Work Text:
.
.
.
.
.
He’s having his lunch in the middle of an unobtrusive hole-in-the-wall when someone walks in. Zeff, who’s on his own after having sent all his subordinates ahead with the supplies they’ve picked up for the Baratie, notices it first, alert as he is; but it wouldn’t have been difficult to notice, anyway, what with the hushed, fearful silence that falls over the restaurant the second the man walks through the door. There’s a snagged second where people don’t even dare move.
Unperturbed, Zeff dips his spoon into his bowl with a clink. The man who just entered moves, slowly and purposefully, as though demanding everybody’s attention be on him, until he stops right in the middle of the restaurant, in front of where Zeff is.
Zeff eyes him over his food. ‘To what do I owe this visit,’ Zeff says mildly, ‘Vinsmoke Judge?’
Across from him, the militant monarch of the Germa Kingdom takes a seat.
Zeff put his spoonful of food into his mouth, chews. The dish he’s ordered is a butter-rich panda shark stew, lightly spiced in a way that’s not too popular with the milder palates of the North Blue natives but tastes like home to the South Blue immigrant diaspora that has settled in the port city he’s currently in. Zeff concentrates on the taste—paprika, green chillies, dashed with what tastes like coarse ground pepper and fresh coriander—and makes a note to write these down later. The flavour profile of the stew is refreshing. He could use it as inspiration to make a new dish for the Baratie sometime.
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Hard not to. News of Big Mom travels pretty quickly.’
Judge’s eyes narrow. Next to him, there’s a flurry of pink as a woman—with hair as bright as her short skirt and long wing-like capes—settles delicately into a seat. Zeff’s eyes flick over her, assessing. If it comes down to it, Zeff isn’t sure he can take both of them in a fight, especially given that he makes it a point not to hit women. This could be bad.
The woman notices him noticing, and smiles.
Zeff scrapes up another bite. ‘Pretty sure you meeting me like this is breaking an oath,’ he says, as the noise in the restaurant around them resumes uneasily.
A low scoff. ‘I promised never to go near him or the East Blue. You’re in North Blue territory now.’
‘Hmm, is that so.’
‘One might even think,’ Judge continues, ‘that you came to this sea, and this particular island, on purpose.’
Vinsmoke Judge has one of those demeanours that looks condescending by default, Zeff reflects. The monarch has yet to crack a single expression during their conversation so far, but somehow the aura exuding from him is still cold and calculating, arrogant. His face could have been a stiff sheet of metal for all the movement it makes. And his eyes—like those of a predator. Sitting in front of Zeff is a man used to getting his way, who gets it via one way only, who has known very little of what it is like to not get what he wants.
What a small way of existing.
Zeff shrugs one shoulder. ‘I came here for a supply run for my restaurant. It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘You can do your supply runs anywhere else.’
‘This port city is famous for its summer fishing. I’m doing a special seasonal menu right now. Ingredients can’t be gotten anywhere else.’
‘You can always send someone else to do your menial work for you. Why go out of your way from another ocean?’
‘Any head chef worth their damn salt will think twice before leaving the picking of ingredients to someone else with no supervision. You don’t get anything done just ordering people about from high up.’
Judge’s mouth moves then. Curls into a snarl. ‘What are you trying to say?’
Zeff meets Judge’s eye. Sets his spoon down.
‘I’m talking about my restaurant,’ he says. ‘And like I’ve said—
‘It’s got nothing— ’ Zeff emphasises, ‘—to do with you.’
The atmosphere at their table has taken a plunge into outright hostility. Judge glares. Zeff glares right back. If Vinsmoke Judge thinks that he can intimidate Zeff into submission just by being a king and built like a three-metre tall tank, he’d better think again. Zeff’s a chef and pirate both—and both of these careers preach a way of living that supersedes status and rank, disregards authority. Food is food. Freedom is free. Zeff has seen more things out at sea than Vinsmoke Judge has ever seen in his life, he’s sure, and if nothing else Zeff at least knows that he understands what constitutes the important things in life better than Judge ever did. Or ever will, if the irreverent way he has yet to spare his own daughter even a glance since she’s sat down is anything to go by.
Judge reaches for something at his side, and Zeff tenses. Serendipitously, however, this is the exact moment in which a waiter chooses to appear—trembling at the knees and close to bolting, but appearing nonetheless—at their table.
‘C-could I get the lady and g-gentleman anything to s-start with?’
