade flourishes, ensuring prosperity for the small community. The proximity of the fae island, however, gives rise to strange phenomena, and magical and demonic creatures are not uncommon in the region.

Luffy has already disappeared into thin air, ignoring the fisherwoman who welcomes them to the bustling port. She was initially scared, but Nami and Sanji reassured her. Zoro doesn’t know which of the two is more interested in the pretty girl. However, Sanji gets hit and collapses to the ground, looking dejected. Nami walks away with the young woman on her arm, motioning for Chopper and Robin to follow her. Brook tags along, and the intimidated fisherwoman clings more tightly to the navigator.

Franky wants to take advantage of the stopover to do some work on the ship and recruits Jinbe to help him clean the hull. Zoro is about to slip away when Usopp throws himself at him.

“Zoro, stick with me! Didn’t you hear what she said about satyrs?!”

Zoro protests, but Sanji intervenes almost immediately, having recovered from his disappointment.

“Ah! My two handsome warriors, what a perfect timing!”

Zoro grimaces at the designation; Usopp puffs himself up, his cheeks pink and looking far too flattered. Sanji kneels before them while the swordsman tries to pull himself away from the sniper. The cook extends a hand to each of them and declaims:

“Will you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk around town?”

His visible eye throbs in time with his heartbeat, his silly smile already distorting his features, and Zoro really begins to wonder if this isn’t all some kind of joke, so he decides to react as usual:

“And then what, ero-cook?!”

“Oh man, proposed so gallantly, how can I refuse!”

Zoro turns his head toward Usopp so quickly he feels his neck crack. Usopp reciprocates his bewildered gaze, then shrugs and adds:

“What? I have a case of ‘I can’t walk around this island alone,’ and Sanji’s been nothing short of adorable lately. Gotta enjoy it while it lasts.”

Sanji stands up, whirls around in front of Usopp, and guarantees him lifelong safety. Then he turns to Zoro and argues softly:

“We risk you getting lost if you go off on your own. And I owe you a bottle, now’s the chance, right?” he adds with a playful grin.

Usopp gives him a judgmental look, and the cook’s smile almost looks like a provocation. Zoro grits his teeth, and accepts.

Twenty minutes later, he’s torn between regretting the situation and finding it strangely appealing: Sanji has offered him a bottle of ouzo – a large, ice-cold, fragrant, refreshing bottle – and they share marinated olives as they wander among food, drink and local artists stands.

The cook is borderline unbearable, hearts flying out of him in all directions because there’s so many pretty folk everywhere. He’s so panicked that he’s clinging to his arm as if all these people were going to jump at his throat. Zoro is drowning in the feeling of superiority this gesture, from his rival, confers on him. Under other circumstances, he would have pulled away, but the cook is weird, and Zoro would be lying if he said it didn’t worry him.

On the other side of Sanji, Usopp holds the olive tray in one hand and a toothpick in the other. When Zoro throws his head back, the sniper flings the olives into the air so that they land in his open mouth. When Sanji turns his face toward him, parting his lips and blushing, his nostrils flared, the sniper shoves them straight into his mouth with the toothpick.

Usopp seems to find the whole thing hilarious. Zoro can’t blame him. The joy and affection of this strange Sanji are contagious, appealing, fascinating even. It’s only natural for them to get caught up in it.

Sanji has always had a lot of charisma, with his flair for the dramatic, his martial arts skills, and his talent for cooking. Zoro never knew if his extravagant flirting offered him as many opportunities as if he were a little less hysterical and over-the-top, but Sanji is a handsome man, so why not? Nami even told him a bizarre story about how Big Mom’s daughter tried to shoot him in the head before falling madly in love with him, without anyone understanding what happened.

“Oh… What beautiful eyes…!” exclaims Sanji beside him.

“Wow, look at all those incredible colors!” adds Usopp.

Zoro is dragged to a stand he would never have stopped at, either for its contents or for its… the person running the stand. He wonders for a moment what all these small, flat, closed jars of shimmering powder are for, accompanied by brushes, pads, and other instruments he would rather have seen in a torture chamber. Then he notices the lipsticks, and a light bulb goes off in his head.

The person running the stand is an okama. Well, as far as he knows. A young okama with a lean, muscular build, black skin, hair braided with wooden beads, and long, manicured false nails. Their large dark eyes stand out amid garish yellow and bright blue makeup, but Zoro admits that he – she? – has style, compared to Bon-chan.

“How may I address you, divine creature?” Sanji asks, letting go of his arm to clasp his hands together and waddle stupidly.

The okama looks him up and down for a moment, then does the same with Usopp and Zoro. Finally, they raise an eyebrow in surprise and reply in a friendly tone:

“The name’s Bijou, darling. Masculine, please. And you don’t have to be so polite, we’re between us.”

Sanji freezes. He blushes furiously in an apparent mixture of embarrassment and anger, then begins to stammer incoherent sentences. Zoro hears “such an appropriate patronym” and then “not an okama.” Bijou bursts out laughing before waving his hand.

“Oh, darling, don’t take it that way! I’m not an okama either, I’m a pan guy with a non-binary gender expression. ‘Between us’ was because of that confident bisexual aura of yours, but maybe I jumped to conclusions too quickly…”

Zoro hasn’t understood a single word Bijou just said, and he’s pleased to see that, judging by his confused expression, neither has the cook.

“Oh, sorry,” Usopp interjects. “He has weird reactions to people who look like okamas. We never got why.”

Sanji glances at him with alarm, runs his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, then manages to calm himself with a cigarette. He exhales slowly:

“I trained for two years in Kamabakka. I was there for the cooking and martial arts, but…”

Zoro has never heard of this place, but the name is significant enough to make him chuckle. Usopp imitates him, even though he manages to hide it. Both of them have just figured out a lot about the cook, and the knowing look they exchange tells them they’re going to team up and tease Sanji about it.

The latter is too confused to finish his sentence. However, Bijou seems to guess everything right away.

“Ah,” he says with a pout before leaning over his stand to pat the cook on the arm. “I understand. The local population is a little too enthusiastic about welcoming new members. They’ve forgotten that there are tons of different ways to be queer, and that people who don’t fit gender norms aren’t necessarily part of the spectrum…”

“Queer?”

“Gender norms?”

“Spectrum?”

They glance at each other frantically. Bijou raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, crap, this is worse than I thought. I’m so sorry. I thought you were on a date with your boyfriends. You three looked so cute together…”

Zoro chokes on the saliva he could no longer swallow. Usopp takes it as a compliment and waves his hand to further lie:

“Oh, but of course! I totally hook up with that gorgeous blonde who’s completely out of my league, ahaha!”

Sanji’s cheeks turn tomato red, but he begins to declaim something about his unwavering love for them, and if only it were true, he’s ready, he will be their partner, their suitor, their knight in shining armor…

Bijou gives him a tender look, then grumbles:

“Tss… They really haven’t taught you anything… Let’s start from the beginning. Minh! I have babies for you!”

A small woman covered in tattoos appears in their field of vision. She’s wearing ripped jeans, a metal belt, and a torn black tank top. Her short hair is tousled, her ears pierced in numerous places, and Zoro approves of her look much more than Bijou’s.

“Yeah, butches know to appreciate each other,” Bijou sneers, without anyone understanding the joke – except Minh, who holds out a tiny, open hand to Zoro.

He shakes it with an amused grin.

Sanji tries his usual magic on her, but she bursts out laughing and immediately rejects him. Zoro wonders how Sanji could have thought he had any chance with a girl wearing a T-shirt that says “This is what a lesbian looks like,” then he remembers Sanji does it on everyone, even unconsciously, and even as platonically as when he gives flowers to the entire crew.

“Um, excuse me,” Usopp interjects, “but I came here for the pigments in your eyeshadows. Where do you get them? I’d like to use them to make paint.”

Sanji, having recovered from his emotions, finally takes a look at the display.

“Oh, you’re right, Usopp, they’re really beautiful. Look at that blue!”

The sniper and the cook begin to mill around the stand, chatting – or flirting, depending on who – with Bijou. Zoro switches off after hearing the name of the faerie vampire island where they get their supplies – Puk. He takes another sip of ouzo. Minh takes a metal flask out of her satchel and offers to toast him. He gladly complies.

“So, you’re the one I give the pamphlets to?”

Zoro has no idea what she’s talking about, but Usopp and Sanji are too busy being sociable to pay any attention to them. He shrugs his shoulders, which she takes as a sign of agreement. He ends up with a small stack of hand-printed documents, covered in colors as bright as the makeup before their eyes. He thanks Minh, who gives him a knowing wink and joins Bijou at the stand to sell the products.

Zoro sits on the ground, his back to the table, to finish his bottle and leaf through the papers. What he finds there doesn’t surprise him, but some of the information suddenly makes a lot of sense in his mind. It’s a strange feeling. Not relief, just a little warmth, something that makes him think: I’m not alone.

Zoro is used to being alone. He has always accommodated to the fact, but it doesn’t mean he has no pleasure in being part of a community. It’s especially true since he found a home with the Strawhat crew. He likes to share his passions and interests, and he hopes to meet other people like the ones mentioned in this pamphlet. He won’t remember the vocabulary, he doesn’t care, he is who he is. However, he will reach out if he recognizes that same nature in someone who is searching for themselves.

“How about you, darling, want to try?” Bijou’s voice suddenly asks above his head.

He sits up, intrigued. Maybe Minh has offered to share her flask?

Usopp replies before he can:

“Oh, I doubt it! Watch out, Bijou, he doesn’t like people attacking his manliness.”

“You mean the cook?” Zoro retorts cynically, knowing Usopp is teasing him.

“Fuck you, marimo!” he hears Sanji retort in his head, but Sanji replies with a mischievous accent:

“What? Is your masculinity that fragile?”

Usopp giggles uncontrollably. Zoro notices an unusual red tint on the hollows of his brown cheeks. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it: the cook gives him his childlike smile, and Zoro remembers he needs to consult Chopper about his unexpected fevers. He drinks to cool off, but the alcohol fails to undo the knot in his gut.

Only then does he notice the difference on the pale face: a sparkling blue adorns the drooping eyelid, like a reflection of a fantasy sea, and the thin lips shine in the sun, rosy with makeup. Zoro shakes his head, the knot in his stomach making an unwanted loop.

He has to respond to the taunt, the provocation… Finally… Finally, Sanji has issued him a challenge. A tiny, ridiculous, childish challenge, far from what he usually expects from him, but the rush of adrenaline suddenly stifles the symptoms-he-has-to-tell-Chopper, and Zoro can’t resist his competitive spirit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cook. What do I have to do?” he asks with a predatory smile.

His expression makes Bijou and Minh shudder, but they quickly recover, exchange a knowing glance, and begin rummaging through their belongings. Zoro is seated on a chair by force. Minh leans over him, one of the torture devices in her hand.

“I promise I’ll be careful with your scar.”

Zoro spirals for a moment in a mountain of regret, then remembers he’s doing this to live up to Sanji.

When they leave Bijou and Minh, Zoro feels like his eye is dirty and heavy, but he’s pleased to notice the kohl on his lower eyelid adds to his terrifying expression. Usopp left with a stock of pigments in every color and seems over the moon. Sanji settled for buying the sea blue eyeshadow, which he slipped into his pocket after explaining that the rest is not compatible with his work as a chef.

Zoro realizes Sanji hasn’t really changed. Rather, he has opened up so much that a whole new world of possibilities lies before him, made up of things he may have denied himself his entire life without noticing. Sanji glows with the color of his dream on his eyes, and for a moment, Zoro forgets his worries.

He hands Minh’s pamphlets to the cook. Perhaps they will become part of the beautiful things his friend dispenses with his eternal kindness. He just hopes that this awakening won’t tarnish their relationship, and that the rivalry will soon return, mirroring the jab Sanji sent him earlier. Their conflicting tendencies are far too ingrained to disappear because of a simple change in expressiveness.

Or it’s a joke, and if it is, he’s going to kill the cook.

Chapter Text

They taught me to lie. To hide emotions I shouldn’t have had. To reject before being rejected.

Usopp watches Nami and her furrowed brows. He knows what she’s going to talk about, because she waited until Sanji locked himself in the kitchen to fill their exploration bentos. They hear him singing a jazzy tune that would have attracted Brook immediately if the situation weren’t so drastic.

“Something’s wrong with Sanji-kun.”

The assembly nods, looking concerned. They’re all crouched on the deck, the grass tickling their feet. From a distance, they look like a group of delinquents plotting evil deeds.

“Really?” Luffy inquires, surprised. “I think he’s doing great!”

They shake their heads. Of course, Luffy hasn’t noticed anything: he doesn’t need to decipher Sanji to understand his hidden intentions. Usopp, on the other hand, knows how defensive their cook normally is and wonders where his usual barriers have gone.

On the other hand, Sanji hasn’t changed that much: he has the same childlike smile when he’s having fun, he’s always there to help his peers, he tramples their enemies with renewed vigor, and his chivalrous spirit is intact, albeit directed at the whole world. He makes grand romantic gestures that unsettle most of the men on the ship, except Luffy. He still has those little nervous tics that remind Usopp of their shared tendency toward anxiety, although it expresses itself in opposite ways: Sanji through anger and aggression, Usopp through fear, flight, and bluffing. Sanji is also very good at bluffing, which led several to believe he was playing a huge joke on them. But the joke went on too long, and amusement gave way to concern.

“He gets nosebleeds when Zoro walks around shirtless,” Chopper notes, massaging his temples. “I examined him, but I couldn’t find anything wrong.”

Zoro didn’t even take it wrong. It seems he’s used to people appreciating his athletic physique, and while he’s not able to put it to good use, he knows how to ignore the interest it generates. Much to the amusement of the sniper, who doesn’t hesitate to tease him about it, he’s incapable of rejecting someone outright and simply communicates with the person as if they weren’t trying to get in his pants in the most aggressive way he’s ever seen. He almost felt sorry for the beautiful Hiyori.

On the other hand, he has no mercy for Sanji, who is the only one Zoro reacts to, albeit differently from the cook’s new aspirations. The swordsman even seems to be trying, through this unprecedented dynamic, to rekindle their daily verbal and physical altercations. Without success, as they have all seen: Sanji is now too straightforwardly kind to understand Zoro’s feigned anger and attempts to fight him.

Usopp has no mercy for Zoro either. He considers the way Sanji unknowingly rejects him compensates for all those lovesick souls the swordsman ignores. Usopp isn’t jealous of his popularity; not at all, really, not nearly as much as Sanji may have been ostensibly. Usopp just would have liked an oiran to throw herself into his arms as well, and he finds that sometimes, karma does it right.

“He gives us flowers”, Franky sniffs, moved.

Despite his hard-boiled exterior, Franky likes flowers. He accepts them in tears, refusing to admit how touched he is, while his expression shows the opposite. Sometimes, Usopp feels a little sad to note some members of his crew are unable to react normally to signs of love and attention: Chopper tries unsuccessfully to decline compliments, Franky pretends not to cry, and Sanji… Sanji rejects everything outright. All three have the same attitude toward displays of affection: someone, somewhere, at some point in their lives – and, in Franky’s case, himself – made them believe they weren’t entitled to any.

“His damsel-in-distress radar now also applies to men,” Brook notes.

Sanji rushed out of the kitchen several times to rescue him after hearing his cries for help. Usopp won’t dwell on the reasons why Brook went overboard this week, especially those for which he’s responsible. However, he does note the time Sanji gave him a magnificent roundhouse kick – to teach him not to ask indiscreet questions about people’s underwear.

“He’s constantly hitting on me… And it’s working!” Usopp laments, adding to the list of strange phenomena they’re witnessing.

He knows what he is implying with this statement: the idea that if Sanji were to flirt with him for real, he would accept his advances. Because Sanji is a handsome, kind, and caring man with whom he shares enough to appreciate this sort of interest the cook usually reserves for women.

Usopp never wondered how he would react if Sanji treated him this way, as his friend has intense rejection reflexes that contradict his affectionate actions. However, the pleasure he derives from Sanji’s words of validation and small acts of kindness speaks for itself, and Usopp has come to a conclusion: all of this has to stop before he takes things seriously, because he doesn’t know if he is capable of rejecting Sanji’s love the way Nami and Robin do. He doesn’t know what that says about him, but he’s not ready to question it yet: it’s obvious something is wrong with the cook, and the priority is to cure him of his illness.

“He asked me to teach him how to apply eye shadow,” Robin says matter-of-factly.

Usopp doesn’t see the correlation, especially since Robin doesn’t seem to understand the problem and continues to find the cook as adorably clingy as ever. Sanji wears the makeup he bought when his outfit matches, and when he bats his eyelids at Usopp with his falsely nonchalant air, the sniper admits he feels unable to resist him. All this really has to stop, if only for his own sanity.

“I caught him doing a garchuu with a male mink on the last island,” adds Nami.

Observations fly thick and fast, strangely alarming when it comes to Sanji.

“Maybe he was kidnapped and replaced by an alien?” worries Usopp, biting his nails.

Luffy bursts out laughing at the remark and declares:

“That would be funny! But I’m sure it’s him: the taste of his food hasn’t changed!”

“Forgive me,” adds Jinbe, “but isn’t it a good thing that he seems to have let his guard down?”

The huddle freezes. They’ve all thought about it, yes. At first, they found Sanji cute, funny even, and they were relieved to see that his values and nature hadn’t changed. That they were simply being expressed. But such a sudden transformation can’t be normal, and they’re afraid of what might have triggered it in their peer. Was he hypnotized? Brainwashed? Is someone manipulating him without his knowledge? If he can change in this way, isn’t there a risk that the opposite could happen? Usopp has never seen Sanji at his worst, but he doesn’t want to find out.

“He hasn’t fought with me in a week,” Zoro sulks.

They all turn their heads toward the swordsman, shocked. He uttered the sentence in such a gloomy tone that Robin makes a hand spring from his back and pats his shoulder blade in sympathy.

“Oh, my mistake, there is a problem,” Jinbe corrects himself, a drop of sweat running down his forehead.

Usopp glances anxiously at Zoro. The man exudes an unnerving aura, as if he’s never been so frustrated in his life. He has killed several monsters, single-handedly wiped out a horde of bandits, and even tested his limits against a devil fruit user. However, the cook hasn’t responded to his provocations even once, almost as if he no longer understands them, and the swordsman’s mood is affected. They’ve never seen him so on edge.

“Do you think it has something to do with him coming out as bi?” asks Nami.

Some of them nod their heads.

During an evening gathering, Sanji took the time to read Faunus’ pamphlets, and before he had even finished, he pointed to the small blue and pink symbol as if he were drawn to its definition. “This, is me,” he whispered, surprised. “So it had nothing to do with…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but Usopp thought back to his revelations about Kamabakka. Instead of mocking him, he put a hand on his shoulder. Sanji’s fingers, ready to nervously run through his hair, stopped to caress his own. Then they smiled at each other, and Usopp had to step back to keep from hugging him.

“Hmm… That would make sense,” he ponders aloud. “If he’s discovered this kind of attraction, perhaps he no longer feels the need to create an artificial distance between him and other men.”

“Even those who don’t appeal to him?” asks Brook, whose afro is overflowing with wildflowers Sanji keeps gifting him.

Brook really appreciates these little gestures, and the plants, nestled among his immortal hair, seem to freeze in time and remain as beautiful as on the first day, nourished by soul.

“Yeah, maybe it’s a side effect: he just doesn’t need to hide anymore,” Franky suggests, scratching his chin. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Franky is clearly delighted that Sanji has started calling him “aniki” after he asked him to.

“That doesn’t explain why he lost his competitive spirit. He can drool over Zoro while fighting him, right?” Nami tries.

At first, she was relieved they had stopped bickering all the time, but now she is as upset as the others. The two women in the crew, accustomed to the way Sanji treats them, have fewer problems than the others with this new cook, but Robin finally recognizes that caution is needed. They’re on the Grand Line, unaware of the dangers still lurking ahead.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t lose any more aspects of his personality before he turns into a zombie,” she adds, and Usopp shudders at the comment. “Do we know exactly when he started acting so differently?”

Usopp vividly remembers that moment with the giant dial. He noted it, thought it over, analyzed it from every angle to no avail. He shares his conclusions with his friends, and they come to a sad realization: Sanji spent several hours in a big city without supervision. If they want to know what happened to him, they’ll have to ask.

“Should’ve started with that…” Franky grumbles.

“Who’s taking care of it?” asks Usopp.

He’s still wary of the alien option, and now even more so of the zombie hypothesis.

All eyes turn to him, of course. He swallows.

“He’s closest to you,” argues Nami, “apart from Luffy and Zoro, and…”

“Luffy has already switched off,” Jinbe points out, gesturing toward the galley.

A string of curses bursts forth at the same moment, followed by a black leg at the end of which their captain burns for a moment. Luffy crashes into the mast, still on fire. Franky heaves a resigned sigh and pours a watering can over his head, while Sanji’s smooth voice shouts from the doorway:

“I told you not to touch that cowicken until I’ve finished preparing it, you first-class shitty pain in the ass!”

At least the cook is always there to protect the kitchen against the assaults of their walking stomach.

“And no one needs to explain why Zoro would be the worst person to entrust with this mission,” Chopper continues in a neutral but implacable tone.

“Hey!”

The swordsman is annoyed, but doesn’t defend himself further. Usopp is about to point out that current Sanji would be more than open to a conversation with his rival, but Zoro himself has trouble communicating, hiding his emotions behind a biting rationality that could even hurt the cook.

“I have another mission for you, Zoro,” says Nami. “You watch him. 24/7. He’s potentially vulnerable, he needs protection, and we might get some new information out of it.”

“Like hell I will! Why’d you want me to do that?!” protests the swordsman. “He’s clingy enough as it is!”

“Exactly!” Nami snaps. “Robin and I will take over when you’re asleep or lost who knows where again, but other than that, don’t let him out of your sight.”

Zoro protests before inheriting a large bump on his skull. Usopp snickers and realizes he has been given the easy part, considering Sanji’s propensity for attracting trouble without even looking for it.

“Okay, count on me, Usopp, brave warrior of the seas, to solve this mystery!” he exclaims, standing up straight with his fist in the air.

Usopp regrets all his life choices. He didn’t realize that in order to find an opportunity to talk to Sanji, he would also have to follow him on his peregrinations.

Of course, Byron, the seventh island in the archipelago, is not a peaceful place, and the sniper is caught up in the turmoil before he even has a chance to strike up a conversation. He forgot about another problem: his bounty is far too high for his abilities, and before he knew it, he found himself locked up in the dungeons of a castle befitting Count Dracula.

The region resembles Thriller Bark, with its dense forests and ruined castles, but it is hillier and much cooler. Winter on an autumnal island forced them to put on mid-season clothing and adapt the rest of their outfits.

Zoro simply swapped his yukata for a long, slightly fitted black leather coat, wearing nothing on his chest – heat circulation in Zoro’s body makes no sense.

Sanji wears his usual style, but the collar of his purple shirt, under his charcoal brocade vest, is fastened with a silver cameo bolo tie, and his light gray Victorian jacket reaches to the bottom of his thighs.

