Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zeff had never planned to be a father.

Je thought It was the most ridiculous thing to do especially for a man like him .

He’d lived most of his life with salt in his blood and iron under his feet — a pirate at the sea then a cook, a stubborn bastard who didn’t believe in softness. He didn’t have time for it. Didn’t think he had the heart for it either , not a damn soft bone in his body to be good enough for a child .

But then came that damn kid , all ribs and attitude and silent shaking in his sleep. Eight years old. No shoes. No parents. Just a folder full of useless records and eyes that didn’t trust anyone anymore.

Zeff didn’t take him in out of pity. He did it because something in him broke when he saw that boy shoved behind a foster care desk like old furniture — and because Sanji, despite everything, still clenched his jaw and said, “I’m not crying.”

He was. Zeff saw it. And he’s been seeing it ever since.

Every tear Sanji thought he hid.Every smile he forced - which what zeff hate the most -  Every time he cooked his way through heartbreak. Every time he worked himself sick rather than ask for help because for long time the idiot kid thought he only had worth if he do something.

Zeff wanted to punch someone at that - not the kid never his kid - He saw it all. And more than that — he remembered it. Because that boy, his boy, had carried so much more than a child ever should. And Zeff knew why. Knew what happened before the system spit him out. Knew what kind of family the bastard had come from — if you could even call them that.

He didn’t learn the full story right away. But over the years, between Sanji’s silences and nightmares and the cold, bruising truths that sometimes surfaced, Zeff pieced it together.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to kill them.

Not metaphorically. Not in that “I’m-so-angry-I-could” way.

He meant it. With his hands. With a knife.

For the things they did. For sll  the things they said to his boy .

For making hid eggplant flinching in his sleep sometimes, till now.

But he didn’t. Because if Zeff went to prison, Sanji would be alone again. And Zeff had made a promise — not to the courts, not to the system, not even to himself.

He made it to that boy with red-rimmed eyes and calloused palms “You’re not alone anymore. Not while I’m breathing. Never again “

So Zeff stayed. Watched over him as much as he could, Raised him, Taught him how to cook how to not let anyone walk all over him Yelled when he had to, cooked when words failed, hugged him once in a blue moon just tight enough to remind him that someone gave a damn.

Blood be damned — Sanji was his son.

And anyone who thought otherwise ?They could meet the sea.

So it was only natural Zeff kept a close eye on the people who hovered too long around his son , Especially when someone starts looking at him with that kind of soft, knowing look — the kind that means trouble.

And Zeff had seen it start early — too damn early — when the eggplant was fifteen. Just a lanky, soft-hearted idiot in a too-big apron, still trying to grow into his limbs and make everyone like him. Trying so damn hard to be useful, to be good enough, to earn a place in a world that had already chewed him up once.

Too young, too naive, and far too pretty. And that came with a whole new set of problems.

Zeff saw it plain as day.

Sanji didn’t know how to say no, Didn’t know how to stop giving.Didn’t think he was allowed to expect anything in return.

And that scared the shit out of Zeff.

He’d never say it, of course. Would rather eat a flaming boot than tell the kid just how much he worried every time Sanji smiled too quickly at someone, flinched at praise, or looked down when someone got mad. But the fear was there. Clawed at his ribs like salt on an open wound.

So when that bastard Gin showed up for the first time — smug, sharp-eyed, older by at least three years  -how the fuck he stiil in high school ? He should be with adults in college or something- Zeff knew right away

Trouble.

It wasn’t just the cocky walk. Or the torn-up leather jacket. Or the fact that he smelled like smoke and broken promises. No. It was the way he touched Sanji.

So Casually , Familiar darn Possessive.

A hand on the shoulder. A thumb brushing Sanji’s neck. That damned crooked grin when he leaned in and said something just for Sanji’s ears.

Zeff’s jaw clenched so hard he nearly cracked a molar.

He doesn’t get to touch my boy like that.

Sanji had walked into Baratie with Gin beside him, beaming — like he hadn’t just dragged a lit match into a room full of oil. Zeff saw it immediately. The way Sanji’s steps bounced. The way his eyes flicked toward him, unsure but proud.

He was happy. Of course he was.

AndZeff wanted to throw Gin into the ocean.

“I brought someone,” Sanji said, half-grinning, cheeks just a little pink.

Yeah. Brought someone my ass ,He Brought trouble.

Zeff didn’t say a word at first. Just crossed his arms, narrowed one eye, and stared Gin down like a shark sniffing blood. The punk didn’t flinch — not visibly — but Zeff saw the slight twitch in his jaw. Good.

And then Gin had the audacity — the balls — to extend his hand and say, “I’m Gin. Sanji’s—”

“I know who you are,” Zeff cut in. Didn’t shake the hand. Didn’t blink.

“And I know what kind of boys wear sleeves that short and smirks that wide.”

Gin tried to laugh it off.

Bad move.

“You plan on feeding him? Paying his rent? Tucking him in when he works sixteen hours and collapses in the damn hallway?”

Gin blinked.

“Didn’t think so,” Zeff said, stepping forward. “So why don’t you sit your ass down without touching him again and we’ll see how long you last.”

Sanji sputtered. “Old man!”

But Zeff didn’t even look at him.

Because this was the test. Always was.

How they responded.

Gin sneered. “I’m not scared of you, old man.”

“Good,” Zeff said, cracking his neck. “Then you won’t mind a friendly chat in the walk-in freezer.”

The funny thing is Gin didn’t last a week.

Zeff wasn’t proud of what he did.

Scratch that — he was very proud.

But he’d take the secret to the grave before telling the brat.

Because when Sanji — all big eyes and too much trust — brought Gin into their lives like it was no big deal, Zeff didn’t just sit there polishing spoons.

No.

He called in the crew.

Patty had connections in the seedier parts of town — ex-flings, old drinking buddies, a few who still owed him favors (or broken teeth). Carne knew how to tail people without being noticed — and more importantly, how to open locked doors without leaving a trace. And Zeff had a name that still held weight in certain corners — and an old friend in the police force.

Vice-Admiral Garp.

That crazy bastard.

All it took was one call. One quiet, “Hey, you ever heard of a punk named Gin?”

The pause on the other end said everything.

“Why?” Garp asked.

Zeff answered like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Just doing my duty as a concerned citizen. Think the bastard’s dealing.”

Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely a lie.

Because after Patty poked around, and Carne “accidentally” intercepted a backpack Gin left in the back alley one night, they found some very interesting things .

Sketchy bills. Weird contacts. And a burner phone with messages that made Zeff’s blood boil.

A gang name came up more than once: Krig or Kreig , something like that. Not huge, but enough to raise red flags.

So Zeff packaged everything neatly. Photos. Names. Evidence.

Hand-delivered it to Garp with the calm of a man who just happened to stumble across a drug dealer“Thought you’d wanna know,” he said.Like it was nothing.

Sanji had no idea.

As far as he knew, Gin just “lost interest” and ghosted him.

Didn’t even say goodbye.

And Zeff never said a word. Just handed the brat a bowl of curry the next night and told him to stop moping over assholes who couldn’t even hold their chopsticks right.

Because what kind of father would he be…

if he didn’t ruin the life of the first punk who tried to date his kid?

Zeff’s peace didn’t last.It never did — not with that boy.

Barely a few months had passed since Gin vanished like a bad rash, and Zeff had just started to breathe easy again. Thought maybe, just maybe, Sanji had learned a little caution or damn sense.

Then came Ace.

Portgas D. Ace. Seventeen a year older

Broad smile. Good manners. Deadly charm. - which was an improvement from last one -He walked in with fire in his voice and laughter in his eyes — like the whole damn world was something he could carry in one hand and still have room to hold Sanji in the other.

Wore a clean button-up, leather boots polished to a shine, and a confidence that made Zeff’s instincts scream. The worst part? No bad vibes. At least not obvious yet .

No drugs. No secrets. No sketchy past.

Even had recommendation letters from his teachers, for god’s sake. Although he seems the playboy type . So that something to consider for.

And of course — of course — he turned out to be Garp’s grandson.

Zeff had known Garp for years. Called him a lunatic, a hammer-fist with a badge, but a decent man. His family? Model citizens. Kids raised on discipline, education, and enough respect to keep the mayor from breathing too hard in their direction.

Which only made Ace more dangerous in Zeff opinion.

Because he wasn’t going to hurt Sanji out of carelessness like Gin.He was going to do it with good intentions.

They’d been seeing each other for a few months by then. Sanji hadn’t said the word dating out loud, but Zeff wasn’t an idiot — he saw it. Saw the way the kid practically floated around the kitchen those days, humming while he stirred sauce, lips twitching with a smile even when he thought no one was looking. Ace treated him well, Zeff had to admit — opened doors, waited after school, never once made Sanji flinch. He brought him books, asked about his dreams, even sat through an entire lunch service just to walk him home. Too perfect.

Zeff didn’t trust it. Not for a second. You don’t live as long as he had without learning: even the best men had cracks — and the ones who hid them the best? They were the ones you watched the closest.

Because those the ones who will hurt the most .

Then one night, Zeff was trudging down the hallway with a tray of freshly fried croquettes — not out of kindness, but to make sure those hormone-loaded teen idiots weren’t doing anything stupid, dangerous, or downright unhinged — when he heard it with his own damn ears.

He slowed just outside the door. Hearing them whispering , and giggling like an idiots Zeff rolled his eyes at that as he continued to listen, Ace was speaking first, light and confident. “We’ll take the train down to South Blue, then catch the ferry across. Spend the whole break traveling — just us.”

Sanji’s voice followed, quiet but warm. “But what about your college exams?”

Ace laughed — too soft, too sure.

“Nah. I’d rather be with you. I’m enrolling in firefighter school anyway. College isn’t for me.”

Zeff blinked. Then blinked again.

Oh ho? Traveling, is it? And with his son?

Yeah — in his damn dreams.

He very nearly kicked the door in on the spot. Traveling together? Skipping college? Running around like some summer romance movie? Absolutely the hell not.

And oh boy , if Garp knew his precious grandson was planning to throw college out the window to run around playing house with Sanji?

Hah. That old bastard would have a stroke.

Zeff almost smiled. Now he knew exactly how to handle this mess.

Zeff leaned back in his office chair, picked up the phone, and dialed the number he knew by heart.He didn’t waist time , not when his son in the cross fire .

Garp answered on the third ring, voice already half a bark”What old man? I’m busy.”

Zeff smirked. “Well, I’ll keep it short, then. Just thought you’d like to know your golden boy’s planning to skip his college entrance exams.”

A pause. Then sigh like he was done“…Which one? The chaotic menace or the smooth-talking troublemaker?”

“The later one, ,” Zeff drawled, inspecting his nails like he wasn’t dropping a live grenade. “Said it himself. Something about how he’d rather spend the summer traveling with someone special. Real sweet.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Heard it with my own ears, Garp. Real romantic. Talked about throwing away his whole academic future for… love.”

He let the last word hang like smoke.

Garp made a choking sound. “He WHAT—?!”

Zeff leaned forward, grin widening. “Now, I ain’t telling you how to raise your grandkids, but if my son was about to throw his life off a cliff over a summer fling, I’d maybe have a little talk with him.”

Garp practically growled. “I’m going to kill that damn brat.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

There was a beat. Then, with less fire“…He’s with your boy, isn’t he?”

Zeff’s smirk turned shark-like. “I said someone special , didn’t I?”

Garp groaned. “You’re the worst.”

Zeff shrugged, pleased with himself. “Hey, just doing my part as a responsible citizen. Good luck with the college talk.”

And with that, he hung up.

Five minutes later, Ace texted Sanji “Can’t hang out today. Gotta survive Grandpa.”

Of course Zeff only knows about the massage due to his eggplant soured mood all day mumbling about a grandpa and troubles .

Zeff hummed as he carried a fresh plate of pasta to the dining hall.

Two days later, Ace showed up looking like he’d been dragged through three military interrogations and a two-hour lecture on “family honor.”

The smug smile that usually clung to his face like fire was gone. His shoulders slumped. His shirt was slightly wrinkled — which, for Ace, might as well have been a full mental breakdown.

He barely met Sanji’s eyes.

Zeff watched from behind the kitchen door, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping. Just supervising the lunch shift, he told himself.

Ace and Sanji sat by the back windows, quiet for a long moment. Then finally, Ace sighed.

“My grandfather found out.”

Sanji blinked. “About… what?”

Ace gave him a weak smile. “About our summer trip. About me skipping college. About everything, apparently.”

Sanji paled. “You told him?!”

“I didn’t have to.” Ace grunted. “Old man probably bugged my brain or something. One minute I’m packing for a beach trip, next thing I know I’m getting hit with a ‘you’re a disgrace to the family’ speech and a stack of papers.”

“What papers?”

“…Military school.”Ace laughed dryly. “Two years. Starts next week.”

Sanji’s heart dropped. “You’re going? ”

“I don’t really get a choice,” Ace said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s either that or he ships me off to live with Uncle Dragon. And that guy doesn’t own furniture.”

Sanji tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.“So… long-distance?”

Ace nodded. “Yeah. We’ll make it work.”

They lasted two months in long distance relationship .

Not because they didn’t care — god, they wanted to make it work. They really tried.

Late-night calls, blurry photos, secret letters sent under fake names.

Ace would sneak messages during training breaks. Sanji would stay up past midnight just to catch five minutes of his voice.

They talked about the future like they still had one.

Sanji made countdown calendars.

Ace sent audio recordings of thunderstorms because he knew Sanji liked the sound.

They joked about running away together the second Ace got out.

But the longer the weeks dragged on, the harder it became.

The calls got shorter.The smiles more strained.Ace sounded tired. Sanji sounded like he was trying not to cry.

“I miss you,” Sanji whispered one night.

“I miss you too,” Ace had said. But there was a beat of silence after it — like the distance had finally caught up to both of them.

By the end of the second month, the spark had dulled. Not out of a lack of love — but out of exhaustion. Out of two boys trying to hold a flame between oceans and expectations and walls they were too young to tear down.

The break-up wasn’t messy.Just… quiet. A message that said, “I think this is for the best.” And a reply that never got sent.

Sanji didn’t talk about it.Zeff never asked.

But he made his boy extra crispyhashbrowns that morning.

Sanji didn’t eat them.

And even though Zeff told himself it was all for the best —

That long-distance never worked,

That Ace would’ve only broken his heart worse later —

The kitchen felt too quiet that day.

Too cold.

Sanji sulked for a week after that Poked at his food. Muttered something about “why does everyone leave.”

Zeff didn’t say a word.

Just slapped down another plate of food and told him, “You want someone to stick around? Maybe stop falling for idiots with good hair and bad timing.”

Chapter Text

After the Ace breakup, Sanji didn’t date anyone seriously for a while.

Not because he didn’t want to — he tried .

A few classmates here and there. A girl from the flower shop. That one smiley guy from his chemistry lab who always smelled like oranges.

But none of them lasted more than a week.

Every time a date started to go anywhere , something strange would happen.

A kitchen emergency would “coincidentally” call Sanji back to Baratie.

Or Patty would show up at the same restaurant by sheer accident and glare daggers at the poor soul across the table.

Or Carne would “bump into” them and start loudly recounting horror stories about jealous exes, STD outbreaks, or fake mafia ties.

And Sanji, the poor idiot, just thought he had bad luck“Guess they weren’t that into me,” he’d say, scratching the back of his head, while the entire Baratie crew clinked beers behind his back in silent victory.

They never talked about it directly.

But there was a silent agreement between them all after the Ace incident — no one got near their Eggplant unless they passed their standards.No one.

Not after how broken he’d looked after that summer.Not after those quiet mornings when he didn’t smile, didn’t cook, just stared out the window with tired eyes and barely touched his plate.

So they formed an unofficial pact:

Operation: Sanji’s Heart Security.

Unspoken. Ruthless. United.

And Zeff was glad . More the better.

Sanji, blissfully unaware, chalked it all up to bad timing“Guess I’m just not cut out for romance,” he muttered one day while stirring sauce.

Patty and Carne exchanged a look across the kitchen“Yeah, maybe,” Patty said, totally not smug.

But they all knew the truth

Their boy had a fragile heart wrapped in fire — and they weren’t letting just anyone near it.

Not if they aren’t worthy enough.

Zeff wasn’t just cautious about the love interests orbiting his idiot son — oh no, that was only half the job.

He kept a close eye on everyone around Sanji.

Friends. Classmates. Coworkers. That one quiet kid who always lent him pens. Even the delivery guy who waved too long.

Some of these people had known Sanji since primary school — long enough for Zeff to remember them with runny noses and crooked backpacks.

But that didn’t mean he trusted them. Time didn’t erase suspicion. If anything, it sharpened it.

He’d watched Sanji grow up too kind, too open, too desperate to be liked.

And he’d seen how people used that. Again and again.

So Zeff, being the responsible guardian he was, did what any slightly paranoid father figure would do He kept files. Actual folders .

Each one carefully labeled. Tucked away in a hidden cabinet behind the fake wall in his office.

Inside it Contact numbers. Parent names. School records. Social media screenshots. Occasional background checks. Notes in red pen.

Like:

“Lied about being vegetarian for 3 weeks. Weird.”

“Cries too easily. Can’t be trusted.”

“Too interested in wine. No minor should know this much about wine.”

“Refers to Sanji as ‘Swan.’ Either joking or a psychopath.”

Of course, Sanji had no idea.

He thought Zeff barely remembered his friends’ names, let alone their birthdays or favorite snacks — both of which were listed on page three of every folder.

Carne and Patty had seen the stash once and swore a blood oath of silence.

“This is insane,” Patty muttered, flipping through a thick file labeled “Marco from Chemistry.”

Zeff lit a cigarette. “It’s parenting.”

After that they joined him in the digging.

He wasn’t proud of the obsession. But he wasn’t sorry either.

Not when Sanji smiled so easily. Not when his heart still limped from old wounds.

If protecting his boy meant channeling a little lawful paranoia?

So be it.

He’d dig ten thousand folders deeper.

So yeah, Zeff knew Sanji’s closest friends very well.

The chaotic menace — that would be Ace’s little brother.

The green-haired grump who started bickering with the eggplant the second they laid eyes on each other.

The lying one — Sanji’s first real friend, scrappy and loud with a heart as soft as butter.

The little one with bright eyes who wanted to be a doctor more than anything.

And then there was the redhead girl.

She was Sweet, Gentle. And Clever.

Too clever, maybe.

At first, Zeff didn’t like her. Not even a little.