The glower Judge gives the waiter would have sent any normal man running. Unperturbed, however, Reiju hums and points at something on the menu she has opened.
‘I’ll have the fried pearl bass with the salad, thank you. No dressing.’
‘What s-sauce would you like for the bass, miss?’
Reiju frowns. ‘Hm. Oh, how about the seaweed mushroom one? That sounds delicious—’
‘You wouldn’t like that one, girl,’ Zeff interrupts. ‘This restaurant makes it with a heavy cheese base.’
He glances at the waiter. ‘Go ahead and give her the pearl-bass with the mustard-apricot garnish,’ he instructs. Turning back to the table, he adds, ‘it’ll add a bit of tang that undercuts the heaviness of the fry without skimping out on flavour. Try it.’
If Reiju is surprised by the action, she doesn’t show it. All she does is incline her head in acceptance, before looking at her father questioningly.
‘Shall I order for you as well?’
Vinsmoke Judge acquiesces with an impatient flick of his hand.
As their orders are placed and spare menus whisked away by the waiter (who looks as if he could not get away fast enough), Judge looks at Zeff with an assessing look in his eyes.
‘He’s told you about us.’ It’s not a question.
Zeff snorts. ‘Barely.’
‘Then how did you know what Reiju would like?’
‘He didn’t record dangerous personal secrets about your family for me to read, if that’s what you’re asking. He told me about the food you served in your castle. I just know how to read between the lines, that’s all.’
A look of derision crosses Judge’s face at the mention of food. ‘I see he’s still the same weakling as always.’
‘That’s quite a claim to make about the man who managed to fight with the Big Mom Pirates and survive,’ Zeff says flatly. The unlike you is implied, and Judge no doubt hears it—still a sore spot for the king then, Zeff thinks, watching the man flare his nostrils and his eyes fill with anger. It must be quite difficult, to live your whole life thinking you were almost god-like in your infallibility, only to be thoroughly beaten and almost killed by the same people who you thought you’ve been keeping wrapped around your finger the entire time. Adding salt on the wound would have to be being rescued by the crew of the very same boy whom you have denounced and derided as your failure your entire life.
Zeff hides a smirk with another bite of his stew. He’d always known that the Little Eggplant would make it far and renowned to the seas out there. It’s immensely satisfying, as always, to be proven right. Maybe one day the blond brat would know better than to doubt his wisdom. He’ll write as much in his next letter to the Sunny.
Vinsmoke Judge leans back and crosses his arm, still furious, still wounded. ‘Hmph. His captain did all the work.’
‘I’m sure the huge cake probably still sitting in Big Mom’s stomach says otherwise.’
‘He barely even fought,’ Judge sneers. ‘He might as well have done nothing.’
Zeff raises an eyebrow. ‘You know, there’s an old saying, back in East Blue,’ he says. ‘A man fooled once has a lesson to learn; a man fooled twice cannot be taught. It might do well to keep things like that in mind.’
Judge swells with indignant rage. ‘Are you calling me a fool?’
Zeff keeps his eyes on his stew. ‘Now that would be up to you, wouldn’t it?’
The tension between the two of them stretches thin as a wire. Their food arrives, then: a sizzlingly crispy bulbous fish, cut in half lengthwise and laid on a bed of greens with yellow sauce drizzled over the top, as well as a hunk of shark steak so huge it almost dwarfs the plate it is on. Thick rich gravy, dark as blood, coats the meat.
‘The two of you,’ Judge says, finally, ‘are the same. You’re the same.
‘I don’t understand it.’
‘Never needed your understanding.’
Judge frowns. ‘You choose to be weak. Why would you choose to be weak?’
‘There’s more than one type of strength.’
Judge chortles. It's an ugly, disdainful sound. ‘That’s what weak people say to comfort themselves when they’ve been beaten by the strong.’
Zeff, chewing on a lump of panda shark meat, says nothing. Reiju says nothing either, simply cuts into her fish with quick efficient precision. The outer skin splits open to reveal flaky white flesh underneath, faintly luminous like its namesake. Zeff watches out of the corner of his eye as Reiju cuts away a portion, spears it on her fork, and eats; the delight that flickers across her face is swiftly hidden, but real, and when Reiju looks up to catch his eye, Zeff can’t help but grin crookedly at her. It’s good, right? Told you.
Judge’s hand slams down in front of Zeff onto the table. Zeff doesn’t flinch.
‘Why did you decide to take in that failure of a brat?’ Judge demands.
