Chapter Text
“What weird island is this?” Luffy exclaimed, bending so far over the railing that Usopp lunged for the back of his vest on instinct.
The quay churned with bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, civilians in bright shirts, merchants shouting over one another, dockworkers muscling gilded crates down rattling gangplanks. Banners in every color imaginable cracked in the wind.
Ships clogged the docks three rows deep. Massive luxury liners gleamed white and gold. Pleasure yachts bobbed between them, draped in silk flags and gaudy decorations. Even the marine vessels looked ceremonial rather than threatening; sails folded with geometric precision, cannons polished to a mirror sheen, brass fittings shining like trophies.
In contrast, remarkably few pirate ships were anchored. But one stood out.
“There’s Bartolomeo’s Going Luffy-senpai,” Franky announced.
Sure enough, the unmistakable green figurehead with Luffy’s likeness loomed proudly from a dock near the center. The ship’s exterior had been upgraded: additional lion-faced cannons mounted along the sides, their maws sculpted mid-roar. Reinforced steel plating along the keel, and a great number of decorative spotlights aimed outward like it expected applause. A banner the size of a sail hung from its mast:
LONG LIVE THE STRAW HAT CREW!!!
Franky adjusted his sunglasses. “He’s upgraded the side thrusters. See the reinforced exhaust ports? And those rail-mounted cannons? That’s suuuper craftmanship.”
“Look! He made my face bigger!” Luffy shouted happily.
The Thousand Sunny drifted closer to the dock, wood groaning faintly as the tide nudged her into the press of ships. Sanji folded his arms over the railing, cigarette tilting lazily from his lips as he surveyed the spectacle before them.
A change of scenery was more than welcome. They hadn’t docked in a proper city for months, nothing but half-abandoned outposts and weather-beaten islands with more wildlife than civilization. Lately he’d felt restless, an insistent itch beneath his skin that even cooking couldn’t soothe.
Too much open sea. Too much of the same shit over and over. And too much of Zoro’s lazy ass passed out on deck at all hours of the day, contributing absolutely nothing to society.
What he needed was a proper city. With proper distractions. Tall buildings, lively streets, well-stocked markets overflowing with fresh produce… and the company of beautiful women he could charm over candlelight and excellent wine.
His mouth curved faintly at the thought. Yes. That was exactly what he needed.
But when he shifted, the Sunny protested sharply beneath his feet. Alarmed, Sanji took a quick step back, glancing down at the deck as though he half-expected a plank to split open under his weight.
The sound was probably harmless, just wood under strain, the ship adjusting to harbor currents… but it still sent a familiar chill through him. Some things were never forgotten. The memory of the Going Merry settling into the sea still sat deep in their bones. He would never forget the way a ship could sound tired and defeated. Like it had simply reached its limit.
Sanji put his hand against the railing. Poor Sunny had taken a real beating in the last storm too. Waves tall as buildings, wind that screamed like it wanted blood. The railings were scuffed and splintered in places. One of the auxiliary masts leaned just enough to make Franky twitch every time he looked at it. And along the starboard side, a jagged scar from a cannon blast cut through the lion’s bright paintwork, temporarily sealed with steel plating.
“We need to get this ship fixed,” Franky sighed, as if reading Sanji’s thoughts. “Full maintenance. Hull reinforcement. And maybe an upgrade to the Soldier Dock System while we’re at it.”
“We need supplies,” Sanji added, exhaling smoke through his nose. “I’ve been making dinner out of scraps for days.”
“I thought that meat yesterday tasted funny!” Luffy said brightly. “But I liked it!”
“It was seagull,” Sanji sighed. “We’re down to seagull.”
Chopper clutched his bag anxiously. “We need medicine! Proper medicine! I’m almost out of disinfectant… and bandages…. and painkillers.”
Brook clasped his hands together. “If there are so many people, there must be music shops! Perhaps a new violin bow? Or sheet music? Or ladies’ undergarments I could…”
Nami didn’t even look at him. “Don’t even think about it.”
Usopp pointed dramatically toward the skyline. “I need materials! Special ones! Rare ones! For tactical reasons! Extremely important tactical reasons!”
“Tone it the fuck down,” Zoro yawned from where he was leaning against the mast, arms crossed.
Sanji’s eyebrow twitched. “Fucking get your lazy ass up!” he snapped. “You might as well make yourself useful for a change!”
