They took him underground.
A place carved from old stone.
Quiet.
Heavy.
The air felt… thick.
Ivankov stopped in front of a massive door.
"Beyond this," Ivankov said, "is a machine."
Sanji frowned. "…What kind of machine?"
"A mirror that does not lie."
The door opened.
Inside was not a machine.
It was a room.
And in the center—
A man.
Chained.
Tall.
Broad.
White hair.
Blank eyes.
A failed Germa soldier.
A body like iron.
A mind like fog.
"He does not feel fear," Ivankov said. "Does not feel doubt. Does not feel mercy. He obeys."
Sanji's stomach tightened.
"…He's like them."
"Yes. And so are you."
Sanji's eye twitched.
"…No."
Ivankov did not argue.
"Fight him."
The battle was short.
And brutal.
Sanji's kicks did nothing.
The man did not dodge.
Did not flinch.
Did not slow.
He walked through flame.
Through impact.
Through pain.
And every hit he landed felt like steel.
Sanji was thrown into the wall.
Again.
Again.
Again.
His body screamed.
But worse—
His mind did.
"…This is what I become…?"
He tried to feel.
Tried to sense.
And for the first time—
He felt nothing from his opponent.
No intent.
No fear.
No pressure.
Like fighting a corpse.
"…I can't read him…"
Ivankov's voice echoed.
"That is what happens when will is removed."
Sanji wiped blood from his mouth.
"…Then what's the point of strength like that?"
He stood.
Closed his eyes.
And reached outward.
Not with sight.
Not with sound.
With self.
He felt the room.
The walls.
The air.
Ivankov.
And—
Himself.
His heart.
Beating.
Refusing.
His opponent moved.
Sanji felt it.
Not as motion.
As distortion.
He stepped.
The blow missed.
For the first time.
The soldier paused.
Sanji's eyes widened.
"…I felt you."
The man attacked again.
And again.
Sanji still lost.
But now—
He was not blind.
When it ended, Sanji lay on the floor, breathing hard.
Ivankov looked down at him.
"You felt him."
"…Yeah."
"That is the beginning of Kenbunshoku."
They finally named it.
They left him alone in the room.
With the chained soldier.
And a mirror.
Hours passed.
Sanji stared at his reflection.
Then at the soldier.
"…If I accept their power… I might become that."
No fear.
No doubt.
No heart.
He clenched his fists.
"…If I reject it completely… I might die before I can protect anyone."
Silence.
The mirror did not answer.
So he did.
"…Zeff didn't choose his blood. But he chose what to do with it."
Sanji looked at his own hands.
"…I didn't choose mine either."
He closed his eyes.
"…But I choose my will."
When Ivankov returned, Sanji was standing.
Eyes clear.
Spine straight.
"…I'll use this body," Sanji said. "All of it."
Ivankov waited.
"But I won't become their weapon."
Ivankov smiled.
"…Explain."
"I'll take the durability. The endurance. Whatever they built into me." Sanji's voice was steady. "But my mind, my heart, my purpose—that's mine."
He placed a hand on his chest.
"…And I'll sharpen my will until no bloodline can control it."
Ivankov's eyes gleamed.
"And how will you do that?"
Sanji closed his eyes.
And felt the world.
"…With Haki."
Ivankov laughed.
"Good."
He turned.
"Then tomorrow, we stop training your body."
Sanji blinked.
"…What?"
Ivankov looked back.
"We train you."