There was something about how Sanji jumped to do whatever she asked — no matter how small — that rubbed him the wrong way.

The way he followed her like a shadow, nervous to disappoint. That was a red flag on its own.

Zeff kept sending her cold, glaring stares from across the dining hall. Silent warnings.

She didn’t flinch — and eventually, she proved herself. She earned his trust.

But that wariness didn’t come from nowhere.

There had been a girl, back in middle school.

Middle school, she was Pretty the most Popular in school , All sugary smiles and fake promises.

Sanji was over the moon when she called herself his girlfriend — practically floating through the week.

He carried her lunch. Did her homework. Let her pick his clothes.

The staff at Baratie thought it was harmless. Zeff didn’t.

And then she invited him over.

Private tutoring, she said. Just the two of them.

Whispers of maybe taking it further. Making it “special.”

Sanji — idiot that he was — agreed.

Even though he didn’t feel ready. Even though the pit in his stomach told him something was off.

He still went, heart pounding, wanting to be loved so badly he ignored the discomfort screaming in his chest.

The girl her name was Maria Black - oh a name Zeff will never forget- she had another plan , she already had an older boyfriend much older was in his mid twenties, it turned out he was a sick bastard with bad intentions, he saw Sanji once with her and asked her about him and she told them about him, and his type was blond and naive and he liked him in spot he wanted to test him so he asked Maria to bring him with her and he proposed a threesome , the idiot she is she agreed “ he is pretty and clueless enough “ and Sanji almost walked into it .

But that girl didn’t count on one thing.

Nami.

She was the one who saw through it first. The one who followed. She didn’t like Maria at all , and always wearing sanji about her but did he listen? No . So the moment she knows about her plan - she heard her friends babbling about it in the bathroom- she needs to interfere now , Zoro - the green one - hot in her heels .

They  knocked on the door just in time, stared that smug girl down, Zoro punished the other fucker then they dragged Sanji out by the wrist, No questions.

After that, Nami didn’t leave Sanji alone for a second.

So yeah — Zeff glared at her at first. Watched her like a hawk.

But when he saw what she’d done — how fiercely she protected his boy without even being asked — he backed off.

And he trusted her. Fully.

Because she’d proven it: she wasn’t there to take advantage.

She was there to guard him. Just like Zeff was.

Zeff never told him how he found out. Never will. But that girl never got near the restaurant again. And Sanji never spoke about it, either.

So yes — Zeff watched everyone . And he kept watching.

Because he’d rather be overprotective than find his son hurt again, quietly pretending it never happened.

There is someone is far dangerous had an intest- unwanted one to be exact- to Sanji

He was big, ruthless and screamed bad news, he was a mafia boss after all .

And the name Crocodil, he showed up at Baratie like any other high-rolling bastard , expensive coat, arrogant eyes, and fingers heavy with rings that never stopped tapping the table. His voice was smooth, low, patient — the kind that made you lean in without realizing it.

The moment he spotted Sanji he was intergited , his eyes glinted with disaier .

He smiled smoothly at sanji kept flirting all the time he was in . Sanji didn’t lean in.

In fact, Sanji didn’t even look at him properly — not after the second visit. But Crocodile kept coming.

First with compliments.Then with tips that were way too generous.Then came the invitations.

“Join me for a drink.”

“I have a job offer for someone with your talents.”

“Dinner. Just us.”

Sanji declined him Politely. Repeatedly.

Until politeness turned to stiff nods and barely concealed discomfort.

And Crocodile noticed.

Zeff put the entire Baratie staff on high alert the moment Crocodile stepped foot through the door.

“No slip-ups,” he barked. “You see that bastard coming, I want knives sharp, ears open, and Sanji nowhere near him .”

He banned Sanji from serving Crocodile entirely — hell, he didn’t even want the kid out of his sight when that bastard was around.

“I catch you so much as walking near that booth, I’m nailing your shoes to the damn floor, you hear me?” Zeff warned, arms crossed, eye hard.

Sanji, of course, grumbled. Rolled his eyes. But obeyed. Because even he could feel something wrong in the air whenever Crocodile showed up.

Zeff tried to ban the bastard outright — told him to take his shady business and choke on it — but it wasn’t that simple.

Crocodile had connections. Influence. Money. There were laws protecting “paying customers” and some slimy cop ready to cite them.

So the bastard kept showing up.

But Baratie wasn’t an easy target — not with Zeff watching his every move like a hawk with a vendetta and a steel boot behind the counter.

And then One night, it escalated.

Sanji took the back alley exit — a shortcut to toss the garbage. He didn’t realize Crocodile had been waiting. Alone. Or so it seemed.

The man cornered him, too close, smile too sharp.

“I’m not used to being ignored, you know,” Crocodile murmured, fingers brushing Sanji’s arm — a calculated, violating touch meant to feel both commanding and mocking. “It’s a shame. You could be something, if you just—”

Sanji froze. Completely.Every breath stalled in his chest. Every nerve locked up.

That was the moment Zeff arrived.

The moment he couldn’t spot Sanji while that bastard was in the building, Zeff dropped everything — mid-chop, mid-yell, mid-sentence — and stormed off, boots pounding, heart already in his throat.

Because when Zeff didn’t see his boy, and that monster was still around?

There was only one place his mind went danger .

And he would tear the damn place apart to find Sanji and get him out of it.

With blood in his eyes and a steel pipe in his hand.

“You lost, Scarface?” Zeff growled like thunder. “Or you just stupid enough to try touching what’s mine ?”

Crocodile didn’t get a chance to answer. His men were already moving in, but so were the Baratie staff — each armed, each deadly in their own right.

It didn’t go down that night, but the message was clear: Back off.

What Crocodile didn’t know?

Baratie had ears in the walls.

Literally.

Those private booths ,The ones where he met with his crew, thinking no one could hear?

He was wrong.

There was one spot — behind the west booth, second from the kitchen wall — where the acoustics carried perfectly . Zeff built it that way. Not for spying, no. But it came in handy.

The staff had been recording everything.

Plans. Deals. Drug routes. Dirty laundry. Even bribes to law enforcement.

It was enough to ruin Crocodile’s entire operation.

But Zeff didn’t go to the police.

No.

He went to Shanks and Mihawk — the only two men who had enough power to end Crocodile without blinking. They’d dined at Baratie before. And thier kids are Sanji’s friends, they owed Zeff favors. And they loved an excuse to put another arrogant crime lord in the ground.

Zeff handed them everything, Silently.

Efficiently.

No trail leading back to Sanji.

A week later, Crocodile’s empire crumbled like a sandcastle in a tsunami.

Sanji never asked what happened. But he knew. He saw the scorch marks in the alley. He noticed Zeff’s busted knuckles. He heard the news.

But he didn’t say a word.

He just made Zeff a fresh plate of croquettes that night — golden, crisp, just the way the old man liked — and left them on his desk with a note that said:

“Thanks, old man. For everything.”

– Your Eggplant

The next trouble didn’t wait long to show up. He came wrapped in a gloomy aura, with tired eyes and tattoos that practically screamed “issues” — or whatever the hell kids called it these days.

One who, in Zeff’s opinion, needed therapy ten years ago — not to be the one providing it.

Patty and Carne were right behind him with matching expressions of judgment.

Patty snorted, arms crossed. “Who the hell tattoos ‘death’ across his damn hands? Seriously!”

Carne nodded, incredulous. “I know, right? Couldn’t the eggplant pick someone less alarming for once?”

Patty threw up his hands. “His type is getting worse and worse!”

Zeff grunted, glaring toward the kitchen doors where Sanji had just walked off with the newest storm cloud of a guest.

And thus entered Law — the brooding, sharp-eyed nightmare with a voice like gravel and the emotional availability of a locked basement.

Zeff already had a migraine.

Law and Sanji dated for five months — the longest any relationship had lasted, in Zeff’s opinion.

Clearly, he was getting rusty.

He should’ve found a way to chase that brooding bastard out sooner. The guy was all gloomy stares, bad vibes, and grunts that barely passed for conversation. Not to mention the permanent look of judgment like the whole world disappointed him — especially Zeff.

It didn’t help that Sanji seemed weirdly drawn to that mess. Like his idiot of a son thought he could fix whatever darkness Law was drowning in.

Zeff wasn’t having it.

At first, no one liked the gloomy one .

Law walked in like a shadow with a wallet, ordered black coffee like it was dinner, and sat in Sanji’s section like he owned the damn table. Never smiled, barely spoke unless it was to mutter some dark, deadpan response. Carne whispered that he probably came straight from a crime scene. Patty said he looked like a mafia undertaker.

Zeff… didn’t say anything.

He just watched. Closely.

Then one afternoon, Law came in early, before Sanji’s shift. Sat at the counter, coat thrown over one arm, flipping through a thick textbook while sipping coffee Sanji made “just how he likes it.” Zeff scowled harder than usual at that detail.

“You studying law?” Patty joked as he walked past.

Law didn’t even glance up. “Medicine.”

Carne blinked. “Wait. Like… you’re a doctor?”

“Still in med school. I want to become a surgeon .”

That shut them up.

Zeff, drying glasses behind the bar, paused just a second. Then he resumed scrubbing, a little too harshly.

Patty leaned toward Carne in the kitchen. “So he’s not just a walking obituary?”

Carne shrugged. “Still got ‘death’ tattooed on his hands.”

Patty sighed. “Man. Couldn’t the eggplant date someone boring for once?”

Zeff didn’t comment. But that night, he checked the security cameras three times and had the staff rotate Sanji’s schedule.

Just in case.

Zeff didn’t like surgeons.

Not just because Law looked like he’d crawled out of a haunted alleyway and grunted his way into Sanji’s life — though that didn’t help — but because surgeons , in Zeff’s long life experience, were cocky, emotionally constipated bastards with God complexes and no damn time for anything that actually mattered.

Like family. Or dinner. Or relationships that weren’t built on mutually ignoring each other for fourteen hours a day.

They worked themselves to the bone, thought they were smarter than everyone else, and usually were , which only made them more unbearable. They made quick, clean decisions in the OR and messy, reckless ones everywhere else.

Zeff had seen it before. Too many times. The kind of guy who could cut open a chest and patch it up without blinking — but couldn’t say “I love you” without making it sound like a funeral speech.

Yeah. That was definitely the type Sanji would fall for.

The worst part , Sanji looked happy .

Soft smiles, quiet glances across the room, even that rare laugh — the kind Zeff used to only get when Sanji was four and ruining the soup by adding chocolate because “it was a surprise ingredient.”

But Zeff knew the signs. That joy had an expiration date.

Because boys like Law always chose the hospital over the home. The scalpel over the heart.

And That idiot eggplant would wait forever with a warm dinner that’d go cold.

Not on his watch.

It was clear things were getting too serious.

Five months. That was basically married in Sanji years. And the gloomy surgeon-in-training wasn’t budging — always hanging around, helping Sanji clean the counters, actually laughing at Patty’s jokes (which was downright criminal), and worst of all, getting along with Zeff just enough to be tolerable.

That made it worse.

Zeff knew a slow burn when he saw it. This wasn’t some moody fling. This was the kind of relationship where people started buying matching mugs and talking about future plans .

Absolutely not.So Zeff made a call.Just one.

To an old friend — a very well-placed old friend — who just happened to be the dean of the most prestigious university in the country. The kind of place students sacrificed sleep, sanity, and sometimes limbs just to get an interview at.

Everyone dreamed of getting in.

Everyone except his idiot son.

Zeff didn’t need to say much. Just asked a favor, mentioned a brilliant young med student who might be “wasting his potential on a seaside kitchen and distractions.”

The next week, Law received an official offer letter: acceptance into the most elite medical residency program in the country. Research access, hands-on surgical training, direct mentorship with nationally renowned doctors.

And the kicker?

It was on the other side of the country .

Zeff didn’t even try to hide his satisfaction when Law brought the letter to Baratie, expression unreadable, lips tight.

Sanji had stars in his eyes. “You have to go! This is huge, Law! This is… this is your dream!”

Law nodded. “Yeah. I think it is.”

They tried the long-distance thing for a couple of months. Video calls. Letters. Visits.

But eventually, like all things stretched too thin, it faded.

And Zeff?

Well, he whistled as he cleaned the fryer that day. No more haunted alley tattoo boys with scalpel ambitions in his dining room.

Checkmate.

Chapter Text

Zeff was laser-focused on a new recipe he’d been perfecting for weeks. The Baratie was packed to the brim—every table full, every plate flying out, the kitchen alive with the usual chaos. But it was the controlled kind of chaos, the kind Zeff thrived in.

That is, until the front door slammed open.

Flan, the gangly host boy with a flair for panic, burst into the kitchen like a cannonball, skidding across the tiles as he flailed both arms.

“ BIG NEWS! I THINK SANJI’S DATING A CREEP! ”

The kitchen froze. Pots stopped clanging. Knives paused mid-chop. Patty dropped a lobster tail.

Zeff raised one thick brow, wiping his hands with a towel as the words sank in. “…What?”

Flan nodded furiously, eyes wide. “Yeah—there’s a guy up front! Tall , like very tall. Wearing sunglasses. At night. With the creepiest smile I’ve ever seen. And his tongue—it’s like it has no business being in his mouth!”

He gagged for effect.

Every cook in the kitchen sprinted to the swinging doors to peek out one by one like it was a game of horror bingo.

Zeff crossed his arms. “And how exactly did you figure he’s dating Sanji? Maybe the bastard just wants a recipe or a table or something.”

Flan looked deeply offended. “No, no—he said he’s got an invitation he needs to hand Sanji personally. Said it was from the Germa family . It was a wedding invitation. He insisted Sanji needed to read it himself.”

That did it.

Zeff’s stomach dropped like a lead pan.

Because no one said Vinsmoke unless it was serious. And urgent ? Urgent meant one thing when it came to that cursed name.

Patty glanced over his shoulder. “What kind of invitation?”

Flan gulped. “A wedding one. I think—yeah—he said it’s from Germa . Something about—uh—‘the true bride finally being chosen.’”

Zeff let out a low, dangerous growl.

“Oh, hell no.”

Zeff didn’t say a word.

He just untied his apron, tossed it to Patty without looking, and stormed out of the kitchen with a stride that made everyone part like the Red Sea.

“…He’s gonna kill a man,” Carne muttered.

“No, no,” Patty whispered. “He’s gonna disappear a man.”

They all crowded behind the swinging kitchen door, peeking through the small glass window.

Ready for the show about to happen.

At the entrance, the creepy man stood like he owned the place — suit pressed, posture smug, sunglasses still somehow in place despite the dim lighting, and that awful stretched smile curling his lips. In his hand: a thick, high-quality envelope stamped with the Germa royal seal.

He looked up just as Zeff approached, and the smile widened.

“Ah, you must be the legendary chef. Father figure. Zeff, right?”

Zeff didn’t slow down. He walked right up to the fucker until they were chest to chest — or rather, Zeff’s chest to Vito’s lower ribs — but that didn’t stop the pressure.

Zeff’s voice was cool. “I know scum when I see it. What do you want with my kid?”

The man dear to chuckle . “ well rude aren’t you? No introduction I see ? “

Zeff growled “ you know my name that good enough “

The guy smirk then “Your ‘kid’ has a royal engagement to consider. I’m just the messenger. A humble one.” He lifted the invitation with two fingers. “Though I did offer to personally deliver it as a courtesy. You know. For old time’s sake.”

Zeff didn’t take the envelope.

Instead, he leaned in slightly. “You try to touch him again, and I’ll make sure you leave here with less than ten fingers. Or maybe less than two. ”

The man grinned wider. “That a threat, chef?”

Zeff’s expression didn’t change. “That’s a guarantee. ”

He finally snatched the envelope from his hand, then added with a low growl“And don’t come back.”

“Aw,” the man clicked his tongue, turning to leave. “You Baratie folks are so charming but we will see who win in the end.”

He walked out leisurely like he hadn’t just been inches away from being skewered by a fork.

Zeff stood there in silence for a moment, envelope in hand.

Then, quietly, to himself“Of course they had to send a creep.”

The doors to the kitchen hadn’t even finished swinging shut before the staff rushed after Zeff like ducklings to breadcrumbs.

“What is it?”

“Is it blackmail?”

“Is it a cult invitation?”

“Is Sanji secretly married to a rich ghost?!”

Zeff grunted, eyes narrowing at the pristine envelope in his hand. The royal seal of Germa glared back at him — red wax, pressed with that damned winged crest.

Patty leaned in, arms crossed. “That thing smells like bad news.”

Carne whispered, “Or old money and child abuse.”

Zeff didn’t speak. He slid a knife from his belt — not one of the kitchen ones, one of the real ones — and sliced the wax seal with a quick flick.

He pulled out the thick cream-colored card inside.

Everyone went dead silent.

Even the soup stopped bubbling.

Zeff read, lips twitching into something bitter and sharp.

“‘You are cordially invited to the royal wedding of Prince Sanji Vinsmoke and Lady Pudding Charlotte, to be held in—’”

“ WHAT?! ” Patty screeched.

“ Lady WHO?” Carne nearly dropped a tray of scallops.

“Wait, wait,” Flan blinked. “Didn’t we chase away that mafia boss trying to flirt with him like, two months ago? And now he’s marrying a princess?!”

Zeff let the card flutter to the prep counter like it burned.

His eye twitched. “The bastards didn’t even ask him. ”

The staff erupted into horrified chatter, voices overlapping.

“They’re forcing him into an arranged marriage?”

“Do we know who this Pudding chick is?”

“Are we supposed to cook for this thing?!”

“Why does Sanji always attract the worst types—”

Zeff slammed his hand flat against the counter and everyone shut up.

“We’re not letting this happen,” he said, calm and low. “I don’t care if it’s a mafia, a royal family, or the gods themselves — no one takes my kid without his say-so.”

They all nodded “ INDEED “

Patty slowly grinned. “So… what now, boss?”

Zeff’s smirk was slow, wicked, and terrifying.“Now?” He lifted the invitation card again, snapped it clean in two.

“We find out who else wants a war.”

Night had fallen, but no one had gone home. They have a mission and it is big .

The dining area was closed, chairs flipped on tables, lights low. But in the kitchen — every burner off, every counter wiped down — the Baratie crew circled like a war council.

And on the agenda: “No marrying our dear Sanji without permission.”

Zeff stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, the torn wedding invitation crumpled beside him like garbage. His scowl could have curdled milk.

The name Vinsmoke alone was enough to make his blood boil.