Usopp geared up as soon as he heard the first beastly howls: a turtleneck pullover, a leather vest with pockets – lots of pockets –, a coat with a wide flat collar, northern cowboy boots, a pocket watch, a hand crossbow, and a pilgrim’s hat. The perfect creatures of the night hunter. Not that he planned to hunt them himself, of course, but making a strong impression is a good tactic for avoiding trouble… or not.

Luffy, as usual, left before them, still wearing red shorts and flip-flops. Someone managed to get him to put on a beige suede jacket, which he also wears with nothing underneath. Everyone knows that half of the garment will end up missing from their captain’s shoulders, but there’s a reason why the girls spend their time shopping…

Sanji got a nosebleed when he saw their blouses and corsets, then when he saw Zoro’s bare chest, before complimenting him on the turtleneck he wears so well. Usopp let himself be flattered, and the two of them set off with Nami and Robin. Zoro tried to follow in order to carry out his secret mission, but of course they lost him along the way.

The small village welcomed them without incident at first. They were able to sit down in an inn where they were served an excellent stew and a dark craft beer a little too bitter for him. Nami loved it.

Sanji went to the kitchen to ask politely for the stew recipe and buy a barrel of beer for Zoro. Nami started chatting with the young waitress. Robin let her ears blossom in the corners to test the waters. He slumped into his chair and tried to go unnoticed – you can never be too careful, even with people who seem harmless at first glance: who knows where those animal cries are coming from?

That’s when the vampires arrived. Yes, vampires. With their refined style, protruding fangs, and terrifying aura.

Usopp thought he’d had enough scares with the faeries, but this time, the bloodsuckers were human-sized. The villagers did nothing. They didn’t move, didn’t intervene, didn’t hide. They just stared at the vampires with a weary look, then the vampires lunged at them.

Nami didn’t even have time to scream. Nor Robin to create a clone and escape them. They were quick, implacable, and organized. So what could he, Usopp, have done against these monsters? Before being carried away in a flutter of black wings, he left behind a little something that he hoped would be useful to Sanji, if he himself didn’t fall into a trap.

Robin was taken away before they could do anything, but she gave them a wink: her bonds are not made of sea stone. Now, Nami and he are locked in a cell, waiting to find out what fate has in store for them. If he dies here, the Sanji mission will be more compromised than ever.

Their weapons have been taken away and placed on a table at an almost frustrating distance, but at least they’re not tied up. They’re given a relatively good snack, which surprises them.

“They want to keep us alive so they can suck our blood when they need to,” they conclude with a shudder.

Their captors all have similar profiles: quiet, dignified, and unsettling. As darkness falls, they let loose, discussing the strategies of their leader, Count Gary. Usopp shudders at the title, recognizing it as that of a vampire lord. He shares his knowledge of occult pop culture with Nami. The youngest, whom he estimates to be the same age as the navigator, mentions “Sheridan’s minions.” Nami whispers:

“Tell me this is an ancestral feud between two clans trying to swell their ranks with new recruits, and I’ll hit you.”

“It’s probably an ancestral feud between two clans trying to swell their ranks with new recruits.”

Usopp gets hit, then has his coat stolen because Nami is freezing in her miniskirt and torn fishnet stockings. He mutters she should just cover up more, but he understands her desire to show off her gorgeous assets.

As they start arguing again, slow, measured footsteps echo in the hallway. The shadows lengthen, the light dims, and their captors freeze.

Even if Usopp didn’t know his classics all that well – he previously tried to fight fear with fear by binge-reading horror stories –, he would have immediately guessed that the tall, thin man walking toward them, Robin in his arms, is Count Gary. In addition to his charisma, he sports all the effects of a vampire, from his ruffled shirt to the cape that flutters behind him despite the absence of wind. The lord is charming, Usopp decides, with his dark ponytail and strangely soft gaze. An incongruous shiver, a mixture of apprehension and attraction, seizes him as he stares at the man. It only scares him even more.

Then Count Gary’s high heel gets caught between two stones, and he loses his balance for a moment. He recovers before risking letting go of their friend, and he glances painfully at his henchmen as they snicker among themselves.

“Robin!” cries Nami. “What have you done to Robin?!”

The guards, however, do not wait for orders from their master to open the cell. Suddenly, their leader’s charisma pins the two pirates to the ground, and no one needs to stop them from escaping. The count crouches gently in the cell, lays down the unconscious woman, then turns to them.

“You’ll find out soon enough. But don’t worry: as long as you stay with her, her life will not be in danger.”

He emerges from the prison with a rustle of his cape, his heel twisting on another cobblestone. This time, even Usopp can’t hold back his giggle.

After catching himself on the metal doorframe, Gary lets out a tired sigh and adds to his henchmen:

“Don’t close it, the others are coming with the swordsman. Be careful, he’s been conscious the whole time, and he’s very angry.”

Shit, they even got Zoro?!

The henchmen exchange stunned glances.

“The whole time…?” whispers one of them, visibly horrified.

Usopp swallows hard at the thought of this procedure best endured unconscious.

Meanwhile, Gary slips away with a swish of his cape. They hear him stumble, then hiss through his teeth. Usopp could swear he cursed the pavement.

Three minutes later, their swordsman appears, standing tall and proud, though unarmed and looking disoriented. Blood dries on his lips, chin, and neck, chains bind his wrists behind his back, his ankles together, and no fewer than four vampires – Usopp concluded they were all the same species – attempt to restrain him. They’ve visibly tried to gag him, judging by the state of the torn fabric hanging from his powerful mouth.

Zoro is out of breath and looks feverish, but his captors are in much worse shape. Their tattered clothes do not hide the cuts they have suffered, nor the fact that the swordsman is formidable enough to make the undead perspire. The sniper would bet on cold sweats if the group weren’t braced against his peer and pushing collectively with the simple goal of moving him forward.

This makes Usopp smile, until the supernatural strength of seven vampires manages to drag his friend into the cell. The group presses themselves against the grid and hurriedly locks it. Some wipe their foreheads, others sigh with relief. One of them sobs, terrified.

“He cut the castle in two…” chokes one of the newcomers, his back still pressed against the gate.

“He purified Marcel by stabbing him in the heart with his sword… He didn’t even know!”

Usopp notes the information with interest. So sticking things in vampires’ hearts really does work. Perfect.

“He decimated the regular army…” observes another.

“He emptied half the alcohol supply while Gary was busy with the other ritual.”

Usopp grasps this new piece of information and glances at Zoro, who is still standing in the cell, staring blankly, his body relaxed now that he’s no longer being pushed around.

“He bit me!” wails the man who is still whining, holding out his arm.

On his elbow sits a gigantic, deep bite mark Usopp would have associated with a wild animal if he hadn’t known his companion better. A little more and the vampire would have had his arm torn off, grimaces the sniper with a hint of sympathy.

Zoro collapses face down on the ground, still conscious, as evidenced by his open eye and grunts of frustration. Usopp crouches down to examine him more closely, worried.

“Eww, yeah, that’s dirty,” someone comments. “Let’s get you disinfected, you never know where that sort of guy has been sticking his teeth. We should have left him to Sheridan.”

The vampires freeze for a moment and exchange alarmed glances.

“Yeah, no, I take that back.”

“Wait a minute!”

Usopp shudders at the sound of Nami’s authoritative shout. She stands up straight and gives them an imperious look.

“Hey, Nami,” he whispers, “don’t talk to them like that! Vampires are susceptible!”

Nami ignores him completely.

“At least tell us what you did to our friends!”

Worry creeps into her voice. Usopp tugs at the bottom of his own coat in hopes of getting her attention. She’s swimming in the garment, but manages to look fashionable nonetheless.

“Nami! We don’t need these guys to put two and two together! Leave them alone, I don’t want them to hurt us!”

Nami looks at him in surprise.

“Because you understand what’s going on?!”

Usopp slaps his hand over his face. Nami should take her nose out of her charts and newspapers and read a little more fiction. The vampires are now staring at him in astonishment, and he feels his legs trembling beneath him. To fight fear, there is always only one remedy: bluffing.

Usopp stands up straight, arms crossed over his chest, which he deliberately puffs out – he’s proud he now has enough muscles to make an impression.

“Huhuhuuu,” he sneers exaggeratedly, flashing a confident grin, his eyes half-hidden by his hat. “You’ve underestimated me, I see! Let me enlighten you, poor creatures!!!”

He points at them, looking smug.

“I am the famous vampire hunter Bagriel Han Velsing! I know everything about your kind, your weaknesses, and your little rituals!”

The vampires look at each other.

“Han Velsing? Never heard of him…” comments the veteran Zoro bit.

“That’s normal!” retorts Usopp, who is already getting bogged down in his lie. “Hunters are discreet, after all, it’s a necessity when fighting creatures of the night!”

The one who appears to be about their age steps forward, intrigued.

“So, what do you know about us, Mr. Han Velsing?”

Usopp considers her for a moment. She’s small and energetic. She stands very straight in her white blouse and embroidered pants, exuding a precious quality that doesn’t match her current mission. Her green eyes shine, and despite her vampiric nature, Usopp recognizes a lost soul in them. He seizes the opportunity.

“But tons of things, dear student!”

An hour later, Usopp’s throat hurts from talking so much.

It turns out the vampires themselves have little information about their own species, so he explained tons of things about how they are likely to die accidentally – he hopes to scare them by showing all his extermination methods, but they’re more fascinated than anything else. He invented various subspecies of vampires, in case not all legends apply, but one of them confirmed he no longer dares to step through a doorway unless he has permission. One point for me, thinks Usopp.

“Professor Han Velsing,” asks the young woman – Mary –, raising her hand. “Do you know if there is any way for a vampire to escape the influence of their lord?”

The small group sits in front of the cage and now watches him like students a prize-winning specialist.

Nami and he exchange a knowing glance. She watched over Robin and Zoro without being able to do anything: they’re sweating, hyperventilating, nevertheless they seem safe and sound. Zoro is covered in fang marks, but they’re superficial compared to the wounds he has accustomed them to. One of the vampires told them they had to practically drain him of his blood to subdue him.

The navigator listened to the entire conversation, analyzed the reactions in front of her, and now that Usopp has won the esteem of their captors, she can take over and manipulate them.

“He transformed you against your will? So you’re victims? What happened to you?”

Usopp plays along.

“Vampires are rarely transformed of their own free will. It can be accidents, or century-old vampires looking for a court or new companions. When threatened, they need to build an army to fight bounty hunters or other groups of creatures of the night.”

Their audience nods, impressed by everything he has been able to guess about them, even though all it takes is a little reading, a keen ear, and common sense.

“I worked as an accountant on a merchant ship before I came here,” explains Mary, whom Nami takes by the hand through the bars with a sympathetic look.

Usopp knows she’s being sincere for once: Nami doesn’t mistreat women.

“I was kidnapped on the ship itself, even though we were only supposed to anchor for a few hours. Gary transformed me, just as you said, Professor, during a ritual where he drank my blood and I had to drink his. It was so intense I fainted, so this is all I know.”

“Gary has something that allows him to mentally subdue people. It’s easy for him to choose his victims…” adds someone else. “Your friend resisted everything.”

“His aura? Or his charm?” asks Usopp, rubbing his chin, thinking about the effect this strangely attractive man had on him, then staring at Zoro for a moment.

“It’s hard to say, Professor. We think it’s a bit of both,” says a vampire with a salt-and-pepper goatee. “He doesn’t like to reveal his secrets. He’s not evil, but we’re just pawns to him.”

Usopp notes the information. The vampires don’t seem to harbor any hatred toward Gary. They obey him, having been transformed by him, but their hierarchy doesn’t seem very strict, and the count seems like a peaceful man, for a tyrant.

Another vampire, dressed in more local attire, albeit very bourgeois, sighs.

“Byron was so peaceful before…”

Two lugubrious moans suddenly interrupt him. Robin has awakened, and Zoro is trying to sit up. Usopp remains frozen in horror as he discovers their piercing red gaze.

Fear never creeps far within him, but when it rises to the surface of his skin, licking it with an icy serpent tongue, the habit he has of it is never enough to confine it inside. Usopp has always stood by his choice of life, however, and he now knows that while this emotion will never leave him, it’s simply part of the journey.

Even though he’s terrified, at least he’s able to think, and he cries out:

“That’s it… The transformation is taking effect! That’s why Gary told us…”

He stops, paralyzed with terror.

“Nami! Nami, we have to get out of here! They’re new vampires, they have no control and they’re thirsty for blood!”

Their jailers rise as one, letting out a sorry sigh.

“They’re going to drain us until we look like mummies!” Usopp continues, panicked. “That’s why they didn’t tie us up, we won’t be able to do anything against them!”

Nami tries her charms on their students:

“Hey! You’re not gonna leave us here to die! What about our beautiful friendship?!”

Unfortunately, they shake their heads.

“Sorry, Professor, Miss Nami…” mumbles the older one.

“We can’t disobey our lord’s orders…”

“We’d rather leave you alone here, it’s not a pretty sight…”

“Wait! Please!” the two humans scream in unison, but the class is over, and the students desert the room, exhausted from their lesson.

Usopp slowly turns to his companions, on whom the new curse is beginning to take effect. Robin is kneeling, her hand over her nose, as if to protect herself from a foul odor. Zoro licks his lips, and the sniper has time to notice his abnormally prominent canines. The swordsman suddenly raises his head, sniffing in surprise.

Usopp still knows his classics: Zoro has detected the scent of human blood in their veins. However, through the fog that blinds his one eye, he seems to recognize them and articulates with difficulty:

“Stay… as far away… as you can…”

Usopp dives behind Nami, trembling all over, while she tries to wedge herself against the wall at the back of the cell. They can’t get out; they’re completely trapped.

Chapter Text

I didn’t let them have their way, you know. I rebelled, I defended myself, but… it was never enough.

A few hours earlier, Sanji is busy writing down the recipe for a stew he knows his crew will love when silence falls over the inn. He senses it too: the presence of enemies, people with ill intentions, invading the space. He rushes into the main room, paper in hand, but it’s already too late: all he can make out is a dark cloud of bats flapping their wings furiously.

A second later, they flew through the open door and soared into the sky. Sanji ran to the doorframe and watched them as they headed toward the towers of a menacing castle.

He would have tried to catch up with them by sky walking, but the bats were too far away already. He gives up and returns inside the inn, where he collapses to his knees, his fists pounding the floor.

“I finally had a date! A pretty flower on each arm, a handsome warrior by my side… Why am I always prevented from spending time with my beloveds?!”, he laments for a moment.

Neither Nami, Robin, nor Usopp are his partners, and Sanji is being a bit hypocritical for complaining: he had a romantic tête-à-tête with the handsome warrior of the ship on Puk, and then the latter even agreed to accompany him on his afternoon on Faunus with Usopp, the other hunk of the crew according to his very personal tastes. Sanji had his double date just as he fantasized about in Water Seven. He should be satisfied with that, but he had less time with Nami and Robin. Not to mention the fact that Sanji will never stop loving, and he wants to seize every opportunity to dispense that love.

However, Sanji is not the type to dwell on misfortune he can remedy. He stands up under the surprised gaze of the customers and begins by examining the table where his friends were sitting. Nothing, not even Usopp’s bag, remains there, leaving a familiar void in Sanji’s heart.

As he turns toward the bar to ask for information, he bumps into a small object: the gusset watch that was Usopp’s pride and joy when he appeared fully equipped.

Sanji presses the mechanism reflexively, just as he pressed his lighter to ignite a cigarette he desperately needs. He exhales smoke and, instead of needles on a white background, he recognizes the shape of a tiny screen. He attaches the chain to his vest and immediately tries to turn it on.

“Aw! Franky here, you took your time, Usopp! We’re in trouble!”

In addition to the voice, the small screen displays a map with contours corresponding to Byron. Colored dots move around, some in the frame, others in the form of arrows pointing to more distant locations.

“Oh, aniki. Sanji here, I couldn’t agree more. I have a triple kidnapping on my hands. What’s going on with you? And what’s that watch?”

Franky first explains the watch to him, in somewhat overly technical but very enthusiastic detail. Thanks to the dial he and Usopp discovered, it can replace a local den den mushi, but it’s also some kind of GPS. Sanji understands the word because Franky has been telling them about this technology over the last few days. The device can track the movements of the entire crew. It works at short distances and, for some unknown reason, refuses to give Zoro’s coordinates.

“It bugs me,” Franky continues, “we built them for him, originally… We wanted to test them on this island.”

Sanji rubs his temples. Even technology is powerless against his comrade’s sense of direction. Then suspicious growls echo through the microphone, and Sanji becomes concerned.

“You said you were in trouble…”

“Oh, that? Yeah. Turns out Jinbe and I have been captured by…”

“Vampires?”

Franky pauses and exclaims:

“What do you mean, vampires?! There’s vampires too?!”

Shit.

“Not what you have? Cloud of bats? Suspicious old geezer? Sexy dark-haired guy?” he fantasizes, recalling some of his classics.

“Uh, well. It’s hairier on my side.”

Sanji hesitates, then fidgets, unable to hold back the image in his mind:

“Oh, no, it’s a half-naked female werewolf with fiery eyes! Did she bite you?! Lucky bastard!”

Silence is his only response. Then Franky exclaims:

“How’d you guess?!”

Sanji, busy with his private thoughts, stops in his tracks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Introduce her to me right now!”

Franky explains that it’s going to be difficult, since they’re both locked up while the transformation occurs. However, Chopper and Brook have been spared and are probably organizing a rescue mission.

“Don’t worry about us, we’ve got this. She just bit us, which means she wants us to be part of her pack. We’re not in mortal danger, we’ll be fine.”

Sanji hangs up after wishing Franky good luck. The dots on his watch are blinking. Luffy’s appears in one place and disappears in another for no reason. He would have liked to rejoin his captain in order to gain more firepower, but Luffy is clearly unavailable.

Sanji takes one last drag on his cigarette to calm his nerves before approaching the counter.

The manager casually wipes a glass, as if the kidnapping had not taken place in front of him, in his own establishment, and as if he could continue his activities as usual. Sanji feels anger boiling in his veins. He doesn’t expect civilians to intervene when they themselves are threatened, but he has noticed how accustomed the villagers seem to be to the situation.

Sanji lifts his foot with lightning speed and locks his ankle behind the man’s neck. A second later, the man’s cheek is pressed against the worn wood, and the cook retrieves the glass in his hand.

“If you don’t want me smashing your face into the floor, you’re gonna tell me everything that’s going on in this dump.”

Sanji didn’t make much progress, but he realized he had to hurry. He ran as fast as he could toward the castle, hoping to gather more information there.

The owner spilled everything he knew. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much: a little over a year ago, vampires and werewolves began appearing in the area. The locals have always been superstitious, so they saw it as confirmation of their beliefs and submitted without question.

The two clans regularly wage war against each other. Werewolves need human doctors to treat their wounds, while vampires visit rooms at night to feed. In exchange, they allow the locals to go about their lives and content themselves with forcibly recruiting merchants, outlaws, or any other unlucky travelers.

By some kind of unspoken agreement, windows with garlic hanging outside are off limits: they indicate children, sick people, or vulnerable individuals. By the same unspoken agreement, the wolves protect the villagers against pirate attacks. Sanji suspects something more complex is at work, but the innkeeper doesn’t know anything else.

“If you want more information, go see the reverend,” he told him.

Unfortunately, when Sanji showed up at the church, it was empty.

When he reaches the mansion, Sanji knows Zoro has been there: a huge gash runs through the structure, slightly askew, like a sword strike. He glances at his watch out of curiosity, but only three dots are flashing: Nami is with Usopp, in a place he identifies as a basement, and Usopp is pacing back and forth. Robin is in the middle of the building, motionless. Worried, Sanji extends his haki to scan the surroundings in his own way.

Zoro’s suffocating aura fills the space. Sanji also senses his distress: the swordsman is on the same floor as Robin, whose faint presence indicates she’s unconscious. The cook feels himself burning inside. His peers are in danger.

He takes off as fast as he can and lands on the outside balcony of a large living room surrounded by lattice windows. A body crashes through one of the panes and falls into the garden below. Another remains stuck between the wooden bars and broken glass, its skull bleeding. Zoro fights like hell inside.

Sanji pokes his head through the opening. He has faith in the swordsman: he will prevail. Robin, unconscious, must be his priority.

The place is in utter chaos. Bodies litter the floor, the furniture, and even the golden chandeliers. Moans echo from all sides. Several tornadoes have carved furrows across the room. In the center, the swordsman, in his leather coat that flaps with every movement, almost vampire himself, crushes his opponents one by one.

Sanji sneaks along the walls. He has little knowledge of these creatures, but he’s aware they’re disturbed by the smell of human blood. With any luck, Zoro’s scent is strong enough to mask his own presence.

The swordsman senses his aura and gives him a smirk. He points to a partition with a casual nod of his head. Sanji looks in the opposite direction and spots an open door. Okay.

Zoro lunges at one of the soldiers still standing as a new troop enters the room via a double marble staircase.

“Gary, please…!” screams the victim before a blade pierces his heart.

The vampire writhes, spitting out ominous black blood, but instead of turning paler, he regains some color and faints. Sanji notes the phenomenon without dwelling on it.

“What now? I have a patient to look after!” shouts a suave voice from the adjacent door.

When its bearer appears, Sanji is surprised to discover the vampire of his dreams, black low ponytail, sophisticated posture, well-fitting outfit, cane with a knob in hand. His red-earth-colored skin highlights his deep gaze, strangely gentle and in control, though displeased.

“Seriously, why do I have to do everything myself around here…? The devil fruit user already broke my spine three times…”

The character twists his heel on a cobblestone, turns around to kick it angrily, then freezes in front of the carnage. Zoro towers over the piles of bodies, covered in red, his eye wild and his smile predatory. Sanji has a moment of panic and doesn’t know where to look between the seductive vampire and the charismatic swordsman.

The latter points a bloodied katana at the newcomer while the recruits at the main gate freeze in terror.

“So you’re the boss, huh? Let’s see if you can entertain me a little bit longer.”

Sanji has to stop himself from whistling like an overly enthusiastic fan.

He weaves his way through the destroyed furniture, the battered vampires, and reaches the adjacent room.

The huge chamber opens onto the same wide balcony through which he entered. A window is open. Several beds are lined up as if in a hospital, although they’re all four-postered and richly decorated. Carpets cover the cobblestones on the floor, and the purple and black colors give the room a mysterious, gothic atmosphere that would surely delight Robin.

She’s there, asleep on one of the beds. She looks peaceful, despite her worrying pallor. Sanji feels his heart overflowing in his eyes and has to light a cigarette to stay focused.

“Beautiful woman, huh.”

“Don’t mention it, I could spend my whole life looking at her,” replies Sanji, captivated.

“And classy, too. She called Gary an anachronism – whatever that means –, and I’m pretty sure she dislocated all his joints before he managed to bite her…”

“She’s incredible, I love her so much…” sighs Sanji at the explanation.

A thrill of desire seizes him as he thinks about the power Robin has over bodies, and he has to lean against the bedpost to keep his cool. Wait a minute… bite her?!

“Shit…” he chokes. “I don’t have time to daydream, I have to get her out of here before…”

He stops for a moment, then turns toward the voice that just spoke to him.

“Wait, who the fuck are you?!”