Zeff growls. ‘Don’t call him that.’
‘What, a failure? But he is.’
‘No, a brat,’ Zeff corrects. ‘Only me and the people at my restaurant get to do that.’
The right to call Sanji a brat, Zeff thinks, is a luxury one gets to have only if you had witnessed the lanky beanpole go through the awkward stages of puberty. If you had yelled at him for giving free dessert to the women visiting the Baratie, if you had caught him staying up too late practicing how to make a certain menu dish, again. If you had nursed him through his fevers. If you had taught him how to properly use a knife, how to fight. If you had been around to watch him grow up.
Judge eases back into his seat. ‘So you agree he’s a failure.’
‘I don’t give a crap what you think I think.’
‘Do you think he’s a failure?’
‘No.’
‘Not even once?’
‘Never.’
There’s a heavy frown on Judge’s face, one that isn’t so much disbelief as it is incomprehension. An inability to believe. ‘He’s useless as a son.’
‘Now I don’t give a crap what you think.’
‘He’s fragile. He doesn’t know how to be a soldier. His heart is too soft. He doesn’t know how to be tough. He’s useless, in every possible way—’
The crack of sound when Zeff’s wooden leg slams against the table is loud enough that it temporarily silences the hubbub of the restaurant around them, even if only just for a moment. Zeff glowers at Judge, who meets his furious gaze challengingly. Reiju hums, her attention fixed on Zeff’s peg leg.
‘If you’re only here to spout a bunch of bullshit about the brat to me, then I should let you know that, as a former pirate, I don’t take kindly to people who insult one of my own,’ Zeff says quietly. Dangerously. ‘Unless you have anything of actual worth to say, get out. I don’t have the time to waste on the likes of you.’
Light glints off the edge of Judge’s armoured head-plate crown. ‘You don’t have the guts to fight me.’
‘No, I’m just not willing to sink down to your level. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t.’
Judge scoffs. ‘What hope do you have to beat me? I have my kingdom’s advanced technology at my disposal, and you have—’ Judge jerks his chin forward at Zeff’s leg, ‘a prosthetic.’
Zeff stays silent. Judge continues.
‘And what use is a fighting style that only makes use of one part of the body, and nothing else? Every part of the body is made for war. To deliberately choose not to use certain parts is foolish—’
Vinsmoke Judge cuts himself off then, because realisation has cracked itself as a spreading grin across Zeff’s features.
‘You’re afraid,’ Zeff says. Slowly, triumphantly, like he’s discovered a grand old secret, ‘you’re afraid of the little brat.’
Judge growls between teeth. ‘I am not.’
Zeff chortles. ‘Oh, but you are.’ Vindicated, he strokes his moustache. ‘What about him has got you like this? You said it yourself. You think he’s a failure. Why are you afraid of a failure?’
‘I am not afraid!’
‘Anger in response to the theory doesn’t sell your case too well, Vinsmoke Judge.’ Zeff leans forward. ‘You want to know what I think?’
The grinding of molars tells Zeff that the man opposite him couldn’t give less of a shit about his opinion. Thus, Zeff isn’t surprised when Judge stubbornly chooses to keep quiet. But then Reiju speaks up.
‘Oh, do tell,’ she says lightly, bringing up another forkful of fish up to her mouth. ‘The both of us would simply kill to know.’
What’s surprising is not that Reiju speaks at all, but rather that, underneath the veneer of mockery, Zeff can detect a hint of true curiosity to her words; somehow or another, she really does care to hear his thoughts about Sanji, hear what he has to say about the many failings he think the family sitting across from him has. Zeff squints briefly in Reiju’s direction, but the pink-haired woman doesn’t reveal anything beyond that, simply tips an enigmatic smile in his direction while never once letting her gaze travel to where her father is currently looking at her with what seems to be a hint of suspicion on his face. Hm. The girl’s crafty.
And because it’s a woman who’s asking, and because that woman is Reiju, Zeff decides to answer.
Zeff takes in a breath, blows it back out. His gaze flickers down to his own bowl of food—scraped clean, because of course it is—before darting over to Judge and Reiju’s, both still only half-eaten, then away.
‘I think,’ Zeff says, ‘that you’re unfit to be a parent, Vinsmoke Judge.’
True to expectations, Vinsmoke Judge flares up with rage; his hands clench around his silverware so tight that they snap in half and the ends fall to the floor with a clatter. ‘You dare to talk to the king of Germa this way—’
Zeff ignores him. ‘You’re unfit to be a parent,’ he repeats, over Judge’s infuriated words, ‘because you will always be a king, first and foremost.’