They weren’t a family — not in any real sense of the word. They were a nest of sadists, feeding on power, cruelty, and the suffering of others. Especially Sanji’s.

From the moment that kid was born, they made it their mission to crush him.

Even when his mother was alive, she couldn’t shield him from the daily torment. She tried — god, she tried — but her strength was fading while their brutality never did.

And Judge — that bastard, that pathetic excuse for a father — had the gall to call himself a man a parent! When Sanji was just eight years old, that monster locked him in a cold, dark cell. Decided he was “done” with him. Like throwing away a toy that no longer entertained him. Like it was not a precious life to be protected.

And now, just because it’s convenient for him, he’s decided — on his own, without a shred of consideration — that he wants to reclaim his son. Zeff’s jaw tightened.

“Over my dead body,” he muttered.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Zeff said after taking long deep breath to calm himself or he gona kill someone tonight “Not yet.”

Carne blinked. “Boss, are you sure? He’s gonna explode if he finds out we’re keeping it from him.”

Patty shrugged. “He’ll explode more if he finds out abou t it in the alter .”

“Exactly,” Zeff growled. “Let me handle this first. I need to know what those Germa bastards are scheming and how deep their claws are in. If he sees that letter now, he’ll spiral—and being the idiot he is, he’ll try to deal with it all on his own.”

Patty and Carne both snorted in agreement. The eggplant really was that kind of idiot—always trying to shoulder everything himself until he collapsed.

Flan frowned. “You don’t think he can handle it?”

Zeff paused,Then, quietly“I think he shouldn’t have to ,Not alone. Not when I’m kicking and screaming “

The kitchen was quiet again.

They all nodded. Because that’s what family did — they kept the storm outside the door.

And if they can shield their dear eggplant from one they will .

That all come crashing after two days - well they did a good job hiding it that long - Zeff had just stepped into the prep room when the storm kicked the door in.

“ WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! ”

Sanji’s voice cracked through the walls like thunder. He stormed into the kitchen, face flushed with fury, eyes glassy. The staff froze mid-move — Patty dropped a pan, Carne gasped, Flan half-fell off the counter.

One of the busboy actually fall in his face.

Zeff turned slowly. “Sanji—”

“ Don’t ‘Sanji’ me! ” he snarled, pointing a trembling hand. “You knew. You all knew!”

Zeff’s jaw tightened. “We were trying to protect you.”

“From what?!” Sanji barked. “From my own damn life?! ”

He slammed his hand down on the counter, knuckles white. “You had no right! No one had any right to hide this from me!”

“Calm down—”

“I found out when my bastard brother showed up at my apartment!” Sanji shouted. “He handed me another fucking invitation and told me, “ it appears there was a problem in the previous delivery so I come personally Aren’t you going to thank us for making you relevant again?’ ”

Silence.

God Zeff hated the Vinsmock brothers with all of his heart.

Sanji’s breathing shook, ragged and furious. His eyes were glassy with rage — but there was pain behind it too, raw and exposed.

“You want to protect me?” he hissed. “Then trust me to fight for myself. It’s my shit. My business. My past. My fucking family! You can’t just decide when I get to face it!”

Zeff didn’t flinch. His voice was calm but heavy — like steel wrapped in gravel “They’re not your family, boy,” he said firmly, stepping forward. “I am.”

Sanji froze. All the kitchen fall in silence. His fists clenched, jaw tightened, eyes flickering.

Zeff’s voice softened just slightly, but the fire never left it “They threw you away. I picked you up. I raised you. You bleed in this kitchen, you live in this place — you’re mine, whether you like it or not.”

Silence rang between them — heavy, loaded, full of unspoken history.

Sanji didn’t speak right away. He just stood there, breathing hard, fighting whatever emotion was threatening to rise behind his fury.

Zeff looked at him — long and quiet. For a second, the mask slipped, and the old man’s eyes softened.

“You’re right.”

Sanji’s expression cracked — just a little.

Zeff stepped forward, placing a heavy, calloused hand on his shoulder. “But like I said you’re my business, you are my family eggplant. That’s not gonna change. So next time we fight them… we fight them together. Got it?”

Sanji didn’t say anything.But he didn’t shrug the hand off, either.

Zeff waited until the Baratie closed for the night. He found Sanji on the back porch, smoking with his shoulders tight and his gaze fixed on the stars like they might give him answers.

“I called someone,” Zeff said simply, arms folded.

Sanji looked over, suspicious. “What kind of someone?”

“A lawyer a trusted old friend.” Zeff grunted. “Someone who gives a damn about justice more than bloodlines. His name is Pedro.”

Sanji stiffened. “Zeff—”

“He’s already here.”

Before Sanji could argue, a calm voice interrupted from the doorway. “Evening.”

Pedro stepped forward, dressed in dark, clean-cut layers, his posture sharp but his gaze kind. He has a blond hair and brown eyes , He offered a respectful nod to Sanji. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these terms, but Zeff told me everything. I’m here to help you win, not to make decisions for you.”

Sanji looked him up and down, mistrust written across his face. “You don’t know what you’re stepping into.”

“I know Germa is dangerous. And I know you’re not safe as long as they think they own you.”

That earned a quiet scoff. “They don’t think. They decide. They take.” Sanji took a shaky breath. “Niji came to me in my apartment. Threatened Zeff, the staff. Said… said they wouldn’t stop at dragging me back if I refused.”

Pedro’s jaw tightened. “Then we don’t give them the chance.”

Sanji studied him carefully, eyes narrowing like he was weighing something fragile in his hands. Silence hung thick between them until, at last, his shoulders slumped and he let out a long, weary sigh.

“Alright,” Sanji muttered. “If the old geezer says you’re solid, you must be one hell of a lawyer. ’Cause that stubborn bastard has a painfully picky opinion about people.”

Zeff snorted. “It’s called having standards, eggplant.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Says the man who kept Patty around all these years.”

From the kitchen, a distant “Hey!!” echoed.

Zeff just smirked. “You still here, aren’t you?”

Sanji grumbled under his breath, but a flicker of amusement broke through the tension on his face.

The next morning, Pedro had barely begun laying out the legal logistics when the front door of Baratie burst open.

“Where is he?!” Luffy shouted.

The rest of the Straw Hats trailed in behind—Robin sharp-eyed and composed, Nami furious and practically vibrating with rage, Usopp nervous but clutching a strange recording device like it might be useful, and Zoro already cracking his knuckles, jaw tight, eyes scanning for a target to punch through a wall.

Even the smallest of them, Chopper, stormed in with puffed cheeks and determined eyes. “Sanji! We’ll kick their butts! Just say the word!”

“You idiots break doors now?” Zeff barked, arms crossed and unimpressed by the intrusion.

“We came the second we heard!” Nami snapped, marching right past him without hesitation. “You didn’t think to tell us ? He’s our crew! ”

“Sanji’s fine—” Zeff tried to say, but it was pointless. The kitchen was already a mess of voices, stomping boots, and barely-contained panic.

Luffy charged forward, grabbing Sanji by the shoulders. “You’re not marrying anyone, right?!”

“Obviously not, dumbass—!”

“Are you hurt?!”

“No! I can take care of myself, you know!”

Zoro growled low in his throat, his voice quieter but twice as dangerous. “Where are they? The ones who threatened the old man?” His hand rested loosely on the hilt of his sword. His jaw clenched as he stared at Sanji for a second too long.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

Robin raised a knowing brow. Nami’s angry glare softened into a sideways glance at Zoro. Usopp blinked at them both, then leaned toward Chopper. “Bet you ten berries Zoro’s gonna confess before this case is over.”

Chopper whispered, “Zoro’s bad at feelings, he’s never gonna confess.”

Zeff rise an eyebrow at that . The green head ? He needs to watch out for him after this mess taken care of.

He can’t catch a break did he?

Meanwhile, Zoro was still staring. Tension in his shoulders, fists tight, eyes stormy. His words came out clipped. “No one touches you and gets away with it. Not while I’m here.”

Sanji blinked at him, confused. “…What the hell is wrong with you?”

Zoro turned away quickly, grunting something about “idiots” and “long legs.”

Sanji frowned, then looked around at all of them—Luffy, Chopper, Nami, Robin, Usopp, and Zoro—and then his glare slid back to Zeff and the Baratie staff.

“Okay, wait—what the hell is going on?” Sanji asked sharply. “ How did you guys even know about this?! I didn’t tell anyone! Only the bastards who invaded my privacy knew—” His voice cracked slightly as he narrowed his eyes at Zeff. “Don’t tell me… you told them?”

Zeff didn’t flinch.

The Baratie staff shuffled behind him, trying to look innocent and doing a terrible job.

Sanji’s hands clenched into fists. “You promised me you wouldn’t hide things. This is my business—!”

Zeff sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, well. Your ‘business’ showed up on my doorstep and threatened my restaurant. That makes it everyone’s business, eggplant.”

Sanji’s breath was still heavy, nostrils flaring. “You had no right. ”

Zeff raised a brow. “And you had no damn plan. What were you gonna do? Brood in a corner and handle it all yourself? Again?”

Sanji opened his mouth to snap back—then froze when Zoro brushed past him, just slightly too close“Calm down, curly,” Zoro muttered, not looking at him.

“The hell did you just call me?”

Zoro rolled his eyes, gaze still averted. “I said calm down. No point in yelling at people who are trying to help.”

Sanji blinked, momentarily thrown off by how… not hostile that was. He expected snark an insults. Not Zoro looking like he was trying really hard not to punch a wall for him !

‘ Man’ Zeff thought his boy really oblivious or dumb more likely the two.

Robin, sitting herself on the edge of the counter with that usual calm grace, sipped from a coffee mug someone had left out. “You two done flirting or should we step outside for a smoke break?”

Sanji’s face flushed red. “ What?! ”

Zoro choked on nothing and barked“ Nobody’s flirting! ”

Robin smirked. “Mm-hmm.”

Nami snorted, arms crossed. “I told you he was acting weird lately.”

“I knew it,” Chopper said triumphantly. “Zoro gets all tense when Sanji’s name comes up! It’s like watching a dog guarding his favorite stick!”

Usopp cackled. “You’re the stick, Sanji!”

“I will end you all—” Zoro growled, tugging at his swords.

But before anyone could tease him more, the door creaked open again.

Pedro stepped inside, sharp in a dark button-down shirt, sleeves rolled, briefcase in one hand. His aura shifted the room—everyone straightened a little, even Luffy.

“Nice to see the circus is still running,” Pedro said dryly.

Zeff grunted. “Pedro.”

“Old man,” Pedro nodded in return before turning to Sanji. “Sanji .”

Sanji exhaled smoke slowly, eyes narrowed. “Pedro”

Pedro’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “ now shall we get to the business?”

The Straw Hats gave various hums of approval. Luffy immediately liked him. Robin already knew him by name. Nami gave him a calculating look and nodded once. Zoro didn’t move but tracked him like a threat worth respecting.

Pedro walked to the table and set down his case. “Zeff briefed me, but I’d rather hear it from you directly. Every detail.”

Sanji hesitated—then looked around at the crew, Zeff, even the Baratie staff leaning around the corner pretending not to eavesdrop. He sighed, long and bitter.

“They showed up. To my apartment Just one of my brothers walking into it like he owned the place.”

Zeff’s jaw clenched.

“They handed over an invitation. Wedding deal already sealed. College bribed. Officials bought. Threats made. Told me if I don’t come back willingly, they’ll burn down Baratie.” Sanji’s voice dropped. “Said they already send one to the old man but never delivered they suppose “

A sharp silence fell. Even Luffy looked furious.

Pedro opened his notebook. “Then we get to work I wants everything in details “

Pedro stood at the head of the table, flipping open a folder. “Here’s what we’re doing. We build a case so strong that not even the Germa name can touch it. We dig, we expose, and we sever every legal tie they have to Sanji.”

Robin leaned forward, voice cold and steady. “I can trace their offshore dealings, especially anything involving royal contracts. We’ll find the loopholes.”

Nami pulled out her tablet. “There’s been several large anonymous payments sent to university boards. Probably to secure ‘approval’ for the arranged marriage. I’ll trace the accounts.”

Usopp raised a shaky hand. “Me and Franky are already working on tapping Germa’s communication lines. If they talk about anything shady again, we’ll hear it.”

Zoro cracked his knuckles. “Let me handle the blue one, If he shows up again, he’s leaving with less teeth than he came with. I always wanted to punch his face and this looks like the perfect opportunity “ he smirked.

Sanji rolled his eyes then pinched his nose sighing dramatically.

Pedro nodded. “Perfect. But the most important part is Sanji’s story.”

Sanji glanced up, shoulders tight. “You want me to relive all of that? On paper?”

Pedro’s voice softened. “Only what you’re willing to. But yes. Your testimony will prove abuse. If we present it right, we can terminate Judge’s paternal rights retroactively. You’ll be legally unbound. Forever.”

The room fell quiet.

It was a big thing for Sanji to do. They all knew that.

Yes, they all now knew—on varying degrees—the truth about his so-called family. About the cruelty he grew up with. The wounds that weren’t just scars on his body but buried deep in his mannerisms, in his silences, in the way he flinched from kindness like it was a trick.

It had been a shock, for all of them. Some had guessed parts of it. Others—like Luffy and Chopper—had cried. Nami had gone pale. Zoro… hadn’t said anything for hours after hearing it all, just walked off and came back with blood on his knuckles and no explanation.

And even now, after all the shit they’d fought together, after all the trust they’d built—this was different.

This was his past. The one Sanji never wanted to speak of. The one he still wore like iron chains under a suit and a smile.

Sanji sat back slowly, elbows resting on his knees, head down. His cigarette had gone cold between his fingers.

“Unbound,” he echoed. The word felt heavy. Unreachable.

Zeff gave a low grunt. “You deserve to breathe without those bastards choking you from afar.”

“You won’t be alone in it,” Pedro added, more gently now. “You testify, and I’ll do the rest. The court doesn’t have to see your face. Just your truth.”

Sanji didn’t answer immediately.

Then—barely above a whisper—he asked, “Will they be able to touch Baratie again?”

“No,” Pedro said firmly. “Once the case is filed, any retaliation from Germa will be treated as criminal interference. I’ll make sure of that.”

A breath—shaky, but real—escaped Sanji.

And then, from across the room, Luffy leaned forward“We’re with you,” he said, no fire in his voice for once. Just honesty.

“We always were,” Usopp added, though his hands trembled a little in his lap.

“You don’t need to hide anymore,” Robin said quietly.

“You say the word,” Zoro muttered, eyes locked on Sanji. “And I’ll make sure none of them even look in your direction again.”

Sanji glanced up at that—his eyes met Zoro’s for a second too long—and whatever he saw there made his throat tighten. But he didn’t speak it aloud.

Instead, he looked back at Pedro.

“…Then let’s do it,” he said. “Let’s finish this.”

After two months of chaos and pain finally the day had come. The courtroom was tense, the kind of silence that vibrated in the bones. Sanji stood at the center, hands clenched, but his back straight. He wore no tie, no disguise. Just himself. Scars and all.

Across from him sat Judge—unflinching, stone-faced. Niji and Yonji behind him like shadows.

Pedro stood beside Sanji, calm, composed, a stack of papers before him.

Pedro’s voice cut through the silence:

“Your Honor, we move to terminate the parental rights of Judge Vinsmoke over the plaintiff, Sanji Vinsmoke, based on documented and testimonial evidence of long-term abuse, neglect, and unlawful captivity.”

Judge scoffed, “He is my son. My responsibility. I raised him.”

“You tortured him,” Sanji snapped suddenly—eyes burning. “You locked up an eight-year-old boy for being kind.”

Gasps echoed through the courtroom. The judge’s brow furrowed.

Pedro placed a hand lightly on Sanji’s shoulder—a silent check-in. Sanji nodded. He was ready.

“I lived in a cell,” Sanji continued, voice cracking. “You told me I was worthless. You paraded my pain as entertainment for my brothers. You don’t get to call yourself a father.”

Robin leaned forward in the gallery, fingers knit tightly. Nami wiped her eyes quietly. Zoro’s jaw was clenched so hard it hurt. Luffy looked furious in a way rarely seen.

Judge tried to cut in, “You were weak. That was the problem—”

“You made it the problem!” Sanji barked. “And now you want me back to serve your empire? Fuck that. You don’t own me. Not anymore.”

The court went still. The judge took a breath. “Order.”

Pedro stepped forward. “We have corroborating witness statements, financial records showing coercion and manipulation in marriage arrangements, and Sanji’s sealed testimony.”

He slid the envelope across the table.

Pedro looked over at Sanji again.

“You sure you want this on record?”

Sanji’s gaze never left his father“I’m sure. Let the world know what kind of man he is.”

Zeff stood stiffly at the back of the courtroom, arms crossed over his chest like iron bars holding in the storm beneath. He could feel it in his bones—that buzzing, electric tension. The kind that preceded a brawl, or a death, or something else permanent.

Sanji stood just ahead of him, jaw clenched, his silhouette tall but taut. Zeff had seen that posture before on nights when the boy refused to cry. But today was different.

Today, Sanji wasn’t trying to run. He was standing his damn ground.

Pedro stood to Sanji’s side, a wall of calm competence. The rest of the Straw Hat idiots filled the benches like they were in a theater—Luffy twitching like a spring ready to snap, that moss-haired swordsman looking one second from gutting someone, and the girls holding their breaths like it could sway the verdict.

The judge returned.

Zeff didn’t move. Not a twitch. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears.

‘Let it be let it be ‘

“In review of the evidence presented,” the judge said, “the testimony submitted under oath, and the history of physical, emotional, and psychological abuse…”

Zeff could feel Sanji trembling.

“…this court finds sufficient grounds to retroactively terminate the parental rights of Judge Vinsmoke over Sanji Vinsmoke , effective immediately.”

Zeff closed his eyes. Just for a breath. A quiet, burning breath.

Finally!

There it was. Freedom—finally granted by paper, after years Sanji had tried to earn it with silence, shame, bruises, and fire.

Luffy whooped. The swordsman smirked. But Zeff… he just watched Sanji.

And Sanji didn’t collapse. Didn’t even sit. He looked stunned, sure, like someone had yanked a chain he thought would never come off. But he stood taller for it.

Like a dream comes true.

The judge kept speaking. The words felt distant and Final.

And most importantly Legal !

“No claims may be made upon his name, his estate, or his person—now or in the future.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Then Judge Vinsmoke stood.