Right next to him stands a tall, middle-aged man with broad shoulders, an aquiline nose, and full lips. His thin, dark mustache on his pale skin gives him a slightly vintage charm that suits his striped pullover, short red scarf, and white pants. Over it, he wears a worn marine jacket.

Sanji jumps.

“Oh shit, not now!” he exclaims as quietly as he can.

The marine raises two forearms covered in black hair and opens his hands in front of Sanji.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not here for that, don’t worry. I wanted to take advantage of the chaos to look for someone. Name’s Gévaudan. Just… I advise you not to take the beautiful lady until Gary’s finished examining her. Or the prisoners, she’ll need them.”

“My crew has the best doctor in the entire Grand Line,” Sanji retorts, on the defensive.

Gévaudan looks at him with a mixture of skepticism and admiration, then explains:

“She doesn’t need a doctor. She needs Gary. He stays by his victims’ bedsides until they’re completely transformed. Thanks to his vigilance, his success rate is always 100%.”

Already horrified by what he’s just heard, Sanji feels anger rising in his throat. The struggle is still raging in the next room.

“His success… rate?”

“It’s dangerous to transform someone. Gary makes sure the ritual doesn’t kill his victims,” the sailor explains in a slightly pained tone. “At the first sign of weakness, he gives them more of his blood.”

Fury erupts in his gut and legs. The man steps back, surprised by the flame glowing at his foot.

“It’s just a suggestion, really, you don’t have to!”

Sanji extinguishes the fire, tries to calm down, to think. Quickly. A shockwave shakes the building. Shit! Zoro…!

He rushes into the hall, immediately spotting the swordsman in the middle of his duel with Gary. The vampire defends himself, despite his friend’s wrath. A second layer of bodies lies on the ground. The swordsman has decimated the vampire army.

Zoro sensed him coming back and turns his head toward his hiding place while parrying a bite. Sanji realizes the swordsman is covered in marks and is staggering dangerously. Zoro tried to buy time instead of expediting the fight, to allow him to escape with Robin. A pointless sacrifice that makes the cook’s heart ache with a mixture of affection and guilt.

He signals to his rival, knowing they understand each other well enough without words. Two arms crossed: We can’t. Robin’s attack pause, one finger pointing to the ground, then a thumbs up: Robin is safe here. His finger pointing to the swordsman, then to the bay windows: Let’s get the fuck out.

Zoro’s shoulders slump slightly as he exchanges more blows with the vampire. Sanji watches the creature’s relentless strategy, alternating between transformations, extreme speed, and bites. Then he sees Gary’s blood-dripping wrists land on the guard of Wadô Ichimonji, soaking the already stained fabric. Zoro grimaces but refuses to let go of the katana. Sanji understands and refrains from screaming.

Zoro glances at him furtively. He points at him with his chin before tilting his head toward the light coming from the window. You, out. Sanji insists with his eyes. I’m not leaving you here alone. Zoro looks away as if to shake his head. It’s too late.

The powerful jaws release the precious katana, revealing a mouth and tongue covered in the blood Gary has slowly soaked into the weapon. Sanji watches in horror as the swordsman opens his fists, then undoes the belt holding his scabbards, all of which fall to the ground with an impossibly deafening crash. Take them.

“He’s done for,” whispers a voice beside him.

The sailor has joined him and watches the scene, open-mouthed.

“Usually, one drop is enough to knock a man out. And a few more to start the transformation if Gary bites at the same time. With all he’s drunk, it’ll speed up the process… I don’t get how this guy’s still standing.”

Sanji doesn’t have time to explain to Gévaudan that Zoro is the most stubborn, resilient, and indomitable man he knows. Gary shoves his wrist into Zoro’s mouth, slips behind him, and bites the hollow of his neck. The swordsman lets out a groan, his eye fixed on the cook. Sanji swallows hard as blood rushes to his nose.

Shit, don’t tell me I’m gonna get caught because of this!

Zoro clearly struggles to remain conscious, emitting beast-like growls and tensing his throat, trapezius muscles, and jaw.

Gary grimaces, trying unsuccessfully to move his wrist and fangs. When Zoro decides to relax his muscles, the vampire is finally able to pull away, a hint of fear in his dark eyes. He hisses in pain, shakes his arm, and the swordsman flashes a small, mean smile. Sanji responds with a snicker.

When he and Gévaudan slip through the broken window, the three katanas clutched in Sanji’s hands, Zoro has let Gary guide him, in a trance, to the room where Robin lies. Sanji knows he’s still standing.

“Say, Sanji, you as strong as this guy?”

Gévaudan guided him to his home to ensure he wouldn’t be captured by either side, and to provide him with further information. The house is too large for one person and appears to have been abandoned by its previous occupants. The sailor doesn’t seem to have been there for long.

Sanji cooked for him, and his counterpart’s eyes sparkle with joy as he shovels the simple dish into his mouth like he’s discovering the ingredients he owns. The marine – ex-marine, he clarified to reassure him – explained what will become of his companions: Gary will watch over them until the transformation is complete.

Then he’ll lock them up in the cells with humans and let them awaken to their new needs in complete safety.

“What about the humans?” asked Sanji, who knows Robin and Zoro can get through almost anything.

“Dangerous for them. Gary always takes care of them when his new recruits are done feeding, but sometimes we don’t see them again for weeks. Most of them flee the island without further ado. The others end up being transformed by one of the two clans. It’s just that Gary and Sheridan are keen on keeping their creations safe, so they never take the risk of transforming too many people at the same time. I haven’t recorded a single death, honestly, but I’ve never seen anyone resist the ritual. Or cut a castle in half.”

Gévaudan told him many other things about Byron’s vampires and werewolves, so much so that Sanji’s head is spinning. When the sailor questions his power compared to Zoro’s, Sanji hesitates. The query offends him, and he likes to pretend that yes, of course, and even more so. How could anyone dare to doubt it? But Sanji is still plagued by the fear of not being good enough, so can he truly, honestly lie to this stranger? The latter seems to have a plan. What will happen if Sanji isn’t as powerful as Zoro and his weakness causes everything to fail?

He knows he’s not supposed to think that way anymore. Not since his adventures have allowed him to gain a shred of self-esteem and his captain has reminded him he’s the only one up to his task.

So, he tries to think beyond the physical strength and unwavering ambition he sees in his peer. He thinks about their role within the crew, what they’re willing to sacrifice for it, their determination and resilience. He thinks about the fact that he owes it to Zoro to rise to the occasion, and that his rival’s sacrifice stems from the same unspoken agreement between them that they will always be there to back each other up because only the other can fulfill this task. They’re as good as the other without acknowledging it because acknowledging it would destroy this beautiful equivalence, this mirror image they see in each other that pushes them to surpass themselves. Accepting that they are equal would mean giving up using the other as fuel to evolve, and Luffy doesn’t need that kind of stagnation. Luffy moves forward. His wings must move forward with him, beating in tandem while doing the exact opposite of each other with a perfect synchronicity.

That’s why he loves Zoro, after all. Because Zoro puts him on his unattainable pedestal as if he feels threatened by him, and no warrior as pure and admirable has ever made Sanji feel so valued.

“Of course,” he decides, exhaling a puff of smoke, hoping the information will suffice to Gévaudan and never reach the ears of his crew.

The confidence with which he spoke makes his vis-à-vis shudder.

“Why?” he ventures, although he’s guessed part of the answer.

Gévaudan chuckles with a strangely understanding look, sighs, and pulls a crumpled photo out of his pocket. He hands it to the cook, who looks at it with feigned disinterest. He can’t embark on just any adventure in the middle of a crisis. His crew will always come first, but he knows, deep down, that he won’t have the heart to refuse the request of this stranger with whom he’s shared a few sincere moments.

“This is Vladimir. We were best friends. Well, so to speak. We fought all the time, it was great.”

The description elicits a tender chuckle from Sanji. How long has it been since he last fought with Zoro?

In the photo, two marines are aggressively grabbing each other by the collar while smiling at the camera. Sanji recognizes Gévaudan, with his aquiline nose, full lips, and hairy arms. The other is an attractive man with cypress-bark-colored skin, long black eyelashes, and a penetrating gaze.

“Nice-looking guy,” he comments before realizing the subject might be sensitive.

“Tell me about it. He got all the girls back then. Used to piss me off to no end.”

Sanji snickers. Zoro has an unfortunate tendency to attract girls without even trying, and that never fails… failed to annoy him. He wonders since when he finds it natural for the swordsman to charm so easily, since when he’s no longer jealous, since when it’s no longer a source of conflict between them. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, for Gévaudan continues:

“But as we got older, the trend reversed,” he says proudly. “Then we left the navy, we were sick of those assholes. We tried to go home, and that’s how we ended up on this island. It was supposed to be a simple stopover before Faunus, but Vladimir was turned into a vampire.”

Sanji nods, then is suddenly overcome with anxiety as he asks:

“And not you?”

He feels like he missed some crucial information among the tons of things the sailor told him. Something he should have reacted to, but as often happens, cooking and conversing with someone made him forget about the urgency of the situation.

“I was his first meal.”

The cook’s eyes widen in horror. He doesn’t detect a hint of anger in Gévaudan’s trembling voice, and he already knows how this tragedy ends.

“Yeah,” the man bellows sadly. “How’d you feel if you found out you’d put your best friend in a coma for six months, huh?”

Sanji more or less knows something about how it feels, under other circumstances, in that fog of terror that made him believe he was losing himself and was capable of horrors only a monster, a Vinsmoke, could commit. He shoots a rueful smile at the man, who raises a surprised eyebrow.

Then Sanji thinks back to the situation and realizes who will serve as dinner for the two new vampires. Nami and Usopp are tougher than they look, but Sanji isn’t willing to let them suffer like this. His chivalrous instincts kick in, and he jumps to his feet.

Another reality floats to the surface of his empathetic soul: Robin would get over it, but Zoro, with his overprotective tendencies, his bodyguard duties, and all the effort he puts into living up to this role he silently claims… Hurting his peers? He would never forgive himself.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Gévaudan, sorry, but cut it short. I can’t let my crew devour each other.”

The forest smells of blue pine, sap, and wet dog. Sanji has been walking around for a few minutes, trying to look innocent – and succeeding rather well, in his opinion. He carries a satchel he’s filling with mushrooms, berries, and plants he recognizes as medicinal herbs. All he needs is a red hood, he chuckles to himself.

Gévaudan follows him at a distance, covered in dirt and animal skin to mask his scent. The cook’s trained nose knows that it’s effective: if Gévaudan smells of the moors, pine trees, and cut wood, he himself probably smells of the outside world, sea, and cigarettes. He smokes incessantly, aware that it will fool sensitive noses.

Even before sensing their aura, he hears the wolves howling. He freezes, alert, his foot already ready to spring into action.

There are four of them when they appear between the trees, smiling and baring their teeth.

“Well, well, you lost, pretty boy?” asks a tall, scarred man who could never have chosen any other career than piracy.

Gévaudan’s voice echoes in his head.

“Gary prefers people with a minimum of manners. In general, he takes advantage of being faster than Sheridan to choose his prey. Sheridan gets the bad ones. At least there’s someone to keep all this scum in line, otherwise I wouldn’t give much for this island.”

Sanji turns to the walking stereotype, raises an unimpressed eyebrow, then takes a drag on his cigarette.

“Not at all, on the contrary. I’m looking for a woman.”

The wolves look at each other for a moment, surprised.

“We ain’t picked up any women, right?” asks one of them, spitting on the ground.

Sanji grimaces at the sloppy gesture.

“Oh, no, you didn’t ‘pick up’ any,” he repeats, gritting his teeth.

His anger bursts forth, fire licking at his foot. The young wolf takes a step back, but the others get into position. Sanji clarifies, his eyes glowing with the same flame that burns at his leg:

“Lucky for you. Otherwise, you’d already be dead.”

The threat works, and the big guy lunges at him. Sanji has time to dodge as if in slow motion. He turns behind the wolf, who has begun to transform, fangs and claws out, then kicks forward. A cracking sound echoes. The hybrid is thrown far into the forest.

Sanji sees the spitter swallow, hesitate, then a new howl can be heard, followed by another: his two companions have decided to call for reinforcements. Sanji smiles, that suits him fine.

Kicks fly, as do dirt and bodies. The fangs barely graze his clothes. Sanji dances in the middle of the pack, a furious hunter searching for a solution that fails to come. The defeated pile up around him, against tree trunks, clinging to branches. Wolves, half-wolves, men – none of them are a match for him.

Gévaudan, hidden in the undergrowth, knocks out the few women in the group with a blowpipe and a sedative of his own creation – aconite, he specifies.

Sanji has been fighting for thirty minutes with no end in sight, and the forest is burning around him. He’s not tired, but he must spare his strength for the rest of the plan.

“Sheridan, please!” screams a pirate whose thigh Sanji is crushing with his heel.

A twinge of guilt seizes him, then he remembers Gévaudan’s information:

“They’re practically immortal. You can knock them out, scare them, maybe even hurt them if you hit them hard enough, but they regenerate too quickly for it to matter. I saw a guy covered in bandages from head to toe stand up and go back to fighting.”

Sanji thought of his peers and snickered. “I’ve seen that too. Several times.” Gévaudan looked at him as if he were an alien.

A howl more powerful than the others, more desperate, burst from the victim beneath his foot. Sanji doesn’t bother to dodge the next salvo: the wolves throw themselves at him with the energy of despair, and he pushes them back with ease, spinning his legs in the air.

This time, however, the atmosphere has changed. A dangerous, violent aura is approaching. The mood of the wolves around him is affected. He knocks them out one by one before she arrives. He wants a duel; it’s important.

Finally, he turns around, his heart pounding. He knows what to expect, after all.

“So you’re the one decimating my pack without reason?” says a low voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

She’s incredible. With wavy strawberry blonde hair, a long face with a powerful jawline, a charming little dimple in the middle of her nose, naturally old rose-colored lips, and a smirk that generates a crease at the corner of her mouth. Muscular, standing firmly in flat boots, she wears torn mini-shorts and a simple suit vest, which holds her chest together with a single button ready to pop.

Sanji swallows, drops to one knee, and lets his nose bleed freely. With any luck, the smell will continue to cover that of Gévaudan, even in front of the pack’s alpha. The cook’s heart beats in his eye.

“Ah! Precious and magnificent creature! Not without reason, alas. You have abducted two of my friends.”

As she approaches, looking surprised but wary, Sanji reaches out his hand toward her.

“May I?” he asks, staring at her fingers, whose claws are already gleaming.

She withdraws her hand. He could swear he sees a blush on her pale, thick-grained face.

“And you’ll be joining them soon,” she smiles, revealing shiny fangs.

Sanji swallows again, not out of fear but excitement. He has agreed to all parts of the plan, this one even more so.

He dodges the first attack. Then the second, despite his opponent’s impeccable footwork. He lets her brush against him, just enough for her to understand he’s not joking, but to make her believe he’s reachable.

She increases her transformation, hair covering her beautiful face with a wild beige and brown fuzz that highlights her red eyes and the adorable dimple at the tip of her nose. Sanji tries to stay focused, but a claw hits him dead on. He remembers his confrontation with Jabura. The pain is minimal in comparison; the situation, on the other hand, is just as urgent.

He attempts a fiery kick into thin air, burning a strand of hair as the woman dodges, quick and agile on her feet. She crouches down, slashing his Achilles tendon and calf. Sanji stumbles, hoping she hasn’t noticed his body’s resistance. The moment of distraction he gives her is enough for the wolf: she pounces on him, claws out, and pins him to the ground.

“A dignified and polite fishman, a cyborg who takes care of his appearance, and now a handsome gentleman… who showers, to boot!” she laughs, sniffing the crook of his neck. “This will make for a nice change!”

Sanji feels his heart leap out of his chest and tries unsuccessfully to hold it back. All the better, it will only make him seem more vulnerable.

“Gary’s tired… Maybe this is our chance to put an end to this ridiculous war…” she mutters before opening her jaws and closing them around his trapezius muscle.

Sanji exaggerates his scream of pain, mixed with the excitement that gripped him when she breathed on his skin. He senses Gévaudan’s presence a few steps away. The sailor must act quickly, taking advantage of the powerful alpha’s distraction, whom the cook cannot hit. Sanji struggles, trying to keep the wolf’s attention on him with his gestures, his blood, his cries. He must relax his muscles, pretend the exoskeleton doesn’t exist.

Gévaudan keeps his promise and rushes towards her, slipping his hands under her armpits to hold on tight. He breathes deeply. Over the hairy shoulder, Sanji sees something rise up from the woman’s skin and reach the man’s lips. The latter inhales the strange gray, shiny cloud, like volatile pitch, coughs, then is thrown backward.

Sanji emits a sigh of relief and begins the second phase of their plan: getting the hell out of here. He grabs the profile still attached to his flesh and presses his thumbs against the jaw muscles, at that specific spot that slightly loosens Zoro’s grip on Wadô when they fight.

“Believe me when I say I regret this, beautiful Sheridan, but I don’t think this little magic trick works on me.”

He gently pushes her face away, and the surprise she shows, mixed with another incongruous blush, gives him just enough time to pull away – too bad.

He rushes over to Gévaudan, who has crashed into a tree, lifts him up, and flies away.

Below, Sheridan looks up at them, stunned.

Sanji hears her let out a fierce scream, then swear:

“Gévaudan?! Fuck! That’ll teach me to fall for guys with vampire potential…”

Two auras far more threatening than the henchmen knocked out by Sanji appear alongside the confused wolf. He would have recognized them even without the homing missiles trying to take him down: Franky and Jinbe’s transformation has taken effect, and they’re now under Sheridan’s command.

Chapter Text

They made it clear to me that I shouldn’t have ever existed, that I’d better disappear.

Zoro has never been so thirsty in his entire life. He loves to drink, but now he feels consumed from within by an unfamiliar need, a craving far removed from the pleasure of alcohol, an urgent need. An addiction that gnaws at his veins, tenses his muscles, and clouds his senses.

He feels Robin beside him, grimacing, shuddering, and hiding the lower half of her face in her hands as if to keep the transformation at bay. The vampire watched over them until he was satisfied with their condition, with the attention of a doctor at his patients’ bedside. Zoro refused to collapse, too worried, but as soon as he showed compliance – on his own terms –, all animosity disappeared from the count’s aura. The swordsman wonders what his motivations are.

He doesn’t know how long Robin and he have been fighting their new instincts, but Usopp’s tremors have been replaced by moans. With his newfound abilities, Zoro recognizes the cramps of easy prey. The sniper regularly fights with Nami for access to the wall so they can stay hidden behind the other, and he is now on the front line, his third bump still smoking on his head.

The smell of blood in his veins catches in Zoro’s throat. He’s always loved that taste since the moment he discovered it, and he tells himself that if Robin is resisting her curse so well when he feels like he’s about to give in at any moment, it’s because of this morbid fascination that he should perhaps satisfy… No! Overcome.

The archaeologist kneels beside him and stares at the floor. She probably wants to forget the presence of the two humans in the cell, so fresh, so intoxicating, so accessible. Zoro shakes his head and straightens his back. He has sat cross-legged to meditate, although nervous tics regularly cross his face.

But Zoro is stronger than that. His body is trained to endure all pain, to ignore his basic needs when necessary, to submit to his relentless spirit. The thirst is stronger than ever, though, and Robin’s voice almost makes him jump.

“Nami, Usopp, Zoro… I’m sorry…”

She presses harder on her nose, so hard that he hears it crack under her fingers.

“Robin! What are you…” Nami begins, but Zoro already understands what she is trying to do.

He kept his chains on, hoping they would restrict his movements if, if by some misfortune, he succumbed to his hunger. He refuses to think about it. Not when Sanji is outside. Not when Sanji knows and can come back before it’s too late. Zoro trusts him. No matter how strange he acts, the cook will never let him down.

So Zoro holds on. And he will hold on for Robin.

Before the delicate hands can carry out the self-destructive intentions of their owner, who hopes to deprive herself of one of her senses in order to resist longer, Zoro breaks his chains. He’s still conscious, still alert enough to react. Robin will not suffer as long as he is there to protect her.

The woman’s nose cracks a second time, but she cries out as he pins her to the ground. He sits her up against him, his legs crossed over her slim waist, his ankles holding her thighs. His arms tighten around her shoulders, his forehead hits her neck. He presses his face against her skin to resist the new wave of thirst that has seized him in the movement. He’s free, dammit, he can drink if he wants to. Feast on this taste he has never experienced on another human being. Bite into this tender flesh that awaits him, paralyzed, ready to become his victim. His meal.

He pulls Robin closer to him to regain his composure. She struggles, letting out a sharp, angry, wild cry. The sound is so unfamiliar that Usopp and Nami become concerned. Zoro feels delicate hands sprouting from all sides, attempting submission holds on his arms, legs, and neck. He tenses his muscles. They have both gained the supernatural power of vampires, but he remains unshaken, as does his will.

Cook, for fuck’s sake, hurry up… moans the only part of his mind that is still conscious.

The pain is terrible now. Robin is still struggling in his arms, her breathing erratic. He feels her weakening, and wonders what happens to vampires who give up feeding.

Nami sheds a tear and says:

“Robin… if it hurts that much, I…”

Robin groans at the mere idea, a mixture of refusal and agreement. Usopp stammers almost at the same moment:

“Zoro… me too…”

“No!”

He screamed. With his mouth open, the smell is even more overwhelming, which is why he has spoken little since he’s been in the cell. Robin did the same. He seals his lips. He wants to tell them that Sanji is coming, that they just have to wait, hold on. But the idea that Usopp might agree slips into his mind and sends a shiver down his spine. No. No. If he has to taste another man’s blood one day, it won’t be like this. Not because he’s subject to desires that are not his own, to a creature who took advantage of a moment of weakness to break through his defenses. If he were stronger… But there is still time to be stronger, he tells himself. Stronger than the curse. Stronger, until Sanji arrives, and then… then what?

Sounds of struggle echo from outside. Robin fidgets, Nami and Usopp huddle together, but look up hopefully. Zoro has neither the energy nor the heart to tell them the growls are rather ominous. The smell of blood grows stronger as figures tumble down the steps and into the small prison hall.

It grips his nostrils as he sniffs the first open wound. He groans to fight off the new wave of thirst and Robin’s erratic movements against him. Let it be him, let it be him. Luffy… Stupid cook… I can’t hold on much longer…

Luffy isn’t there, he knows. He would have sensed him. Sanji is more discreet, his aura more subtle, but Zoro won’t take the risk of using his supernatural sense of smell to recognize the scent of his cigarettes. He’s too afraid the call of blood will be stronger.

Growls fill the air. A body crashes against the grid next to him in a spray of blood. Zoro feels like he’s going crazy. He closes his eye, and it’s Usopp who cries out in terror:

“Werewolves! Those are fucking werewolves! Like we didn’t have enough problems already!”

Zoro thinks that maybe he will have the strength to pull the bars apart, escape, and attack them instead of his peers, but he can’t let go of Robin at the same time, and if he moves, he’s afraid he won’t be able to control his body anymore and…

A nonchalant whistle, like a master calling his dog, calms the small group that has poured into the dungeon. Zoro opens his eye, just in time to see the human-shaped wolves give way to a slender figure.