Zoro cracked one eye open slowly, gaze flat and unimpressed. “Are you done yapping, curly? Your foul mood gets on my nerves.”
Sanji felt something hot spark behind his ribs and he almost bit the cigarette in half.
“I get on your nerves?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’ve been horizontal for half the Grand Line! The rainwater barrel’s doing more work than you are!”
Zoro’s mouth curved. “At least I’m steady,” he said coolly. “You’re just loud. All talk. Kick, smoke, complain. That’s your whole personality.”
Sanji did bite the cigarette in half this time.
“You want to see loud, you overgrown bonsai?” he snarled.
Zoro shrugged one shoulder. “If you can manage something besides yelling, I’m game.”
“Boys, please, now’s not the time,” Jinbe cleared his throat gently, a subtle but effective interruption. “Docking fees alone will not be insignificant in a port such as this. We should prepare ourselves.”
“We have absolutely no money,” Nami announced, turning to face the crew.
The words dropped like a cannonball. Even the harbor noise seemed to fade for a moment.
“No money?” Luffy repeated.
“None,” she said sweetly. “After emergency repairs, food restocking, bribes, property damage fees, and someone’s spontaneous meat purchases…”
“That was an investment!” Luffy protested.
“...we are broke.”
A collective groan rippled across the deck. Only Robin remained quiet. Her gaze moved slowly across the banners strung between buildings, faint amusement showing on her face.
Sanji followed her line of sight, noticing repeated symbols: Variations of skull motifs. Stylized emblems.
And straw hats. Lots of them.
How odd.
As the Thousand Sunny drifted deeper into the harbor traffic, it began drawing attention. Heads turned. Fingers pointed. A murmur spread along the docks.
Then… A loud cheer. Another followed. And another. Within seconds the sound swelled until the entire quay seemed to erupt, the roar rolling across the water in a wave of unrestrained excitement.
“They like us!” Luffy beamed, waving both arms enthusiastically over his head.
Sanji blinked. That wasn’t the wary reaction they were used to.
His gaze drifted toward Nami. She stood slightly apart from the others, hands resting on the railing. The corner of her lips curved upward in a small, private smile. Ah, so soft and secretive. So beautiful. So cute.
Warmth bloomed in his chest. He stepped closer. “Something amusing, my lovely navigator?”
“Hmm?” She glanced up at him, her smile shifting slightly. “Nothing.”
He considered insisting that it had to be something, but decided against it. If she was smiling, he would simply enjoy her beauty.
In the distance, a cannon fired. Confetti exploded into the sky in a shimmering burst of color, drifting down over the harbor like celebratory snow.
More cheering erupted.
Near Bartolomeo’s ship, a massive banner unfurled, snapping tight in the sea breeze.
THE FIRST ANNUAL STRAWHAT CONVENTION — GRAND OPENING TODAY!!!
Sanji squinted at the lettering.
“…Convention?”
He slowly turned his head. Nami’s smile had widened just enough to show teeth.
###
“You are saying…” Luffy’s eyes were impossibly wide, practically sparkling. “They are doing all of this… for us?”
“Yes,” Nami nodded calmly, smoothing the edges of the parchment in front of her lovingly. “We get paid for showing our faces here.”
“THAT’S AMAZING!!!” Luffy threw both arms into the air. “They like us that much!”
“You are the most awesome woman in the world,” Sanji cooed, practically melting. “Apart from my lovely Robin-chwan, of course.”
Zoro made a loud, disgusted noise in the back of his throat. Was he the only sane one on this ship? Clearly, Nami was evil. This was a set-up. She had brought them here exactly for this. It also explained the messenger bird he’d seen two days ago circling the mast. The one he had watched land. The one he had immediately decided was none of his business and forgotten about.
Nami tapped the parchment. “This is a three-day event. Appearances, stage introductions, meet-and-greets, limited merchandise licensing…”
“Merchan-what?” Luffy blinked.
“Money,” Nami translated smoothly.
“Ohhhhhh.”
“I negotiated percentages,” she continued. “Very generous ones.”
“How generous?” Usopp asked, eyes gleaming.
Nami’s smile turned sharp. “Enough that we can fully repair the Sunny, restock supplies, pay docking fees, and still leave with a comfortable surplus.”
There was a collective inhale.
“Surplus?” Chopper echoed faintly.
Franky’s sunglasses flashed. “Now that’s SUPER.”