Zeff had half a mind to throw a chair at him.

“You son of a—!”

Zeff stepped forward, already moving—but Pedro beat him to it. Calm and professional. Blocking that bastard with quiet, trained ease.

Judge’s face twisted, eyes full of fire and poison. “You think this changes anything?! You think a paper erases who you are?! You are mine !”

Zeff clenched his fists so hard his knuckles ached.

Sanji didn’t back down.

“I survived you ,” the boy said. Not a scream.. Just steady. “That makes me strong enough.”

Security finally intervened, ushering the Germa entourage out as they yelled curses and threats—Judge swearing that it wasn’t over. Niji glared daggers at Pedro, at Zeff, at the Straw Hats. But none of them flinched.

Security started hauling the Vinsmokes out. Zeff watched Judge fight them every step—like a man losing a war he thought was rigged in his favor. And maybe it had been, until Sanji stood up.

When the courtroom finally quieted again, Zeff let out the breath he’d been holding for years.

Sanji turned toward him slowly.

For a second, Zeff saw it—the child on the street again. Bloody and thin, terrified. Then he blinked, and that boy was gone.

Sanji didn’t say anything. He just stepped forward and folded into Zeff’s arms.

And Zeff—battle-hardened, peg-legged, iron-willed bastard that he was—held on like the old fool he was. Tight and Fierce really really Proud.

“You did it, eggplant,” he murmured into blond hair that still smelled like cigarette smoke and fire.

Sanji didn’t answer, but his shoulders shook .

The moment broke when Luffy launched toward them shouting about meat. The kitchen-brained idiot finally laughed.

Zoro looked away, jaw clenched hard—but Robin nudged him with a small smile.

“He’ll need you next.”

Luffy jumped up and grabbed Sanji by the arm. “Let’s go eat! Celebrate!”

Sanji chuckled wetly, wiping his face. “I think I could eat… finally.”

But Zeff still kept one hand on his shoulder, just to be sure.

Because today, Sanji was free.

And it’s day to celebrate and to remember.

And tomorrow, he’d still need someone to stand by him. And Zeff would be damned if it wasn’t him.

Chapter Text

“What the actual fuck.”

Zeff stared down at the blurry photo like it had insulted his soup.

Sanji—his eggplant—was standing beside a tall man with blond hair, way too close. The guy’s hand hovered a little too familiar near Sanji’s lower back, and Sanji… wasn’t fighting it. He was fucking blushing all face red !. He looked like a sick fool .

Patty poked his head into the kitchen, wiping flour off his hands. “What, Chief? Someone piss in your soup?”

Zeff didn’t answer, still glaring at the phone like it had personally offended him.

Carne leaned over curiously. “What’s that? A food critic review?”

“No,” muttered Zeff. “Worse.”

More heads gathered. Sanji wasn’t around—which meant it was fair game for a little snooping.

Patty squinted at the photo and raised a brow. “Hey, isn’t that the eggplant? Who’s the tall drink of water he’s with?”

“Looks like they’re… holding hands?” Carne said, squinting.

It itched something in Zeff’s brain. A feeling he’d been trying to ignore for weeks now.

Sanji hadn’t flirted in months. Not once. Not even a passing “my lady.” And now suddenly—this? Some tall bastard sneaking in under the radar? And Zeff had a feeling he saw this man before, but for the love of god he didn’t know where damnit .

Zeff felt something is strange , Sanji Hadn’t talked about love, or dates, or anyone. Which, for Sanji, was basically screaming that something was up. Zeff figured it was just the lingering trauma from the Germa mess. Maybe even court fatigue.

He wasn’t sure what hit harder—the image itself or the knot of dread rising in his gut. He knew something had been off for a while now. Eight months, maybe more. His eggplant hadn’t flirted, hadn’t whined about love, hadn’t dragged home some poor sap with hearts in his eyes. No one lingering around him like sick fool .

And what’s make it even worse

the photo came from Mihawk’s number.

He squinted at the photo, trying to make out the stranger’s face. Damn picture looked like it was taken by a crab with a concussion.

he got a photo. Sent straight to his phone. From Mihawk, of all people. Which was weird in it own, is the fucking old man intrsting in his son ! He way older than him if he want to date someone he should found someone his own damn age . Zeff grunted.

Ignoring the gossiping felling the kitchen , he turned around and He hit call.

After one ring “Yeah?” Mihawk answered, sounding like he was mid-sip of something expensive.

“You send me a blurry picture of my son practically being groped by some mystery man, and you don’t say a damn word?!”

There was a long pause in the other side of the phone then “…What picture? What are you talking about in this early morning? ”

Zeff’s brows twitched. “Don’t play dumb. You just sent me a photo.”

“I didn’t. Why would I—wait.” There was a long pause and with a sigh” a picture of your son you say ? With another man ? “

Zeff grunted “ Yes , what your hearing get bad old man ?”

Mihwak took another long sigh like if he was the one suffering not Zeff ! “Shit. Never mind. I think I know who did.”

Zeff growled, pacing toward the window“Start talking.”

Mihawk chuckled under his breath. “Zoro—- he borrowed my phone yesterday. Said he needed to check a message. Guess he sent you something while I wasn’t looking and decided to stir the pot.”

Zeff growled. “Why would moss-for-brains send me this?!”

Mihawk gave a slow exhale. “ well you are blind aren’t you, didn’t you notice there is a another fish in your son pole old man ”

“What !.”

“Well,” Mihawk muttered, “Zoro’s jealous. Clearly.”

“I knew that little brute had a crush,” Zeff muttered. “He’s more obvious than Sanji in a dress.”

Mihawk chuckles “ so you do noticed, well damn — be gentle to my sin would ya ——- now the question is—who’s the guy in the photo?”

They both fell silent.

Zeff zoomed in on the image again. The man’s shoulders The damn jawline. The polished shoes.

Something tugged at Zeff’s memory. “Wait… hold on… that suit. That tie…”

“No way,” Mihawk muttered. “No way —”

Zeff blinked. “Is that Pedro ? The lawyer ? OUR LAWYER? ”

They both stared at the thought for a beat.

Then Mihawk burst into low laughter. “Oh, now that’s poetic.”

Zeff, meanwhile, went red . “That sneaky bastard! That’s his lawyer! He’s not supposed to be charming his client while defending him from a war criminal! That must break some rules or something! “

Mihawk was still laughing. “You sound betrayed.”

“I am !” Zeff barked. “I trusted that bastard! He’s supposed to be on our side!”

“I think he still is.” The bastard seems amused.

“Then he should keep his damn hands to himself .”

“Zeff,” Mihawk chuckled, “your kid’s 24 You can’t scare off every man who looks at him sideways.”

“I’m not scared—I’m pissed! ” Zeff jabbed a finger at the screen like Pedro could feel it. “He’s a lawyer! There are rules! ”

“Maybe he’s just filing a… different kind of motion.”

“ I will personally file my boot up his ass! ”

Mihawk snorted. “Relax. It’s Pedro. He’s solid.”

Zeff sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If Sanji gets his heart broken—I swear—”

“I’ll bring the shovel,” Mihawk offered helpfully. “But for now, I’d say let it play out. Besides, better Pedro than some weirdo at a nightclub.”

“…Tch,” Zeff muttered. “Still feels wrong. Bastard knew I’d chase him off.”

“That’s probably why they’re hiding it.”

Zeff groaned. “Fantastic. Now I’ve got a secret boyfriend, a jealous swordsman and people who think this a cercus ! ”

“Don’t forget the dinner rush.”

“ Fuck the dinner rush. I’m making soup with Pedro’s bones.”

Zeff ended the call with a gruff “Tch,” tossing the phone onto the counter like it had personally betrayed him - and it kinda does is some way - The kitchen crew was already halfway through a guessing game.

“Wait wait wait,” the dish boy chimed in again, pointing at the paused image - when the fuck did those bastards get it from his phone- “Is that the lawyer guy? The cool one with the smug face and the expensive shoes?”

Everyone went silent.

Patty blinked. “The one who came in last week with the briefcase? The one Sanji said had ‘a voice smooth enough to butter toast’ ?”

Carne gasped. “Sanji said what ?”

Zeff’s eye twitched. His mustache bristled. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Which him?” Patty asked innocently. “The lawyer or the eggplant?”

“Yes,” Zeff growled, storming off toward the pantry with a murderous scowl.

Behind him, the staff collectively lost their minds.

Carne leaned over the counter, squinting at the blurry photo again. “Tall, blond, expensive watch… damn, Sanji really went for the upgrade this time.”

“Yeah, not some clingy waitress with bad taste in lipstick,” Patty snorted. “That’s a man with a law degree. You can smell the tax bracket.”

“I didn’t even know Sanji was into older guys,” the dish boy added, eyes wide. “But I mean, he’s hot. Like ‘your-honor-he-can-lock-me-up’ kind of hot.”

The room erupted with laughter.

“Classy suit, strong jawline, perfect hairline? Damn, our eggplant learned to choose with taste, ” Carne whistled.

Patty slapped the table. “Tall, handsome, and rich? What, did he win a dating lottery or finally learn from all his disasters?”

Zeff stood off to the side, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight line. His silence was heavy.

Very, very heavy.

The laughter died down as they noticed.

“…Chef?” Patty asked cautiously. “You good?”

Zeff didn’t answer at first. He just glared at the picture again like it had personally insulted his soup. Then, slowly, through gritted teeth“He’s his lawyer. ”

That sentence alone sent another wave of shock (and delight) through the kitchen.

“ The lawyer?! ” Carne practically yelled. “The one who helped get rid of the marriage contract?! I thought it was the other lawyer with the blue eyes what his name again? Dead ? Murder ?”

Zeff head snapped at him “ There is another lawyer!”

Carne squinted again- totally ignoring Zeff barking- leaned in, and then his eyes went wide. “Wait… wait a damn second.”

Patty leaned over his shoulder. “No way—”

“That’s the lawyer guy! ” the dish boy hissed.

A stunned silence.

Then chaos.

“ Pedro?! ” Patty gasped. “ Pedro Pedro?! The calm one? With the lethal eyes and the ‘I’ll destroy you in court’ voice?!”

“The guy who dragged Judge’s name through the mud so smooth I almost cried?!” Carne added.

The dish boy slapped his forehead. “ No wonder our boy fell for him. The guy literally saved his life and looked good doing it.”

Carne threw his towel over his shoulder. “I mean, if I was in Sanji’s shoes, I’d’ve kissed him too—hell, I might still. ”

Patty nodded solemnly. “Man had the aura of a man who files restraining orders and wins custody battles before breakfast. That’s sexy.”

They all turned slowly to Zeff, who hadn’t moved in minutes. Just staring at the picture, gripping the counter hard enough his knuckles were white. The rage could be seen seething out of him.

He didn’t say a word.

Patty whispered to the others, “He’s gonna explode.”

Carne snorted. “He’s calculating lawyers homicide.”

“Guys, guys…” the dish boy said, mock-seriously. “This means Pedro’s the son-in-law now. ”

That was it. Patty couldn’t hold it anymore—he burst into laughter. “Son-in-law?! Oh, Zeff’s gonna kill someone.”

Zeff, still silent, let out a low exhale. Sending a death glare to them , made them shiver a little,Then he muttered through clenched teeth“I’m baking his wedding cake with arsenic. ”

They all burst out laughing again.

But deep down… none of them were actually mad- well  except zeff - if anything, there was something comforting about the idea that someone like Pedro—calm, competent, fierce in Sanji’s defense—had quietly stuck around.

And maybe, their eggplant finally found someone who could keep up with him who really deserves him .

“Well I will be damn!” the dish boy squeaked.

“Oh, Sanji’s got a type now,” Patty cackled. “Dangerous, smart, and legally armed.”

Zeff slammed a pan onto the stove.

The kitchen fell silent again.

He muttered, “I’m sounded by idiots “

The dish boy snickered. “Yeah, but romantic idiots “

Zeff didn’t speak, just grabbed a mop and started aggressively cleaning the already-cleaned floor.

Zeff’s phone buzzed again.

He snatched it off the counter and barked, “What now?”

“Zeff,” Mihawk’s voice came cool and smooth, like a knife sliding into a roast. “How’s father-in-lawhood treating you?”

Zeff’s eye twitched. “I’ll gut you.”

A low chuckle came from the other end“Thought so.”

Mihawk chuckled again. “Frankly, I’m proud. My boy learned to be passive-aggressive in just the right way.”

Zeff’s jaw dropped - not like Mihwak will see it - “ You enjoying this !”

“Me ? Never but really it is impressive Zoro didn’t even have your number—and thank God for that—so he sent the picture to me and said, quote, ‘Make sure the old man knows who Sanji’s getting all soft and giggly with.’ ”

Zeff glared at the phone. “He sent you a spy photo because he’s jealous?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Mihawk said. “Zoro’s been on some kind of self-appointed ‘chase away Sanji’s love interests’ crusade lately. I’m assuming you encouraged that.”

“I didn’t assign him,” Zeff muttered defensively. “I just… never liked anyone Sanji brought around.”

“Well,” Mihawk said lazily, “your watchdog’s slipped. Because from what I can tell, your little eggplant picked a good one this time. Tall, smart, well-dressed. Deadly in court. I’m impressed.”

Zeff groaned. “He’s his lawyer. This is a conflict of interest.”

“It’s a conflict of your patience, maybe.”

Zeff pinched the bridge of his nose. “He better be worth it.”

“I think he is,” Mihawk said, unusually serious for a breath. “He loves your boy. That much is obvious.”

“…Tch. What do you know you old bag “

“ Hey I’m younger than you !”

Zeff grumbled something incoherent, then hung up before Mihawk could say something poetic or smug again.

From across the kitchen, Patty called, “So what did he say?!”

Zeff growled. “It was really Zoro who sent the damn photo. Through Mihawk.”

There was a beat.

Then Carne cracked up. “ Zoro’s jealous?! That explains the murder-glare every time Sanji was on the phone!”

“Oh no,” Patty wheezed. “Love triangle arc incoming.”

The Baratie erupted into chaos again.

Zeff just dragged a hand down his face and muttered, “I live in a goddamn soap opera.”

It was supposed to be a calm dinner.

Sanji had cooked something light and nice — almost suspiciously nice, in Zeff’s opinion — and the two of them were sitting at the corner table in their apartment above the Baratie, just the two of them.

The space was small but lived-in, cozy in the way only a home built over decades of shared habit could be. Warm amber lights glowed against dark wooden walls, casting soft shadows across the old dining table—scuffed in places, burn-marked in others from Sanji’s earlier, wilder cooking years. A single tulip sat in a cracked ceramic jar at the center—yellow, fading slightly, clearly picked up from some street stall without much thought.

The table was set neatly, with real cloth napkins and the nice plates that Zeff knew Sanji only pulled out when he was nervous or trying to impress. There was chilled white wine, crusty bread, perfectly grilled fish, and citrus-dressed greens. It was a date meal.

The kid is trying to butter him up for a reason Zeff knows so well now .

And Sanji, for his part, looked suspiciously at ease —loose-limbed, relaxed, humming under his breath as he served the food. He was smiling. A small, genuine one. The kind that didn’t come around often. The smile that tells he is happy , and really Zeff felt his chest warm at the thought, his eggplant is happy !

But Zeff, on the other hand, was about ready to break the wineglass in his hand from tension. It was really a atmosphere battle.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about that damn photo since he got it. Sanji and Pedro. The arm around his shoulder. That smile. That glow in his idiot boy’s eyes.

Mihawk had confirmed it. Zoro had sent it on purpose . And then the smug bastard had laughed and said, “So, how’s father-in-lawhood feel?”

Zeff had not laughed. He wanted to smash the smug bastard face in , lucky for him it was not face to face.

Now here he was, chewing through perfectly grilled fish with absolutely no appetite, while Sanji happily prattled about some asshole customer who tried to send back a seafood risotto after eating half of it.

“…and I told him, ‘Sir, if you wanted reheated trash, I suggest the marine base canteen,’ and Patty damn near pissed himself behind the counter.” Sanji grinned, looking so proud of himself he practically sparkled.

Zeff didn’t respond.

Sanji blinked. “Oi. You good? You been quiet all night “ he frowned.

Zeff grunted, avoiding his gaze. He knew he had to say it—had to ask. But how the hell was he supposed to bring this up without sounding like a territorial old bastard?- which let be honest he is - He stabbed a piece of lettuce and chewed it like it had personally offended him.

Sanji’s brow furrowed. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

Zeff exhaled slowly. Screw it.

“…How long have you been seeing that sharp lawyer?”

Sanji froze then—he choked. Full-body lurch. A wet, coughing sputter as he nearly launched a mouthful of wine across the table.

Zeff calmly reached for a napkin and tossed it his way.

“You what—*how—*the hell did you know?!” Sanji rasped, still coughing.

Zeff leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “Let’s just say my phone was sabotaged by a certain moss-headed idiot with no boundaries.”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed.

“… What?! ” he hissed, voice rising like steam off boiling broth. “ Mos —- Zoro ! ?! Zoro sent you that picture?!”

Zeff nodded, calmly tearing a piece of bread. “Used Mihawk’s phone. Bold Bastard”

Sanji’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding like gears“That petty, green-haired, muscle-brained sword jock thought it was his place—?! What the actual hell is wrong with him?! ”

He shot to his feet, pacing furiously beside the table, fingers tugging through his hair - Zeff frowned at that he didn’t like it when sanji do that- “I knew he had issues with Pedro—he’s been acting all cold and weird for weeks—but snitching to you ?! Why?! What’s it got to do with you?!”

Zeff raised a brow, voice calm but sharp around the edges “You’re my boy. You bring someone home, I oughta know who they are. I’m… actually thankful for this one.”

Sanji narrowed his eyes “That doesn’t mean you get to monitor my goddamn love life like I’m a child.”

Zeff scoffed “Well, maybe if you picked people who didn’t treat you like shit, I wouldn’t have to.”

Sanji froze for a beat “I d— W-What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zeff didn’t flinch. “You give too much. Always have. And they just take. Use you up. You think I don’t see that?”

Sanji’s brow twitched. “Yeah, well, that’s my problem. Not yours.”

Zeff muttered, almost to himself, “It becomes my problem when I see you coming home with that look in your eyes. Every time.”

Sanji blinked “…Wait.”

Zeff looked away and crossed his arms.

Sanji’s voice rose, incredulous. “Are you seriously saying… every time things went south… you knew? Even before I did?”

Zeff said nothing.