First, he makes out a bent elbow. Then the haze of a cigarette, blurred by his inability to focus his gaze. Finally, the smell of tobacco disturbs that of blood, and Sanji appears in the glow of a torch, his eyebrows furrowed and his grin predatory – perfectly in control, as he always is during these lifesaving appearances worthy of the best spy stories. The cook throws his cigarette away with a careless gesture.

“Light the room, lay the lady on the table, and bring a chair for the gentleman’s katanas.”

Zoro feels a strange twinge of delicious anxiety twist his insides at the thought of Sanji treating his swords with such deference.

“Gimme a chair to put these things on, they’re in the way,” says the Sanji from before in his mind, just as considerate without showing it.

“All right, Mr. Black.”

The wolves obey with surprising zeal.

A horde of little pink hearts suddenly makes Zoro forget his thirst, his anxiety, and his stupor. Sanji squirms in front of them, smiling foolishly.

“My four loves! Are you happy to see me? Have you finally fallen under my spell?!”

“So, marimo, how are we doing? Need a hand?” the voice of former Sanji taunts him.

Nami has the strength to massage her temples.

“Yes, yes,” she sighs, annoyed.

“Sanji! Yeah, I love you, but do something!” whines Usopp.

“Love-cook!” yells Zoro.

The offbeat emotions generated by the scene won’t last long, he knows. He feels his grip loosening on Robin, but she, unsettled by the relaxed atmosphere, doesn’t immediately think to struggle.

“Stop fooling around and get them out of here!”

Sanji gives him a knowing look and, instead of getting angry, flashes a gentle smile.

“You didn’t have to worry so much, chéri. I’m here, see?”

The nickname, combined with everything Sanji reveals about the emotions he usually hides behind his aggressiveness, suddenly drains Zoro of all anger. Instead, the knots in his gut return, and he’s certain that if he didn’t already have a fever, it would have risen to his cheeks immediately.

Before Zoro can untangle his emotions and let himself be overwhelmed by the one that still dominates – thirst –, the cook has unlocked the cell. He leans down and reaches out to Nami. Exhausted, she has no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck. Sanji lifts her up like the princess she always is in his eyes. Despite his seriousness, the cook’s face breaks into an enchanted grin.

“Usopp, can you walk?”

The sniper’s knees are shaking, but he manages to pull himself up.

“Lean on me, sweetheart,” the cook encourages him gently.

Usopp almost collapses onto Sanji’s shoulder, on the side where Nami isn’t located. The silly grin grows wider, but its wearer doesn’t linger: Nami is placed on a free chair, Usopp on a stool.

A man in a sailor’s uniform examines them, while another offers food and drink.

“Thank you, Sanji-kun…” whispers Nami.

“Sanji!” cries Usopp. “Thanks, but now’s not the time! We have to do something before…”

To Zoro’s surprise, the cook returns to the cell and pushes the gate back behind him.

No…

“Are you sure, Mr. Black?” asks the wolf who retrieved the key. “We could at least help you…”

Sanji glances at the sailor, one of the few, if not the only human among the unlikely allies he has gathered.

“It’s too risky even for them. In their condition, they’d kill them. Gary clearly didn’t expect them to hold out this long, or… I don’t know what Gary’s thinking. That’s what happened with Vladimir, anyway.”

Zoro’s whole body tenses at the thought of having almost attacked Usopp under such circumstances. Then he turns his gaze to the cook, and the painful beating of his heart injects the poison of terror into his body.

Sanji nods to his party; the wolf locks the gate. Zoro wants to scream. The cook approaches and crouches down in front of them.

No…

“Robin-chan… It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers in a soft, deep voice.

Then, in a playful tone, he suddenly adds:

“Aaah… I don’t know which one of you I envy more in this position…!”

“Marimo! What are you doing to Robin-chan?! I’m the one who should be cuddling her!”

The silliness of the remark lightens the mood for a moment.

Robin shudders, her lips moving to whisper the cook’s name.

No…

“Well done, chéri. I knew you’d hold up.”

“You look terrible, marimo. Good thing I’m here to save your ass,” translates the Sanji Zoro knows, although his aggressiveness hides the same tenderness.

“No wonder I fell in love with you!”

The offbeat phrase makes hearts appear in his visible pupil. Zoro would bite him in any other circumstance. The smell of hemoglobin invades his senses at the mere thought, and he gasps against Robin’s back, who begins to struggle again.

“Not you…” he manages to articulate.

With his rare blood type and tendency to lose too much too easily, Sanji is the worst choice for the maneuver he has in mind. He heard right, didn’t he? If werewolves are risking their lives in this cell, what about a human, however strong and uncommon he may be?

A feeling of déjà vu comes over Zoro, coupled with a despair he hasn’t felt in over two years.

“Cook, I know what you’re trying to do! You can’t sacrifice yourself!” he yells in a last effort to hold Robin back, and her whole body seems to be screaming the same thing.

“I do whatever the fuck I want, marimo!” replies the voice in his mind, and Zoro wants to grab both this Sanji and the other one and shut them up, throw them far away from him so they’ll let him starve to death in his cage. But neither Sanji would ever agree to do such a thing, and he knows it.

“I’m not gonna sacrifice myself, chéri,” declares the real voice, in a tone so sweet Zoro ponders Usopp’s theory about aliens.

The looping in his stomach almost worries him. A dull pain accompanies it, like a void that no amount of blood could fill. Sanji isn’t like that, not with him. Sanji never tells him what he thinks. Sanji pushes him to surpass himself by reminding him that there can always be someone stronger than him. Sanji gives him ridiculous nicknames to love him indirectly, to annoy him and create a connection with him without draining his social batteries. Sanji is present in his distance. Sanji must not disappear.

The cook must have sensed something in his gaze, for he reacts immediately. With a fluid motion, he rolls up his sleeves like the vampire lord did at the castle.

“No…” he chokes out, but Sanji detaches Robin from his arms and gently sets her down on the ground.

She tries to speak once more, without success. Zoro realizes she’s no longer able to fight back, exhausted by her deprivation. Then, with unexpected strength, Sanji forces him to lie down next to him. He’s kneeling on the ground between them, and Zoro would rather stab himself in the heart with his own sword than give in to his urges, but he also knows that the second Sanji lets go of him, he will want to jump to his throat.

“I’m gonna survive, I swear,” whispers the cook with a disconcerting certainty that reassures Zoro to the depths of his soul.

They’re far from Thriller Bark. Sanji is stronger than that now: he knows his own worth better. Zoro doesn’t see the gesture, but the smell of blood spreads through the cell.

“So drink as much as you need. You won’t kill me that easily.”

Zoro catches a glimpse of his Sanji in the retort. A pale wrist fills his mouth as he perceives the other arm slumping between Robin’s lips. Zoro wants to protest one last time, but the thick texture between his teeth prevents him from thinking.

“Sanji, for fuck’s sake! It is not the time for a nosebleed!” Usopp exclaims indignantly from somewhere behind them.

Zoro hears Robin giggle. If she’s suddenly so confident, maybe things aren’t so bad after all? Maybe he has the right to let himself go? He pushes away the nagging feeling that reminds him Sanji isn’t quite the same person anymore, that he won’t gently tease him after this epic rescue, and that they may never fight again. He suppresses his concern for the cook, sacred and hidden because he admires Sanji and considers him his rival. Finally, he listens to the hunger burning inside him, urging him to sink his teeth into the slender wrist.

He bites.

Sanji lets out a hoarse cry amidst which echoes an unusual sound, more animal than human. But Zoro can no longer open his jaw. He takes, swallows repeatedly, and immediately feels his strength returning. His head spins, the smell of the cook invades his nostrils. His body reacts to several different stimuli: a thirst for flesh linked to his new characteristics, an unknown yet strangely natural thirst for the pale member that feeds him and which he almost kisses greedily, a thirst for combat after a week of withdrawal during which the cook seems to have forgotten to fight him, so much so that the swordsman has almost given up. A thirst, finally, for this blood with unfamiliar taste, and Zoro wonders why he never thought that this strange interest, like all the others he has, could only be satisfied by one man.

Zoro lets out a sigh of contentment in the midst of his trance. He drinks avidly, grabs the cook’s hand as gently as he can, and moves it to a more comfortable angle. He licks the wound without realizing what he is doing, sinking his teeth back into the same spot where they’ve already pierced the skin. Sanji, so resistant to pain, barely shivers this time, and the shiver spreads to Zoro’s lips, his nerves, his bones, and would leave him gasping if he weren’t still so thirsty.

At the same moment, echo to the hoarse growl returns in the pale throat. A beastly groan resounds in the middle of the cell, faint at first, then roaring. A guttural breath bursts from the cook’s lips, whose warmth he can sense in the freezing space.

The wrist swells between his teeth. A fuzz suddenly covers it partially.

Nami and Usopp cry out in surprise, but Sanji lets out another authoritative whistle, and Zoro perceives the pack stirring around them.

The animal possessing Sanji suddenly reveals itself, a lean and agile wolf, like a second skin over his human form. Its fur is white or golden, covering mainly his forearms, face, and shoulders.

The transformation stops halfway between man and beast, and when Zoro raises his eye to the cook, his visible pupil glows a supernatural red. Zoro feels panic rising in his gut. What has he done now?

Then Sanji gives him a victorious smile, and the swordsman finally relaxes. He’s here, everything will be fine.

They left the prison and moved away from the castle. The rebels took up residence in an old ruin where they tend to each other’s wounds.

Robin is shaken, but she is now back to her usual self and fascinated by the fantastic before her eyes. Her interest in the morbid has clearly made her appreciate the experience. For his part, Zoro hides the fact that he enjoyed the taste of blood beyond his new characteristics.

Nami and Usopp remain on their guard, but happily drink the hot soup Sanji has prepared. Robin enjoys it peacefully in a corner. He himself indulges outrageously and asks for a second, then third helping, even though he has no need for it.

The wolves obey Sanji as if it were second nature, and Zoro has ridiculous flashbacks of the cook arriving in a snow-covered room with a horde of idiotic marines under his command.

Speak of the devil… Zoro thinks as he spots a worn marine jacket. The tall man, whose full lips are adorned with a thin mustache, approaches them. He doesn’t exude the same aura as their impromptu allies, but he looks at Sanji with the same deference and the same trust. As if they were friends. As if they could count on each other.

The stranger’s name is Gévaudan. He tells them about his encounter with Sanji, then finally explains the events they have just witnessed.

“I have the powers of the tsuta tsuta no mi. I can transmit to someone what another person inspires me. It can be information, feelings, physical or mental strength, curses like this one, and even the powers of a Devil Fruit.”

“When he says inspire, he means it literally,” Sanji explains, approaching in turn. “On a person, it looks like a bubble of condensed mist. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s very useful.”

Gévaudan smiles at the compliment and raises his hands.

“Oh, there are limits. I can’t apply anything to myself. I have to pass on what I’ve taken, only one element at a time… Plus, my range is limited. If my receivers get too far away, what I’ve transmitted disappears.”

“But what does it have to do with a pack of werewolves?” asks Usopp, still on his guard.

“And how was Sanji-kun transformed?” adds Nami.

“Oh, he wasn’t transformed,” says Robin, who is trying to warm her frozen hands over her soup, without any success.

They all turn to her, surprised.

“Robin-chan! I knew you’d guess everything!” Sanji coos before approaching her. “May I?”

He holds out his hands – probably as hot as his soul, his love, or his werewolf powers –, palms open in front of her. She puts down her soup and nods. Sanji begins to rub her hands with delight, chanting “Mellorine,” but Robin gives him a grateful smile.

Zoro rarely feels cold, yet he wonders if the cook’s fingers are so pleasant to the touch. A knot in his stomach tells him that neither his transformation nor his thirst for blood are the cause of this strange illness within him.

“Gévaudan sucked the power out of an alpha and transmitted it to Sanji. This is temporary, but it gave him enough strength to survive the bite of two new vampires on the brink of death.”

Zoro notices the surge of excitement that grips her at the idea of being one of these creatures. In her mind, she probably sees Sanji as a huge, silly dog, and vampires as adorable flying foxes.

“I don’t know why the werewolves changed masters so easily, though. Wolves are intelligent animals who seldom correspond to such misinformed fantasies about pack hierarchy.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t make sense even if you consider fictional genre conventions,” Usopp interjects. “A werewolf remains loyal or submissive to its alpha regardless of how strong the rival alpha is. There are exceptions, but an entire pack can’t change allegiances overnight.”

Gévaudan adds:

“And I can confirm: I’ve copied the others’ powers, but they obeyed Gary or Sheridan’s every command. All my plans failed because of that. Sanji wasn’t supposed to inherit the alpha’s authority. Even I don’t get it…”

“That can only mean one thing,” Robin concludes. “It’s not just a power you copied, but a set of pre-established rules that would apply regardless of who possessed that power. It’s anything but natural…”

Nami and Zoro look at her a little confused, while Usopp and Sanji nod. Gévaudan himself doesn’t seem to understand what she’s talking about, which reassures Zoro. He knows nothing about all this vampire stuff, and it was only his instinct that made him realize the danger his peers were in. The cook is as pale as usual, but he seems more energetic than ever.

“So, what’s the plan?” Zoro asks.

If Gary transformed him, he has authority over him, and Zoro obeys only one man, only when he feels like it. That vampire cannot be allowed to live. Sanji and Gévaudan exchange a knowing glance.

The cook lets go of the archaeologist’s hands, who smiles at him in gratitude, stands up, and says:

“I believe it’s time to gather the crew.”

Sanji moves away from them a little. He begins to growl softly, as if testing his new vocal cords.

This time, Zoro clearly sees the two red pupils shining above his cigarette. Then the golden and white down covering his face, and the hair on his hands. His ears taper, his nose lengthens. He looks like the hybrid form of a zoan.

Zoro doesn’t associate many animals with Sanji, who sometimes strikes him as the most human of the entire crew, and he would have been even less likely to compare him to a wolf. Yet the transformation suits him strangely, as if it highlighted everything that makes him more human than beast.

Then the cook raises his snout, stares at the sky with a smile revealing long, sharp fangs, and lets out a roar that makes the whole island tremble.

Zoro swallows hard, drawn in by the quiet strength emanating from the man beneath the beast costume. Robin lets out a small gasp of amazement and pulls a notebook from her bustier to take notes. Usopp and Nami jump, but their trust in Sanji is so strong they don’t even back away.

The vampires shiver in terror, except for Mary, the lady Saji mentioned earlier. She watches the scene, looking surprised that this man who has treated her with such kindness could adopt an aura so feral. She tucks a strand of her long pixie cut behind her ear, to no avail, and Zoro could swear he recognizes the little grimace that crosses his face when the symptoms of his illness manifest themselves. He’ll have to ask her if she’s come into contact with cowicken saliva recently.

Meanwhile, the wolves freeze, their legs trembling and their eyes in awe.

Gévaudan stares at Sanji with the tender look of someone who encouraged their shy friend to sing their favorite song at karaoke. Zoro feels a twinge of affection for the former marine, who seems to benevolently validate the cook’s existence, even though he’s working for his own profit.

A beastly howl answers Sanji’s, then another, and another. Finally, against all odds, a new roar, as powerful as the cook’s, echoes in their ears and makes the stones on the ground tremble.

“Ah, that’s Sheridan striking back,” Gévaudan announces.

The wolves at their side crouch, hesitating, but the alpha’s presence is stronger, and they remain frozen in place, as if waiting for orders.

Sanji responds to the call, roaring even louder. The island shakes again. Nami and Usopp cover their ears. The wolves look at each other, shrug, and return to their business. The roars and howls alternate, but the weaker cries dry up, as if the wolves are tired of the exchange. Soon, only Sanji and Sheridan are roaring at each other from a distance, in a strange ballet that begins to annoy Zoro without him understanding why.

A repetitive beeping sound interrupts the chaos. Sanji takes out Usopp’s pocket watch and picks it up like a den den mushi receiver. Franky’s voice bursts out of the intercom, exasperated:

“Will you cut it out with the courtship ritual?! You’re freaking out the whole island!”

“Franky’s right!” Chopper adds, and Zoro feels relief wash over him. “Why didn’t you just call?!”

“Yoho, that was impressive, Sanji-san. I regret not being able to indulge in that kind of fun myself…”

Chopper, in the background, whines something akin to, “It’s not fair, I’m human too, I should be able to transform into a werewolf!” while Franky retorts, “What are you complaining about? You have nine transformations!”

“We’ll be with you in five minutes,” Jinbe’s deep, soothing voice reassures them.

“What? It’s super cool to be a werewolf! You gotta make the most of it!” protests the cook, smiling.

Zoro covers his face with his hand, Robin giggles.

“Sanji-kun… Was that flirting… ?!”

“For fuck’s sake, Sanji! This isn’t time to fool around! That scared the hell out of me!”

Nami and Usopp rush over to him and each punch him in the head.

Zoro glances at the cook and his adorable little sorry look. Sanji rarely allows himself such fantasies, and the swordsman can’t help but think that, after what he’s been through, the cook has the right to relax. Even if it means terrorizing an entire island and flirting from a distance with some hunky alpha man who caught his eye. His guts are still doing strange motions, and he feels his cheeks burning as he watches Sanji act like a child.

Five minutes later, Chopper, Franky, Brook, and Jinbe join them, accompanied by a few werewolves who were too close to Sanji for Sheridan’s influence to lure them over.

They don’t have time to recount their own adventures, but the conclusions linger in Zoro’s mind. Franky and Jinbe have been transformed by Sheridan and are subject to the power of the two alphas, whichever is closest to them. Chopper is immune to any mutation because he is a reindeer. Brook is immune because he has neither blood nor flesh – which greatly offends the skeleton, though Zoro doesn’t quite understand why.

The two new wolves escaped Sheridan’s control by obeying orders: to pursue Sanji and Gévaudan, who were escaping through the skies. When they found them, Gévaudan had already transferred Sheridan’s powers to the cook.

Zoro wonders for a moment why neither the remaining vampires nor their enemy leader rushed after them when Sanji revealed their position, but he assumes he will soon get an explanation.

Now that the crew is back together, everything seems easier. The plan will be simple, effective, and involve as many unexpected twists and turns as usual. Zoro is ready. Zoro wants to slice up some vampires and…

“By the way, has anyone seen Luffy?”

Chapter Text

They decided I was worthless, and I tried… I tried not to believe it. What would I have given not to believe it…

Usopp regrets all his life choices, for a change. First, because he inherits what he considers to be the crappiest and least safe mission in the Plan.

The green dot on the gusset watch only appears when Zoro is within three meters of the object, and he and Franky have concluded the swordsman’s anti-directional energy waves even repel high-tech equipment.

The red dot, which appears and disappears inconsistently, indicates something else entirely: Luffy has gotten himself stuck somewhere again and can’t find his way out. He’s probably in a basement, which explains why the GPS signal is so weak. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last.

“He must have gotten lost in the crypt. It’s a real maze,” concludes Gévaudan.

Usopp trusts the man because Sanji promised to help him find a friend with whom he’s fallen out. Sanji often judges people fairly, and above all, Gévaudan’s story echoes some painful memories for the sniper. He hopes it’s not too late to save this friendship.

The crew exchange weary glances and nod in unison. Obviously.

“We need a volunteer to get him out of there, we might need him,” concludes Nami, rubbing her temples.

“Someone with good observation haki, since the GPS doesn’t work at this depth,” suggests Jinbe.

All eyes are on him, of course, because he has finally mastered this technique, can now use it on command, and is probably useless for anything else. He swallows hard.

“You guys are such a pain in the ass! I am not wandering alone into a fucking crypt! I’ve just been kidnapped by vampires, I almost had my blood drained from my body, and you want me to bury myself in a basement that’s probably full of undead creatures?!”

“In that case, I’m coming with you, brave warrior!” whines Sanji, spinning around to kneel in front of him and grab his hand.

Usopp feels pride wash over him, coupled with the slight tinge of pleasant embarrassment that wraps around his limbs when someone pays him a compliment. It shows on the sides of his cheeks, taking the form of two pink ovals. He enjoys receiving attention from others, but since Sanji showers him with it so directly, he appreciates it all the more.

Sanji is a handsome man, full of charm, who goes out of his way for his peers and loves unconditionally. Usopp doesn’t know what has come over him, but part of him is beginning to secretly hope that Sanji never stops treating him this way. He still struggles to determine what his reaction to the cook’s flirting says about him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it: fear dominates him in the calm before the storm, because nothing could ever go as smoothly as they’re planning.

“Sanji, we need you on the surface,” Gévaudan reminds him with an affectionate smile.

Nami isn’t so forgiving and hits the cook on the head with her staff. Usopp snaps:

“Hey, leave my knight in shining armor alone, will you?! For once one of you’s offering to protect me!”

Despite his fairy tale prince inclinations, Sanji manages to stay rational:

“They’re right, sweetheart. But I’m sure you can do it. We’re counting on you.”

The nickname hits home, the cook’s voice is suave near his hand, and Usopp has the absurd thought that if Sanji gives him a kiss of encouragement, he will be able to face the entire world head-on.

“Yes, Usopp! It’s an important mission!” Chopper exclaims with stars in his eyes, while his stomach twists with apprehension.

Franky joins the chorus of validation. Usopp can no longer back down in front of these admiring and supportive looks. So he boasts that he’s the best person for the job anyway, he argues that if no one else can do it in his place, he has no choice… and he accepts.

Usopp also regrets all his life choices because of Sanji, by the way. He’s used to Chopper idolizing him for the wrong reasons, Luffy being impressed by the slightest thing, and the others gently teasing him when he takes charge, only to hide away a moment later…

He’s not at all used to Sanji, who usually expresses his love in a much more discreet way, being so… so charming? So alluring? And to liking it? To the point where, if Sanji alone had given him this mission by calling him “sweetheart” again, he would have melted like snow in the sun and forgotten to be afraid? To the point where, when Sanji transformed and howled in the night a few minutes earlier, he felt attracted to him, to his charisma and his beauty, so human beneath that incongruous animal fur?

Usopp feels weak in the face of this love Sanji gives so directly, selflessly, and he begins to wonder if his refusal to talk about it with the cook isn’t linked to a small, selfish part of him that doesn’t want to solve Sanji’s problem, because what they have right now is refreshing and unique, and Usopp would like to continue this adventure, wherever it may lead.

He’s terrified at the thought of everything being fake. Of Sanji being sick, hypnotized… or having been replaced by an alien whom Usopp doesn’t care about as much as he cares about the cook. He knows that Sanji cares about him too, that he’s always loved all his peers, even the male ones, and that this change may stem from something sincere. Something that, as they concluded, is probably related to his sexuality. But Usopp still envisions the worst, and he begins to realize that the worst thing would be to learn Sanji’s feelings for him are not real.

Usopp doesn’t have the strength to examine this new terror within him in detail; he’s already overwhelmed. Still, he promises himself this conversation between him and the cook must happen. He committed to his peers, and if Sanji has a problem, they have to help him, no matter what it means for that pretty little white flower growing in his heart. For Sanji, if he has to, he’ll rip it out with his own hands.

Finally, Usopp regrets all his life choices because he thinks the Plan is shit: they should have just set sail and fled without looking back, but Zoro and Sanji, true to their captain, agreed on “Letting hell loose.” That is, they intend to finish decimating the armies of night creatures, reach their leaders, and subdue them. They’ll figure out the details later, but they’re convinced Luffy will appreciate the approach – if he ever comes out of the crypt, Usopp ponders with a shudder.

