Nine years ago. The East Blue.
The luxury cruise liner Orbit sliced through the calm waters, a floating palace of wealth and excess. On its sun-drenched decks, rich merchants and nobles laughed and drank, utterly oblivious to the dark shadow that was rapidly approaching on the horizon.
It was the ship of the Cook Pirates, a vessel known not for a terrifying figurehead, but for the delicious smells that often wafted from its galley, a deceptive prelude to the carnage that would follow. At its helm stood its captain, a fearsome pirate with a long, braided blonde mustache and legs as strong as steel cannons: "Red-Leg" Zeff. Fresh from a perilous journey into the Grand Line, his crew was hungry, ruthless, and efficient.
The two captains met. The captain of the Orbit, a man soft from a life of luxury, asked their demands. Zeff didn't bother with words. He simply commanded his men, "Take everything of value."
The raid was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. The Cook Pirates swarmed the decks, their movements practiced and precise. After pillaging the ship's safes and the passengers' cabins, they brought their spoils back to the main deck, ready to transfer the heavy sacks of gold and jewels to their own ship.
Zeff stood overseeing the operation, his single eye missing nothing. He noticed one of his underlings nervously setting down a particularly large sack of provisions. Something was amiss.
"Stop," Zeff's voice was a low growl that cut through the celebratory noise.
The pirate froze, a look of pure terror on his face. He knew he'd been caught.
"You've been with me a long time," Zeff said, walking slowly towards him. "You know the rules."
"I-I was just hungry, Captain! Just a little something for myself…" the man stammered, making excuses.
Zeff's leg shot out in a blur. The kick was a megaton of force, slamming into the pirate's chest and sending him flying across the entire length of the deck, crashing into the far railing.
Zeff looked at the rest of his silent, terrified crew. "You never," he said, his voice cold as the deep sea, "touch another man's food. That is the law of the kitchen, and it is the law of the sea."
It was at that moment that a small, defiant figure emerged from the galley doors. It was young Sanji, his face a mask of furious indignation, two gleaming cooking knives held in his small hands.
"This is a sacred place!" he yelled, his voice a childish squeak trying to be a roar. "Get your filthy pirate hands off our food!"
The Cook Pirates stared at him for a moment, and then burst into raucous, derisive laughter.
Sanji, enraged by their mockery, charged. He was easily beaten, his knives kicked from his hands, his small body sent tumbling to the deck. But he did not surrender. He got up again and again, his body bruised but his spirit unbroken.
"I can't die here!" he screamed, tears of frustration in his eyes. "Not until I've found it! Not until I find the All Blue!"
Upon hearing this, the pirates laughed even harder. "The All Blue? Hahaha! That fairy tale?"
But Zeff, who had been watching, had a pensive, unreadable look on his face. He saw not a foolish child, but a fellow dreamer, a cook with a conviction as vast as the ocean itself.
Their world was then consumed by darkness.
The sky, which had been clear moments before, was now a roiling cauldron of black clouds. The wind shrieked like a banshee, and the calm sea rose up in monstrous, angry waves. A storm of unimaginable ferocity had descended upon them.
"Back to the ship! Now!" Zeff roared.
But it was too late. A colossal wave, a liquid mountain, crashed over the deck of the Orbit. Sanji, small and light, was swept away, his scream lost in the roar of the tempest as he was thrown overboard into the churning, black abyss.
Zeff saw it. His pirate instincts screamed at him to save his crew, to save his ship. But his cook's soul, stirred by the boy's impossible dream, made a different choice.
With a furious roar, he delivered a powerful kick that snapped a splintered mast clean off its base. He grabbed the massive piece of wood and, against his better judgment, leaped into the raging sea to save the foolish boy.
An even bigger wave, a true titan of the ocean, rose up behind them. It crashed down with the force of a thousand cannons, smashing both ships to pieces. All was chaos, a maelstrom of splintered wood, torn sails, and screaming men.
After what felt like an eternity, Sanji awoke. The first sensation was the rough, scraping texture of rock against his cheek. The second was the blinding glare of the sun. He sat up, his body aching, and looked around.
He was on a single, tall, barren rock, an island no bigger than a large house, jutting out of an endless, empty ocean. He saw Zeff sitting a short distance away, his expression grim. They were the only two survivors.
"What… what happened?" Sanji asked, his voice a dry croak.
"The storm was two days ago," Zeff said bluntly. "We washed up here. Everyone else is gone. The ships are gone. There is nothing."
Sanji's survival instinct kicked in. He scrambled to his feet, ready to fight the pirate captain. But a swift, weak kick from Zeff sent him sprawling again. Zeff was exhausted, but he was still the stronger of the two.
"We have no choice but to wait for rescue," Zeff said, his voice devoid of hope. "Which is unlikely. We are far from any shipping lanes."
He then gestured to two sacks that had washed up with them. One was small, barely the size of Sanji's head. The other was enormous, bulging and heavy. Zeff tossed the small sack to Sanji.
"That's yours."
"What?!" Sanji cried, looking at the huge sack Zeff kept for himself. "That's not fair! Why is yours so much bigger?!"
"Because I'm bigger than you," Zeff said, his logic brutal and simple. "I need more food to survive." He looked at Sanji, his single eye cold and hard. "If you don't like it, you can try to take mine. Or, when the food runs out, we face the other, more horrible possibility."
Sanji fell silent, the unspoken threat of cannibalism hanging heavy in the air.
"You stay on that side of the rock," Zeff commanded, pointing. "I will stay on this side. It increases our chances of spotting a ship. Do not come over here."
Days passed. Or maybe it was weeks. Time lost all meaning, measured only by the rising and setting of the relentless sun.
Alone on his side of the rock, Sanji fought a war within himself. The hunger was a living creature, a monster that gnawed at his insides, screaming at him to devour the few crackers and pieces of dried meat in his sack.
But the voice of the chef he had scorned on the Orbit echoed in his mind. A sea-faring cook must take advantage of every resource. He began to ration his food meticulously, allowing himself only a tiny nibble each day, making it last, determined to survive, determined to one day find his dream.
On the other side of the rock, Zeff sat, staring out at the ocean, his face gaunt, his body withered. He looked down at his own right leg. The leg that had shattered bedrock. The leg that had been dyed in the blood of his enemies. The leg that had made him a legend.
He then looked at the huge, bulging sack beside him. It was still unopened.
With a great, agonizing effort, he pushed himself up. He found a large, sharp-edged boulder. He lifted it high above his head, his wasted muscles screaming in protest.
He clenched a piece of driftwood between his teeth, his eyes filled with a terrifying, resolute fire.
"This," he said through the wood, the words a guttural prayer to the empty sky, "is the end… of 'Red-Leg' Zeff."
And he brought the rock crashing down on his own leg, severing it just below the knee in a single, horrifying, selfless act.