Sanji stared, eyes narrowing. “No. No way. Don’t tell me… you —?”

Still silence.

Zeff froze for half a second. Too long.

“…Wait. Wait. No way.”

Sanji stared.

“You—Zeff. You didn’t. What did you do ?”

The silence was telling. Sanji’s eyes widened in horror, voice going low.

“You… chased them off, didn’t you?”

Zeff scowled and tsk “They weren’t good enough.”

“ You absolute bastard! ” Sanji pointed at him like he’d just burned Baratie down. “You—That time I was dating that florist in Loguetown—she ghosted me! You told me she skipped town, but she left a letter, didn’t she?!”

“She was twenty-five and already picking out wedding china!”

“And the baker?!”

“Used margarine.”

“THAT ISN’T EVEN—!”

Sanji nearly threw a napkin. His voice cracked from disbelief.

“Zeff… Ace told me you paid off that bartender I dated to move to another city! But I didn’t believe him oh god it makes sense! ”

“He was clearly emotionally unavailable!”

“I like emotionally unavailable! ”

“Yeah, and look where that’s gotten you!”

They stood, both red in the face, fists clenched on opposite sides of the table. The dishes trembled between them.

Zeff glared at him.

Sanji glared back.

Suddenly—

“…Pedro,” Sanji said quietly. “Did you ever try to scare him off too?”

Zeff’s jaw worked, but he said nothing.

Sanji watched him closely, breath shallow“You didn’t.”

Still no answer.

And Sanji knew“…You couldn’t, could you?” Sanji’s voice was low now. Almost soft“Because he is too good and treats me like I worth something “

Zeff didn’t move and muttered, “You’re worth the world, you idiot.”

Sanji’s eyes softened, voice rough around the edges. “ oh you old fool —-” “—- do you want me to be alone for the rest of my life? “

Zeff’s grip tightened around his glass, his face still turned aside.

“No,” he said after a long pause. His voice was low, strained. “I don’t .”then he sigh and said finally. “I was relieved.”

Sanji blinked.

Zeff stared hard at the wine in front of him. “I was relieved, and I was terrified. Because if he really was that good… if he was everything you needed… then maybe I wasn’t anymore.”

Sanji didn’t speak.

Zeff’s voice was quieter now. “And I didn’t know how to stop worrying. How to let go. I kept waiting for the catch. Kept thinking I’d wake up and find out he was just another bastard with a smile.”

Silence.

Sanji muttered, bitterly, “You still spied on me.”

Zeff snorted. “I protected you from halfwits. The ones who never saw your worth.”

Sanji’s hands curled into fists on the table. “You could’ve just told me.”

Zeff’s voice turned gruff, defensive. “And say what? That I’m scared for you? That I’ve never trusted anyone to love you right because you never learned how to ask for it?”

Sanji stared.

“…You’re such an idiot,” he whispered.

Zeff didn’t argue that.

Sanji waited.

“I hated… that I kept waiting for the part where he hurt you.” Zeff exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenched. “Like all the others. Like every damn time you gave everything and got nothing back.”

Sanji didn’t respond, but his hands were trembling slightly on the edge of the table.

Zeff finally turned his eye to him. “But he didn’t. Not once. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Sanji’s breath hitched.

“I was praying he was real,” Zeff said, voice almost a whisper now. “But I was still watching the door.”

There was silence. Heavy, but not cold.

Then Sanji let out a quiet, exhausted laugh. “You absolute bastard,” he murmured.

Zeff huffed. “Takes one to raise one.”

Sanji looked down at the table, swallowing thickly. “You should’ve just said something.”

Zeff’s gaze dropped. “Didn’t know how.”

“…Neither do I,” Sanji admitted, rubbing his eyes.

A long pause.

Then Sanji glanced up. “You gonna be an ass if I say I want to introduce him properly?”

Zeff rolled his eye, but there was something faintly warm behind it. “You’re my boy. You bring someone home, I oughta know who they are.”

Sanji’s brow lifted. “You sure? I don’t need you pulling up arrest records or hiding his shoes or—”

Zeff raised a hand. “One time, and those shoes were ugly.”

Sanji snorted despite himselfThen rubbed his eyes and sat down too.

“…Tch.”

“…You choked like an amateur.”

“ Shut up. ”

The tulip on the table drooped slightly, its petals yellow in the warm amber light.

Sanji reached out, picked up the bread roll, and lobbed it gently at Zeff’s face.

Zeff caught it. Barely.

“…You’re still a bastard,” Sanji muttered.

Zeff nodded. “I know.”

They sat there, quiet again.

And neither of them said anything more for a long time.

The plates sat mostly untouched.

There was a long, quiet beat—then Sanji exhaled sharply through his nose and said, a little stiffly, “…I was gonna tell you.”

Zeff looked up.

Sanji avoided his gaze, choosing instead to fiddle with the corner of his napkin. “Not like this or after a yelling match, not because Zoro’s weird ass pulled middle school bullshit with Mihawk’s phone.” He grumbled. “But yeah. I was planning to introduce Pedro to you.”

Zeff’s brow rose slightly. “Officially?”

Sanji nodded, then shrugged one shoulder, eyes lowered. “I figured… you’d like him. Eventually.” He hesitated. “Or at least not hate him.”

Zeff was quiet. That alone made Sanji glance up again.

“I mean…” Sanji added, voice softer now, “he’s patient. He doesn’t crowd me. He lets me work, respects my space, actually listens. And he’s—he’s not scared of my baggage.” Sanji swallowed. “He knows the whole mess. The Judge shit. The stuff I went through before joining you. All of it.”

Zeff stared at him.

Sanji managed a weak smile. “And he still looks at me like I’m someone worth loving.”

Zeff’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak for a moment, but his voice was steadier when it came“I don’t hate him.”

Sanji blinked “ you don’t?”

Zeff scratched his beard. “Don’t get me wrong I don’t like him, either.”

“Of course.”

“But…” Zeff let out a long breath. “If he’s really makes you happy… bring him.”

Sanji’s eyes flickered with something—uncertain hope, maybe. He sat straighter“You serious?”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean, eggplant.”

Sanji huffed a small, dry laugh. “Could’ve fooled me with that ‘margarine’ excuse.”

Zeff’s eye twitched. “I stand by it. Margarine is an abomination.”

Sanji rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “…Alright then. This weekend. He’s free. And he already said he’d love to meet you as my boyfriend —properly this time.”

Zeff grunted. “Long as he doesn’t try to charm the whole damn staff.”

Sanji gave a crooked grin. “Too late. Patty’s already calling him ‘The Hot Lawyer.’”

Zeff groaned. “I’m gonna kill someone.”

But he didn’t argue.

And that, for Sanji, was more than enough.

They day to meet the boyfriend rolls so fast It was one of those rare golden afternoons — sun glinting off the sea, customers mellow from good food and too much wine, and Sanji in an unusual mood.

He was Nervous so nervous. He made a mistakes normally as a professional chef he never did since he was twelve.

He’d over-salted the bisque and redone the table setup three times, muttering curses under his breath. Even snapped at Patty — which was not unusual for him but still made the whole kitchen went quiet.

Zeff had one eyebrow raised since morning. He watched his eggplant fuss with his tie, wipe invisible smudges off the counter, and practically glare at the front door between orders.

It wasn’t long before a tall, broad-shouldered figure — one Zeff unfortunately recognized — stepped into the back kitchen.

Pedro.

Looking every bit the part of the damn golden-boy lawyer he was. Sharp black suit, polished shoes, discreetly expensive watch, and that calm, too-perfect smile. Handsome as hell. Composed as stone. Not a single nervous tic — nothing to match the twitchy, towering mess Sanji had been all evening.

Zeff’s eye narrowed. Of course that was the man his idiot eggplant son had chosen.

“Zeff,” Pedro said with a respectful nod, extending his hand. “Well. We meet again.”

There. Just a flicker in his tone — just enough tension in his jaw to make Zeff feel something like satisfaction bloom in his chest.

Finally, he thought. He’s nervous.

Sanji nearly tripped over himself trying to intercept the tension. “Zeff—uh, you remember the lawyer you hired for my case? The one with Germa?”

Pedro gave a small nod, composed as ever“It’s good to see you again.”

Zeff stared at Sanji like he’d grown a second head.

“ Remember ?” he scoffed. “Eggplant, we sat together for two damn months. At every hearing, every strategy meeting. Hell, we even ate lunch together more than you and I ever do.”

Sanji winced. “…Right. Okay. Yeah. That’s fair.”

Zeff’s scowl deepened. “I practically had to trust him with your life, and now you’re introducing him to me like he’s some intern I passed in a hallway?”

Pedro glanced between them, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

Zeff turned to him with narrowed eyes. “So you’re that Pedro.”

Pedro straightened, still polite, but just a touch sheepish now. “Yes, sir.”

“Thought so.” Zeff wiped his hands slowly on his apron, then finally offered a firm handshake — no smile, no warmth, but no outright hostility either. “Guess we’ll see if you’re as good with my son’s heart as you were with his damn court case.”

Pedro accepted the handshake calmly. “I’m trying my best.”

“Try harder.”

The staff, who had definitely been eavesdropping from the hallway, all ducked out of sight like rats behind a pantry door. One of the sous chefs let out a low whistle.

• Damn idiots -

Sanji stood awkwardly between them, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket.

Zeff gave Pedro one more look — and as much as he wanted to hate him, to find something off, something slippery or arrogant — he found nothing.

The bastard looked sincere,Which was, frankly, worse somehow.

Patty dropped a tray in pure excitement, the clatter echoing through the kitchen.

Carne leaned in close, eyes wide, whispering like it was a damn prophecy.“The war’s about to start.”

Geramy stood at the pass, blinking slowly—like a man waiting for an explosion he knew was coming and fully intended to enjoy.

Every head in the Baratie’s open kitchen had turned. Pots simmered, knives stilled mid-chop, waitstaff froze halfway through wiping menus. Not a soul moved.

The three men at the center of it all—Sanji, Pedro, and Zeff—sat at the far corner table, in what was supposed to be a private dinner.

But privacy in the Baratie was a myth, especially when Chef Zeff was involved. And Sanji brought home a boyfriend .

No one had shame, and hell no were they gonna miss this .

Zeff’s brow twitched—just slightly, just enough to signal the start of a storm.

Pedro, straight-backed and polite, radiated calm like a man stepping into court.

Sanji looked like a cat about to be thrown in a bathtub.

Patty was bouncing on his heels behind the fridge door, whispering urgently, “Someone bet how long it takes for Zeff to throw something—five minutes? Ten?!”

Carne started timing on his watch.Geramy grabbed popcorn.It was dinner, sure.But it was also theater .

Zeff crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair like a king about to pass judgment. The look on his face was pure gristle and salt —the kind of stare that had sent rookie chefs fleeing and critics choking on their soup.

Pedro didn’t flinch.

Of course he didn’t.

The man had gone up against judges, corporate sharks, the World Government’s legal teams—and worse, the Vinsmokes . One scowling ex-con with a peg leg and a reputation for booting people off a restaurant ? That wasn’t enough to make Pedro blink.

He gave Zeff a polite smile so Measured. Like a man who understood he was walking into enemy territory but still brought a peace offering.

“Thank you for having me, Chef Zeff,” Pedro said smoothly. “It’s an honor to finally be here formally.”

Zeff grunted.

An honor? Please.

Sanji sank lower in his seat, clearly wishing he could light himself on fire and roll into the ocean.

“You’re late,” Zeff snapped.

Pedro blinked once, then tilted his head with perfect poise. “My apologies. Court overran, and traffic through Shells Town was—”

“Yeah, yeah. Always an excuse,” Zeff cut in, waving his hand like he was swatting a fly.

Pedro’s smile didn’t falter. “I would’ve sent a message, but someone turned their phone off.”

That got a full twitch from Zeff’s brow.

In the kitchen, Patty gasped like someone watching a lion swat back at a tiger.

Sanji, red to the ears, hissed through his teeth, “ Pedro —”

But Pedro’s voice was calm. Even. Professional as ever. “I mean no disrespect. I just want to be clear.”

“You’re dating my boy,” Zeff said flatly. “You’re already disrespecting me.”

That earned a laugh from Patty and a snort from Carne.

Zeff looked like he was two seconds from flipping the table and declaring war — on Pedro, every fucking bastard watching like it was dinner theater.

Pedro’s smile tightened slightly, but he didn’t break. “With all due respect, sir… I’m trying very hard not to.”

Zeff squinted at him.

Pedro met his eyes with the steady calm of a man who’d faced far worse.

Sanji, meanwhile, was visibly sweating, eyes darting between them like he was trapped in a tennis match between a volcano and an iceberg.

“…I swear to god,” Sanji muttered under his breath, “if anyone throws anything, I’m walking into the damn sea.”

Behind the counter, Geramy leaned toward Patty. “Five minutes in. That’s gotta be a record.”

Zeff leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes sharp. “So tell me, Pedro. What exactly are your intentions with my boy?”

Sanji groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god , Dad!”

Pedro didn’t even blink. “I’m in love with him.”

That shut everyone up. Sanji face became all red.

Even Zeff paused.

Sanji nearly choked on his own spit. “Pedro—!”

But Pedro just kept going, steady and clear like he was giving a closing argument. “I want to support him. Build something real with him. I know who he is and what he’s been through. And I’m not here to fix him — I’m here to stay beside him.”

Zeff’s brows drew tight,… weighing.

Sanji blinked fast, mouth parting slightly.

Patty silently mouthed holy shit .

Carne made the sign of the cross with two forks.

Even Geramy stopped chewing gum.

Zeff let the silence stretch, then grunted“Hmph. You rehearsed that?”

Pedro’s smile tilted. “Twice. I figured you’d be harder than the judge.”

Sanji buried his face in his hands. “ Oh my god. ”

Zeff snorted, unimpressed. “Flattery won’t save you.”

“I wasn’t aiming for flattery,” Pedro said calmly. “Just truth.”

Zeff stared a second longer. Then sat back, reaching for his glass and muttering, “Well. At least this one’s got a spine.”

Sanji peeked out from between his fingers. “Is… is that approval?”

“No,” Zeff said. “It’s suspicion with mild respect .”

Pedro offered a polite nod. “I’ll take that.”

The Baratie staff was already whispering like old hens.

“Damn, he’s tall.”

“And hot.”

“He looks expensive. ”

“Why’s Sanji’s taste suddenly top-tier?”

Zeff scowled and bellowed, “ Everyone back to work before I throw you in the fryer! ”

The room scattered.

Zeff turned back to Pedro, eyeing him.

“You a good man?”

“I try to be,” Pedro answered, dead serious.

“You ever hurt him—”

“I’d rather die.”

That silenced even Zeff.

Sanji coughed, fidgeting, clearly wanting to disappear.

But Zeff grunted. “I made stew. If you’re staying, you eat with us. No fancy diet bullshit.”

Pedro smiled — and it was the kind that reached his eyes. “That sounds perfect.”

That night ended with laughter. With Sanji resting his chin in his palm while watching Pedro charm even Patty. With Zeff scowling but quietly refilling Pedro’s wine glass more than once.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

No one could’ve known it would be the last.

Zeff didn’t hate Pedro.

In fact, he tried. God, he tried. Tried to find flaws. Tried to dig in and hate the guy like every normal father should hate the man courting his boy.

But Pedro was… too damn perfect.

He was smart, polite, ridiculously handsome. A gentleman, a damn good cook himself (though he’d never dare say it aloud), and worst of all — he treated Sanji like royalty.

Like the true deserved to be loved.

Zeff watched Sanji light up more in the last few months than he had in years. The kid walked around humming, smiling at stupid things, even stopped smoking indoors for a while — and that was unheard of.

And Pedro? Pedro had this way of standing beside Sanji without ever trying to dim him. Supporting, steady. Like a lighthouse rather than a shadow.

Zeff hated how much he approved.

No one was ever good enough for his eggplant. No one. Not even someone who’d survived wars, walked into the courtroom like a storm, and then spent two hours helping Zeff chop onions after a long day just because he wanted to “understand where Sanji came from.”

Zeff had mentally prepared himself for it.

For Sanji settling down.

With the perfect lawyer.

Everyone had. The Baratie staff. Even Mihawk stopped teasing him and started calling him “father-in-law.” And Zeff had stopped denying it. Had even started to like the idea of Sunday dinners with a Pedro who drank wine slowly and always helped with dishes.

But what Zeff didn’t see — should’ve seen — was that green-haired idiot.

Zoro.

That swordsman who was too rough, too loud, too blunt. Who stormed into Sanji’s life like a brawl and never left. The way his eyes followed Sanji around a room. The way he burned with jealousy in silence.

Zeff caught the look once, when Sanji and Pedro had been laughing at something stupid by the counter. Unaware of the pining green head .

Zoro had stood across the room, bottle in hand, face tight. Not angry — just quite and aching. Quietly. He was a man watching someone he loved slip through his fingers.

And Zeff felt something twist in his gut.

How the hell had he missed that?

But it didn’t matter now.

Because it all came crumbling one day , the call came on a regular dinner shift.

Sanji was shouting over the orders, the clang of frying pans filling the air. His apron was dusted with flour, the stovetop alive with fire, and his voice carried a hum of contentment as he moved between stations.

He was smiling and humming softly, when he was asked what the good mood was about“Big night tonight,” he called over his shoulder. “Pedro and I have a reservation at that new place by the coast. Real fancy.”

Patty smirked. “It’s here? ’Cause that’s a show I definitely wanna watch.”

Sanji flipped him off without looking, laughing as he tossed a pan on the flame. The kitchen buzzed with heat, noise, and lighthearted teasing—until Sanji’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket.

He frowned, checked the screen, and his face shifted.

“I gotta take this,” he muttered. “Cover for me.”

He handed off the pan, already walking briskly toward the quiet corner near the pantry. The kitchen clattered on without him.

A few minutes later, Sanji stepped back inside. His movements were stiff. Too quiet. His face—blank and looked pale,So pale.

Carne opened his mouth, ready to tease, but stopped halfway through the breath.

Something was wrong.

Zeff caught it instantly. He turned from the counter, brow furrowing. “What wrong ?”

Sanji blinked. Swallowed.

“They said… um…” His voice cracked“Pedro. They said Pedro’s dead? “

The whole kitchen stopped.

Knives hovered mid-chop. The burners hissed quietly. No one moved.

Sanji walked up to the prep table, placed both hands flat on it.