Nami smiled. “I’ll be meeting the event coordinator at a tavern near the central plaza to confirm the schedule and payment structure first. In the meantime…”
She gestured toward the harbor, where the crowd was still roaring.
“...go enjoy yourselves. Be visible. Do not destroy anything. And for the love of all treasure in this world, be nice.”
“Chain him up, that’ll be too hard for him,” Zoro said dryly, jerking his chin toward Sanji.
“At least I don’t look like I crawled out of a garbage dump,” Sanji shot back.
“BOTH of you,” Nami warned sweetly.
Luffy had already climbed onto the railing and was scanning the docks through a pair of binoculars.
“Some of them dress up like me!” he shouted, practically vibrating. “Did you see, did you see?! They have my hat! And the scar! And…”
He gasped so hard he nearly swallowed the lenses.
“They even have your stupid moss hair, Zoro!”
Zoro stiffened. “They what?”
In one swift motion, he ripped the binoculars out of Luffy’s hands. “Move.”
He brought them to his eyes…
…and froze.
“…I’ll be damned.”
There were Zoros… many Zoros. Green wigs in every possible shade, from respectable moss to aggressively neon. Haramaki sashes tied with varying degrees of competence. Plastic swords tucked into waistbands. One individual was attempting a brooding lean against a lamppost, chin tilted just so, like he’d studied it in a mirror.
There also were Namis in bright orange wigs and confident grins. Robins with sleek dark curls and calm, knowing smiles. Frankys in speedos and exaggerated pompadours flexing muscles. People wearing oversized Chopper hats. Towering Brooks in skull masks and feather boas. Even a couple of Jinbes with impressive blue body paint and very serious expressions.
And…
Zoro’s mouth twitched.
…there were Sanjis.
Lots of them. Cross-played Sanjis. Women in tailored black suits, blonde wigs sweeping over one eye. One was dramatically lighting a cigarette. Another was blowing kisses into the crowd. One particularly enthusiastic version had drawn the eyebrow the wrong direction.
Zoro snorted.
Sanji went rigid. “What.”
Zoro lowered the binoculars just enough to glance sideways at him. “You look way better as a woman.”
Sanji’s eyebrow twitched violently. “Give me that.”
“No, no… wait.” Zoro lifted the binoculars again, swatting Sanji’s hand away. “This one’s got your hair wrong. And that one’s too short. And…” he barked a laugh, “there’s a good one! She’s doing that stupid heart-eyes thing you do!”
“I do not…”
“‘Nami-swaaaan!’” Zoro mocked in a high falsetto.
Sanji lunged.
Zoro pivoted aside without effort, still scanning the crowd through the lenses.
“I take everything back,” he said thoughtfully. “This island might be worth it.”
Sanji finally managed to wrench the binoculars free. He brought them to his eyes…
…and went very still.
“Oh,” he said faintly. “Oh.”
Zoro smirked. Victory! He folded his arms, already savoring the inevitable outrage.
But Sanji didn’t look outraged. He looked… stunned.
One of the women on the dock cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed, “SANJI-SWAAAAN!”
Sanji’s face flushed bright red.
“Oh,” he repeated softly, awe creeping into his voice. “They’re so attractive.”
Zoro’s smirk faltered.
Sanji lowered the binoculars just enough to drink in the scene with his naked eyes, visibly overwhelmed.
“There are so many,” he breathed.
Then he straightened, smoothing his tie, adjusting his cuffs, running a hand through his hair.
Zoro’s laughter died completely.
“Duty calls,” Sanji murmured, already stepping toward the gangplank. “Can we hurry up a little?”
###
It was pure heaven.
A sea of women pressed close around him. Hands tugged at his sleeves, fingers brushed his arms, voices layered over one another asking for photographs, autographs, his attention. Many thrust a camera into his hand so they could take a selfie with him.
Sanji thrived. His heart was going to burst.
“Of course, mademoiselle.”
“It would be my honor.”
“No, no – the light is better from this angle. Trust me.”
He posed. He smoldered. He adjusted ties, tilted chins, offered dazzling half-smiles.
The first nosebleed hit five minutes in. With the reflexes of a seasoned veteran, he produced two discreet stoppers from his pocket and inserted them smoothly without breaking his smile.
There was only one small irritation.
“Where is Zoro?”
“Is he coming?”
“Will he be joining you for photos?”
Sanji’s felt bile rise up his throat every time the mosshead’s name was mentioned.
