A steaming dish was quietly placed in front of Gin, who sat slumped in the corner of the Baratie restaurant. His clothes were tattered, his skin pale, and his body frail from days of starvation. Startled, Gin looked up, expecting more harsh words—but instead, he met the calm, unreadable gaze of the cook who had placed the food before him.
Sanji.
"Enjoy the food," Sanji said simply.
Without waiting for a reply, he leaned back against the wall beside Gin, lit a cigarette, and took a slow drag. The smoke curled in the air as silence hung between them.
Gin stared at the plate—a generous serving of fried rice, still hot, with steam rising from it. His hands trembled slightly.
"Why?" he asked hoarsely, his voice cracking. "I thought... you people didn't serve food to pirates?"
Sanji exhaled a trail of smoke, his expression remaining calm. "I don't see pirates in this restaurant," he replied coolly. "Once someone steps in here hungry, they're not a pirate or marine or anyone else. Just a human being who needs food."
He glanced at Gin, his voice firm. "So go on. Eat."
For a moment, Gin didn't move. Then slowly, as if afraid the plate might be taken away, he reached out with a shaking hand. He picked up the spoon, scooped some rice, and took a bite.
The flavors exploded in his mouth.
His eyes widened slightly, and in that moment, he remembered what it felt like to eat again. Real food. Warm food. Food made with care.
His shoulders began to shake.
Sniff… sniff…
Tears welled up in his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. He hunched over the plate, eating quickly now, each spoonful devoured as if it might be his last. His tears mixed with the steam from the food, but he didn't stop eating.
Sanji watched in silence, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Thank you..." Gin murmured, between bites and tears.
After a while, Sanji asked, "How many of your crew still need food?"
Gin paused, wiping his tears away with his sleeve. "Sniff… A hundred… A hundred men. They're starving."
Sanji gave a slow nod. "Alright. Wait here."
He stood and walked away toward the kitchen without another word.
Gin opened his mouth to stop him, to protest, to say something—but nothing came out. Instead, he bowed his head and quietly continued eating the last few spoonfuls of the rice, savoring every bite as though it were the most valuable meal in the world.
Inside the kitchen, the other cooks stared at Sanji in disbelief.
"Are you serious? One hundred servings? For pirates?"
"I'll cook it myself," Sanji replied, tying on his apron.
It took a while—longer than most orders—but Sanji moved with practiced efficiency, frying rice in large woks, seasoning with care, wrapping portions tightly for transport. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly prepared food. He didn't stop until every portion was packed.
Finally, Sanji walked out with a large burlap sack filled with warm meals. He placed it gently in front of Gin.
"These should be enough for all of them," he said.
Gin looked at the bag, eyes wide, then slowly reached out. His hands trembled again—this time not from weakness, but from emotion.
"I… I will repay you for this. I swear it," Gin said, bowing deeply.
Sanji waved a hand. "Forget it."
He took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled calmly. "Just take it back to your crew while it's still warm."
Gin looked at him one last time, then stood, slinging the heavy bag over his shoulder. He gave a silent nod, his eyes filled with gratitude.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the Baratie—carrying not just food, but a debt he promised himself he would never forget.
Gin carefully loaded the large bag of food onto his small boat, his movements still slightly shaky from hunger. After securing it, he picked up the oars and began rowing away from the Baratie, his back straight and eyes focused. Sanji stood at the edge of the dock, watching in silence as the pirate slowly disappeared into the misty horizon.
Only when Gin's ship was a mere speck on the sea did Sanji turn around and walk back toward the restaurant.
He was just about to enter the kitchen when suddenly—thud!—a large hand blocked his way.
Sanji blinked, looking up to see Patty, along with a few other cooks, standing in front of the kitchen door with arms crossed. Their faces were stern, their expressions unfriendly.
Sanji frowned. "Oi, what's the big idea? Move. I need to get back in."
"No can do," Patty said bluntly.
Sanji narrowed his eyes. "Don't mess with me. I said move."
"I heard you," Patty replied, unmoved. "But you're not allowed back in the kitchen."
Sanji's jaw tightened. "What the hell are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?"
Patty's face hardened. "No joke. You're banned from the kitchen."
"Not just the kitchen," another cook added. "You're no longer welcome in this restaurant."
Sanji froze. For a moment, he wondered if this was some strange prank—but the dead seriousness in their eyes made it clear: they meant every word.
His voice dropped, colder now. "What the hell are you all trying to pull?"
Patty crossed his arms. "You've been slipping. Your cooking's gone downhill."
A silence fell.
"What… did you say?" Sanji's voice trembled, not with fear, but with rage.
"I said," Patty repeated loudly, "your cooking sucks. The food you made earlier? Tasted like garbage."
Sanji's eyes flared. Without thinking, he grabbed Patty by the collar and yanked him forward. "Say that again, bastard."
Just then, from inside the kitchen, a sudden gagging noise was heard.
"Blegh!"
Carne, another cook, burst out from behind the door, a hand covering his mouth. He ran to the sink and spit out whatever he had been tasting.
"Who the hell made this crap? It tastes like poison!"
Sanji's grip on Patty loosened as he turned in disbelief.
"That was my dish," he said stiffly, trying to maintain his composure. "I cooked it."
He expected Carne to hesitate, maybe apologize, even show a bit of embarrassment. Instead, Carne's expression twisted in fury.
"You made this?! What the hell, Sanji?! Are you trying to kill us?" Carne shouted. "That stuff was disgusting!"