Usopp knows he’s exaggerating, but he likes to complain. In the meantime, he thinks that some people should show a little more maturity and give up their desire for revenge for the greater good.

“I’m telling you, I want to kill that bastard Count Gary!” protests Zoro, who didn’t quite follow all this stuff about vampires and werewolves. “After what he did to Robin and me, you think I’m gonna…”

“Leave him to me, chéri,” Sanji cuts in, his tone soft but authoritative. “I’m sure you can beat him, but I don’t stand a chance against Sheridan.”

Usopp sees Zoro’s face fall. The swordsman is the only one among them who seems profoundly upset by Sanji’s transformation. Not because the cook flirts with him, no. Even though it undoubtedly bothers him, Zoro could almost come to terms with it, Usopp notes. After all, half of the interactions between Zoro and Sanji could be seen as flirting, if looked at from a certain angle.

No… Usopp sees it in the swordsman’s shocked eyes. The retort he was expecting is very different, and he regrets that it is not coming.

“Shut up and do as you’re told, marimo! You’ll be more useful over there than here!” he hears, as Zoro probably imagines.

Usopp even identifies something painful in the way the swordsman reacts to the absence of insults or orders, in this strange validation, in this offbeat nickname… Worse still: in the fact that Sanji admits he’s incapable of defeating an opponent and lets Zoro take care of it. The pain is there, he realizes: Zoro has lost his rival, and while Usopp would like the current Sanji to be the real one, Zoro regrets what the cook used to be.

“Since when do you admit to being inferior to me, stupid cook?!” the swordsman snaps, confirming Usopp’s impression.

He wonders how the new Sanji will react to the jab. Maybe he’ll explode, maybe everything will go back to the way it was before, maybe…

“Zoro chéri…” Sanji starts, taking a drag on his cigarette, looking almost sorry for his friend. “Why would I be inferior to you because I don’t hit women?”

The exchange is almost like their usual bickering, except for the tone used: behind the naturally sarcastic voice, Sanji sincerely asked the question, as if he needed to think for himself about why following his principles would make him a lesser man, a man less worthy or less reliable. Sanji has just handed Zoro an opponent he cannot defeat himself, and it hasn’t dented his ego.

Everything falls into place in the swordsman’s mind, however, as he replies:

“Ah.”

He even forgets to complain about the nickname, but grumbles under his breath for the sake of it. No one hears what he says, probably something about the fact that, yes, of course, he’s stronger than Sanji, duh, boo, so there.

“That explains a lot,” Nami mutters, rubbing her temples.

“Anyway, Gary controls all the vampires he’s turned,” Gévaudan interjects, bringing the conversation back on track. “And we’ll lose our advantage over Sheridan if the wolves in your crew get too close to her.’”

Usopp imagines the vicious cycle between the two alphas, busy yelling at each other in an endless flirtation while the entire pack changes sides every thirty seconds.

First, they decide who will join Zoro’s team. Robin is an obvious choice, and everyone is relieved to know she will be able to guide the swordsman through the forest.

Chopper examined the werewolves in an attempt to understand their problem scientifically – without finding anything concrete, for now. Usopp even heard him utter a “It’s magic” that usually belongs to Luffy, and the doctor intends to follow the two vampires in order to conduct analyses. Brook joins them, dragging his feet: he makes an excellent diversion against people with overdeveloped canine tendencies, and it will prevent him from distracting the three wolves in the crew, who have already been caught salivating when staring at him.

Sanji’s team therefore consists of Nami, Franky, and Jinbe, joined by Gévaudan, who admits to being a poor fighter against creatures of the night. The former marine hopes to find his friend among the confused group of vampires.

Nami is delighted to be in such good company. Usopp also noticed the greedy gleam in her eyes at the thought of plundering a count’s castle.

Finally, Gévaudan assures them daylight will be favorable: creatures of the night live up to their name, darkness gives them power that is best avoided, and the pirates don’t need such artifices to compete with their enemies.

Franky and Jinbe were warmly welcomed by Sheridan, apart from their brief stay in the transformed prisoners’ cell. They were given food and lodging, and even slept to recover their strength after their ordeal. They therefore offered to stand guard while the rest of the crew enjoyed a few hours of well-deserved bed rest. At dawn, they will attack.

Apparently, no one is worried about Luffy except Usopp, who always worries about everything. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep and ends up getting up to start preparing his equipment. He may be gone before the others wake up, trembling and terrified, but determined to find his captain.

The wolves and the few vampires taken hostage move silently, following their leader’s orders. Usopp muses that Sanji doesn’t need this power to command respect; he sees it in the admiration with which the pack speaks of “Mr. Black” – another pseudonym Sanji has invented for the fun of it.

“Ah, Usopp, perfect timing,” calls the familiar voice behind him. “How many bentos can you carry?”

Usopp turns around and gives Sanji a knowing smile. The cook isn’t sleeping either: he’s too worried about his captain, and he decided to keep himself busy doing what he does best, feeding people. He balances a stack of boxes taller than him in his right hand, while a huge empty bag lies at his side.

“Not so much. You overestimate me.”

“That’s because every day you give me reasons to do so,” Sanji replies gallantly, giving a small salute that makes Usopp’s heart ache.

He absolutely does not want this Sanji to disappear. He wants to be able to talk to this side of him, he wants to receive these compliments, he wants to love him and be loved by him without the pretense that usually makes this kind of closeness impossible.

But Sanji has the right to be himself, with the barriers he has put up, and what they build without them cannot exist if the cook is not in his normal state.

Usopp decides that if he can’t sleep, he might as well take advantage of it to accomplish the only mission that won’t lead him to certain death.

“Come over here, I’ll help you fill this out. It’s for Luffy, I guess…”

He guides Sanji, his lunch boxes, and his oversized backpack behind some collapsed walls devoured by vegetation.

The large bricks appear blue in the night, reflecting the starry sky. Weeds crunch underfoot, small buds ignored by poets despite their unique beauty. However, they carefully avoid the piles of scarlet pimpernel and itchy anemones. With a peaceful buzzing sound, fireflies flit about here and there. Sanji marvels at the sight.

“Aaw, sweetheart, are you bringing me here so I can woo you?!” he murmurs with enthusiasm, already prepared to get down on one knee.

Usopp feels the little daisy swaying in his heart, as if Sanji’s foolishness had sprinkled a few playful and welcome drops of water on it. He decides to ignore it: he has more pressing questions.

However, he doesn’t have enough courage to broach the subject as easily as he silences the breeze on the wildflower. As they fill the bag, he begins with another question that’s been haunting him for several hours now.

“Hey… how do you think they’ll get back to normal?”

Sanji raises an eyebrow in surprise, as if the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Why would they need to go back to normal?”

Usopp is momentarily taken aback by the answer.

“Well…” he begins, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know. I mean… It’s true that it doesn’t change them that much… In fact, it even strengthens them to a certain extent…” he adds.

Usopp weighs the bag and decides it’s too heavy for him. He takes out two bentos, opens one, and hands the other to the cook. They sit side by side against the ruins, surrounded by grass and fireflies. When he looks at Sanji, the latter gives him a loving but sincere smile, and Usopp finds it difficult to articulate the rest of his argument.

When he resumes, he speaks so low Sanji has to lean forward to hear him.

“But I’m afraid it will become a disadvantage. Werewolves go mad every full moon, vampires are addicted to blood… And they have a whole bunch of weaknesses that Zoro, Robin, Franky and Jinbe didn’t have to deal with before.”

Sanji chews his vegetable tempura, surprised by his speech. He’s still as attractive as ever, even with his round cheeks and the dark circles beginning to appear under his eyes. Fireflies dance their yellow-green light across his face, sometimes giving him the mysterious air of an alpha flirting with the moon, sometimes the appearance of a teenager who’s snuck out for a date under the stars.

The daisy soaks up the night light, and Usopp swallows hard around his food.

“And…” Sanji hesitates. “What if they’re fine with it?”

Usopp puts down his box and stares at him. Sanji sometimes has wise words a little too mature for his age. He feels like he’s about to witness one of those precious moments that help him grow up too, so he waits, frozen in place.

“Would we really solve anything? Shouldn’t we just adapt to this new reality and find solutions?”

Usopp had never noticed how soothing Sanji could be. It’s not just his knowledge or strength, it’s also his ability to adjust his mood to the situation, from legitimate anger to the most absurd reflexes that defuse tensions. It’s the way he learns from his experiences, gains knowledge from them, and then immediately passes it on. It’s undoubtedly his love for them, which overflows in every direction and finds dozens of ways to express itself so that it doesn’t explode from within. Usopp likes to argue playfully with Sanji, but he loves even more that part of the cook that accepts even his deepest fears and doesn’t judge them. And he loves all the more those little moments of validation Sanji offers him, first member of a long list of devotees.

“That’s what you did when I started having nosebleeds… You barely asked me why. You all adapted as if it was nothing. Chopper made sure I got better, but the tendency remained, and after twenty-four hours, you were already considering the situation as a new reality. I could have been a burden to you, but you never treated me that way, and…”

Sanji has experienced doubts similar to his own, he knows. He knows because on that fateful day when he hurt Luffy out of fear of rejection, Sanji was the one to stop his captain from saying something he would regret. And if Sanji knew what those words could trigger, it was because he had thought about it himself, because similar demons haunt and gnaw at them.

“You’ve never been a burden, Sanji,” Usopp interrupts him in a breath, almost reflexively.

The drooping eyelid lifts in surprise, showing how much the cook is affected by the statement. Usopp too easily forgets he and Sanji share this fear, and his peer’s strength and resilience leave little room for this realization.

“You’ve never been a burden and you never will,” he continues, grasping the cook’s hand between his own and raising it to eye level.

He wants to convey this idea physically, so that it becomes ingrained in the body, in the precious hands of this man who gives without counting, without ever stopping, always so much, always too much. Who gives so much of himself that it’s worrying, sometimes because his feelings dictate it, sometimes because they compel him to do so.

Usopp never wondered where the limit was, but now he wants to find it out if it’s not too late, if there’s still a need. And if it’s no longer the case, he wants to show the cook that he’s here, that he’ll always be here, and that even what Sanji leaves behind has his attention and his compassion.

Sanji places the fingers of his free hand over his own and lowers their tangled limbs so he can look him in the eyes, captivated. He stares at him as if Usopp were making a declaration, and isn’t that kind of what it is, in the end? Has Usopp told Sanji enough how much he cares about him?

Guilt gnaws at him: Sanji has always rejected the affection of men, but it’s no reason to have left him to fend for himself, when the cook has spent all this time groveling at women’s feet to pick up the crumbs of recognition they deign to throw his way. Maybe he should have insisted? Maybe he himself could have saved a few bits and pieces of Sanji, just as Sanji spent his time saving, avenging, and supporting him?

“You’re insufferable, but that’s how we love you, okay?” he continues with this sudden goal in mind, so much so that he doesn’t notice the daisy shaking when Sanji breathes on his face.

The latter leans closer, looking shaken, and Usopp does the same to match his energy, his fascinating aura, and that need for love that seems to have been eating away at the cook since his barriers came down.

Unless… Unless it’s always been there, and Usopp has been blind to it because of all the other things going on between them? Or maybe Usopp always knew, but since Sanji never let anyone get close to him, since Sanji doesn’t know how to accept affection from men, Usopp just played around a little, for fun, because it was still a way for them to connect without leaving the cook’s comfort zone?

“No one on this ship wants anything other than you and what you already are.”

Now that Sanji is open to the possibility and has clearly expressed his interest, can Usopp give without resorting to jokes? Can he return the love that Sanji has denied himself for so long, for reasons he cannot fathom?

“You don’t have to change for anyone, and you know it. So tell me…”

Sanji tilts his head to the side, just enough for his cheek to brush against his nose while his forehead slowly blinds the sniper’s eye. Usopp feels his heart skip a beat, the daisy taking root so deeply he suddenly doubts he’ll be able to pull it out.

“… why…”

Why did you?

The question dies on his lips as he lets them come to life and brush against Sanji’s. The kiss tastes of tempura and teenage first dates. Usopp closes his eyes as he feels the lashes flutter and seal in front of him. He hears Sanji move slightly to position himself better and can’t resist doing the same, his hand finding the pale cheek, the mustache, and the dry goatee.

Kissing Sanji is like conveying everything the cook refused to accept from him. It’s a privilege and a sign of recognition. Usopp suddenly feels like he’s been chosen, like this captain of eight thousand disciples he claims to be and has even become without meaning to. All of a sudden, he’s up to the task. He will conquer the world with them.

Usopp caresses the face with his fingers, the lips with his lips. He’s used to feeling his heart beat wildly, but never in such a delicious way. He presses the kiss to prolong the taste and the feeling of stability it gives him, so rare and precious in his constantly strained nerves. Sanji soothes him; his kisses could not have been any different.

Then the cook opens his mouth against his, gently and lovingly, with a confidence that makes Usopp feel like he’s not afraid of anything anymore.

Just as he is about to respond, eager for this certainty Sanji feeds him, this same absurdity snaps him out of his trance.

He opens his eyes, suddenly pulls away, his hand over his mouth, horrified.

“Oh, no, Sanji, I can’t…” he moans apologetically.

Sanji stares at him strangely, but he cannot understand the distress he’s caused Usopp. A small heart beats in his eye, timidly, as if it were about to be broken.

Usopp pulls himself together. This is no time for cowardice.

“You haven’t been yourself for a week,” he finally admits.

Sanji pulls back slightly and gives him a contrite look, the heart slowly dying in his pupil. Usopp feels his own heart tighten, guilty of having disappointed them both. He continues:

“We don’t know what happened to you, but we’re worried about you, and if you’ve been possessed or hypnotized or… whatever this is… I’m taking advantage of you.”

Sanji opens his mouth, looking surprised and touched by his scruples.

“What if I told you that I’m fine? That I’m not possessed or anything?”

Usopp sighs. He sincerely hopes so, but he can’t take the risk.

“I can’t believe you at the moment. Maybe you’re saying that because you’re forced to. Imagine, it’s the alien in your brain talking instead of you!”

“There’s no alien in my brain…” Sanji grumbles as he lights a cigarette.

“Yeah, but there’s no way I can know that!” Usopp snaps.

“So whatever I say, you…”

Sanji falls silent, hesitates, smokes for a long time, then corrects himself:

“No, I get it. I wanted to reassure you, but I don’t want to seem pushy.”

Usopp lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks. I’m thinking about Zoro and Robin earlier. When you arrived, Nami and I were ready to let them drink because it looked so painful for them. They wanted to, at the time, you know? But…”

Sanji looks at him with admiration, love, and appeasement all at once.

“But it would have hurt them.”

“Exactly.”

“And you think it would hurt me if we kissed and I didn’t really want to?”

Usopp grimaces.

“Maybe not to that extent, but if the old Sanji’s still there somewhere, he’s disgusted, panicked… Or maybe he wants to hit me, or roast me…! Or worse: he feels terrible because he did something he wouldn’t normally do, and since I replied positively, it means he might hurt me if he rejects me! And Sanji hates to see the people he loves suffer. I know it hurts him and he does everything he can to avoid it, so if he thinks he’s hurting me, how can I reassure him? Tell him it’s not a big deal? What if it’s a little bit of a big deal because I liked it?!” exclaims Usopp, suddenly staring at the cook, breathless from his tirade and the panic that its meaning arouses in him.

He realizes what he’s saying and slaps his palms to his cheeks in a horrified grimace.

Sanji watches him, stunned. He seems hurt, but at the same time, a tender smile spreads across his face. The shy little heart has returned to his eye, rekindled by the hope his words have generated.

“I’m still the same Sanji. It’s just… something happened a week ago. I didn’t think I needed to talk about it, but if you’re that worried, I…”

Something happened, Usopp catches in the midst of his stupor. Something he didn’t think he needed to mention… yet it resulted in such a drastic change?!

Sanji seems to hesitate. This gives Usopp time to resort to sarcasm. It will suppress his inner panic.

“Honestly, not everyone is that worried. Except Zoro. Zoro doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s sad to see.”

This time, the cook is left speechless.

“What?!”

Usopp nods his head, proud to know more than his peer.

“But we practically had a date on Puk!” Sanji protests, blowing little hearts with the smoke from his cigarette.

Usopp deflates like a punctured balloon. He clearly missed something, because he didn’t witness that scene. His sense of legitimacy has just fled at full speed.

“What?! Are you sure that…”

A roar interrupts them, causing Sanji’s body to tremble while Usopp curls up into a ball.

“Ah, it’s almost time,” Sanji observes before getting up.

The cook holds out his hand; a leaf grows on the daisy in Usopp’s heart. He accepts the thoughtful gesture. Sanji lifts the bag with frustrating ease, clearly wanting to carry it until the last minute.

As they begin to walk, the cook glances at him uncertainly. The sniper snaps, spotting the shy heart still beating in his pupil:

“What?”

“I was thinking… That was definitely a date, huh?”

Another leaf grows on the daisy. This time, Usopp looks at it wearily.

“Wasn’t the point, but it can be if the two Sanjis see it that way.”

He conceded the idea without believing in it. It’s a little too good to be true, after all. Sanji can’t be in love with him. Not that much. Not like that. Flirting is one thing. Loving someone enough to want to spend time together in a romantic setting is another.

But didn’t Sanji just say he also had a date with Zoro? Sanji is also in love with Zoro, after all, and what’s so surprising about that? Zoro is a handsome man, strong, stable, always there for his loved ones… He’s a good friend, a good person… What could Sanji possibly see in him when he has a guy like that by his side?

“So… it won’t be one as long as there are two Sanjis?” asks the cook, interrupting his negative thoughts.

“Not until you explain yourself, anyway,” sighs Usopp, who knows what will happen then: Sanji won’t want him anymore.

Yet the cook seems to notice he’s grown gloomy. His free hand suddenly brushes his as they move through the ruins.

“And… in the meantime, is there a line I shouldn’t cross with you, to avoid hurting the old Sanji? It’s hard for me to tell, since I’m the same person and… I’m not really sure of how I acted differently before.”

Amnesia? Usopp immediately wonders. Then he focuses on the question the man asked. Over the past week, Sanji has leaped over tons of boundaries the old Sanji would never have allowed himself to cross, not in relation to others, but in relation to himself.

“Well, first of all, no kissing,” he decides, starting with something simple. “The Sanji from before is straight. As polyamorous as they come, from what I’ve read in Bijou’s papers, but very straight. He’d have the existential crisis of the century before he’d question himself.”

Sanji shakes his head from side to side, but doesn’t comment. He understands Usopp can’t afford to believe him, out of respect for him, and he seems to appreciate the intention.

“I think we can keep flirting, it’s fun. And as much as it would piss him off, it’s also embarrassing for him. Like… in a good stupid joke kind of way,” he chuckles, pleased to see Sanji is laughing too.

Their fingers brush against each other so often now that Usopp grows impatient and takes hold of that hand, whose unfamiliar touch and unusual softness he’s beginning to cherish.

“This, for example, is fine. Even though I’m sure it would make him blush like…”

He stops dead in his tracks. Sanji’s face is poppy-red, he can almost see the smoke drifting across his cheeks. He bursts out laughing. Sanji gives him an amused, knowing smile, and chuckles in turn.

“See, sweetheart, not everything has changed…” he comments, winking at him.

Usopp replies with his own wink. A second daisy has sprouted at the nickname, and he doesn’t know how big this ridiculous field will get if Sanji continues at this rate. He shakes his head: when Sanji returns to normal, he’ll have to trample the field with his own boots: he doesn’t want the cook dirtying his dress shoes. Usopp would never hurt Sanji for anything in the world. Sanji has protected him too much for the sniper not to want to do his part when he has the strength – or doesn’t have it, but can pretend otherwise.

They emerge from the ruins tired but strangely enthusiastic. Before rejoining his pack for a final briefing, Sanji blows him a kiss with his fingertips, and Usopp can’t resist blowing one back, huffing it over his hand.

When he turns around, he is faced with the heavy backpack they’ve stuffed with bento boxes. Usopp sighs in anticipation, then a sarcastic voice startles him.

“Oh, seems like someone had a good night sleep…!”

Usopp rushes over to Nami and eagerly tells her everything.

Chapter Text

They said my love was a weakness. My own sister had to hide hers in order to survive.

The three groups are about to leave. Sanji put his jacket on Robin’s shoulders when he saw her shivering, and now he’s worried about Usopp, who they are sending alone into a crypt. The sniper will be safe as soon as he finds Luffy, which shouldn’t take him long, but Sanji doesn’t like to leave his peers to fend for themselves.

He served bentos to each of his comrades, while the wolves gathered around him. The vampires, led by the lovely Mary, found a way to help them: they have orders to fight the werewolves, so they can join the group heading for Sheridan’s forest. Sanji congratulates Usopp for convincing them to join their cause and doesn’t bother asking why they call him “Professor” – he knows how the crew’s charismatic liar works.

This charisma is nowhere in sight when the sniper stands in front of the stairs of what looks like a mausoleum the man describes as “definitely haunted.” Mary, who hasn’t received any orders regarding the crypt, confirms this is one of its entrances.

Sanji observes the trembling legs, the bitten nails, hears the stammering and excuses his peer lists in an attempt to back out. So he decides to do what he would want someone to do for him in this situation – he doesn’t share Usopp’s fears, but he would never refuse a little support.

He walks up to the sniper, places his hand on his shoulder, and whispers in his ear:

“Can I kiss you on the cheek?”

Usopp turns his head toward him, shocked. However, he seems to understand why Sanji asked the question, given their conversation an hour earlier.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, as if he can’t believe his luck.

“To boost your courage,” Sanji whispers, winking at him.

He hopes it will be suggestive enough to make Usopp forget what he’s afraid of.

Sanji is by no means used to people responding so easily and naturally to him turning on the charm. He’s used to envying others for the love they exchange without inhibitions, to being deprived of cuddles because he reacts exaggeratedly to them, or because he refuses them. Recently, he’s been wondering why he has refused them for so long coming from people who cherish him tenderly and are willing to provide, especially since they don’t seem bothered by his tactile tendencies. Luffy first and foremost, of course, but also Usopp, and even Zoro, who tolerates him enough not to have resorted to Nami’s strong-arm tactics yet. He knows he has already found himself arm in arm with the sniper, but these displays of frank camaraderie are far from what he’s now able to express without difficulty: his need to love and be loved.

As soon as he started flirting with Usopp, the latter responded positively. He wouldn’t say he was surprised, but it reassured him deeply. They’ve been dancing around each other for a week now, their friendship stronger than ever and now tinged with attraction.

He understands Usopp’s unease with this change, especially since the sniper has his own worries, his own concerns, and they are both discovering aspects of themselves through this exploration of each other.

Kissing Usopp was an extraordinary experience. It was a romantic and intimate moment in a poetic setting, filled with words of affirmation that made Sanji tell himself, “I think I could be happy with this man by my side.”

So, if Usopp doubts his feelings, he intends to prove them. And if Usopp doubts himself, he can use these new emotions to show him his support. He did it before, didn’t he? To Nami, to Robin, to… Something tickles Sanji’s mind, like a wave of unease he had forgotten he felt, a feeling of déjà vu, but in reverse. He shakes his head and focuses on the present.