“Ah,” he said lightly, though his smile began to strain at the edges. “The marimo? He’s… around.”
Always around. Like a stain that refused to wash out no matter how hard you scrubbed.
Most likely he was destroying the single braincell he still possessed in a dingy tavern somewhere, glowering into a cup of cheap sake.
Honestly.
After nearly an hour of next-level flirting and accepting more compliments than was strictly healthy, Sanji finally extracted himself with all the grace he could muster. Feeling some regret, he returned to the ship, suit only slightly rumpled, ego massively boosted.
It was time to prepare dinner for the crew.
The dock didn’t look the same when he approached. The immediate perimeter around the Sunny had been cleared, a loose ring of men now stood between the ship and the rest of the festival crowd. Dark coats. Visible scars. Heavy boots planted wide. A few unmistakable underworld tattoos peeking from collars and sleeves.
They parted respectfully when Sanji approached.
“Black Leg,” a mountain of a man said, a faint flush creeping up his rough face. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
Sanji blinked. “…Have you.”
The man nodded eagerly and fumbled inside his coat. For a brief second, Sanji tensed… then relaxed when the pirate produced not a weapon, but a well-worn comic book and a golden pen. Then tensed again when he recognized the cover.
Sora, Warrior of the Sea.
“Could you sign it?” the man asked, almost shy. “You’re my absolute favorite.”
Sanji took the comic carefully and stared down at the cover with its bright, dramatic artwork, feeling a faint shiver travel up his spine. The heroic marine mid-strike, cape billowing, boots gleaming. And at his feet… the black-clad villain writhing in shadow.
Sanji’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the edge.
“Sure,” he forced himself to say. “Where would you like it?”
The pirate pointed enthusiastically at a blank corner near Sora’s boot.
Sanji signed his name with flourish and handed it back with a polite nod. “Take care.”
“Yes, sir!” the man squealed, clutching it like treasure.
Frowning faintly, Sanji turned toward the gangplank, lighting another cigarette.
His experience had clearly been different from the others, he realized the moment he stepped back aboard. The ones who had returned were all holding things.
Chopper stood clutching a plushie version of himself. Brook was examining a poster of showing him mid-guitar solo, sparkles exploding dramatically behind skeletal fingers. Franky had acquired a mechanical model kit labeled Build Your Own SUPER Cyborg, separating the pieces with great concentration.
Usopp was scowling at a skewer. “Why is festival food three times the normal price?! This is robbery!”
“It’s called supply and demand,” Robin said mildly, flipping through a commemorative booklet featuring glossy illustrations of the crew.
Sanji looked at his empty hands.
“…You all went shopping,” he said flatly. That wasn’t exactly wise with their funds at an absolute minimum.
“Yes,” Chopper replied, clutching the plushie tighter. “…They’re selling these for more than my bounty,” he added, sounding torn between awe and existential crisis.
Mood dampened, Sanji glanced back toward the ring of underworld muscle still keeping the crowd at bay.
“…Why are we being guarded?”
Robin’s eyes lifted from the page.
“I don’t believe we’re being guarded,” she said mildly. “I believe we’re being managed.”
Before Sanji had time to react to his goddess smart comment, a large shadow fell across the deck. Zoro stepped aboard. A surprised hush fell over them.
“…You’re back,” Usopp said slowly.
Zoro frowned. “So?”
“You got off the ship,” Chopper said, as if stating a miracle. “You found back by yourself.”
“Pfft,” Zoro replied flatly. “I went ten meters down the dock. There’s a tavern right there.”
He jerked a thumb behind him. In the completely wrong direction.
The scent hit a second later – alcohol. Loads of it. Sanji rolled his eyes. As expected! Zoro’d been drinking alone in a dark, dirty tavern. And judging by the tight set of Zoro’s jaw, it hadn’t improved his mood at all.
Zoro’s gaze swept the deck. Paused. Locked. On Sanji. Did a slow once-over.
“…What,” Sanji said flatly, already feeling the familiar anger rising in his chest.
“Don’t grin like such an idiot, you look stupid.”
“Oh?” Sanji snarled. “I wasn’t aware my face required your approval, dickhead.”
“It doesn’t,” Zoro said. “It just needs fixing.”
“Ha!” Sanji flicked imaginary dust from his sleeve. “You’re just jealous you’re so ugly you scare everyone. Meanwhile, I’ve just spent the last hour being adored.”