Judge stops then. Throws Zeff a considering look. Though it’s not as if you’re doing a good job being that either, if your latest alliance and past reputation is anything to go by, Zeff thinks but doesn’t say.
‘Go on.’
Apparently something in what Zeff says has hooked Judge in, but make no mistake; Judge thinks his words to be a compliment. But Zeff means them as an insult.
‘As a king, you’re used to weighing things as against or for you. You think of things only in how they could serve you, and how you can use it to your own advantage.’
‘Of course.’
‘But you’ve let that take over your life, Vinsmoke Judge of Germa country.’ Zeff raps his knuckles against the table. ‘You think in transactions, miss the big-picture—’
‘Hah!’ Judge barks out a laugh. ‘What could be more big-picture than a kingdom?’
And Zeff levels Judge with a look that could slice a man in half, while thinking: the sea. Freedom. Hunger and starvation, dying with nothing on the horizon. The look on the brat’s face when seeing a ship coming to rescue, when opening the restaurant, when perfecting a new recipe, when talking about All Blue. Gratitude. Loyalty so strong it nearly kills him. The weight of a dream, shared with and carried to the next generation. A dream. The ability to believe.
‘You miss the big-picture,’ Zeff says, steady, ‘and you can’t understand anything but yourself, and you see the world as only to be used. And that’s not what being a parent is about.’
A smirk promptly slashes across Zeff’s face, wide like the edge of a kitchen knife. ‘That’s why you’re afraid of Sanji. Because the fact that he may have bested where you failed means that there’s a chance that your entire life has been a lie. You’ve been ruthless, and arrogant, and self-serving, only to be weak anyway . Weaker than the brat you’ve denounced your whole life.’ Weaker than the imperfect child he hadn’t deigned to raise.
Zeff can only hope that the monarch in front of him will lose his crown, violently and without his consent, at some point in the distant future. Zeff doesn’t want this man to be given the satisfaction that comes with believing one has had a rich, full life, to be given the ability to pass on into his final years thinking that what he’s done has been the correct path, the only path. Zeff hopes to all hell that Vinsmoke Judge never gets to look at his life, his kingdom, his children, and think to himself: I was right all along. I am strong. I got and earned everything I have ever deserved. I was a good king, a good man, and a good father.
There’s a loud clatter as Judge rushes to his feet to haul Zeff up by his collar over the table. There’s a series of screams around the restaurant as patrons panic. Unperturbed, Zeff meets Judge’s eye. He’s incensed.
‘I could kill you where you stand,’ Judge says, voice low.
‘Why, to prove me right?’ Zeff says, fully grinning like a maniac now. There’s the rush of blood pounding in his ears, frenetic excitement, satisfaction, pride. ‘You’d only be breaking a certain oath, showing how dishonourable you really are. Besides, anger as a response never helps—’ and Zeff bites out the last bit as sarcastically as he can, ‘your majesty.’
With that, Zeff twists, uses Judge’s own body weight against him to wrench himself out of the other man’s grasp; braces one leg against the table and one against Judge’s chest to use both as a jumping point, kicking off and away.
He lands on his feet.
‘I want to make one thing very clear, Vinsmoke Judge,’ Zeff says, standing with his legs planted firmly onto the floor and his spine straight. Judge is looking at him with a mixture of fury and disbelief, rubbing his jaw where Zeff had deliberately clipped him with his prosthetic leg on the way out.
‘I despise you,’ Zeff says clearly. His arms are folded across his chest. ‘And if I so much as hear about you around the East Blue, I’ll be kicking your ass myself.’
‘With your strength?’ Judge jeers. ‘I barely felt that attack.’
Zeff shrugs. ‘I’m sure I’ll figure it out. The brat and I might even work together. He’s making his way through the New World, you know. By the time he’s back, he’s going to be strong.’ Stronger than you. He’s going to be much, much stronger than you.
Zeff meets Judge’s eye again. He’s always been stronger than you.
Judge snarls, humiliated. Without another word, he whirls around and blows out of the restaurant door, leaving behind a sea of gaping patrons in his wake.
‘I certainly see where Sanji got his behaviours from.’ Reiju, whom Zeff had all but forgotten was there, comments from where she’d materialised to stand next to him. ‘His proclivity for risk-taking, for one.’