Without waiting for a response, Carne shoved the pot off the counter.
Splash!
The contents splattered across the floor in a mess of rice, sauce, and vegetables.
Sanji's eyes widened in fury. "Carne! You bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"What?" Carne said, shrugging with mock innocence. "I didn't do it on purpose. That stuff tasted like poison. I was doing you a favor!"
"You—!" Sanji's fists clenched.
The surrounding cooks stepped back slightly, sensing that Sanji was about to explode.
Patty stepped between them quickly. "That's enough! You think you can just feed garbage and not get called out for it? This ain't a place for lazy cooks."
"Lazy?" Sanji hissed. "You think I'm lazy after everything I've done here?"
"You gave food to a pirate, Sanji. We told you not to, and you did it anyway. And now, on top of that, you're cooking like a rookie."
Sanji stood there, breathing heavily. Anger and frustration boiled inside him, but he forced himself to stay composed. His voice was low and cold.
"Are you guys intentionally provoking me?"
Patty didn't even flinch. "So what if we are?"
Sanji's brow twitched. "Why? What's the reason?"
"If you want answers, go ask the chief."
"The old man?" Sanji's eyes narrowed.
No one said anything further, their silence serving as confirmation. Sanji squinted his eyes and glanced at all of them coldly.
Without wasting another second, Sanji turned away, and walked down the corridor and made his way to the owner's quarters. He pushed the door open without knocking and found Zeff sitting near the window, quietly sipping tea.
"Old man," Sanji said sharply, not even attempting to hide his irritation. "Did you tell the others to ban me from the kitchen?"
Zeff didn't answer right away. He slowly turned his head, giving Sanji a long, unreadable look. Then he set his teacup down and asked, "Sanji, how long have you been working at this restaurant?"
Sanji furrowed his brows, caught off guard by the sudden question. "About ten years… give or take."
Zeff nodded, his face still calm. "Yes. Ten years. You've stayed here that long."
He paused, then continued in a quieter, more serious tone. "You're not that little kid I pulled from the sea anymore. You've grown up, Sanji. You're a man now. It's time for you to chase after your own dream."
Sanji's lips parted slightly. "Old man, what are you saying?"
"I've seen the way you've been lately," Zeff said, looking him in the eye. "You're restless. Your heart's not here anymore. Ever since that Orca group came, you've been… distracted."
"You knew about their offer?" Sanji asked, surprised.
Zeff snorted. "Of course I knew. I'm not blind. I could see it in your eyes. You were tempted. And honestly, I don't blame you."
Sanji clenched his fists. "So what? That doesn't mean I should be kicked out of the kitchen."
"It's not just about the Orca group," Zeff replied, his tone hardening. "Lately, your attitude in the kitchen has changed. You've become more focused on flirting with every pretty girl who walks in than actually doing your job. You ignore male customers, clash with other cooks, and treat the restaurant like your personal playground."
Sanji's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
"At first, I tolerated it," Zeff continued. "I thought maybe you'd grow out of it. That you'd wake up and take responsibility. But instead of getting better, you got even worse."
"Hey, I don't think it was that bad-"
"It's worse!" Zeff repeated, cutting Sanji mid sentence. "For that reason, I decided to fire you."
"What? How could you do that? You-"
"Enough! I didn't do this to punish you," Zeff said, standing up. "I did this to push you. If you're really serious about your dream, then stop wasting time here. Go out there and find the All Blue. Live the life you talked about all those years ago."
"Old man..."
"Go now." Zeff waved his hand, signalling for Sanji to leave.
Sanji stood frozen, his expression blank—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. A storm of emotions swirled within him: disbelief, confusion, sadness... and something that felt like betrayal. He had expected anger, maybe a scolding. But not this.
For a long moment, he didn't move. The silence in Zeff's room was heavy, only broken by the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
Eventually, Sanji lowered his gaze to the floor. Without saying another word, he turned around and quietly left the room, gently closing the door behind him.
He walked slowly through the corridor, each step feeling heavier than the last. The usual scent of the sea and spices from the kitchen didn't bring him comfort like before. It all felt unfamiliar now.
Returning to his small room, Sanji stood there, staring blankly at the plain wooden wall in front of him. His thoughts raced in all directions. The Baratie had been his home for ten years. Every corner of the ship held memories—fights, laughter, bruises, burns, meals shared, and dreams spoken aloud in quiet corners. Leaving this place… it felt like tearing off a piece of his own soul.
But Zeff's words echoed in his mind. *"It's time for you to chase after your own dream."*
Slowly, Sanji moved. He reached for his small suitcase, opened the drawers, and began packing. His hands moved methodically—folding his clothes, collecting his knives, a few personal items. Everything he had fit into one small case. It was a simple life, after all.
Once done, he took one last look around the room. It wasn't anything special—just a bed, a chair, and a window looking out to the sea. But it had been his sanctuary.
He stepped out, suitcase in hand. He didn't speak to anyone. He didn't look back.
Patty and the others, who had been watching from a corner of the hall, grew silent as he passed. They had expected some reaction—maybe an outburst, maybe another fight—but not this quiet departure.
"Did we… overdo it?" one of them muttered, guilt creeping into his voice.
"Maybe…" another said, watching Sanji's figure retreat into the distance. "He's really leaving now."
"Will he hate us?" someone whispered.
"If it were me," Patty said quietly, "I'd really hate it."