Zoro’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh really,” he said dryly. “If you’re so successful with women, why are you back here?”
Sanji’s grin faltered for half a heartbeat. “I returned,” he explained haughtily, “because I have responsibilities. Unlike some people.”
Zoro didn’t blink. “At least I don’t need strangers to feel validated,” he replied.
“At least I don’t disappear to get drunk every time I’m in a bad mood,” Sanji countered. “Out of my way, I’m going to cook now.”
He turned sharply on his heel, jacket flapping with offended dignity, and strode confidently toward the galley. One step. Two. Three…
His hand hit the door. And his brain caught up with him.
He had purchased absolutely nothing. Sanji froze. Behind him, the crew continued murmuring, blissfully unaware.
“…What’s for dinner?” Usopp called.
Chopper perked up. “Is it something fancy?”
Brook clasped his bony hands. “Perhaps something festive?”
Sweating, Sanji opened the galley door slowly. Looked inside. Bit his lips. Empty shelves greeted him from the pantry. A single onion. Half a sack of rice. A lemon that had seen better days.
Ah… shit. How could he fix this? Cook more seagull?
But before this could spiral into humiliation, he was saved by footsteps on the gangplank. Sanji nearly sagged in relief when Nami reappeared, escorting a voluptuous woman onto the ship, a very round Luffy hopping behind them.
###
Zoro’s mood, low to begin with, had been steadily sinking for hours. He hated crowds. Always had. Too many bodies. Too much noise. Too many blind spots. His instincts went haywire. Every laugh sounded like a threat. Every hand reaching out could be reaching for a blade.
And this island was nothing but hands.
He’d evaded the ones dressed like him easily enough. Far more irritating were the ones dressed like the cook. For some reason, the Sanjis kept trailing him, giggling like lunatics.
He’d fled into the first tavern that looked sufficiently uninviting. Low darkened ceiling, warped tables, windows too grimy to see out of. Exactly the kind of place normal people avoided.
Inside were three unconscious drunks and a bartender who looked half-dead herself. The sake tasted like vinegar. He drank it anyway. It didn’t improve his mood. He left when his stomach began to rumble, because he might tolerate bad alcohol, but he would not eat whatever passed for food in that place.
Then his mood went to new lows. Fucking idiot of a cook, preening around smugly like a peacock in heat. And Nami reappeared with a woman who practically screamed underworld.
She was dressed like excess itself: lacquered crimson lips, sharply sculpted brows, cheekbones cut to lethal precision. Her hair was a vivid green, swept dramatically over one eye in a thick, glossy wave. The rest cascaded down her back in deliberate curls. She wore a tailored black coat with neon lining that flashed when she moved, gold chains glinting at her throat. Rings gleamed on nearly every finger. Even her nails were painted the same poisonous green.
Her grin was wide. Hungry. Stretching just a fraction too far. Of course the idiot cook went soft and jelly-legged the second he laid eyes on her.
The woman who had to be related to Bartolomeo stood on the deck like she owned it. Chin lifted, shoulders back, eyes roaming slowly, deliberately over all of them, like a collector inspecting rare artifacts.
“Ah,” she breathed. “Just look at you.”
Her words rolled strangely. The vowels lingered. The consonants snapped.
Her gaze swept across again, unhurried. Jinbe. Usopp, Chopper. Franky, Robin. Then her eyes landed on him.
Zoro stiffened. She looked him up and down — and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end.
“Ahh, so grumpy,” she purred. “Scruffy. A little dirty. But those muscles! That chest! The scars! The earrings! The swords!”
Her eyes gleamed brighter with every item she catalogued. She circled him once, slow and deliberate. Smart enough not to touch, though her fingers twitched as if it took visible effort to keep them to herself.
Then her attention snapped suddenly to the cook who was staring at her wide-eyed, flushed to the tips of his ears, looking seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
Her accent thickened further, syrupy and theatrical.
“And look at you…! So handsome!” She clasped her hands together briefly, practically vibrating. “So tall. So lean. The shoulders! The waist!” Her gaze dragged down his body without shame. “And those legs… ahhh!”
She stepped forward this time; and unlike with Zoro, she did touch. Her fingers slid lightly along Sanji’s sleeve, then traced the line of his arm as though testing fabric quality and what was underneath. She leaned closer, inspecting him from inches away.