Usopp is snickering in front of him, and the outside of his cheekbones is adorned with two small pink ovals. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, but articulates:

“Oh, Sanji, come on…! You know I never refuse encouragement!”

The sniper points to the colored area with his finger while squinting his eyes, highlighting his eyelashes and his flattered expression.

“Here, please.”

Sanji complies, lips forward, heart beating in his eye and hands clasped together. They probably look ridiculous, but they’re having too much fun to care. The kiss is loud and silly at first, like the slobbery kisses Luffy has been giving Sanji on the cheek for the past week – Sanji loves them –, but he prolongs it, pouring all his affection and attraction for the sniper into it.

When he steps aside, they giggle together, and Usopp whispers:

“See, that wouldn’t hurt the old Sanji, but I’d give anything to see his face!”

The sniper bursts out laughing. Sanji doesn’t feel that different from before, but something tells him that Usopp is right, and he agrees to laugh at this past version of himself who would be embarrassed to kiss a man he cherishes so much.

“Hey, the two idiots over there! You done flirting?! We’re leaving!”

Sanji turns around at the sound of Zoro’s voice, who is watching them with an expression both tired and annoyed. He fantasizes the swordsman’s jealousy, which he knows doesn’t exist, but he cannot resist playing on it:

“Aaaw, chéri, you should have said so if you wanted one too!”

He spins toward him and leans slightly, his mouth pursed and his hands still clenched together. This time, Zoro loses his temper and punches him in the head.

“Now’s not the time, ero-cook!”

Meanwhile, Usopp chants something about the valiant Professor Han Velsing, ready to slay zombies to save his captain from certain death. Chopper looks at him with stars in his eyes, and Franky gives him a confident thumbs up.

Sanji shouts at him:

“I love you, sweetheart, don’t let them eat you alive!” partially destroying Usopp’s enthusiasm for the fun of it.

The sniper lets out a nervous laugh, raises his fist above his head, then disappears down the stairs with his bag of provisions. They keep their eyes fixed on the opening, making sure he doesn’t come back out immediately to abort the mission.

Sanji takes the opportunity to get up and turn innocently toward Nami, Robin, and Mary.

“You didn’t say anything, lovelies, but maybe you’d like a kiss t… oof!”

Nami intercepted him with another punch, and Sanji feels the bump swelling on the one Zoro gave him. With his chin embedded in the ground, he sees her massaging her temples. Robin pats Mary’s shoulder sympathetically, though he doesn’t understand why.

“How is he gonna fight the sexy vampire if he loses his nerve around men too…?” complains Nami.

She suddenly lets out a panicked cry.

“Oh no… that’s right! Mary!” she calls out.

Zoro has already started leading his group in the wrong direction and is being admonished by the others.

The vampire turns toward her, surprised.

“Mary, Count Gary has some kind of charm, right?! Sanji-kun is gonna be at a disadvantage against him in his current state!”

Sanji feels something burning in his gut, a familiar but distant pain, like a wound that has turned into an old memory he mourned long ago. The knot tightens, cutting off his breath. The feeling of not being enough twists his stomach, and for the first time in a week, he wonders if, despite the happiness and freedom he feels, the old Sanji should return to deal with the situation in his place.

It wasn’t enough that he refused to hit women for the love of Zeff and his outdated principles, that he didn’t want to disappoint a second father… It wasn’t enough that he tried to be the prince charming they didn’t allow him to be, even if it meant that trait becoming a weakness that turned against him a hundred times over… It wasn’t enough that he was too kind to let people starve or be assaulted without saying anything, taking unconsidered risks… His failings had to multiply, and now they also affect… The pain in his stomach twists, threatening, and the feeling of déjà vu in reverse suddenly returns.

He shakes his head. He needs to focus on the conversation at hand.

“Yes, he has an imposing aura…” begins the pretty Mary, who seems to understand Nami’s distress.

“Oh, that doesn’t worry me,” she says, waving her hand dismissively, and the knot in Sanji’s stomach loosens a little.

“But his charm doesn’t work on me, so I can’t tell you much more…”

Mary stares at them contritely, as if she were guilty of not experiencing this kind of attraction. Sanji gives her a loving look and smiles back at her. He wants to show her he’s sincere when he tries to reassure her:

“It’s not your fault, beautiful Mary. Don’t worry, you’re already helping us more than you should…”

The young woman gives him a small, indecipherable grin, as if he himself possessed this vampiric charm and she was grateful he didn’t use it to manipulate her.

The other vampires stammer out explanations, embarrassed. Gary is said to have an irresistible, seductive aura that makes people lower their guard around him. He confuses, hypnotizes, and reduces his targets to groveling devotees, willing to do anything to get a little of his attention.

Sanji feels the situation slipping away from him. His peers are afraid for him and, above all, doubt him.

“If it didn’t work on Zoro,” he remarks, clinging to his rivalry with the swordsman, “I don’t see why it would work on me.”

The whole crew turns to him as if he’s just uttered several pieces of nonsense at once, but it’s the swordsman’s gaze that freezes him in his tracks. Zoro stares at him with a mixture of relief, joy, and surprise, the corner of his lip turned up.

He seems flattered by the cook’s speech, even though Sanji’s playing on their competitive spirit to keep his footing instead of panicking.

“Don’t worry, I can always take over if necessary,” Jinbe says in a soothing tone.

Sanji believes the former shichibukai has every chance of defeating the vampire lord, perhaps even more so than he does.

This realization rekindles the panic that whispers to him how useless, ineffective, and insignificant he is. However, Jinbe did not offer to take his place, probably because he already understands that when Zoro and he set out to fight, no one contradicts their instincts. He’s grateful for his support, so he calmly comments:

“That’s very nice of you, Jinbe, thank you. But I’ll manage.”

Jinbe looked almost defensive, as if ready to raise his hands and tell him he isn’t trying to steal the spotlight, so Sanji’s response seems to reassure him. They exchange affectionate smiles as Robin resumes the discussion:

“The charm worked on me. And I’m not usually attracted to this kind of man…”

Sanji suddenly better understands how their Robin, so cautious and thoughtful, so in control of herself, could have given in to this count. He feels himself boiling inside at the thought that someone could have put her in danger, approached her, bitten her without her consent.

He grits his teeth. This isn’t the first time he’s taken on an opponent to avenge a peer, and every second adds a new personal dimension to his desire for violence toward Gary.

“Then it’s a matter of sexual attraction,” concludes Zoro, having recovered from the strange feeling that crossed his face a moment earlier. “That kind of stuff doesn’t affect me, unlike the cook…”

The jab is direct, but Sanji remembers Zoro’s fight against Gary. The way the swordsman resisted everything, how he kept his wits about him and sacrificed himself so he could save Robin. The way he gave up when he learned everything was fine, and the best thing to do was to let Gary live. He sees the katanas falling to the ground again, Zoro’s confident gaze on him. The anger that lurks within him because of the treatment Robin suffered doubles. It swells for Zoro, and he bursts into flames before he even realizes it.

“Oh… Believe me, charm or no charm, I will not go easy on him!” he growls through clenched teeth.

Strangely, Zoro, who’s the first to insist on the crew’s safety, including him, does not protest. He simply smiles, grunting his agreement. Then he continues on his way as if nothing happened. Two arms shoot out from behind his neck, forcing his head to turn and directing him toward the forest.

Sanji can’t resist saying his goodbyes in a lighter manner, comforted by the trust the swordsman places in him.

“Don’t be too hard on the lovely Sheridan, chéri. She’s not a bad person!”

Zoro shrugs, pretending he’s not listening, but he doesn’t lose his smirk. Robin and Mary giggle as Sanji blows them kisses. Chopper and Brook wave at them, walking backwards. Sanji shouts words of encouragement, then they themselves set off for the castle.

“So… Usopp, huh?” Nami says mischievously.

They walk up a paved path lined with small wildflowers, which Sanji is having fun making into a crown. Usopp taught him a few days ago, seeing how much their peers had brought back from Puk. They’ve woven so many alongside Chopper and Robin that it’s become second nature by now.

He offered a spray to each member of his crew, starting with Nami – ladies first –, but also Gévaudan, who gave him a surprised yet fond look. Then the sailor turned to Franky and Jinbe – whom he seems to feel closest to, no doubt because of their age and experience –, pointed to Sanji, and asked:

“Can someone explain how this man can exist and why it’s physically impossible not to like him?”

Sanji gave him a delighted smile, flattered by the compliment, then humbly walked away so as not to hear the rest. That’s how Nami approached him and started this conversation he wasn’t expecting. Sanji blushes, but nods.

“Not that it diminishes the love I feel for you, Nami-san,” he assures. “My feelings cannot be quantified!”

“I know, I know, Sanji-kun. I just wanted to clarify something with you. Erm…” she starts. “Usopp told me everything, how something happened to you, and you thought it wasn’t worth telling us about…”

“I’m sorry,” murmurs Sanji, who had also forgotten that it might be important to talk about it, given how good he had been feeling since then.

He felt so good that he suddenly had faith in his comrades to accept him as he was, at least a little, a little more than when no one blamed him for spending his time on the brink of death because of his nosebleeds. Zoro had even teased him about it, adding this characteristic to the list of affectionate nicknames he gave him, as if to provide him with a sense of normality, of obviousness. As if to whisper to him that it didn’t matter.

Accepting himself is another story. He needs to work on it a little, reflect a little, let go a little. Perhaps, quite simply, he needs to feel a little love for himself.

“Don’t apologize. You had no obligation, Sanji-kun. It’s just that… some things have changed about you, and I think it would be dishonest of me not to be clear about that. The old Sanji-kun was very aware it was one-sided between us, but the new Sanji-kun deserves the same transparency, in case you haven’t realized…”

She hesitates, as if afraid of hurting him. Sanji feels his love for her filling his chest with energy. Nami is always beautiful, whether she’s angry, terrified or terrifying, moved, in tears or laughing hysterically. She’s beautiful because her expressions and gestures exude confidence, the certainty that she has chosen her path, the power of her indomitable character. She’s beautiful because she’s herself, and Sanji admires her because he loves her, and loves her because he admires her.

He decides to make it easier for her.

“Nami-san…” he says softly. “I know you’re a lesbian.”

He used the term from the pamphlets Minh and Bijou gave them. Until then, he felt like it was a taboo word, that he didn’t have the right to use it because it didn’t belong to him, that he didn’t deserve to say it, as if his lack of knowledge, and something in his very nature, could make it sound derogatory coming from him. But he read in the pamphlets that using appropriate vocabulary is important, that it helps to normalize it and validate the existence of those concerned.

Sanji is well aware of this need in every decent human being. And he has never missed an opportunity to validate a woman’s existence.

Nami turns her head toward him, surprised.

“You noticed?”

Sanji isn’t hurt by the fact that she can’t want him. He’s never been afraid of being hurt by women. He has nothing to forgive them for when they do. They don’t have to bear responsibility for the complex and sometimes conflicting emotions their existence generates in him. It’s not as if he expects to be loved in return anyway, even though he clings to that hope with all his might because he knows that with them, he’s safe: he can ask without suffering the consequences.

He suddenly wonders where this thought came from: why would he hesitate to ask anyone for love? The feeling of déjà vu in reverse grips him in the gut, but immediately recedes, leaving him calm and ready to justify himself.

“Well… We have pretty similar tastes, and…”

Nami makes an “o” shape with her mouth, then adds with a laugh:

“And I hate men almost as much as you do! Well… as the old you did,” she corrects herself, giving him a knowing smile.

Sanji feels his heart tighten. Should he ask her the question as well? Was he better off before? Less free, less himself, stuck in a kind of tar he had grown accustomed to, to the point that the pain was latent and it had woven itself into his personality like the stems of flowers beneath his fingers?

“But I’m glad for you, Sanji-kun. I’ve never seen you so happy, and I really hope the alien theory turns out to be wrong.”

Sanji sees his questions fly away like dandelion seeds in the wind, replaced by the deep roots of the love he feels for the navigator. His heart beats in his eyes, ready to burst with joy. Dazzled, he stammers:

“Nami-swan… May I?”

He extends his hands above her head, and she gladly accepts the crown.

She still wears Usopp’s long coat over her corset and red frilly shirt, which makes her look like a sexy adventurer. The blue and purple crown, made of small forget-me-nots and Persian veronicas, clashes with the costume, but gives her a youthful and mischievous aura that suits her perfectly.

“Oh, I know!” Nami suddenly exclaims, startling him. “I just have to come with you!”

Sanji stares at her, increasingly surprised by their conversation.

“What?!”

“Franky and Jinbe are stronger than me, they have other responsibilities. But I can wait until we’ve beaten the bad guys before collecting my treasure!” she says, sticking out her tongue.

Her mischievous expression perfectly matches her crown. Sanji is about to protest on behalf of her safety when she adds:

“I can stay at a distance, and if you get charmed, I’ll send Zeus to sober you up. I know you’ll protect me!”

Sanji can’t refuse Nami anything, especially when she puts her trust and her life in his hands this way. He promises her that he will be her knight, her faithful servant, and she ends up hitting him.

The ground floor was spared from Zoro’s fury. Light filters in through large lattice windows. A huge, sparkling chandelier, albeit dusty, hangs from the ceiling, and a red carpet descends the double staircase to welcome visitors. Painting spaces, left empty when the ancient castle was abandoned, tower above them. A magnificent banister runs along the levels, its ironwork sublimely carved in the shape of fleurs-de-lis, its handrail gilded and worn from use.

Sanji takes a drag on his cigarette, enjoying the calm before the storm.

“Knock knock?” he tries politely, even though Jinbe has decided to kick down the door for a grand entrance.

The grand entrance failed: the lobby is empty.

“One minute, if you please!” calls a smooth voice from the first floor.

Sanji shivers just hearing it: it’s the sexy vampire from the night before. He examines the scene for a few more seconds, then gives his instructions.

“Franky, Jinbe, you each take a wing with your groups and you clear it out.”

Franky and Jinbe nod and comply, taking part of the small army with them. Then Sanji points to five of the powerful wolves he has kept with him.

“You, I appoint you as Nami-swan’s official bodyguards. You will follow her like your shadow, protect her, and obey her every desire.”

The wolves tremble at this last command. In just a few hours, Nami has managed to terrify the entire pack.

“The rest of you, lead the way upstairs. We’re going to launch the assault.”

The wolves nod their heads, less horrified at the idea of facing the terrible Count Gary than the Strawhats’ navigator. Gévaudan stays by her side, giving her a knowing nod. The two humans will flee at the slightest sign of trouble, but if they succeed, the sailor has warned them: he will wait for no one to go in search of Vladimir.

Then Sanji triggers his mutation, allowing the energy lurking within him to manifest itself in his body. Most wolves must learn to master it, but Sheridan’s transformation is different, giving Sanji a strange sense of control he feels he lost with the exoskeleton.

Sanji revels in his beastly aura like a child playing pirate with a wooden sword. He looks up at the ceiling, lets the red veil coat his pupils, and utters his pack leader’s howl. The growls all around him echo his enthusiasm. The wolves have transformed.

“Hey, you! I said one minute!”

Count Gary is descending the stairs with his usual haughty attitude. He’s as attractive as ever, with his smooth brown skin, dark eyes, square jaw, and hollow cheeks. His gait is princely, his movements lascivious… Sanji has to concentrate to avoid showing his interest.

“It’s been over a minute!” Nami protests with her usual insolence.

“Patients don’t wait,” retorts the vampire, looking quite annoyed.

Sanji steps toward him, feeling anger surge through his bones at the remark. He thinks of Robin and Zoro, Nami and Usopp, Gévaudan and his friend Vladimir, and almost immediately takes off.

“There wouldn’t be any patients if you left people in peace!”

The wolves beneath him attack the lord in an impressive display of organized chaos. He senses their presence, their aura closer to his own due to their shared nature. He can even discern their pain when Gary pushes them back with a blow from his cane.

Sanji swoops down on him from the ceiling, hoping to crush him while he’s distracted, but his opponent’s senses are too sharp to be fooled.

Gary deploys his aura to keep the wolves at bay and narrowly dodges them by transforming into a cloud of bats. Sanji’s foot lands on the steps of the staircase and breaks through, shattering them cleanly. Gary raises an eyebrow and decides to attack in turn. Sanji deftly avoids a blow from his cane.

“A werewolf who doesn’t use his claws…?” observes the count, looking surprised.

The vampire seems annoyed and chews his lip in a manner Sanji finds far too erotic. The cook descends the steps separating him from the attractive figure, suddenly drawn to his strange charm. He wants to touch instead of bite, to kiss instead of strike, to…

“Sanji-kun!” Nami shouts.

Lightning strikes him, hitting the handsome lord in passing. The bolt shoots through Sanji’s limbs and makes his hair stand on end. It anchors him in the present, just long enough to resist its destructive power and deliver a fiery kick to Gary.

Images of a pretty redhead laughing hysterically at a restaurant table pop into his head. He articulates his thoughts:

“Nami-san, that reminds me of when we first met!”

Nami pinches the bridge of her nose, but gives him a victorious wave.

“Mr. Black, watch out!” roars one of the wolves.

Too late: Gary has already lunged at him, striking him in the chest with his cane.

The impact is like a rifle bullet. Sanji grimaces in pain. If he weren’t so resilient, the count would have skewered him completely – not that it would bother him, coming from such a pleasant-looking creature…

“Sanji-kun, focus, for fuck’s sake!”

Zeus strikes both opponents with an enthusiasm Sanji has never seen before – but then again, Zeus and he hate each other. Gary barely complains: electricity has no effect on him either. They exchange blows, unable to gain the upper hand, alternating with small smiles that seem like flirting. Sanji has a feeling of déjà vu, or rather, of not yet seen, as if he were supposed to be able to have this kind of fight with someone else, but it eludes him for now.

“Men like you are always so easy to confuse, Mr. Black… You don’t stand a chance…” whispers the vampire between two lightning strikes.

Sanji doesn’t know where to look. Nami is gorgeous in her fighting stance, with her black ruffled skirt, torn stockings, and corset that lifts her magnificent breasts. Gary is incredible, with his gentle yet haughty air, his too-smooth ochre skin, and the shirt open over his chest sprinkled with short brown hair. Sanji swallows, his heart in his throat, his tongue hanging out and his nostrils flared.

“Sanji-kun!” Nami shouts between blows from the cane, the stick, and the lightning bolt. “Stop panicking!”

Shit, he thinks, I’ve got more of a disadvantage than I thought. How can anyone resist their own fantasies?! This is the first time I’ve ever had to fight against…

He suddenly interrupts his train of thought. No. It’s not the first time. Blonde hair, a pair of fishnet stockings, gloved hands sensually sliding up his thigh… He couldn’t defeat the beautiful Kalifa, but he was able to resist her charms. So why not Gary? Why can’t Sanji be charmed on all sides while still maintaining his agency? Isn’t it an everyday experience for him to feel his heart racing in front of people he is attracted to, to discover them everywhere and to lose all his composure in front of them? Hasn’t he been experiencing this all his life, ever since the moment when, as a young apprentice, he felt his heart race for the first time at the sight of a beautiful woman?

Just a week ago, he had never realized he was attracted to anyone other than ladies, but this feeling of losing control, this impression that people, women in the past, are all too beautiful, too incredible, too too too… and that he no longer knows where to look, who to approach, who to flatter… This impression has always existed. He knows it. He’s used to it. It’s part of him.

Sanji can love many people, and the possibility of love makes him ecstatic. What’s wrong with that?

He lands on the stair railing and stares at Gary for a long time, as if he wants to drink in his appearance. The vampire smiles; it’s probably not the first time someone has tried to resist him. Sanji has already gone through rehabilitation for his mass panic when he reunited with ladies after two years of withdrawal. He has been weaned off much worse. He isn’t afraid of overdose.

Gary throws himself at him, his movements fluid, powerful, and fast, his beauty radiating from his entire being. He slows down, pretending to want to caress his cheek, but Sanji snaps his jaws and manages to bite his wrist. The count steps back, surprised. He probably thinks it was a fluke, though, for he launches another attack, his charm still dazzling. Sanji stares at him, letting his panic show.

“Sanji-kun! What the…”

Sanji watches the cloud of bats moving along the railing. Now that he’s focused on it, he can easily make it out. The count reforms behind him with an erotic sigh and the gnashing of sharp teeth. The cook shivers with excitement.

“Have you given up, Mr. Black? Good…” the vampire almost sings in his ear. “As soon as I’m done with you, I can finally take care of that troublemaker Gévaudan.”

Without losing his balance, Sanji throws his leg up to head height, in a split. His flaming foot, armed with haki, hits the count’s handsome face behind him. The latter lets out a cry of pain, then mutters as he spits blood:

“It’s impossible! No one attracted to men has ever resisted my charm!”

Another kick hits him, forcing him to retreat onto the handrail as Sanji turns to face him. The vampire parries with his cane before continuing, dumbfounded:

“Even the swordsman panicked when I realized he liked blood and…”

Sanji’s gut clenches at the mention of Zoro and the scene that is etched in his mind – not because of what the vampire reveals, which doesn’t make much sense, but because Zoro sacrificed himself, and he doesn’t want to hear a word from this man who knows nothing about his peer and ought not to.

Gary expands his charm, his aura, all his powers, while Sanji steps back, resisting the full force of the blast despite his unstable balance.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he smiles, lighting a cigarette, his eyelids lowered, looking indifferent.

When he looks up, however, his eye throbs in time with his heartbeat, the pink color bursting forth as if it were its natural color.

He proudly points to himself with his thumb, letting the blood flow from his nose.

“I’m bi.”

Usopp, I’m borrowing your line, he thinks, meeting Gary’s stunned gaze.

“I have always been panicked!”

The vampire chokes for a moment. Then his face contorts, snot runs from his nose, and he starts screaming:

“Whaaaaaat?!”

The scream pierces the castle’s battered walls and rises to the skies.

Sanji delivers several more kicks, which this time the man has no time to block. Gary stumbles back onto the railing, dazed and still in shock.

The railing begins to collapse into the staircase beneath the count’s feet. The vampire staggers, picking himself up at the last second. At that moment, his heel slips on the curve of the railing, and he loses his balance.

Sanji sees the opening. He has enough momentum. He turns away suddenly and shouts:

“Mouton Shot!”

Gary flies into one of the painting niches, arms spread wide, filling the empty space with his presence alone.

“I always said those heels were a bad idea,” he gasps before passing out.

Sanji straightens up on the railing, his cigarette emitting little gray hearts.

“Don’t blame your failure on your fashion choices. You have more honor than that, don’t you?”

Chapter Text

They convinced me no one would ever want me. Not if I didn’t follow their codes, their rules, their models.

Walking through the forest is strangely pleasant, despite Zoro’s gnawing concern. The scent of pine trees soothes him, calm reigns before the storm, and he would find it appropriate to spend a few moments meditating at the foot of a tree.

Robin and Brook lead the way, guided by Mary. They discuss the similarities between Thriller Bark’s shadows and the local vampires. Zoro feels like he’s missing something in the conversation, as if an obvious point is hanging over them and they can’t quite grasp it.