He looked at zeff with something broken in his eyes

It broke Zeff heart with it

Then he whispered, almost too softly“Pedro’s dead.”

The clatter of a dropped ladle echoed in the kitchen.

“A car hit him,” Sanji added. “H- he was… he was crossing the street after leaving court.”

Zeff felt the bottom fall out of the world.

He watched his boy crumple in slow motion, eyes hollow, hands shaking, his eyes gazed he looked collapsed inward.

And all Zeff could think — after the disbelief, after the horror, after the heavy, unrelenting ache — was

He was good enough. He really was.

And now he’s gone.

Chapter Text

The Baratie had never been this quiet.

Not even during storms. Or during those slow hours between the dinner rush—when yelling, shouting, and even the occasional cursing were just part of the air. Zeff liked to pretend otherwise, but chaos had always been a daily occurrence at the Baratie. But this silence, it was different.

It felt like something had been ripped out of the walls and left to bleed. And somehow… it had.

Zeff remembered the way Sanji had run.

Right after the call, there’d been no hesitation, just a frantic storm of motion. He’d grabbed his coat with shaking hands, shoes half on, panic written across every inch of his face.

Zeff had followed. Of course he had, he will not let his son face that alone. Never.

They arrived at the hospital in silence. Sanji didn’t speak or even blink, he was in shocked state, didn’t notice when Zeff placed a hand on his back as they walked through those sterile white halls.

The nurse at the front desk had looked at them with the kind of practiced softness that always meant one thing: too late .

Still, they let Sanji in.

Zeff stood just outside the room.

He didn’t need to see.

He heard it.

A choked, splintered cry—quiet at first. Then louder. More broken. Like something deep inside Sanji had snapped and there was no fixing it.

Zeff had never felt so useless.

He wanted to go in. Wanted to scoop his boy up like he used to after nightmares or beatings or heartbreaks. Wanted to put him back together with soup and swearing and too-tight hugs. He wanted to take his son pain away.

But Sanji had closed the door.He’d needed to say goodbye alone.So he waited.

Zeff remembered the way Sanji walked out of the room — slow, uneven, like every step was an argument between staying and collapsing.

His face was wrecked, eyes were glassy and raw, red from crying, his breathing shallow. But he was holding it together by sheer will. By threads. Barely.

And then Two girls stood quietly in the hallway just outside the room. One of them, Zeff recognized—Pedro’s sister, Wanda. The other, younger, had bright blonde hair and tear-streaked cheeks. She held something small in her hands.

Wanda stepped forward first. Her voice was gentle, almost afraid. “Sanji…”

Sanji didn’t lift his head, didn’t speak. Just stopped in place like a wind-up toy out of tension.

Wanda’s voice trembled. “He… Pedro talked about you all the time. You were his peace, you know? He used to say you made him want a softer life. A real one.”

The blonde girl stepped forward, clutching the velvet box like it burned her palms. “He was going to ask you tonight. At dinner.”

Sanji’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“He picked the place, the table, even the wine. We helped him pick the ring last month. He was so nervous… so excited. It was all he talked about.”

She placed the box in Sanji’s hand.

Zeff watched as his boy opened it.

Inside was a gold ring, sleek and elegant, with a pale sapphire that caught the hallway lights. Simple, beautiful, and painfully Pedro .

Sanji crumbled.

His knees buckled as he dropped against the wall, one hand clutching the box to his chest like it was a lifeline, the other covering his face as sobs tore through him.

Wanda knelt beside him, holding his arm, weeping quietly.

The other girl, too, sank to the floor, grief spilling out of her as if she’d been holding it back for days.

Zeff couldn’t move. Not for a moment. Just stood there, watching his boy fall apart, watching strangers wrap around him with shared pain. And all he could do was clench his fists until they shook.

Eventually, after what it felt like decades Sanji staggered to his feet again, the ring box still in his hand, his voice nothing but a whisper“…He was gonna stay.”

with a sound Zeff never wanted to hear again. Like a sob and a scream got trapped in his chest and tried to claw their way out all at once. His arms wrapped around his own body, shoulders shaking.

Zeff was there before he even thought.

He knelt down, wrapped his arms around his boy, pulled him in tight like he had when he was eight and scared of thunder.

Sanji didn’t fight it.

He just cried. Loud, broken, wrenching cries that soaked Zeff’s shirt and echoed through the floorboards.

Zeff held him.

Held him like he’d never let go.

Zeff didn’t know what to say to that.

So he didn’t say anything.

He just walked beside his boy, step for step, all the way back to the car.

——————————-

✅

Now, weeks later, Zeff watched his boy move through the Baratie like a ghost.

Sanji still cooked—his body knew the motions, muscle memory guiding his hands. But the fire was gone. The flair, the color, the cocky tilt of his mouth and the way he used to whistle through the sizzle of pans… all of it had dimmed.

Like someone had poured water over his flame and never let it dry.

Zeff hated it.

He hated how quiet the kitchen had become. He hated how no one dared tease him anymore. He hated that even the customers spoke softer now, like mourning in hushed tones.

But most of all, he hated how Sanji looked when he thought no one was watching.

Like he was still standing in that hospital hallway.

Like part of him never left.

Zeff watched it all. From the kitchen, from the stairwell, from the damn doorway of Sanji’s bedroom. He didn’t know how to fix it. Couldn’t cook it away. Couldn’t shout it down. Couldn’t beat it into submission.

He could only stand there.

His friends come trying to comfort him .

Robin first. Quiet and calm, placing a hand on Sanji’s back.

Nami, teary-eyed, slipping into the room and taking his hand.

Usopp, who didn’t say anything, just sat nearby like backup.

Chopper, sniffling, handing Sanji tissues in awkward silence.

Even Luffy sat down beside him, arms wrapped around his knees, watching him with big, uncharacteristically solemn eyes.

Zoro came last.

He didn’t say a word. Just leaned against the wall like always, eyes on Sanji. Guarding. Present. He didn’t move to hug him. Didn’t try to speak.

But he didn’t leave for long time .

And Zeff saw it. Saw the guilt, the heartbreak, the something else buried deep in the swordsman’s jaw.

And one day After long shift, when the rest of the crew dozed off or trickled out, that Sanji looked up.

Zeff was still sitting beside him.

Sanji’s voice cracked. “He really loved me, huh?”

Zeff’s hand curled gently around his shoulder. “Yeah. He did.”

And neither of them said another word.

Because nothing else needed to be said.

It been months and Sanji still not okay,

Zeff noticed the change before anyone else.

Not the surface things—those were obvious. Sanji coming home later, smelling faintly of cologne he didn’t wear. Hair always perfectly styled, clothes sharp even on days off. The old shine was back in his smile—but it was the wrong kind of shine.It was too polished and wrong.

He was trying to bury the grief. Under flirtation and seek distractions.

strangers.

Zeff had seen it before. Cooks who burned their hands and tried to laugh it off while bleeding. Sanji was no different.

He didn’t want love. Not now. Maybe not ever again. And that scared Zeff more than people who might take advantage , his boy lobe love he is romantic in heart and to see him like this? It was disturbing.

Zeff caught him once, leaning against the back wall of the Baratie after a shift, talking into his phone with a hollow smile.

“Kid, I’m serious,” Sanji said, voice too calm to be natural. “No strings. I don’t want anything serious right now. Just casual. One night, that’s it.”

Zeff didn’t say anything. Just leaned around the corner quietly, arms crossed, and watched his idiot son finish the call.

That hurt more than he liked to admit.

Because Sanji wasn’t built for detachment. He was all-in or nothing, heart first, always had been. But now? Now he was shielding himself with indifference and calling it strength.

And that’s when Zeff started noticing the other thing.

The late nights.

The way Sanji would come home smelling like alcohol and smoke—more than usual. His hair a mess, shirt untucked, like he’d either been in a fight or trying to forget how much he wanted to be.

The smile he wore now wasn’t one Zeff recognized it was sharp and way forced. It didn’t reach his eyes.

He flirted more, bolder, louder, but with a kind of recklessness that made Zeff’s gut twist. Like he was daring someone—anyone—to give him a reason to feel something, even if it was regrets, like he was performing for ghosts.

But Zeff noticed who he flirted with.

Not the people who smiled at his food with joy. Not the kind ones or the shy ones or the regulars he used to tease gently just to make them blush. No—those he ignored now.

He went for the loud ones. The rough-mouthed drunks. The ones who looked at him like a challenge, not a person. The ones who called him “pretty boy” with something twisted in their smile.

And Sanji smiled right back.

Laughed like nothing mattered. Let one of them touch his waist once and didn’t even flinch—just turned away like it hadn’t happened.

Zeff had to walk into the dining hall and “accidentally” spill a full tray just to break it up. Patty and Carne flanked him the next few shifts like guard dogs. Even Flan started lingering near Sanji’s tables with narrowed eyes.

Because this wasn’t Sanji. Not really.

This was his boy hurting and trying too hard not to show it.

Zeff once overheard him on the phone with another one ,again , muttering something about “nothing serious—just distraction, okay?”

That was when it clicked.

Sanji wasn’t looking for connection. He was running from it. Filling time with drinks and half-hearted flirting and pretending that emptiness meant freedom.

And Zeff knew damn well where that road led

Zeff didn’t know how to help.

He was a chef, a fighter, a stubborn old bastard with too much pride and too many scars. But when it came to this—watching his boy drift like this, dim like a flame running out of air—he felt helpless.

If he could, he’d take all that pain himself. Carry every ounce of it just to see Sanji smile like he used to. Laugh without bitterness. Love without fear. Be his full, brilliant self again.

But he couldn’t.

So all Zeff could do was stay close.

And pray that Sanji found his way back.

One night, after close and the Baratie was silent ( it was too silent those days) Chairs were stacked, lights dimmed, and the ocean lapped gently beneath the stilts. But Zeff didn’t leave. He just stood by the prep counter, arms crossed, watching his son silently scrub at a spotless skillet like it had personally wronged him.

Sanji’s face was drawn, dark circles under his eyes. The kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix. His movements were mechanical. Efficient. Empty.

Zeff hated it“…Eggplant,” he said, voice gruff.

Sanji didn’t look up. “What, old man?”

There was a long pause.

Zeff reached into the cooler and pulled out a small container—Sanji’s favorite dessert, the one he always made for birthdays but pretended he didn’t like. He slid it across the counter.

Sanji blinked at it, then frowned. “The hell is this?”

“Dessert,” Zeff said simply. “For you.”

Sanji stared at it. “I’m not a kid.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Sanji didn’t move.

Zeff cleared his throat and added, “Made it ‘cause I felt like it. Not everything’s about you, idiot.”

That got the faintest twitch at the corner of Sanji’s mouth. Not a smile—but close ( he misses his care free smiles)

He didn’t say thank you. Zeff didn’t need him to. That was never in their relationship.

The boy just picked up the spoon slowly, took a bite, and ate in silence.

And Zeff stayed right there with him. Not speaking , Just watching him carefully.

He wanted to say a hundred things, to ask a thousand more. But his throat felt dry, like it always did when it came to emotions and his eggplant of a son.

But he needs to or he will be as bad parent as that bastard before him. So, he cleared his throat and leaned back against the counter“You’re not sleeping.”

Sanji didn’t respond.

“I’m not blind, you know.”

Still nothing.

Zeff’s brow furrowed. “You’ve been… pushing yourself harder than usual.”

Sanji shrugged without looking up. “The restaurant’s busy.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Zeff’s tone turned flat. “I mean the drinking. The late nights. The strangers.”

Sanji froze just a little. Barely a pause in his movements—but Zeff saw it.

“I’m just blowing off steam,” Sanji said too casually, spoon clinking against the glass dish. “Not a crime.”

“No, it’s not,” Zeff agreed. “But coming home at 3 a.m. three nights in a row smelling like smoke and booze —doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine’ either.”

Sanji’s jaw tensed.

Zeff crossed his arms again. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’m talking now, aren’t I?” Sanji muttered, finally meeting his eyes—but only for a second before glancing away again.

Zeff sighed. “You think I don’t know how much you’re hurting? I watched you love that man. I watched him love you right back.”

Sanji’s spoon stilled in the dish.

“I just…” Zeff hesitated. “You’re not made for casual. That’s not you. You give too much of yourself. Always have. I’m worried.”

Sanji’s shoulders stiffened, and something sharp flashed across his face“I’m handling it,” he said flatly.

“You’re not,” Zeff said, quieter this time.

Sanji stood abruptly, taking the half-eaten dessert with him. “Thanks for the food, old man.”

Zeff watched him head for the stairs.

“Sanji—”

“Goodnight,” Sanji said, not turning around.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Zeff let out a breath, heavy with frustration and ache. He knew the wall would be there—but still, it stung to slam into it.

He hadn’t gotten through tonight.But he would try again. And again and aging. Till he reach him,He always would.

They started coming more often, one by one.

Nami was the first—she stormed into Baratie like a hurricane wrapped in heels, slamming her purse on the counter and demanding Sanji sit down for five minutes and just breathe , damn it. He served her tea instead, grinning like a fool, and dodged every question she asked with a compliment and a wink. She left without drinking the tea, jaw tight and eyes sharper than usual.

Zeff could tell she wanted to strangle him at the spot to get an answer.

Then came Usopp and Chopper, together. Chopper brought vitamins, Usopp brought bad jokes. Sanji ruffled their hair and told them they looked taller, happier. They sat with him for two hours. When they left, they hadn’t gotten a single honest sentence out of him.They looked disappointed.

Robin showed up next, no warning. She brought a rare book on spice trade history and just watched him as he served her espresso and avoided her gaze. She didn’t ask anything. Didn’t need to. Her silence said more than words. She is waiting for him .

Franky sent him new tools for the kitchen. Brook wrote a song he never played out loud. Jinbei came and said nothing at all, just put a hand on Sanji’s shoulder and nodded.

Then, Zoro came. The green boy actually came every day just s setting there Didn’t say a word to Sanji at all. Just leaned against the back wall with his arms crossed, watching every move the cook made like he was waiting for something to snap. He didn’t order food, Didn’t leave when the others did.

And Sanji didn’t look at him once. But he knew he was there.

They all did.

Because no matter how many smiles Sanji faked, or how many perfect meals he plated—his friends saw it.

He was unraveling.

And no amount of charm could cover that up.

Then after another long night.

Sanji had gone upstairs without a word—again. The kitchen was half-cleaned, the staff unusually quiet, each one glancing at the stairs as if the floor above might fall through and take them with it.

Zeff didn’t have to ask. He knew the tension in their shoulders. He felt it too.

Patty was the first to speak, drying his hands on a rag. “He’s shutting us out.”

Carne nodded. “We’ve tried. He brushes it off. Laughs. Pretends nothing’s wrong. He won’t talk.”

Nami leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I cornered him yesterday. Asked straight out if he was okay. You know what he did?” She shook her head. “He smiled. That fake, glittering smile and said he was fine. I wanted to punch him.”

Chopper kicked at the floor, frowning. “He didn’t even flinch when I told him he looked pale. He used to hate it when I said stuff like that.”

Robin’s voice was calm, but there was steel under it. “Grief changes people. But not this fast, not this recklessly. He’s cracking.”

Usopp sighed, fiddling with a spoon. “He’s not eating right. He hasn’t laughed—not really—in weeks.”

Zoro was leaning on the far wall,per usual arms crossed, jaw set tight. He hadn’t said a word yet.

Zeff looked at them all. Then sighed“I tried too,” he said gruffly. “Tried last night. He didn’t want to hear it. Brushed me off the same way. Stubborn idiot thinks he can drown it in work and pretend it never happened.”

There was a heavy silence.

“Then we have to do something,” Nami said.

“Problem is,” Zeff muttered, “you can’t help someone who won’t let you. He’s digging in his heels. Trying to be strong.” His eyes narrowed. “That never ends well.”

Zoro finally pushed off the wall“He doesn’t have to let me in,” he said flatly. “I’ll protect him anyway.”

Everyone turned toward him.

Zoro didn’t flinch under the weight of their stares. “He wants to ruin himself trying to be strong? Fine. But no one—no one—hurts him while he’s doing it. Not even himself.”

Zeff studied him, something unreadable in his eyes“You’re in love with him,” the old man said bluntly.

Zoro’s jaw ticked. “Doesn’t matter.”

Zeff snorted. “It does if you’re going to stick around.”

Zoro didn’t reply.

But Zeff saw the answer anyway—in the way the swordsman turned toward the stairs, eyes sharper than blades.

Let the boy grieve however he needed.

But he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

And true to his word Zoro does protect Sanji.

At first, Zeff thought it was coincidence. The moss-head just happened to be around whenever some new “flavor of the week” tried to flirt with Sanji. But it wasn’t coincidence.

Zoro would appear like a damn storm cloud.

One guy got too close to Sanji’s table? Zoro just “happened” to sit at it.

Another leaned in too much while Sanji was laughing at the bar? Zoro was there with a glare that could curdle milk.

And every time, Sanji backed off. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just… hesitant.

Maybe part of him was scared and part of him didn’t want to push Zoro away.

Zeff saw it.

And maybe, just maybe, Sanji needed someone stubborn enough to stand in the way.

Which is why, when Zoro showed up that night looking sheepish as hell and said, “Hey, uh… any chance I can get Sanji to cook that miso-salmon thing again? Y’know. The one he does when he’s in a good mood?”—

Zeff didn’t hesitate.

He waved him straight into the kitchen.

“You want him in a good mood?” Zeff muttered. “Then do not break his heart.”

Zoro didn’t answer. Just nodded, serious.

And damn it, Zeff was grateful for the moss-headed menace for the first time in his life.

Even the Baratie staff looked relieved.

Carne muttered, “Thank God. I couldn’t handle another week of Sanji trying to look happy and flirting with people who can’t even pronounce ‘béarnaise.’”

Patty snorted. “Mosshead’s the only one who makes him smile like it means something.”

Zeff just grunted, arms crossed, watching through the kitchen window as Sanji lit up when he spotted Zoro at the table.

Not the polished smile. Not too forced .

Still not the real one. But smile regardless.

And Zeff thought—for once— maybe he didn’t need to chase this one off.

———— not yet at least.

It was late. Too late.

Zeff had checked the time on his phone at least a dozen times in the past hour. The Baratie was closed, staff gone home, the floors mopped twice out of nervous habit.

It was fucking 4 in the morning!

Sanji hadn’t answered a single message.

That wasn’t normal.

He was so close to call the cops.

Zeff paced once more past the kitchen doors, muttering under his breath, when his phone finally buzzed. An unfamiliar number.