“And the eyebrow!” she gasped, drawing an exaggerated spiral in the air near his face before her fingertip hovered just shy of brushing his temple. “Iconic! A work of art!”
Sanji made a strangled, breathless noise. Fuck, the cook looked like he’d never been touched by a woman in his whole life. Virgin energy, Zoro thought flatly. How pathetic.
“I am also,” she added, her voice dropping, “a tremendous admirer of your family, Sanji Vinsmoke.”
Sanji’s expression changed immediately. One second he was flushed and dazed; the next the color drained from his face. His posture straightened. The softness vanished from his eyes like someone had snuffed out a flame.
Zoro frowned.
He didn’t know the details. But he’d seen the way Sanji’s jaw locked when certain headlines appeared. The way he went quiet if someone mentioned that name too casually. The cook clearly didn’t like his family. And he probably had a damn good reason.
Zoro shifted his weight slightly. The woman’s eyes snapped to him instantly. Then back to Sanji… watching his face with open fascination, like she’d just pressed a bruise to see how deep it went.
“Ah,” the woman murmured. “There it is. Beautiful.” Her smile widened. “This is going to be very good.”
“So,” Nami chimed in brightly. “As you might have guessed, Sorella is the main organizer of this event. I have the schedule here. If you have any questions…”
“Did you see the convention center?!” Luffy suddenly shouted, jolting upright from his food coma. “It’s huge!”
“Yes,” Sorella laughed, the sound ringing. “It is large enough to accommodate most of the fans. Tens of thousands, if necessary.” She spread her arms grandly, as though unveiling a kingdom. “There are also smaller, more intimate venues.”
Her eyes gleamed.
“Usopp,” she said, turning toward him. “We arranged for a handicraft workshop with children. Build-your-own-device demonstrations. It is going to be very popular.”
Usopp puffed up instantly. “Naturally! Everybody wants to see the great Usopp!”
“Jinbe,” she continued. “You are scheduled for a small panel discussion with fish-men and merfolk. Cultural exchange. Grievances. Representation.”
“Aha?” Jinbe nodded politely, though looking confused. “That could be… constructive.”
“And Chopper…,” she reached out and patted the animal lightly on the hat. “You can simply… be there.” Her smile turned indulgent. “For photos. Perhaps transform occasionally for dramatic effect? The fans adore versatility.”
“They… adore…?” Chopper gasped, beginning to wiggle in embarrassed delight.
“Yes, yes.” Sorella waved a jeweled hand dismissively. “Franky and Robin are scheduled as well, of course. We expect a strong demand from the straight shippers.”
Robin’s eyebrow arched slightly.
“We have already discussed the grand concert on the final evening…” She turned smoothly to Brook. “You will have two days to rehearse with the stage orchestra. Full lighting rig. Pyrotechnics.”
Brook clasped his cheeks. “Yohoho! A headlining performance!”
“And our captain,” she continued, gesturing to Luffy, “will naturally fill the main convention hall between events. Meet-and-greets. Heroic speeches. Perhaps a dramatic entrance or two.”
“Yes! I can be very dramatic!” Luffy beamed.
“But!” She dropped her head, like she was sad. “We did have to pay the Marines extra to ensure minimal interference. Security permits. Harbor clearance. A bit of… administrative lubrication. You understand.”
After a long pause, Nami cleared her throat delicately. “I’m not sure I do.”
Sorella’s smile did not falter. “Oh, but you must. It’s in the contract your captain signed. It will require additional cooperation.”
Her gaze shifted. Zoro narrowed her eyes when she looked him over again.
“Extra panels,” she said huskily. “The dynamic between you two…” Her eyes flicked between Sanji and Zoro, “…is wildly popular.”
Zoro’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”
Nami’s head tilted slightly.
“Two additional panels,” Sorella continued brightly. “In addition to the scheduled sword-fighting demonstration with Mr. Roronoa and the cooking showcase with Mr. Vinsmoke. One a joint Q&A session. Perhaps some rivalry. A bit of tension. Verbal sparring. Close proximity. And… an age restricted one.”
Nami turned slowly to look at the two of them, her expression thoughtful.
“…I see it,” she nodded after a while.
“Yes!” Sorella beamed. “Chemistry. Conflict. Passion! The market metrics are extraordinary.”
“And the compensation?” Nami asked smoothly. “Is it going to increase?”
Sorella met her gaze. For a moment, it was shark meeting shark. Then Sorella’s smile widened.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Yes. Substantially.”