Chopper, perched on his shoulder, has finished examining him and is now asking him questions about his health. The little doctor is trying to understand how such mutations are possible, but he has no more luck with vampires than he did with werewolves. Luffy’s voice echoes around them, concluding, “It’s magic.” This makes the reindeer’s eye twitch, and Zoro smiles at the image. The same feeling that they are missing something crosses his mind, but the swordsman has too much to think about to grasp and analyze it.

“Any other symptoms worth mentioning?” asks Chopper, guiding him through the woods.

“No,” begins Zoro. “Huh… Nothing related to this vampire thing, anyway.”

Chopper turns his head toward him, intrigued and very serious.

“What do you mean? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, because it started about a week ago.”

This time, the reindeer takes offense.

“Wait, you’ve had symptoms of something for a week and you didn’t tell me?!”

Zoro shrugs. It’s not that often, it’s not debilitating, and every time he notices it, he forgets about it a moment later. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that it would pass.

Chopper doesn’t see it that way, of course. The swordsman resigns himself to telling him about the knots in his intestines, as if he were having trouble digesting something, and the flush rising to his cheeks like a sudden, inexplicable fever. He’s never been sick in his life, so he has trouble finding the words. He thinks of Wa’s poisoned food, then of the hot flashes that follow his worst recoveries – the ones that require a lot of stitches.

“But it’s not that uncomfortable. It’s weird, but if I didn’t think to tell you sooner, it’s probably because I didn’t see it as something negative.”

“So it’s symptoms, but you don’t feel sick?”

“No. It’s like when I drank blood earlier: I know it’s not normal, but I liked it.”

He told Chopper the truth, in case it might help him in his research. He was sure the little doctor wouldn’t stop him from training over something so minor, so he took the risk. Chopper didn’t judge him, wasn’t even surprised, as if he had been expecting the remark. Zoro wonders if Robin, before him, made a similar confession to their peer. Robin, with her fascination for the macabre, might also enjoy the taste of blood. Count Gary stumbled upon the two people most compatible with his curse.

Chopper takes notes, focused. He reviews the list of symptoms, then stares at him, squinting. He seems to have understood something that eludes Zoro and shouldn’t have, like when Zoro acts particularly stupid, and they all look at him with a kind of pity mixed with resignation.

“And could you tell me exactly under what circumstances that happens?”

Zoro searches his memory for details: the chopping of the cowicken with serial killer Sanji, the chrysanthemum with poet Sanji, his walk with Usopp and Sanji wearing makeup… Then those symptoms still present even as he was dying of thirst: when Sanji treated his katanas well, when he called him “chéri” for the umpteenth time even though it annoyed him, when he reassured him by saying he had no intention of sacrificing himself. Then there was that incoherent shiver as he licked the cook’s skin, that overwhelming urge to take his hands in his when Robin enjoyed their warmth, and that moment when he almost let Sanji kiss him on the cheek and had to hit him so he could resist the… temptation.

This last observation forces him to turn his head toward Chopper, his mouth agape in a rectangle shape and his eyes wide.

The reindeer stares back at him with the same expression, tinged with a certain despair.

“Zoro…” he begins.

“No.”

“Zoro…” Chopper repeats, squinting again, one hoof now busy massaging his temple.

“No,” insists the swordsman, refusing to accept evidence.

“Zoro…” threatens Chopper this time, his eyebrows furrowed.

The swordsman shakes his head from side to side, still frozen in his ridiculous rectangular expression. He can’t accept this. He doesn’t want to. It’s impossible.

For a week he’s been champing at the bit, wondering why Sanji has stopped fighting him, feeling more miserable every time the cook chooses to respond kindly rather than insult him, and he has developed a crush on this version of Sanji?!

“It… It works?! The cook’s flirting works?!” Zoro exclaims indignantly, trying to distract Chopper from his conclusion. “On me?!”

“Zoro…” Chopper persists, unable to let him off the hook so easily. “Did you just spend an entire week believing your attraction to Sanji is some kind of sickness…?”

“Of course it’s a sickness to be attracted to that stupid cook!” he says, gritting his teeth.

Chopper starts giggling uncontrollably. Zoro can already hear Luffy laughing at him, clapping his hands and guffawing, “Zoro, you’re so dumb!”

The swordsman corrects his expression, leans his head toward the little reindeer, and makes a drastic decision: no one must know. No one. His fingers rise menacingly toward Chopper’s throat, then squeeze. Foam spills from his doctor’s mouth before he can add anything, but Chopper is saved by Mary, who joins them with an innocent look on her face.

“Excuse me, are you talking about Mr. Black? Um… Sanji?”

Her embarrassed expression and evasive glances speak volumes. Chopper, despite his suffocation, stretches out both arms toward the young vampire, hooves open, as if to say, “Only you would believe it never works! Look at her, she’s known him for three hours and she’s already done for. Do you want to include all the people who fall under his spell in a perfectly platonic way? Because that’s half the island right now!”

Zoro gives up on murdering his crew’s doctor, but flashes him such a menacing grimace that Chopper swallows and nods gravely, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

The swordsman lets him talk about Sanji with Mary, contenting himself with nodding occasionally and grumbling most of the time. He’s far too busy realizing the mere mention of the cook triggers butterflies in his stomach – he now knows what is stirring there – and makes the warmth of budding love blossom on his cheeks.

Yet identifying the unusual sensation does not reassure him. On the contrary, it exacerbates the feeling of… of loneliness the disappearance of the other Sanji has left behind. The contrast between the two men is not so striking, except to him, and Zoro realizes something else, something worse than anything Chopper has discovered with amusement: he misses Sanji. Every bit of assumed rivalry, every slightly aggressive word, every demonstration of power on the cook’s part towards him, too rare, painfully reminds him he has lost the privilege of a unique bond with his peer. He has lost it, and Sanji is perhaps happier this way. Without him. Without them. Even though Zoro would give anything to go back.

He knows even less what to do with these new feelings for the cook, which go against his desires. They make him feel even more lonely, because the Sanji he is becoming attached to can never replace the other, and no love will ever be worth what they had before.

Zoro adapts to his new abilities with the speed of a warrior who knows how to grow in the heat of battle.

The wolves attacked as soon as they entered the woods, and Zoro is having fun. His senses are naturally sharpened, as if he were using his observation haki without even thinking about it.

His eye is quick, absorbing more information, seeing further, zooming in on opponents even before his instincts take over. He slashes and cuts, a katana in each hand.

His heightened hearing allows him to hear the slightest rustle of leaves, even the movement of the wolves’ muscles as they throw themselves at him with the energy of despair.

They don’t stand a chance. Zoro muses they would have needed the cook to balance the scales between the two sides, but they didn’t get Sanji, and that thought brings a smile of satisfaction to his face.

His sense of smell and taste also informs him of the blood pulsing through his enemies’ veins, and targeting the arteries has never been easier, even when they’re protected by animal skins.

He has distanced himself from his peers so he can do more damage without hurting them. He feels alive, faster than ever, more in control of his body despite the feeling that the hunger inside him will never be completely sated. For a moment, he wants to find Sanji and ask him for more blood. In a mixture of horror and relief, he accepts the idea that he craves it from no one else. That Sanji has always been the only man capable of quenching all his thirsts.

The smell fills his nostrils as he slashes yet another jugular.

Gévaudan has told them far too much about the creatures they’re dealing with, or rather, what they have become. Zoro doesn’t remember everything, but he knows wolves regenerate too quickly for him to slay them so easily.

So, for once, he allows himself to advance into the fray with the intention to kill. Usually, he only uses the tactic against powerful opponents. He’s not like that. He fights for pleasure, certainly, but not to cause pain. He takes no joy in it. Except here, knowing that his enemies won’t die for so little, and that he can therefore let himself go. Let loose. Let off steam.

They’re no match for him, but Zoro needs it. Because of Sanji. To forget Sanji.

He hears Chopper’s kung fu point shouts in the distance, Brook’s laughter as he provides diversion, directing the bulk of the troops toward him.

And then there’s Robin.

He’s never seen her like this before, but she’s glowing more than ever. She’s wearing a leather bustier that accentuates her slim waist, pants tucked into lace-up boots with flared heels that never make her wobble. Her black satin shirt with pink stripes adds color to the ensemble. Sanji gave her his Victorian jacket: vampires are cold, and contrary to expectations, they feel the cold, as Zoro discovered to his detriment. That’s why he resigned himself to fasten a few buttons of his coat at the plexus – which disappointed Sanji as much as when Nami puts a T-shirt over her bikini.

Robin looks like a vampire, and she relishes playing the part. Her hands shoot out in all directions, occasionally replaced by clouds of bats. Her teeth gleam. Her face sometimes grows out of a collarbone to bite a jugular vein. She always remains in control of herself, however, and only a small trickle of blood flows from her mouth, just for show, he’s sure.

He’s glad she’s having fun, at least.

Suddenly, the air is charged with electricity. An overwhelming presence causes a few wolves to whimper. An order is barked from above.

“Take care of the others, this one’s clearly out of your league,” says a deep, feminine voice.

Zoro and his keen senses identify the threat. He steps aside, letting the wolf fall nimbly to the spot where he had been standing a second earlier. He glances at her, appraising her agility, her power, and imagines with horror the cook trying to resist this wild beauty who would have made short work of him.

“Yohoho! Well, well!” Brook exclaims as he approaches the alpha, looking fascinated despite his expressionless face.

Zoro is about to tell him to back off when he notices something odd: Brook has adjusted his clothes, from his puffy shirt to his short cape and themed top hat. His black and beige pinstriped pants fall over impeccable loafers with wide, high heels. His cane taps rhythmically on the floor.

He clears his throat, places a hand over his non-existent heart, and bows to greet the she-wolf.

“It is an honor to meet you, dear Sheridan. My cook friend has praised your beauty, but I must say reality exceeds all my expectations.”

Zoro suddenly feels very tired. He hopes that at least the musician’s bones will distract the woman’s attention.

However, he needn’t worry: she begins to blush, flattered.

“Wow, really this crew’s full of surprises!” she exclaims, one hand under her chin and a smile on her lips. “It’s such a shame you and that charming gentleman are immune.”

When Brook gallantly holds out his palm, implicitly asking to kiss her hand, she doesn’t resist. Her fingers land between the skeleton’s long bones.

Brook mimics a kiss, straightens up slightly to stare at her with his vacant eyes, and finally adds the line Zoro is now expecting:

“Would you be so kind as to show me your panties, please?”

Zoro takes advantage of the confusion to tie his bandana around his head, wedge Wadô between his teeth, and undo the buttons of the coat that are bothering him.

The she-wolf reacts instantly, giving a big swipe of her claws that tears the skeleton’s beautiful costume.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

Zoro can’t help but snicker. The musician falls backward in slow motion, as if dead. By the time Sheridan regains her senses, Brook is hiding behind Zoro and squeals:

“It’s her, Zoro-san! She’s mistreating the elderly!”

Zoro turns around and yells at him:

“That’ll teach you to act like an idiot! I can’t believe you’re worse than the cook! Go fight somewhere else, he left her to me!”

Brook doesn’t need to be told twice and disappears into the trees. The cook’s voice rings in the swordsman’s ears, suave and annoying at the same time.

“Don’t be too hard on the lovely Sheridan, chéri. She’s not a bad person!”

Zoro shakes his head. The lovely Sheridan stands before him, tall, confident, and clearly ready for a fight. He can’t tell if she’s a good person or a bad person. He doesn’t care. He’s here to win because that’s the plan, and he and Sanji always do their part.

Zoro thinks of Gary, another refined sort of guy who would undoubtedly appeal to this woman with very specific tastes, and decides he can unleash his fury on her. She confirms his impression by transforming before his eyes, her red pupils glowing like Sanji’s had a few hours earlier.

She sniffs the air, surprised, then says with amusement, pointing to the sword in his mouth:

“A vampire who doesn’t use his teeth…?”

Zoro watches her for a moment longer. Her muscular figure, her torn clothes, her poorly buttoned men’s vest. Her impeccable posture, the way her feet begin to move, almost like a dance, as he starts to circle around her.

“Sorry, I’m not the type to follow the codes,” he says casually.

Her footwork is perfect, practiced, in stark contrast to the way she uses her claws.

He gives up trying to understand and lunges forward.

She dodges one sword strike, then another, then a third. He feels heavy compared to her, despite his speed enhanced by the vampiric powers. He senses her movements, but she’s fast. A claw slashes his chest, along the length of Mihawk’s scar.

An opening. He swings his arm down and hits her side. She moves away with a fluid motion, but the blade pierces her flesh. The haki surrounding Enma does not seem to stop her transformation as it might have done with a devil fruit user. However, she hisses in pain.

They waltz through the woods, cutting down pine trees, parrying and dodging. She’s agile, too agile for a wolf. He finally corners her against a tree trunk and says haughtily:

“Not like I need teeth to cut you to pieces.”

She roars, intensifying her transformation. Zoro swings his katanas. She dodges again, and the tree collapses on top of him.

Sheridan takes advantage of the chaos to rush at her opponent. He parries with determination. The wolf’s power radiates, blowing like wind around them, but Zoro is used to haki, to the pressure of combat, and to threatening auras. He counters, unleashing his thirst, his rage, and even his recent melancholy.

She resists, her footwork pushing her to the side as he attempts another lunge. He lunges again, and she dodges, more deftly than all her clawed attacks. That’s when he sees it: she has lunged too.

“Don’t be too hard on the lovely Sheridan, chéri. She’s not a bad person!” the cook’s voice repeats in his mind, and Zoro remembers how deeply Sanji is able to read into people’s hearts.

He lowers his katana, disappointed, all anger extinguished.

“You’re not even at your best,” he almost complains, staring at her, even though her wounds have closed and she seems ready to tear his head off.

He sees her face grimace for a moment, then she lunges at him again. He parries, striking with his sword more skillfully than before, forcing her to retreat.

“Hey, Brook!” he calls. “Brook!”

They have time to confront each other for a moment longer, then finally, the skeleton appears between the trees.

“Zoro-san, will the lady agree to show me her panties now?” he asks, finding them face to face, out of breath and looking frustrated.

“Lady’s a professional fencer, and she’d like to borrow your foil so she can fight at the height of her talent,” he smiles, exposing his useless vampire teeth.

Sheridan’s red eyes grow wide, her cheeks flushing a similar color as she understands the compliment.

“Oh, a fascinating situation,” Brook comments as he steps toward her.

He knows that Zoro loves to fight, and that when he has a worthy opponent, he wants them at the peak of their power.

“Madam, please.”

He presents her with his cane as one would pass on a relic to a disciple, cradled in the palm of his hands. However, contrary to the swordsman’s expectations, the woman recoils. Her expression begins with panic before shifting to desire, even longing, Zoro identifies painfully, and suddenly they share something, and suddenly he understands her a little. Then the burning gaze is clouded with sadness.

“I can’t…” she stammers, as if terrified.

Zoro raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“I can’t, it’s against the codes…”

A growl in her throat seems to remind her of her beastly nature. She lunges at Brook, but Zoro stops her just in time. Sheridan suddenly seems lost in her fear, her trance, her animal nature.

“Don’t be too hard on the lovely Sheridan, chéri. She’s not a bad person!” Sanji’s voice insists one last time in his mind, so identical to what he might have told him before he changed, so close to the Sanji Zoro knows, that for a moment he forgets that “chéri” has replaced “marimo.”

Then Zoro understands. Not everything. Not as deeply as Sanji was able to delve, in the space of a few minutes, into the soul of this woman who cannot fight with her weapon of choice. Her red eyes glisten with sadness and frustration, and Zoro suddenly sees tears in them. As if she were moved. As if the ability of others to recognize her nature, her passion, had touched her right in the heart.

Zoro never wins his fights by showing empathy, but he figures there’s a first time for everything. He thinks of Sanji, both Sanjis, who have already won by refusing to fight, sometimes even by being unable to fight, and have always gained more from these victories than from all their other confrontations, because instead of taking, Sanji gives.

The swordsman flexes his muscles, arms them with haki, and throws Sheridan to the other end of the clearing they have formed. He removes his bandana and puts away his katanas one by one. He waits for the wolf to get up.

When she faces him again, he’s pulled Wadô’s sheath from his belt. Sheridan stumbles, persisting in her transformation. She falls on all fours to charge at him in a desperate run.

“Ittoryû iai…”

The wolf is almost upon him, Zoro disappears. Behind her, a leather coat flaps in the wind the trees no longer muffle. Zoro slowly sheathes his sword. When Wadô clinks against the scabbard, he articulates with a smile:

“Shishi sonson.”

Blood spurts from the beast’s body. Sheridan collapses and returns to her human form.

They decimated the entire pack. Chopper is by Sheridan’s side, but Zoro knows her life is not in danger. He has been… nice to her. He hopes the cook will acknowledge it, even though the old Sanji would have yelled at him for hurting the pretty woman in distress – she is in distress, at least relatively speaking, but Zoro doesn’t know why.

When she blinks, he flashes her a contrite smile. She rolls her eyes. Robin gives the swordsman a surprised but affectionate look. Brook giggles. Zoro kneels in front of her.

“Can you explain?” he asks gently.

Chopper admonishes him: she just woke up, she’s disoriented…

“No.”

Her voice is clear, controlled, final.

“Not that I don’t want to…” Sheridan clarifies. “But things weren’t supposed to turn out this way and…”

She trails off. Zoro snickers.

“Everyone always thinks that.”

She giggles in turn and tries to get up, without success. Chopper worries, but she continues:

“Take me to Gary.”

This time, it’s Robin’s turn to giggle. Zoro points out:

“Even if he’s in the same state you are?”

She nods, and he could swear he sees a hint of concern in her eyes as she explains:

“That’s the point. Did you leave him to the handsome gentleman who smells of sea and cigarettes? He as strong as you?”

Zoro nods, deciding to make an exception given the circumstances.  However, he affectionately denies:

“Almost.”

He shoots his comrades a threatening glance, as if to say, “If you ever repeat that to him, I’ll cut you into pieces and hide your remains in the crypt.” Robin seems fascinated by the idea. The voice of the old Sanji echoes ironically in his mind: “With your sense of direction, you’d never find your way out, marimo.” He smiles at the jab, like a fond memory he must mourn.

Sheridan looks at him tenderly, like someone who has been through the same thing.

“All the more reason then. You weren’t supposed to be able to beat us, but that changes everything.”

She tries to stand up again. She’s not used to being drained of her energy: Zoro cut her deep so that she lost almost all her blood. Just enough to immobilize her for a moment, as Sanji would have been in the cell without his own human strength.

“Chopper, can we move her?”

The doctor agrees. Zoro slips his hands under the wolf’s thighs and behind her back. She clings to his neck. He hears Brook let out a little whistle, a mixture of envy and teasing.

“I’ll take you to Gary. You rest on the way there, and then you tell us everything you can.”

She blushes in his arms, but accepts with a trusting air.

“Haha,” she giggles softly. “You. You’re a different kind of gentleman.”

Her head falls back: she’s fallen asleep again, knocked out by the swordsman’s finishing blow.

Zoro feels his coat flap in the wind as he turns around. He starts walking, determined. It’s time to go back to Sanji.

“Not that way, Zoro!”

He raises an eyebrow, but follows Robin in a direction he’s sure is wrong.

Chapter Text

It’s not that I hate them, actually. It’s more that I’m always wary of how they’ll react to me. Even now that I can face them.

Usopp is lost. He never thought he would come to this conclusion one day, but he’s even more lost than he’s scared. That hasn’t stopped him from trembling all over since he descended into the bowels of the planet. He thought about giving up, but his comrades know him too well and have probably been watching for the exit, in case he abandons his mission a little too quickly.

Usopp told himself that, worst case scenario, he would climb back up somewhere else, acting as if nothing had happened, but he couldn’t even find another place to ascend. The crypt is the most complex labyrinth he has ever explored. He is not surprised that Luffy got lost in it, especially if, as usual, his captain ended up there by doing something stupid like catapulting himself into the air.

The walls are made of old gray brick. Tombs are wedged into niches carved into the rock, some very simple, others ornate. He imagines a zombie jumping out at any moment and chasing him. The basement is freezing, though dry. Usopp is glad he put on that turtleneck sweater, especially since it makes Sanji glance at him out of the corner of his eye, causing them both to blush.

He used one of his pop greens to conjure up a lantern flower, whose almost solar light illuminates his path with a reassuring halo – not that it helps him much.

He also used his observation haki to look for Luffy, whom he spotted immediately, but couldn’t reach. He doesn’t know if it’s because his captain is wandering around as usual, or if he’s starving to death somewhere, but the corridors are moving on their own – it would be the first time Zoro’s been right about such things.

The bag weighs heavily on his back, but every time he considers leaving it behind, Sanji’s face appears in his mind. In the past, he would have let the straps cut into his shoulders out of respect for the cook. Now, the weight also reminds him of the peaceful yet resolute face, haloed in green fireflies, as they lean toward each other to kiss.

Sanji is already so precious to him that Usopp doesn’t know what to do with this new development between them. It’s so easy to appreciate Sanji… So… return his affection when he gives it so openly? For someone who has already flirted with the cook for fun, it’s almost second nature. How could he not want Sanji when he lowers his guard and lets his love burst forth? How could he reject him when he looks at him with that air so sweet, so innocent and so lascivious at the same time, which makes him feel cherished, admired, desired?

Usopp feels himself boiling over at this realization. He hasn’t had much time to think about what’s going on between them, as it’s so obvious, and part of him has refused to think about it because he knows he has a tendency to sink into thoughts that are too dark for the situation. Fortunately, Sanji’s radiance pulls him out of the abyss, to such an extent that Usopp even finds himself fantasizing about the direction this relationship is taking.

Then he remembers this Sanji isn’t the right one, not his, no matter where it came from or what happened to the cook a week ago. He stares at the daisies in his heart with disdain and sheds an inner tear for their impending death.

Usopp wonders if he got lost in the crypt because he got lost in his own head. If he’s wandering in the darkness because it’s so dark in his mind. He shakes himself. He should be stronger than this, right?

Turning a corner, Usopp finally sees a different scene, a sort of cave-in, perhaps… It doesn’t bode well: the passage is probably blocked, and…

Skulls. Dozens of skulls protrude from the wall and collapse onto the ground like abandoned building materials.

“Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

His shrill cry echoes through the corridors and comes back to his ears. Help. I just drew all the zombies to me…

Usopp freezes, waiting for a sound, a groan, a response. Nothing. He breathes a sigh of relief and leans against the wall, touching something strangely smooth and round.

A skull.

“Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

The echo assaults him again. He listens, this time certain the dead will wake up and drag him into the shadows. Nothing moves. The halo of his lamp still flickers placidly. I really should have brought Sanji with me. I could have clung to him, he would have loved it, he thinks bitterly. He would have scared me himself just for fun, and he would have laughed stupidly watching me freak out. We would have held hands, and I would have pretended to be courageous, and he would have let me pretend and called me a brave warrior to boost my ego, and maybe I would have dared to kiss him if… Usopp shakes his head. He has already promised himself not to want this Sanji too much before he is sure that he’s the real one, and he knows why the cook did not accompany him. They each have their own mission, that thing they can do and the others cannot.