His heart sank then answered instantly. “Sanji?”

But it wasn’t his son’s voice.

“Uh… no. This is—sorry—this is Katakuri,” the man said, his voice calm but a little awkward. “I’m with him. He’s okay—he just had a bit too much to drink and passed out. I didn’t want to leave him alone. Umm he gives me this number before passing out his dad he say ? “

Zeff’s heart nearly gave out. He gripped the counter. “Yes ! The hell did you say your name was?”

“…Katakuri. Charlotte katakuri “

Something about that name scratched at the back of Zeff’s mind. Familiar. A name he hadn’t heard in years—maybe from Garp? Or an old paper?

Didn’t matter.

He snapped back into focus. “You better not have laid a damn finger on my boy.”

There was a pause, then a quiet reply. “I didn’t. I swear. I’ve just been keeping him safe.”

Zeff narrowed his eyes, even though no one could see it through the phone. “Where are you?”

“I was just about to ask you for directions—if you’re okay with me bringing him home.”

“No need,” Zeff grunted. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come get him.”

By the time Zeff pulled up, he found a tall man standing beside a bench outside a quiet bar, Sanji leaning heavily against his shoulder, fast asleep, his face flushed from drink and exhaustion.

Katakuri straightened when he saw Zeff, lifting his hands slightly. “Sanji’s dad ? “ Zeff nodes “—-He’s okay. Just out cold.”

Zeff eyed him up and down the guy is Built like a damn statue has Quiet eyes. Didn’t fidget or try to explain himself more than necessary. Just kept one steady hand behind Sanji’s back, holding him gently upright.

Zeff took his boy from him without a word“Thanks,” he muttered, half-reluctantly.

“No problem,” Katakuri said. “If it were my brother, I’d want someone to watch him too.”

Zeff gave a tight nod, but his shoulders remained stiff. His eyes followed Katakuri as he turned and walked back into the night—too calmly.

He didn’t trust it. Not fully.

Because no matter how decent the guy looked or how respectfully he’d held Sanji or how steady his voice had been—Zeff’s brain couldn’t quiet the questions. Had he slipped something in Sanji’s drink? Had he said anything to him? Had he touched him?

He hated thinking like that. Hated the paranoia. But he’d learned the hard way what happened when you gave people the benefit of the doubt.

Still… he’d brought Sanji back. Safe. Breathing looking Intact.

That alone made Zeff want to both thank him and punch a wall.

As they arrived home ,He brought Sanji upstairs slowly, one arm tight around his boy’s waist as Sanji leaned into him, limp and mumbling nonsense under his breath.

Once in their tiny upstairs apartment, Zeff sat him down on the edge of the bed, crouched in front of him, and began undoing his shoes“Yer useless when you’re drunk, y’know that?” Zeff muttered.

Sanji gave a soft hiccup of laughter, barely awake. “…sh’rry…”

“Tch. Don’t apologize,” Zeff grumbled.

He eased Sanji back onto the bed, covered him with a thin blanket, and was about to turn away when he heard the tiniest sound—

A sniff.

He looked back sharply.

A single tear slid down Sanji’s cheek, trailing over the bruised shadows beneath his eye. He was still asleep—mumbling something under his breath no one could make out—but that tear was real.

Zeff’s throat tightened. He sat down beside him and gently wiped the tear away with the side of his rough thumb“My boy,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Everything will be fine. Not now, but… eventually.”

He stayed a moment longer.

Just in case Sanji needed to hear it again.

After that, the Katakuri guy started showing up more often.

He never overstepped his stays. Always asked before entering. Sometimes he just sat at the counter, sipping black coffee and reading quietly while Sanji worked , he was never loud,or demanding. Just… there.

And he watched Sanji like he respected him.

And of course the gossip started.

“Did you see the way he looks at our eggplant?” Carne whispered behind a stack of plates.

Patty snorted. “He’s not just here for the coffee, that’s for damn sure.”

Even the dish boy chimed in, grinning. “Tall, broody, mysterious—and has a soft spot for Sanji? That’s a full-on crush if I’ve ever seen one.”

Zeff pretended not to hear any of it, chopping herbs a little more aggressively than usual.

But the truth was, the big guy did look at Sanji like he meant something. Like he saw him.

Zeff saw that look before directing to his son . And he used to chase them out but now in a strange, reluctant way… that bothered Zeff a little less than he expected.

Just a little.

And one night, after a shared dinner with staff lingering nearby pretending not to eavesdrop, he asked to speak with Sanji alone. Zeff didn’t hover—but he stayed close enough to hear if something went sideways.

It didn’t.

“I like you,” Katakuri said simply.

Sanji looked stunned. Then guilty.

“I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re great. You’re—really great. But I’m not ready. I thought maybe I was. But I’m not.”

Katakuri nodded once, like he already expected it. “That’s okay. I still want to be around. If that’s alright.”

And Sanji, bless his awkward heart, looked down at his hands and whispered, “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Zeff watched from the shadows, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Another contender.This one wasn’t pushy. He was patient and Respectful.

And … maybe the first one Zeff didn’t feel like drop-kicking on sight.

Not that he’d admit it.

Zeff wasn’t blind.

Not to the way that moss-headed idiot had started showing up more often — always under some excuse. “Just passing through.” “Needed a bite.” “Got lost.”

Bullshit.

It started with the little things.Sanji smiled more.

Not the charming, over-polished grin he used for customers or the sharp-toothed bravado he used to deflect. But a real smile. The kind that softened his eyes. The kind that didn’t look like it hurt to wear. Zeff noticed it most when that green-haired menace was around.

Zoro didn’t do anything special — that was the thing. He just there. Like a stubborn shadow who had silently claimed the spot at Sanji’s side and wasn’t giving it up for anything.

Zeff kept his distance at first, wary as ever, but he couldn’t deny what he saw

His boy — who had been hollow and brittle as glass since Pedro’s death — was starting to come back to life.

It wasn’t all at once. But Zeff felt it, like the slow shifting of the tide.

Sanji laughed again. Sometimes at Zoro’s expense, sometimes because of him.

The swordsman would grumble, roll his eyes, throw a half-hearted insult — but Zeff saw it.

Zoro was glad to hear that laugh. Like it was his mission to pull it out of Sanji every damn day.

He’d also gotten strangely territorial.

Zeff first noticed it after that night — when he told the Straw Hats what happened at the bar.

The stranger who got too handsy when Sanji was too drunk to fight him off.

Zeff hadn’t planned to say it, but they needed to know how bad it had gotten.

Zoro reacted first.

Not with words — that idiot had the vocabulary of a dog.

But his posture shifted — shoulders squared, jaw tight, something wild flashing behind his eyes.

And ever since then, Zoro was glued to Sanji’s hip.

At first, it looked like coincidence. Then it became routine.Walking Sanji home.

Standing behind him at the bar with a glare that made people rethink breathing too close.

Trailing him through crowded streets like an armed escort no one dared question.

He didn’t say it out loud — hell, Zoro barely said anything at all —

But Zeff could read it clear as day

“He’s not alone. Not anymore.”

And damn it… Sanji responded to that.

Zoro didn’t “pass through” by accident. And he sure as hell didn’t make small talk with the kitchen staff unless it was about swords, sake, or stabbing someone.

But lately… he’d been different.

Zeff watched it unfold.

At first, Zoro sat at the far end of the counter, arms crossed, pretending not to watch Sanji cook.

But his eyes followed every movement — not with hunger, not with pity — but with that same quiet, steady alertness.

Like he was memorizing him.

When Sanji snapped at a customer, Zoro was already there — a glare sharp enough to shut them up.

When Sanji looked tired, Zoro would casually offer help. Not directly, of course.

It always came in that roundabout growl of his.

“You’re overcooking the rice, dumbass. Move. I’ll do it.”

And somehow… Sanji let him.

Zeff had seen Sanji push away kindness before. Reject it like it burned.

But not with Zoro.

Then there were the nights.

The ones when Sanji didn’t come home on time. The nights Zeff sat pacing upstairs, phone in hand.

And then, eventually — always — the door would creak open and Zoro would walk Sanji in, arm slung around his shoulder, muttering insults but holding him steady.

Zeff would watch from the stairs.

“Go easy on him,” Zoro had said once, when Sanji was already passed out on the couch.

“He’s trying. Doesn’t know how to stop hurting yet.”

Zeff didn’t answer.

Just watched the swordsman leave, his back broad, his footsteps steady.

He thought about it later, alone in the kitchen.

Zoro hadn’t tried to fix Sanji.

He was just there — a wall for him to lean on that didn’t buckle or pull away.

And slowly, Zeff saw it:

Sanji had stopped trying to smile so hard.

He wasn’t whole. But he was there. He was cooking again. He was laughing,sometimes.

And Zoro was always there. Always just close enough to catch him if he slipped.

Zeff still didn’t trust easily.

He still kept one eye open, ready to throw the idiot out the second Sanji looked hurt again.

But for now

Sanji was sleeping better.

Cooking with more focus.

Letting people touch his shoulder again without flinching.

There were still moments of silence — still mornings where he stared out the kitchen window, eyes far away.

But they weren’t as heavy anymore.

Because more often than not, Zoro would show up behind him with some excuse:

“Luffy’s hungry.”

“Need more coffee.”

And Sanji would groan, roll his eyes, call him a freeloader —

but the spark would come back.

Zeff didn’t say a word.

Just watched, arms crossed, from his usual place at the stove —

holding the ache in his chest where fear used to be.

Because maybe… just maybe…

That damn moss-headed bastard was exactly what his boy needed.

Chapter Text

As the days passed, Zeff started noticing the change.

Not all at once. But in pieces. Small things that added up, like flour dust on the counter after a good bake.

Sanji was laughing more. Not the brittle, too-loud laugh he used to fake for customers or friends who worried too much. This was different a real one .

It made Zeff feel relieved and happy, finally some sparks being returned to his boy .

And Zoro was always there when it happened usually.

Sometimes it was in the kitchen — Zoro lounging at the edge of the pass, his arms folded, throwing out sarcastic jabs. Other times, Zeff caught glimpses of them out on the deck after closing, sharing a smoke or a bottle of cheap sake, their shoulders brushing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The Baratie staff noticed it too.

Patty had leaned into Zeff one afternoon while they were chopping vegetables and muttered, “He’s back, boss. Our eggplant’s finally starting to look like himself again.”

Carne nodded beside him, wiping sweat from his brow. “About time. I was starting to think we’d lost him for good.”

Zeff didn’t say anything. Just stared through the kitchen window, where Sanji stood at the stove — apron dusted in flour, hair a little messy, laughing at something the green-haired idiot had just mumbled over his shoulder.

Zoro wasn’t smiling - he was not the smiling type usually- But there was a tilt to his mouth, an ease to his posture. Like he belonged there.

They’d been spending more time together lately. Even when they weren’t talking, they were just there . Some nights, they disappeared after service and came back smelling like smoke and sea salt. Other times, Zeff found them huddled around a recipe book, arguing about the best way to butcher a tuna like it was a matter of life or death.

It wasn’t the same as it was with Pedro. wasn’t polished or formal or quiet.

Definitely not quite, they never been around each since the day the set eyes on each other always banter and bickering.

But that’s what made it feel more real.

Zoro didn’t try to soothe Sanji’s pain. He didn’t talk to him like he was broken porcelain.

He teased him. Bickered with him again Pushed back when Sanji got stubborn. And Sanji — for all his fire — leaned into it.

He wasn’t fading anymore. He was shining .

Zeff saw it in the way his boy stood straighter. In how he stopped skipping meals, stopped forgetting to sleep. In how his eyes didn’t look so damn tired anymore.

Even the dark bags under his eyes started to disappear.

And for the first time in months — maybe longer — the ache in Zeff’s chest eased.

Because Sanji was laughing again.

And because Zoro? That moss-headed, sword-swinging, emotionally constipated bastard?

He was part of the reason why.

Zeff didn’t trust easy. He still kept one eye on the swordsman, always watching and wary about his little boy - yeah that damn eggplant will always be a lion boy in his eyes - But he couldn’t ignore the facts laid out in front of him.

Sanji wasn’t alone.

The steady thud of his knife hitting the cutting board echoed through the Baratie kitchen, a rhythm Zeff had followed for decades. Carrots, then daikon, then green onions—he chopped like it was second nature, eyes on his work, mind half on a new broth he was planning to test.

It was the kind of calm moment he usually cherished between the rushes. It comfy .

Until something shifted.

A break in the rhythm—not in his chopping, but in the air. The kind of subtle tension only a seasoned chef, or an old man with too much gut instinct, would notice ( like him of course)

He glanced up, just in time to catch it.

And he knew exactly where to look .

Sanji was leaning over the counter, setting down a plate in front of that moss-headed swordsman. Zeff didn’t even remember when Zoro had come in—probably slinked through the back like always, quiet as a damn cat. Just sat himself down like he belonged. He’s been showing a lot lately like if he lives here , Zeff grunted.

The plate passed between them, and their fingertips brushing—barely a second, but apparently long enough. And just like that, both their faces flushed, subtle pink blooming on their cheeks.

Those bastards. In public, no less.

Sanji’s hand lingered a heartbeat too long. Zoro’s fingers twitched. Their eyes locked for a breath—just a breath.

It wasn’t dramatic. No sparks flying or declarations. But damn it, Zeff swore if there had been sappy music playing in the background, it would’ve turned the whole damn thing into a cheap cliché.

Tch. Brats.

But Sanji smiled—small and private, like the start of a secret. And Zoro didn’t return it, but his gaze softened in a way that made Zeff’s stomach twist with something he didn’t have a name for.

Then it was over.

Sanji turned away, pretending nothing happened. Zoro looked down at his plate like it had always been there face still flushed.

But Zeff had seen it.

He’d felt it.

That… thing. That unspoken connection. The warmth and hesitation. The way people look when they think no one is watching and everything they’re afraid to say slips into a glance.

He narrowed his eyes.

He’s seen that look before.

Hell, he’s given that look before.

Not so often But once. Long time ago. To someone who knew him inside out and didn’t ask him to change.

And now his idiot eggplant was looking at that swordsman like that?

Zeff’s knife hit the cutting board harder than he meant. The sound made one of the dish boys flinch.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t comment.

Just went back to chopping.

But he kept watching—quietly,—as his son turned away, biting back a smile he probably didn’t know was still on his face.

And Zeff thought to himself, So that’s how it is, huh?

The two lovebirds were seated in the back booth during staff break, tucked into that half-shadowed corner of the Baratie where the lights hung lower and the conversations were meant to be quiet. The kind of spot couples thought gave them privacy.

Idiots.

Zeff didn’t need light to see what was right in front of him. He was not that blind!

Zoro sat back with his arm thrown lazily across the top of the booth—innocent enough, except it was behind Sanji. His fingers were just hovering , like they might slide down to the blond’s shoulder if he forgot himself. Sanji didn’t even seem to notice—or worse, he did, and didn’t care.

Zeff’s sharp eyes narrowed as he wiped his hands on a towel, watching but pretending he wasn’t watching.

Sanji, relaxed in a way Zeff hadn’t seen in months , had one leg stretched under the table. His knee bumped into Zoro’s—blatantly—and neither of them moved. They just stayed like that, sipping coffee like it was nothing. Like Sanji didn’t used to flinch when someone so much as tapped his wrist.

Like he hadn’t spent weeks after Pedro’s death hollowed out, silent like a corpse and unreachable.

Zoro muttered something low, just for Sanji. And Sanji—his boy—laughed. Really laughed. Not the stiff, bitter snort he used when he was forcing it. Not the polite smile for customers. But something lighter. It didn’t look like it hurt.

Zeff’s chest twisted.

Over by the soup station, Carne and Patty were mid-argument about stock again—something about the integrity of using garlic confit versus raw cloves—when they paused mid-bicker.

Carne blinked. Patty dropped his ladle into the pot with a splash. Geramy, slicing cucumbers, slowed until the rhythm was almost suspicious.

A silence rippled through the kitchen, like the world was holding its breath.

Then

“Whistle if you ship it,” Patty muttered under his breath, and promptly followed up with a sharp “Fwwweeeeeee!”

Carne elbowed him, grinning. “I told you. I told you. He’s finally moving on.”

“Moving?” Geramy whispered. “He’s got a whole damn mortgage in Zoro’s personal space.”

Zeff grunted. Loud enough to remind them who was in charge. But not loud enough to deny it.

He returned to kneading dough, but his eyes kept flicking over. Kept catching things.

Zoro’s hand drifting down just an inch. Sanji’s gaze sliding over and lingering too long. The little smirk on the blond’s face when the green head muttered something stupid. The way that moss watched him—not like prey, or challenge, or something to fix. But with soft so damn soft look . Like Sanji was worth standing next to.

Zeff had spent weeks watching his boy barely hold himself together. That spark gone from his eyes, like every smile had been carved from stone. Now? He still wore shadows, but they were thinning. Bit by bit. Piece by goddamn piece.

And he was eating again. Cooking with actual flavor. Letting people touch his shoulder without recoiling.

The change wasn’t all because of Zoro—but the green-haired idiot had become a constant. Always there. close enough to catch Sanji if he slipped again.

“Idiots think they’re subtle,” Zeff muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Patty leaned over the pot. “So… do we say anything?”

“Say something,” Zeff warned, “and you’re peeling potatoes until your hands bleed.”

They all nodded quickly.

But even they couldn’t hide their grins.

Because finally —finally—after months of walking on eggshells and watching their chef fade, their eggplant was smiling again.

living.

And every single one of them, down to the newest dish boy, knew exactly why.

And Damnit you f they weren’t over the moon for it .

They thought they were subtle .

They really did. Those damn idiots. Passing glances across the kitchen like they were in a soap opera. Sneaking out the back like no one would notice when they “just needed a smoke” or to “check the delivery.” Sitting shoulder to shoulder during break like two magnets trying not to click.

Sanji and Zoro.

Dumb and dumber really

“Subtle” was not the word.

Because the entire Baratie had clocked it. Long ago. And they were invested.

“Ten bucks says they’re dating already,” Patty muttered behind the prep counter, peeling potatoes with furious speed. “No—fifteen. Look at them.”

“They’re not even hiding it anymore,” Carne whispered, eyes darting toward the pair lingering near the fridge. “Look— look! He just wiped sauce off his cheek for him! WITH A THUMB!”

Geramy leaned in like they were discussing state secrets. “Okay, real talk—who do you think’s on top?”

