Chapter 35 Sanji's ResolveZeff choked for a moment, his graying eyebrows twitching, but ultimately he didn't refute.
He walked to the window, gazing at the dark sea outside, in the direction where the Going Merry had long since disappeared.
"What Straw Hat said doesn't do it justice. What do you think?"
Sanji took a deep drag on his cigarette, letting the pungent smoke fill his chest:
"It's harsh, but he's right about some things. We are indeed hesitant and afraid.
Afraid of losing this home we've worked so hard to build, afraid of having to face the bloodshed of the past if we pick up our swords again, afraid of admitting that deep down we're still pirates…
But he also reminded me that my battlefield is the kitchen, my swords are a kitchen knife and my legs, my dream is ALL BLUE, not to stay in Baratie as a cook for the rest of my life, or like you, old man, only remembering who I am when my juniors point fingers at me and berate me."
Zeff turned around, his legs slamming heavily on the floor.
He stared at Sanji, his gaze sharp as an eagle's: "So?"
Sanji stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, walked to Zeff, and bowed deeply:
"Old man, thank you for saving me, for raising me and teaching me everything. But Baratie is your dream, my dream is somewhere far away.
I want to see the world that Mihawk and Luffy have seen, I want to find All Blue, I want to make dishes that will amaze the whole world! Including dishes that will impress even an old bastard like you!"
Sanji's voice wasn't loud, but every word was resounding, echoing in the silent medical room.
Zeff looked at him, at the boy he had raised since childhood.
After a long while, the wrinkles on his face smoothed out, revealing a rare smile.
Zeff pulled a roll of old parchment carefully wrapped in oilcloth from his pocket and tossed it to Sanji:
"You've finally said something sensible. Take this!"
"This is what I got when I was young, wandering the Grand Line. I traded it for from a dying old pirate. It has some crazy ramblings and markings about ALL BLUE on it. I don't know if they're true or not, but it's better than you running around like a headless fly."
Sanji caught it. The edges of the parchment were worn and frayed. He carefully opened a corner and saw a strange sea chart drawn with faded ink. His heart skipped a beat.
Zeff turned his back to him, his voice returning to its usual husky tone: "Get lost. Don't die out there and embarrass me.
I'll keep the gates of Baratie open for you. If you don't make a name for yourself, come back and continue working as my henchman!"
Sanji gripped the parchment tightly, his eyes welling up.
He bowed deeply again, then straightened his back and carefully tucked the parchment into his pocket.
Zeff seemed to remember something and added, "Think about spinning and soft power. Kick techniques are also a chef's skill; don't neglect them."
Sanji paused for a moment, then nodded. "I'll remember."
Just then, Gin, sitting on the counter, let out a low groan and slowly opened his eyes.
His gaze was initially unfocused, but quickly sharpened. He saw Sanji and Zeff's backs and felt the carefully treated wounds on his body.
He struggled to sit up.
Sanji walked to Gin's side and handed him a glass of warm water. "You're badly injured. Blood loss, dehydration, and hunger—lie down if you don't want to die."
Gin didn't take the water, looking at his chef's uniform and the surroundings of Baratie.
Akin recognized the place and understood his predicament.
"Why...why did you save me?" Akin's voice was hoarse and dry.
Sanji shoved a water glass into his hand, then turned to gather medical supplies. "If they're hungry, you feed them; if they're injured, you treat them. That's a chef's rule. There's no why."
Akin held the warm water glass, his fingertips trembling slightly.
He looked down at the clear water in the glass, then at his neatly stitched wounds, remaining silent for a long time.
Then, he abruptly threw off the thin blanket covering him, ignoring the excruciating pain from aggravating his wounds, and with difficulty, climbed off the counter, knelt on one knee, and performed the most solemn bow towards Sanji's retreating figure.
"Gin, you saved my life! From now on, this life is yours!"
Sanji paused in his packing, not turning around. "I don't need your life. Your life is your own. Don't use people like Krieg as tools anymore."
Gin's body stiffened, his forehead pressed against the cold floor. He didn't get up, nor did he speak.
The image of Krieg abandoning his men, attempting to use poison gas to kill them all, flashed through his mind.
Sanji ignored him and said to Zeff, "Old man, I'm going out for some fresh air."
He left the medical room and went to the empty deck.
The sky was just before dawn, the sea breeze biting.
Sanji lit a new cigarette, looking at the faint glimmer of light on the eastern horizon, then towards the Grand Line.
His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the old parchment scroll in his pocket.
A new path lay ahead.
...
The morning light pierced through the clouds, gilding Baratie with gold, but it couldn't dispel the heavy atmosphere hanging over the restaurant.
The chefs silently continued their repairs, their conversations hushed, as if afraid to disturb something.
The storeroom door remained tightly shut.
Inside, Zoro slowly opened his eyes, his green pupils reflecting the chaos of the night.
He shifted his body; a tingling sensation spread beneath the bandages wrapped around his chest and abdomen, and the bruises on his arms and shoulders had mostly subsided.
Zoro unwrapped the bandages, revealing a pinkish wound with newly sprouted flesh at the edges.
He clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking softly as power rapidly returned.
But it wasn't enough! Far from enough!
In his mind, the emerald green lines of Hawkeye's casually slicing through a ship, and the sparks bursting from Luffy's black Armament Haki as his arms crossed to meet a thrust, flashed alternately.
The gap was so clear it was despairing, yet so clear it pointed to the only path.
Zoro stood up, stretching his neck and limbs, his bones cracking and popping.
Without notifying anyone, Zoro picked up his three swords, pushed open the storeroom door, and headed straight for the dock.
Several cooks cleaning nearby saw him, opened their mouths, but swallowed their words under his sharp gaze.
Zoro untied a small sampan used for shopping, jumped on, and rowed with both oars. The small boat shot like an arrow towards a deserted island shrouded in morning mist in the distance of Baratie.
He didn't look back.
The island was small, rugged with jagged rocks, only sparsely covered with salt-tolerant plants along the edges.
Waves crashed against the black reefs, producing a hollow, booming sound.
Zoro dragged the small boat onto a sheltered rocky beach, looking up at several huge, dark rocks in the center of the island.
This was it.
Facing the largest boulder, Zoro assumed a basic, straight stance.
He breathed, adjusting his breathing.
He tried to channel the oppressive feeling from the two figures in his mind, the pulsating power within him, into a single, ordinary swing of his sword.
Slash!
The blade flashed, leaving a shallow white mark on the boulder's surface, sending pebbles tumbling down.
Not enough! Too slow! Too scattered!
Hawkeye's thrust was the ultimate concentration!
Luffy's defense was an instinctive reaction honed through countless trials!
His own sword was far from sufficient.
"Breathing..." Zoro remembered Luffy's last words. He stopped his hasty swing and closed his eyes to regulate his breathing.
He tried to sense the blood flowing through his veins, the contraction and relaxation of his muscle fibers, and... the Conqueror's Haki deep within his consciousness.