He moves forward hesitantly, discovering with horror that the skulls now serve as wall decorations. Morbid frescoes, they sometimes arch around crosses, encircle pillars composed of thousands of small protruding stones that resemble pieces of bone – they undoubtedly are. This isn’t just a crypt, Usopp realizes with a shudder. It’s a catacomb. Please, let me out of here!

A high-pitched groan like that of a dying animal echoes, as if in response to his thoughts or cries. Usopp freezes once again and begins to bite his nails, before remembering he’s touched the skeletons. He spits in disgust and resumes walking, hoping to get away from the demonic noise.

Suddenly, a hand lands on his shoulder. Usopp jumps, terrified, but refuses to turn around.

“Ah, Luffy, I’m sure it’s you. Can we get out of this hell now? Huh… Tell me it’s you…”

Denial never works, but Usopp hasn’t given up trying. He turns slowly, all smiles, hoping to make his imagination a reality.

“It can’t be some kind of zombie,” he continues, “everyone knows they don’t ex…”

“Hrrrrrr…!” says the zombie slumped over Usopp’s shoulder, his face hollowed out on all sides and his dull eyes ringed with dark circles.

“Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Usopp steps back to the nearest wall and presses himself against it. His lantern falls to the floor and rolls down the wide hallway, giving the decorative skulls an eerie movement. It stops between him and the creature shrouded in darkness. Usopp is terrified.

Pull yourself together, Usopp, damn it! They entrusted you with this mission, they’re counting on you! Do it for Luffy, who may already be nibbling on bone powder to stay alive…

He summons his non-existent courage and raises his head toward the dark silhouette.

“Hrrrffff…!” it growls, causing him to tremble even more.

“I… I’m warning you! I am the famous vampire hunter Han Velsing!” he exclaims.

The creature crouches before him, hands on knees, as if ready to pounce. Usopp deftly juggles his hand crossbow and raises it in front of him.

“Hpfffff…!” the thing exhales again, and Usopp suddenly feels like it’s trying to speak.

“I’ve exorcised demons, purified hundreds of vampires, and killed dozens of werewolves with my silver bolts!”

His bolts are not made of silver, but he crafted them himself so they have that unmistakable shine.

“Hmph… Pff… Hmph… Pff…” replies the undead creature.

Usopp examines his gigantic bluff and wonders if it worked. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all… Before his terrified eyes, the creature takes a step forward. Its menacing silhouette becomes clearer, shrinking to human size. It wears a hood and a long dress with flared sleeves. Its gaunt, dark-circled face grimaces less and less as it sighs, breathless.

It’s also not the first time I’ve seen a zombie needing to catch its breath, thinks Usopp, blasé, an image of Thriller Bark’s tired zombies coming back to him.

“You…”

The word makes him jump with an awkward “Hiiii.”

“It really talks!”

“You are Professor Han Velsing?!” exclaims the zombie, looking up at him with a cheerful expression devoid of any animosity.

It worked?!

“I’m your number one fan!”

Usopp snickers to himself. The creature’s eyes now stare at him with admiration, and its hands are clasped in front of its chest. With the rope that serves as its belt, it looks like a devotee in prayer. This is starting to feel a bit too much like déjà vu, the sniper thinks suspiciously before replying:

“Indeed, my dear sir. Professor Bagriel Han Velsing, delighted to meet you… sir, um…”

His interlocutor lets out an embarrassed hiccup, dusts himself off, clears his throat, then finally replies in a baritone voice:

“Ah, my apologies. I didn’t expect to meet someone of your stature on this humble little island…”

Usopp brushes off the compliment with a wave of his hand and picks up his lantern, though he remains cautious.

“Reverend Malbec, at your service…”

Shit, I think it’s a real guy… realizes the sniper, but his thoughts are interrupted by a second high-pitched groan like a beast in agony. Usopp does a poor job of hiding his trembling.

“Um, Reverend… that wasn’t you making that noise?” he hesitates, turning to the man.

“No, unfortunately…” the man sighs as he approaches.

Usopp now discerns Malbec’s features. He’s tall and charismatic. He fills his monk’s robe from shoulders to belly. A perfectly trimmed beard adorns his well-defined jawline, and his eyes seem to be outlined with black kohl, giving him a mysterious air. That’s a different kind of attractive man… he muses, thinking of Count Gary, Gévaudan, and Vladimir, whose photo he has seen. Then Usopp remembers his type is nice and slim blondes, regardless of their gender as long as they’re around his age.

“I myself am fascinated by the occult, you see,” continues the reverend, “and I know this crypt very well, having explored it for decades. I heard noises echoing in the corridors, and I’ve been chasing this unknown character for a day now without being able to catch him. He’s too fast for me, and he never stays in one place…”

Usopp slaps his hand over his face. Luffy. Luffy made that poor 50-year-old man wander around the crypt for hours without giving him the slightest chance to catch up with him.

Damn… If he weren’t so hyperactive, he could have been saved on his own instead of me having to go down into this hellhole…

“When I heard a noise coming from your side, I ran as fast as I could,” continues his interlocutor. “Was it you who shouted?”

“Oh, um, yes, indeed…” stammers Usopp. “I shouted. I screamed precisely to attract the monsters in this crypt to me. Making yourself the target is more effective than running around in circles. Ha! Ha! Ha!”

The laughter is forced, but Malbec gives him an impressed look before continuing:

“Alas, Professor, I fear you will find nothing in these catacombs. They are very interesting, but creatures of the night rarely venture there. They prefer the outdoors. There is more prey to devour…”

The word sends a shiver down Usopp’s spine, then he suddenly has an epiphany. He spins his crossbow in his hand, puts it away with a deft movement, and declares:

“Say, Reverend, could you show me to a room where I could spread out the contents of my bag? Somewhere at a crossroads, with good ventilation.”

The monk raises his eyebrows thoughtfully, but quickly replies:

“Yes, of course. The Carvings Room, as I call it. Why?”

Usopp pauses, looking confident, his hand under his chin. When he looks up at the monk, he smiles.

“Because, dear Reverend Malbec… there are calls that neither monsters nor humans can resist!”

The Carvings Room is magnificent, despite its equally morbid decor. Its walls are covered with bones from floor to ceiling, except for large stone slabs inscribed with mysterious letters in an ancient language. Usopp will undoubtedly have to bring Robin here once they have resolved their current issues.

First, Zoro and Sanji must defeat Sheridan and Count Gary – he has no doubt about that, of course, absolutely none, and he’s not worried about them at all, come on.

Next, despite Sanji’s wise words, Usopp remains convinced that leaving two werewolves and two vampires at the mercy of the waves, and the world, is not a good idea. So they need to find a way to break these curses, if there is one. Based on his classics, Usopp has deduced this won’t be happening. Adjusting to this new reality will take time and effort. Usopp isn’t sure he’ll survive the thirst of a naturally lethal swordsman and a woman fascinated by the morbid. Nor a full moon facing a cyborg armed to the teeth and a former warlord fishman.

Finally, there is the Sanji problem. Usopp doesn’t even have the energy to deal with it, so upset is he by the few revelations the cook has made. The daisies in his heart flutter with excitement, and he glances sadly at the giant’s boots he will have to put on in order to trample them. Sanji won’t have to reject him when he returns to normal. Sanji won’t have to hurt him. Usopp will take care of that himself when it’s all over. Until then, he can at least enjoy the beauty of the little flowers and forget they’re doomed to perish.

“Is everything okay, Professor?”

Malbec’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, sorry. I… I was waiting! He should be here any minute now.”

Usopp opened his huge bag, removed the lids of several bentos, and placed them in the airstream. The smell of the food Sanji prepared for them filled the space. The two men both salivate furiously. He ends up sharing a box with his companion. They have almost finished delighting their taste buds, their eyes filled with stars and their bodies reinvigorated, when the high-pitched groan of the dying beast suddenly draws closer, proving the sniper right. The reverend gives him an admiring look.

“To be able to attract someone I’ve been looking for all this time so easily… That’s just like you, Professor. Remind me to ask you for an autograph when we get out.”

“With pleasure, dear…”

“Roooooaaaaaaaaaaah…” a second groan interrupts him, and Usopp finally turns to face his captain.

Luffy appears, tongue hanging out, cheeks hollow. He’s leaning on a gigantic femur, which he’s using to support his exhausted steps.

His beige suede jacket is dirty but intact.

“Fooooooooood…” he growls in his hungry beast tone, startling the reverend.

“My God, Professor! You were right! A ghoul… In here?!” exclaims Malbec, hands on cheeks and eyes popping out of his head.

“Ah, Usopp… It’s you… Foooooood…” repeats Luffy, dragging himself down the hallway, eyes fixed on the nearest bento box.

Usopp tries to regain control of the conversation without blowing his cover. Quick… Find a logical explanation…

“Aaah! No, no! Reverend, don’t worry! This one’s actually a ghoul that I’ve tamed. Very handy for helping me hunt and in my research!”

Luffy throws himself on the meal without a second thought. Usopp brings the other boxes closer and empties the bag of its contents.

“It has retained much of its intelligence, but it’s a little confused, you see… And since my name is quite difficult to pronounce, I preferred to give it a short, easy-to-remember nickname, ahaha!”

Malbec scratches his chin, but nods his head as if it all makes perfect sense.

“Oh, and that explains why I couldn’t catch up with it… Ghouls are known for their endurance. What’s more, I’ve heard that…”

Usopp takes advantage of the confusion to approach Luffy. He’s going to try – probably unsuccessfully – to tell him to look even more stupid than usual, but Luffy prefers to recount his adventures in the crypt with his mouth full, his words incomprehensible. This only makes him more convincing, and Usopp breathes a sigh of relief. As long as Luffy keeps eating, his cover will be safe.

Usopp feels foolish for not having started by luring his captain with food, but he’s also thrilled to have accomplished a large part of his mission. Now all that’s left is to get out of there, and thanks to the reverend…

“Malbec!”

A face not quite unfamiliar to him suddenly appears between two trenches.

“Malbec, you should go take a look outside. Something’s happening up there!”

The man is of average height, looking a little tired, but he still has his long black eyelashes and cypress-brown skin. Only the almost solar glow that used to shine from it has disappeared; Usopp doesn’t know if it’s the effect of the dim light, the passage of time, or his vampiric nature. The ex-marine wears a red sherwani embroidered with saffron, and his impeccable posture adds to his noble aura.

The reverend turns to the newcomer, surprised. Usopp notices a different body language, more hurried, almost off balance. The man’s chin lifts, a sweeping gesture causing his cassock to fly.

“Yes, Vladimir?”

“Well… You know I don’t leave this place, so I am not quite sure… but I have heard rumors from the church. Gary’s castle is half destroyed, Sheridan’s forest has been partially burned… Wolves howled during the night… Two alphas… Two, Malbec! You told me the situation could always get worse, but I didn’t think…”

The reverend’s eyes widen.

“Two?! That’s impossible…!”

Bagriel Han Velsing watches the exchange in silence, while his ghoul devours the delicious bentos it has never been able to resist. Even in his absence, Sanji saves the day…

Vladimir raises his hands and shrugs his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. Usopp finds him looking perhaps a little less panicked than he should be, as if he had thought about the reason and had a tangible hypothesis, but did not wish to share.

“This is completely incoherent!” exclaims the reverend. “Thanks for letting me know, I’m going.”

He gestures to leave, then turns back to Usopp.

“Excuse me, I have to step away to deal with an unexpected twist of events. Vladimir, take Professor Han Velsing to the church and answer all his questions.”

“Han Velsing?!” Vladimir exclaims, sounding shocked and a little scared. “The famous hunter you always talk about?”

Usopp congratulates himself on choosing this alias, while hoping that it won’t put him in danger – it wouldn’t be the first time.

“In the flesh!” he insists, snickering, with the mountains of skeletons behind him. “So, you’re my new guide, vampire?”

He raises his eyebrows and smiles knowingly, hoping to impress the two men with his knowledge. Vladimir swallows hard and glances uneasily at Malbec. Malbec seems surprised that Usopp has so quickly guessed the newcomer’s nature, but he’s already leaving the room, muttering:

“A vampire hunter, a ghoul in the crypt, and now… This is utter nonsense…!”

The reverend disappears at full speed down a hallway. Vladimir gives Usopp a contrite smile,

to which Usopp responds with a look meant to be threatening.

The basement of the church is much more welcoming than the catacombs. It is a respectable-sized room, formerly a monks’ dining hall equipped with fireplaces, large counters, and a pile of cast iron utensils Sanji would juggle with, a smile on his face.

Luffy has finished the bentos and is back to being as human as he can be. While Usopp summarized the events on the surface, Vladimir guided them to the refectory where they now find themselves, just below the village chapel.

The place is filled with food, and the vampire, spotting Luffy ogling his hams with envy, starts cooking something for them.

“I used to be a cook when I was a marine,” he explains. “The only thing I miss about those days is human contact in the kitchen…”

“Oh yeah?” asks Luffy, who hasn’t understood half of what Usopp related.

He shouted, “Zoro and Robin are vampires?! Sanji, Franky, and Jinbe are werewolves?! That’s so cool!” Then they had to hold him by the wrists so they wouldn’t lose him.

“Why don’t you find a restaurant to work at?” adds the future king of pirates.

Usopp slams the cutting edge of his hand down on his captain, exasperated.

“He can’t, we told you! He’s a vampire!”

“So what?! That doesn’t stop him from doing what he wants!” Luffy snaps.

He managed to steal a huge saucisson hanging from the ceiling and is chewing on it along with a loaf of bread.

Vladimir watches them with an almost tender and slightly sad look, as if this kind of interaction were familiar to him and he missed it. Given his past with Gévaudan, Usopp assumes it is the case.

“Tell me…” he interrupts them as they pull each other’s cheeks, Usopp trying unsuccessfully to take his share of the dried sausage. “Is it true, everything you said on the way here, Professor Han Velsing?”

Usopp recognizes the tone of someone who can’t be fooled. Vladimir is not from Byron, he has experience from the outside world; and he can see that Luffy is more like a very human walking stomach than a tamed ghoul. However, since the former marine has stuck with his pseudonym, he doesn’t take the time to separate lie from truth. It doesn’t matter.

He nods, his arms crossed over the costume that gives him some of his confidence.

“So Gévaudan is still looking for me…” laments the vampire. “He doesn’t know how to give up…”

Vladimir sits down on one of the benches in the dining hall, after placing steaming ham puffs on the table. He lets Luffy grab all the food he can get his hands on, too dejected to protest.

“He is going to get himself killed… or worse, transformed…”

“Worse?” asks Usopp, surprised.

Vladimir looks up at him, then lets out a heartbreaking sigh.

“My apologies. I should start from the beginning. I’m too used to Malbec, he already knows everything.”

“You don’t have anyone else to talk to, mister?” asks Luffy, still busy chewing something.

“No. I haven’t left this place since my transformation. That was several months ago…”

Vladimir nervously scratches the wood of the table. His long marine coat clashes with his sherwani. He told Usopp he wanted to get rid of it, but he’s too cold for this.

“Gévaudan and I have always been best friends. We had very different backgrounds and upbringings, and our relationship was very conflictual. Everyone wondered how we could stand each other, but it was our game to bicker constantly. We wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world.”

Images of the two men, first as children and then as adults, flood Usopp’s mind. He pictures Gévaudan stealing from Vladimir’s preparations before getting scolded, then the vampire arm in arm with two beautiful women, while a young Gévaudan, his heart falsely broken, rages behind him.

“The day we made port in Byron, everything fell apart.”

As Vladimir summarizes his adventures, Usopp sees the vampires approaching again. The dungeon, his peers trembling with thirst in front of them. Robin about to break her nose to ward off hunger, Zoro trying to stop her from hurting herself, his eyes screaming with despair at the very idea of hurting them too…

“I don’t know what kind of willpower your swordsman has… He was stronger than me. I held out as long as I could, but Gévaudan wouldn’t let me suffer. He ended up telling me he wanted me to bite him. We were still arguing at that point, you know…”

Vladimir lets out a small, sorry laugh.

“The moment I realized that he was fine with it, that he was willing to do this for me… I threw myself at him. It saved my life; it stole six months of his.”

Usopp swallows hard. He realizes to what extent Zoro’s resilience and Sanji’s intervention have saved them.

“Since then, I have been hiding. I can’t look him in the face after what I did to him… I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. Count Gary agreed to let me seek refuge at the church, with the reverend. I don’t know why, I must say… Maybe he took pity on me.”

“Wait… and you survive without human blood?” asks Usopp, his vampire hunter instincts taking over.

“Oh, no. Gary gives me a drop of his every day. He’s my creator, so that’s enough for me. I don’t consume much energy anyway, staying in the catacombs.”

That’s strange, Usopp ponders. Gévaudan admitted he was a poor fighter, and Vladimir seems to be his rightful counterpart. Gary could have left him alone simply because he’s useless to him, but he has better things to do than supply blood to a useless henchman…

“You’re going back out to fight, I presume?” Vladimir asks in his peaceful tone.

Luffy nods firmly, Usopp with much less enthusiasm.

“In that case, would you be so kind as to tell Gévaudan he must stop looking for me? Tell him to run away before it’s too late, that he…”

A fist on the table interrupts the vampire. Luffy leans toward him, his mouth half full of ham puffs, furious.

“Tell him yourself!”

Vladimir almost falls backward in surprise.

“How do you expect him to listen to you if you don’t talk to him?! If he’s really your friend, what hurts him the most isn’t that you injured him! It’s that you don’t seem to want him anymore!”

Usopp sinks into a whirlwind of memories and disjointed anecdotes. The menacing silhouettes of the Franky family, a dock at the bottom of which lies the Merry, a carnival mask. A white tower at the top of a waterfall, a marine flag, a cry from the heart. A moving island on the back of an elephant, invented images of a giant cake, an unlikely confrontation Nami told him about, tears in her eyes, as he held her close and thought of only one thing: go and slap Sanji himself, then take him in his arms and not let go until the cook had repeated after him a hundred times “I have the right to be loved.”

Sanji is bound to no longer want the daisies in Usopp’s heart, but Usopp finds himself thinking that if he doesn’t have the courage to trample them, he can always keep them, cultivate them, turn them into a huge field, and show the whole expanse to his peer. It doesn’t matter if Sanji doesn’t want them. Maybe what matters is that he knows the field exists. Sanji not only has the right to be loved, he deserves it, he needs it, and if Usopp can love him even more, he will do so with pleasure, even without reciprocation.

Vladimir lowers his head, deeply shaken by Luffy’s statement.

“You don’t understand…” he argues. “It won’t be enough to make him leave. If he stays, Sheridan will eventually catch him. It’s already a miracle he’s managed to escape her all this time, and…”

“So what?!” Luffy snarls, still leaning toward their host.

“Luffy…” Usopp interjects. “It’ll force them to fight one another, they’ll just hurt each other again.”

Luffy is about to protest for very good reasons, Usopp is sure, but he suddenly interrupts him:

“Wait… What if Gary transforms him? You could stay together, you wouldn’t have to fight, right? Well, that is, if there’s anything left of the count after Sanji takes care of him…” he adds affectionately.

Zoro, despite Usopp’s instinctive fears, will make short work of Sheridan, and the crew is no doubt already solving all of Vladimir’s problems. Vladimir has been briefed on the chaos the Strawhat crew has unleashed on the surface, so why does he seem so dejected?

“Oh, that’s against the rules,” grumbles the vampire. “At least, that’s what the reverend says, anyway. For yes, there are rules. A sort of code that applies to vampires and werewolves. There are also ‘tropes’ that Gary and Sheridan adhere to. I don’t understand it all, but Malbec tells me about it when he comes here…”

The clarification makes Usopp raise an eyebrow, but he invites Vladimir to continue. Something tells him he’s about to uncover a hidden truth, a strange and dramatic reality as surprising as his own lies.

“Among these obligations is that of forcing people from the same group to confront each other. Your crew was targeted separately, yes?”

Usopp nods as Luffy chokes on some roast meat. Vladimir clears his throat, then drops a small piece of the mask he had been keeping, perhaps out of respect for Professor Han Velsing.

“I know who you are. I saw the wanted posters before I was trapped here. According to the codes…”

The vampire grabs a sheet of paper and a pencil from a desk, but Usopp has just figured it out. He snatches them from his hands, creates a table with two columns, and scribbles names in it.

Vampires | Werewolves
Jinbe | Luffy
Sanji | Zoro
Robin | Franky
Nami | Usopp
Brook | Chopper

“According to the codes, that’s how it should have happened,” Usopp concludes, handing the sheet back to Vladimir. “I was wondering how they chose their victims, but it’s like Gévaudan said: the count takes the people who look the most refined, the best educated, or who seem to behave better, while Sheridan takes those who already have a slightly beastly aura, the thugs or the hotheads. Archetypes, in short.”

Vladimir nods, clearly impressed by his reasoning.

“Our crew is too chaotic for this kind of plan. Luffy should have been bitten first, but he got lost in the crypt. Zoro ended up at the count’s mansion instead of the forest, and Sanji befriended Gévaudan in the meantime. Zoro is too strong for this nonsense, so Gary had no choice but to transform him. Sheridan already had Jinbe to compensate. Sanji, Chopper, and Brook are immune, but that was impossible to predict… That’s why Gary heals the victims instead of transforming them quickly: not all of them are destined to swell his ranks. It’s all about balance and respecting the codes…”

“But why?” Vladimir asks, turning pale. “Why are Gary and Sheridan bothering to conduct such a sorting, when their goal is to defeat the opposing side?”

“You think?” asks Usopp, increasingly certain of what he’s saying. “It’s too early for that, there are still some twists and turns to come before the end of the story. Imagine the drama: two friends, lifelong rivals, forced to hurt each other for real, then face off on opposing sides. You, the perfect vampire, with your stereotypical name, your charming looks, and your polished manners. Gévaudan, with his werewolf surname, his build, his hair, his rough accent… That’s why Gary gives you his blood and leaves you to rot here: you’re too important to the plot, but until Gévaudan is transformed, the story can’t move forward!”

Vladimir looks at him as if he were crazy. Luffy continues to chew, unable to grasp a single word of his rambling speech. Usopp feels overexcited and jumps to his feet. He understands. He understands everything. He even thinks he knows exactly how to bring this adventure to a conclusion.

“Luffy, you done?”

His captain is licking his fingers, a piece of puff pastry stuck to the corner of his mouth. The kitchen is empty of all edible food, and only a few cloves of garlic still hang from the ceiling.

“Hmm!” agrees his favorite ghoul, nodding. “That was really good. You’ll have to give the recipe to Sanji, Mimir,” he tells the former marine.

The latter is about to correct his name, but Usopp interrupts him with a gesture: he knows it’s pointless, and there are more important things to worry about. He looks up at the ceiling, searching for a crack, as there always are in the basements of old buildings and stories told too many times. A small hollow, if possible in a recess to prevent everything from falling on their heads. He just wants to force Vladimir out with them.

He finds what he’s looking for, fires a pop green into the air, and shouts:

“Then there’s no reason to stick around here.”

The plant unfurls, inserting itself into the fragile structure, growing between the sealant and the brick. The vampire is still stunned when the first cracks are heard. Usopp concludes:

“This isn’t a war, Vladimir. It’s fiction. And the author is writing with your lives.”