Reiju issues him a sidelong glance. ‘But others, as well,’ she says, smiling.
‘Tch.’ Zeff puts his hands on his hips, surveying the damage. Their table had somehow miraculously survived the stand-off, though he can’t say the same to their cutlery, with his bowl swept aside and smashed to the floor. He’ll have to pay the restaurant owner back for that later. At least all the food had been scraped clean—though Zeff can’t say the same for the other plates at his table. There’s still a good half of the shark steak left. Zeff’s lips curl. Just another reason to dislike the other man.
A final bite of fish is left on Reiju’s plate. Reiju steps over and eats the last forkful, thus earning Zeff’s respect. He nods at her. ‘You’re a hell of a lot better than your father, girl.’
Reiju laughs. ‘Oh, thank you for saying that—even if I’m not so sure I agree. And don’t worry, I’ll pay for our share of the food, and for the damages. It’s only fair.’
‘Hm.’
‘I’ll pay for yours too, out of my own pocket, if you’d tell me what happened with that leg of yours.’
Zeff casts her a suspicious glance. ‘Why would you want to know?’
‘Just seems like an interesting story, that’s all.’
‘...The brat let loose something to you, didn’t he.’
Reiju touches a hand to her lips. ‘Oh, not exactly! I simply guessed. And besides,’ and here Reiju’s smile turns almost wistful, ‘I’d like to know at least a little about the man who brought up my little brother into the fine young man he’s become.’
Zeff looks at her, for a moment.
‘It’s not much of a story,’ Zeff says, finally, turning back to look at the table. Nearby, waiters are hustling to clear the damage. ‘Gave it up for the big picture. That’s all.’
Startled, Reiju whips her head around to stare at him. Zeff ignores her stoically. It’s not long before Reiju begins to laugh.
‘My father got one thing right, at least,’ she says, still laughing. ‘The both of you really are the same.’
If Zeff feels both proud and embarrassed by his pride at this comparison, he refuses to show it.
Eventually, Reiju’s laughter tapers off. ‘I hope he’s doing alright, wherever he is,’ she says softly.
‘He mentions you sometimes,’ Zeff tells her. ‘Out of your entire family, you and your mother are the only one he ever calls by name.’
‘Oh, that boy.’ Reiju hums. ‘He really is too kind for his own good.’
‘Honestly. He only ever gets people worried.’
‘Why, because he’s on the crew of Luffy, the self-proclaimed Pirate King?’ Reiju teases. ‘When kings can only ever think of themselves?’
‘Not really.’ Zeff smirks. ‘Since Luffy’s a better man than your father will ever be.’
Reiju huffs, an amused little sound. ‘That’s true enough,’ she says. She tucks a hair behind her ear, smiles at him again. ‘Thank you for the seafood recommendation, Zeff—it was delicious.’
.
.
.
Hey shitty geezer,
Patty tells me you’re going to WHERE for your next supply run? And WHEN? It’s really like you’re just asking for trouble. What did I go through all that crap with Big Mom for if you’re going to go waltzing straight into enemy territory anyway? I told you where they were and when so you could AVOID them for your trips, you
Ugh. I already knew the second I set my pen to paper that trying to convince you otherwise is going to be a lost cause anyway. Just…take some extra people with you, or something. Or don’t find yourself in isolated places. If Reiju’s there, you could possibly rely on her for at least some support if the other bastards get violent. God, I already worry enough, what with this crazy crew and my crazier captain, I don’t need this too, you crappy old man! Would you just take care of yourse
Anyway, yeah, I’ve been fine. Or at least as fine as Straw-Hats can be. But we’re all together again, so that’s good. (And I know. I was an idiot about leaving, you don’t have to tell me.) We got ourselves a tenth crew member too, a helmsman. Name’s Jinbe. You’ve probably heard of him. Luffy is incapable of not-attracting the most insane people to his crew, it seems. He’s great. He’s been telling me a lot about fishman cuisine, and it’s pretty interesting. Did you know they extract the salt they use from the seawater around them? I’ve attached a page of notes detailing the process for you to try out. The salt flakes it produces are nice and big—great for desserts.
Send my regards to the rest of the Baratie. Tell them I can’t wait to find All Blue and rub their little freak noses in it for every time they doubted us about its realness, hah. I’m gonna find that ocean, geezer, I swear it. For both of For both of us.
FUCK, that was embarrassing to write. Okay. Stay healthy, or whatever.
- Sanji
.
.
.
.
.