Patty didn’t hesitate. “Zoro. No question. Guy’s built like a mountain and growls like one too.”

Carne scoffed. “Please. Sanji’s got that control freak energy. You think he’d let anyone boss him around in bed?”

Patty blinked. “…He does yell a lot.”

“Exactly!”

Clang! A ladle flew past their heads and smacked into the pantry door.

Zeff’s voice thundered from across the kitchen. “I swear to every sea in this damn world—ONE more word about my boy’s sex life and you’re all scrubbing grease traps with your tongues!”

A pause.

Then Geramy whispered, “…So that’s a maybe?”

Another CLANG! echoed as Zeff threw another pan at the wall, his face turning red. “WE. DO. NOT. DISCUSS. THAT. IN. MY. KITCHEN!”

Everyone flinched. Even the garlic stopped sizzling.

Then, quietly, Geramy whispered behind a stack of plates, “I still say Sanji’s secretly the one in charge.”

“I’ll kill you all,” Zeff barked, reaching for a ladle this time.

There was a pause. A beat of fear.

But not enough to make the shit up.

Then Geramy cleared his throat. “So… when do you think they’ll go public?”

“I give it a week,” Carne said. “Zoro’s already looking at him like he invented breathing.”

“Two days,” Patty muttered. “He’s going to crack and confess like a teenage girl.”

Zeff’s mustache twitched. “If any of you say another word about confession or sex positions, I’m throwing you into the damn sea.”

But his voice lacked bite. The corner of his mouth curled — just a little — as he turned back to chopping onions.

He didn’t miss the way Sanji and Zoro stood a little closer now. How Sanji didn’t flinch when Zoro leaned in, or the way the swordsman’s scowl softened when he looked at the cook.

Idiots. Loud, chaotic, terrible-at-lying idiots.

But happy.

For once in a long time — truly happy.

And damn it, Zeff would take the kitchen gossip. The chaos. Even the frying pan-worthy commentary. Because if this was what it took to see that spark back in his boy’s eyes?

Well.

Let the whole kitchen make a damn soap opera out of it.

He just rolled his eyes again, grumbling, “Damn cooks should be chopping onions, not whispering like bored old aunties,” and returned to his work.

But he didn’t stop smiling.

It was early. Too damn early for this shit or anyone to be up—except for Zeff, who’d been baking bread since dawn.

The smell of rising dough filled the Baratie kitchen, comforting and familiar. Zeff wiped his hands on a towel, turned toward the hallway—

—and nearly collided with a wall of green-haired shame.

Zoro froze mid-step, one boot in his hand, the other half on. His shirt was misbuttoned, hickie barely hidden under his collar, and his hair was a mess that said one thing , he didn’t sleep alone.

Zeff stared.

Zoro stared.

The silence was unbearable.

“…Morning,” Zoro said eventually, voice low like if he didn’t say it too loud, it wouldn’t count.

Zeff’s eye narrowed. He folded his arms, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the damn world.

“Well, well,” he said dryly. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame down my hallway.”

Zoro cleared his throat. “I wasn’t— I mean I—”

“Oh no, by all means,” Zeff gestured sarcastically, “sneak out. That’s definitely what respectable people do after defiling my son.”

Zoro visibly flinched. “I didn’t—! We didn’t—!”

Zeff held up a hand. “Spare me the details, moss-for-brains. I don’t need a goddamn slideshow.”

Zoro looked like he was trying to decide whether jumping off the boat would be less painful.

Zeff tilted his head. “Let me ask you one thing, brat.”

Zoro straightened.

Zeff’s voice was quieter this time. “You gonna run off every morning? Or you planning to stick around?”

Zoro didn’t answer right away. He straightened up immediately and said, firmly “…I’m sticking around.”

Zeff stared at him a moment longer — long enough for Zoro to start sweating under the pressure. It wasn’t just a look; it was an evaluation. A full-body scan, like the old man was judging his worth down to the marrow. Measuring him. Weighing every possible intention.

But Zoro stood his ground.

Tense, but sure, he didn’t flinch. Or look away. Didn’t fumble over some excuse or try to intimidate his way out. He just stood there like a damn mountain, letting Zeff look all he wanted.

Zeff didn’t show it, but he was impressed. Genuinely impressed.

Most people cracked under two seconds of his glare — ran for their lives or fumbled apologies. Hell, the only one who never found it intimidating was his damn eggplant of a son.

He’d even seen seasoned men crack under less. But this idiot? He was solid.

Finally, Zeff gave a slow, heavy nod and walked past — without a word.

‘Alright, mosshead. You passed round one.’

“Good,” Zeff muttered. “Because if you break his heart, I break your face.” As he walked away. .

As Zeff stepped back into the kitchen, the heat from the stove was nothing compared to the heat still simmering under his skin. He grabbed a rag and started wiping down a perfectly clean counter, more out of habit than need.

From the open doorway leading upstairs, he caught faint footsteps.

“…you suck at sneaking out,” Sanji’s voice grumbled, low and muffled with sleep.

Zoro muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Didn’t exactly expect your dad to be standing there like a final boss.”

Zeff paused.

There was a beat of silence. Then a soft snort — Sanji’s, unmistakably — and the creak of floorboards as someone was pulled closer.

“…You’re lucky he didn’t throw a pan at you,” Sanji murmured, voice warm and quiet now. “He’s done that to people for less.”

Zoro’s voice rumbled low in return, too quiet for Zeff to make out.

Zeff rolled his eyes and turned the stove dial a little harder than necessary. Damn kids.

But despite the grumbling, something eased in his chest.

His boy was happy again.

Zeff stood at the counter, cloth in hand, wiping down a spot that had already been clean five minutes ago.

Out back, the familiar clang of metal echoed through the kitchen—again. That moss-headed swordsman was at it, crouched by the freezer, sleeves rolled up, fiddling with a set of tools he clearly had no clue how to use. He grumbled under his breath like the damn thing had personally offended him.

What the hell does a swordsman know about refrigeration?

And yet, there he was. Again.

It had started as a one-time thing—Zoro showing up after hours, claiming he “just happened to be nearby.” Then twice. Then three days in a row. Then a week. Now it had been nearly two months. No official announcement, or grand declaration.

But Zeff wasn’t stupid.

This idiot wasn’t “passing through.” He was nesting.

He was trying. Really trying. Like some son-in-law in training, trying to win over the scary father-in-law with elbow grease and stubbornness instead of flowers.

Zeff scowled, glancing toward the door.

Right on cue, Sanji appeared—apron still tied around his waist, sleeves dusted with flour, tray in hand. With Lunch and it is Homemade. Plated so precisely it looked like something out of a five-star restaurant. Grilled fish, perfect rice, soup, a pickled garnish shaped like a fucking flower.

Zeff rolled his eyes. Lovebirds.

Sanji didn’t plate like that for the Baratie staff. Hell, he didn’t even plate like that for Zeff unless it was Father’s Day or he’d messed something up.

Zoro didn’t say a word when the tray was set down beside him. Just gave a slight nod. Then dug in like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted—silently . Not a single crumb left behind.

Zeff leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

“Hmph.”

This idiot’s not just hanging around. He’s staking territory. Like a dog

When Sanji wasn’t looking, Zoro would glance up at him—just for a moment, something soft and unreadable in his Expression. And when Sanji turned his back, Zoro watched him like a man keeping guard—ready to draw his sword if someone so much as looked at his eggplant funny.

It was a little too mushy for Zeff’s taste, all soft eyes and quiet hovering—but hell, he wasn’t complaining.

If that idiot mosshead being gross and clingy was what it took to keep Sanji smiling like that?

Then Zeff could stomach the mush.

(…Even if he reserved the right to throw a ladle at them the next time they made heart eyes over the damn soup.)

All with that green-haired bastard never far away.

Zeff grunted under his breath.

“Acting like a damn son-in-law,” he muttered. “Next thing you know he’ll be asking for Sanji’s hand with a fucking bento box and a bouquet.”

Behind him, he could hear Carne and Patty whispering by the pantry, clearly gossiping.

“Did you see how Zoro wiped down the counter earlier?”

“Yeah. Like he owns the place. Bet he’s trying to impress the old man.”

“He better be. Have you seen that fish he carried in for Sanji this morning? That’s husband behavior .”

Zeff grabbed a ladle and chucked it in their direction without looking.

It clattered harmlessly against the wall, and the whispers stopped—until five seconds later when one of them mumbled:

“…He’s so gonna be our boss one day.”

Zeff sighed.

And yet, as he turned back toward the counter and watched Zoro finish off the last of the miso soup like it was his only meal that day—he didn’t scowl.

Because Zeff knew grief. He knew what it meant to lose someone and still wake up to cook the next day.

And he knew what it looked like when someone tried to help carry that weight without asking for anything in return.

So no, he still didn’t trust easily. And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to hand over his boy’s heart to any moss-brained fool.

But if Zoro kept this up

Zeff might just stop threatening to kick him out every other day.

Might !

Zeff was scrubbing down the prep station with more force than necessary, already annoyed by the unusually quiet lull in the kitchen. Sanji had vanished the second Zeff brought up “so how long has this not-so-secret-secret been going on?” —and now the moss-headed menace had the nerve to hang around like a brooding gargoyle outside the pantry door.

Zeff didn’t look up. “You’ve got something to say, say it.”

It started with a cough the kind that sounded like someone was about to hurl their soul through their mouth. Zeff looked up from his chopping board,

The moss-headed menace was standing awkwardly by the kitchen doorway, arms rigid, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Zeff had seen the swordsman stare down gang members, gun barrels, and the worst street fights without flinching — and now He looked like a teenager about to admit he crashed his dad’s car.

Zeff raised an eyebrow. “You sick or something?”

“No,” Zoro muttered, then took a deep breath like he was about to dive into deep waters. “I… I wanna talk to you.”

Zeff didn’t stop chopping. “You’re already talking.”

“No, I mean… serious talk.” Zoro scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking everywhere but Zeff’s face.

Zeff gave him a hard look and gestured with the cleaver. “Spit it out.”

Zoro gulped.

“I want to marry Sanji.”

CLANK.

The cleaver hit the cutting board a little too hard.

Zeff looked up slowly. “What.”

“I—I mean, I’m gonna propose,” Zoro stammered. “Not now. I mean, soon. Maybe. I just— I figured I should ask. You know. First.”

Zoro cleared his throat. He was sweating. Actually sweating . “Because… because you’re important to him. And I don’t want to… like, step on anything.”

Zeff just stared.

And stared.

Zoro shifted under the weight of that glare, like it physically pressed down on his shoulders. He was trying to hold his ground, but his hands were clenched tight, jaw working like he was ready to bolt and fight a sea king at the same time.

“Look, I know I’m not—like—a normal guy,” Zoro blurted. “And I don’t always say the right things and I’ve probably made things harder for him than I meant to, but—”

“ Did he just say he’s proposing?! ” a voice stage-whispered from the pantry.

“ He’s gonna marry the eggplant?! ” Carne gasped.

Then—chaos.

“DID HE JUST PROPOSE TO ZEFF?!”

“HEY—ARE WE GETTING A WEDDING?!”

“ARE WE INVITED?!”

“SHOULD I GET THE CHAMPAGNE?!”

“Who’s wearing white?!”

“ definitely the eggplant!”

“ZORO’S GONNA BE OUR SON-IN-LAW?!”m

“ BETTER BE A BIG WEDDING I WANT SHRIMP COCKTAIL! ” Patty yelled.

Zeff turned so slowly he nearly broke his own neck. Half the staff was now peeking out from behind shelves, counters, and the soup pot. One busboy had literally climbed into the dumbwaiter just to get a better angle.

“ You’re getting married? ” someone shouted from the prep sink.

Sanji, who had just entered the kitchen with a towel slung over his shoulder, froze mid-step.

“ WHAT THE FUCK DID I WALK INTO?! ”

Zoro paled. “Shit.”

Zeff sighed, wiping a hand down his face. “Congratulations, moss-for-brains. You just told the whole damn restaurant.”

“ YOU’RE MARRYING HIM?! ” Patty howled.

“I DIDN’T PROPOSE YET!” Zoro barked, face now fully red. “I was asking— permission! ”

“Oh my god,” Sanji hissed, backing toward the door like a man under siege.

Zeff grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t even think about running now, eggplant.”

“Let me die!”

“You’re not dying, you’re whining. Sit your ass down.”

“I’m not some damsel!”

“ you sure as hell act like one!”

“SHOULD WE START PLANNING THE BACHELOR PARTY?!” someone yelled from the back.

Zeff let go of Sanji with a long sigh, muttering, “I should’ve just stayed retired.”

Zoro looked like he was going to pass out.

“Like I said I DIDN’T PROPOSE YET!” he shouted. “I’M JUST ASKING HIS PERMISSION—WHY ARE YOU ALL HERE?!”

“We live here!” Patty cried. “We’re emotionally invested!”

Sanji’s face was beet red. “You IDIOT!”

“Don’t yell at me!” Zoro barked. “This was supposed to be PRIVATE!”

Zeff rubbed his temples and muttered, “I hate every single one of you.”

The kitchen was full of laughter, clattering pans, someone trying to pop a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne, and more than one person yelling, “SO WHEN’S THE WEDDING?!”

as the kitchen roared with questions and toasts and someone pulled out a Just Married! apron from the pantry—Zeff looked over at Zoro, who still hadn’t moved.

Zeff was staring at the idiot who still stood frozen like a man on trial.

Zoro didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, jaw clenched, fists at his sides.

And then—hell—he even glared at Zeff.

What the actual fuck.

Those sharp, storm-colored eyes were locked on him with challenge. Like he was daring Zeff to say no. Like he was ready to fight for it if he had to.

Oh my god. Are they gonna elope if Zeff says no?

Like hell he was gonna miss his only damn son’s wedding over some petty pride.

Zeff’s brow twitched. This damn moss-headed lunatic was asking for his blessing and throwing down a gauntlet in the same breath?

Typical.

But beneath the steel, Zeff could see it. His nerves and sheer, aching sincerity. The way Zoro was practically vibrating with tension, like the weight of the moment was barely holding him upright.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

His hands were still shaking slightly, but his eyes—those were steady.

Zeff’s eye twitched.

Still standing there. Still waiting for his answer.

The old man’s gaze softened just a little.

“…You got my blessing,” he said gruffly. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Zoro nodded, swallowing hard. “I won’t.”

Behind him, Sanji looked like he wanted to crawl into the sea.

But even so… Zeff could see the twitch of a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

And of course—the kitchen exploded into chaos.

Carne dropped a tray of shrimp with a clatter. Patty let out a cackle loud enough to shake the pans off the wall. Geramy clutched his chest like he’d just witnessed the climax of a telenovela. One of the dish boys was taking bets. Someone else definitely shouted, “KISS HIM ALREADY!”

Sanji flailed, bright red . “What the hell is WRONG with all of you?! This isn’t—! We’re not—! SHUT UP! ”

“Oh my god, he’s the bride!” Geramy gasped, eyes sparkling.

“Bride?! Bride?! ” Sanji screeched, nearly launching a ladle. “I’LL GUT YOU!”

Patty smirked, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re already halfway down the aisle with that face.”

“You better shut it , or I’ll serve you your own fingers for dinner!”

Someone from the back called, “WHEN ARE WE GETTING GRANDKIDS?!”

Sanji froze mid-rage. His mouth dropped open. His brain disconnected.

“Wha—GRANDKIDS?! I’M TWENTY-FREAKING-EIGHT, YOU VULTURES!”

Zoro just blinked.

Then shrugged with a calm, dead-serious“Wouldn’t mind a couple.”

Sanji made a strangled noise and nearly fell over. “ WHAT— ”

Patty slapped the counter. “Oh, hell yeah , the moss-head’s into it!”

“Do we need a registry?!” Carne called out. “Do swords count as baby shower gifts?”

“I can knit!” one of the waitresses shouted. “Tiny little mossy onesies!”

“YOU PEOPLE ARE INSANE! ” Sanji roared, voice cracking as he tried to shove everyone out of the kitchen.

Zeff just leaned on the doorway, one hand over his eyes. “This damn restaurant…”

But his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

Because for the first time in what felt like years, Sanji wasn’t quiet or numb or broken. He was alive . True he was totally Embarrassed and Yelling nonsense his dace Red as tomato but non the less Happy.

And for that, Zeff would tolerate every single chaotic second.

Besides… he wouldn’t mind seeing a few little grandkids running around the Baratie someday. Sooner rather than later.

The restaurant was finally quiet.

For the first time all day, Zeff had his feet up, a drink in hand, and no one yelling “They’re engaged?!” within earshot. The moonlight spilled through the window above the sink, soft and silver.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

Mihawk. Of course.

Zeff swiped the call.

He picked it up with a grunt. “You’re late.”

“ You’re old. ” Mihawk’s voice was dry as ever, tinged with amusement. “And now apparently… we are family !.”

Zeff groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just calling to congratulate you,” Mihawk said. “Though I never thought I’d see the day my idiot would end up with your idiot. Somehow, they didn’t blow anything up.”

“Yet,” Zeff muttered. “But the kitchen did start planning cake flavors before they even got a date set.”

Mihawk chuckled. “And here I thought your crew was professional.”

“Professional gossips,” Zeff grumbled.

A beat passed, quiet but warm.

“…He’s really happy, you know,” Mihawk said. “Zoro.”

Zeff’s jaw worked. “So is mine,” he admitted. “Pain in my ass, both of them.”

“Mm,” Mihawk agreed. “Makes sense. Took after us.”

Zeff scoffed. “You think I’d raise a dumbass like yours? Hell no. Sanji’s got taste.”

Mihawk chuckled low. “Well, considering he chose Zoro, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

Zeff rubbed his temple. “God help me.”

There was a pause. Softer now.

“…You ever think this’d happen?” Mihawk asked. “You know. Family and Grandkids.”

Zeff went quiet for a second. “Didn’t think I’d live this long,” he said honestly. “Didn’t think I’d… have this.”

A beat.

“You still could,” Mihawk offered. “Get married. Hell, I’ll officiate.”

Zeff barked a laugh. “Right. I’d rather walk into the damn sea.”

“I’ll wear white,” Mihawk deadpanned.

“Hang up the phone.”

“I’ll bring wine to the wedding.”

“You’re uninvited.”

Mihawk laughed, deep and smooth. “I’ll see you there, chef. ”

Zeff rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he hung up.

Damn swordsmen. All of them.

Still… maybe not so bad.