Sora's smile faded as he addressed Zeff's serious warning. "Don't worry, Mr. Zeff. I've prepped for over a decade to set sail. I'm not reckless."
A terrifying aura flickered from him, his voice resolute. "I'm out here to claim the title of the strongest and witness the Grand Line's wonders!"
Ahua, Alo, and Ata nodded in sync. They might be along for the ride, but they'd soak in the adventure.
Kuina, seated to Sora's left, spoke with steely resolve. "And I'm here to become the greatest female swordsman, to keep pace with Sora!"
Zeff, feeling their unwavering wills, marveled at the power of dreams. Long ago, he'd chased the mythical All Blue with the same fervor. His thoughts drifted to Sanji, who shared that dream but stayed at Baratie for his sake.
As if summoned, Sanji appeared.
A black blur shot from the kitchen, zipping past Sora to kneel before Kuina. Clad in a black suit, his blond hair gleaming and curly brows distinctive, he clutched his chest with one hand, offering a red rose with the other. "Oh, sea!" he proclaimed. "Thank you for this fated meeting!"
Kuina, startled, watched his theatrics with a blank stare.
Sanji, undeterred by her icy demeanor, grew more fervent, clutching his face. "Oh, love! Mock my torment! For you, I'd become a pirate or devil—I'm ready!"
Sora and Ahua's trio gaped, lips twitching.
Sora was stunned by Sanji's sudden "pervert chef" display, his exaggerated words and gestures absurd. Ahua's group silently pitied him. He's doomed.
Sure enough, Kuina's skin crawled. She sprang up, delivering a sharp diagonal kick to Sanji's head.
Bang! Sanji's head snapped aside, his body rocketing to the floor.
Thud! His skull hit the ground hard.
Yet, sprawled out, he gazed up at Kuina, eyes sparkling with heart-shaped adoration. "Oh, goddess! Even your kicks are divine!"
Kuina, genuinely repulsed, darted behind Sora, hugging him and whining, "Sora, this guy's so gross!"
Sora's face darkened, glaring at Sanji. Talk about living up to his reputation—bold as hell.
"Hey! Who're you, getting cozy with my goddess?" Sanji, noticing Kuina on Sora's back, finally registered him. Seeing Sora's striking looks, alarm bells rang. He considered himself handsome, but Sora was on another level.
Wiping blood from his mouth, Sanji stood as if unfazed, locking eyes with Sora. "Well? Who are you?"
Sora replied coolly, "Her fiancé. Who do you think?"
No man would be thrilled with a lecher hitting on his fiancée, even if said lecher meant no harm—just pure lust. Sanji's first impression left Sora mildly irritated.
"Oh… fiancé?" Sanji's reaction lagged. Then, registering it, he gawked. "What'd you say?"
"I'm her fiancé. Clear enough?" Sora said, exasperated.
Sanji froze, his face ashen. Muttering, he lit a cigarette. "Oh, love. You arrive unannounced and vanish just as fast. Over before it began."
He exhaled, composed. Lustful, not sleazy, he wouldn't chase an engaged woman.
Then he noticed Zeff, glowering beside Sora. "Hey, old geezer! Why're you down here instead of resting?"
"My restaurant. I go where I want," Zeff snapped. "You, on the other hand, are rude to guests!"
Zeff strode over, raising his peg leg and slamming it onto Sanji's head.
Thwack! Wood met skull.
Crash! Sanji hit the floor again.
Rubbing his head, Sanji glared up, shouting, "Oi, geezer! I'm sous-chef here! Can't you save me some face?"
Zeff stared down, calm. "You pick fights with guests, fawn over women, and your cooking's mediocre…"
He paused, swallowing his next words. He'd considered sending Sanji with Sora's crew. Their dreams aligned, and he sensed their resolve. But Sora and Kuina's clear dislike—bordering on disgust—nixed the idea. Dreams mattered, but compatible comrades were crucial.
Sanji stood, brows furrowed, snapping, "Don't push it, geezer! Say what you want, but don't trash my cooking!"
"Oh?" Zeff's eyes glinted with disdain. "Then cook for these guests. Impress them, and I'll take it back."
Zeff hoped Sanji's skills might sway Sora's crew, easing their bias. Rare to find a group he respected.
"Wait and see!" Sanji roared at Sora's table, storming to the kitchen.
Zeff turned to Sora. "How's that, kid? Sanji's cooking. If you're not satisfied, it's free."
Sora raised a brow. "Old man, you're not hoping he'll join us, are you? My ship needs a doctor, not another chef. Maybe a musician—sea's dull."
Sora didn't hate Sanji, but he shone brightest with the Straw Hats. Sora hadn't even recruited Zoro, knowing he'd refuse. Zoro craved danger to grow; Sora's protection would stunt him.
Look at Ahua's trio—decent against East Blue grunts, but without Devil Fruits, they'd be dead weight in the Grand Line, where weakness didn't survive.
Kuina's vow and Sora's cheat-like training pushed her beyond swordsmen, nearing great swordsman status. Sanji, though? No room for him.
Not because his lechery annoyed us, Sora insisted. I'm not that petty.
If picking a Straw Hat, he'd choose Chopper: 100-beri bounty, billion-beri strength, doctor, pet, and emergency food. Perfect crewmate. But that was a pipe dream. Sora lacked Luffy's charisma to sway Sanji, and he knew it.
(End of Chapter)