Chapter Text
Zoro scowls, toying with the sleeve of his fancy outfit. The fabric catches on the rough pads of his fingertips, already threatening to tear. He wants nothing more than to burn it and the rest of this damn castle down to the ground.
He can’t believe he agreed to marry some prince.
It didn’t take much for Mihawk to convince him. All he had to say was that this would be a good opportunity to practice his Observation Haki, and, admittedly, Zoro had agreed easily. The dull ache of pain he still had from losing his eye was enough of a reminder: he needs to train harder, and he’ll take any chance he can get.
He just doesn’t see how this is training.
Is this punishment? It has to be punishment. He can’t keep up with Mihawk’s training, and now he’s being married off. Even if it’s not permanent, it’s cruel and unusual behavior. Zoro should have expected it. Mihawk’s always been strict and extremely peculiar, so his punishment should be the same.
“Stop scowling, you’re going to scare off your fiance like that,” Perona chides, pulling Zoro out of his sulking. “I put so much effort into making you look good for this, too. It’s going to waste.”
Perona’s efforts were all concentrated on forcing Zoro to wear the most constricting outfit possible. There’s too many buttons and clasps and ruffles to move properly. He tries to unbutton at least the top two clasps around his neck for breathing room.
“Does it matter? Isn’t the plan to waste their–” Zoro yelps as Perona digs her bright red boot into his toe. “H-hey! What the hell was that for?!”
“Have some discretion,” she hisses, then hovers off next to Mihawk. “This isn’t going to work if you give us away by sulking.”
“I’m not sulking!”
“Oh, poor little Zoro, forced to marry a prince,” Perona holds a hand to her forehead and pretends to faint. “He’s never suffered so greatly in his entire life.”
He’s only marrying the prince because someone was scared silly of the so-called emotionless princes of Germa. Oh no, my ghost powers don’t work on them! I’ll be completely defenseless! It’s not like she needed to fight this stupid prince.
“Maybe one of us should suffer more–”
“Stop it, both of you,” Mihawk interrupts. Of the three of them, he looks the least out of place in this miserable castle. “We’ll be at the throne room soon, so be on your best behavior.”
Perona rights herself, rolls her eyes at Zoro one final time, and turns her back to him.
Pity. Zoro didn’t mind the distraction.
Now, though, all he can do is glare at the castle walls like they’ve wronged him personally. The deeper Zoro heads into Germa castle, the less impressed he is. It’s not like he started on a good foot– he would’ve hated the place even if it was made of swords and sake- but everyone in this castle makes his hairs stick on end.
The tall, external walls should shield the castle from the cold, but somehow inside feels as chilly as the cold winds of the North Blue. What’s the point of a castle if it’s still cold on the inside?
It doesn’t bother anyone else. The Germa guards are eerie and don’t mind the cold at all. They all look the damn same, with the same mannerisms and the same ridiculous outfit, and it sends a chill up Zoro’s spine.
They finally reach a large, intimidating door, and the guards open it with grand theatrics. The large doors creak open, revealing the throne room, ornamented in such an obnoxious fashion Zoro has to stop himself from scoffing. Banners hang from the ceiling of the throne room, all lining up and guiding the eye to the main event, a giant, over the top throne.
Vinsmoke Judge towers over them in his gaudy chair, forcing all attention on him. Judge is just how Mihawk described him; purposefully intimidating with so much bravado he has to be compensating for something. He peers down from his obnoxious throne at his guests as if they’re nothing more than ants.
Zoro doesn’t feel much like an ant. Well, he doesn’t feel like an ant compared to some worthless king.
The Germa throne room is purposefully designed to intimidate, though the effect is lost on Zoro. He knows more about Judge than Judge knows about him at this point, and he’s not going to waste that advantage.
One of the Germa soldiers pulls out a chair for him, motioning for him to sit down. He doesn’t want to sit, but at Mihawk’s subtle click of disapproval, he sinks into the chair. It brings him even closer to the ground, and he has to crane his neck to look up at Judge.
Neither Mihawk nor Perona seem to mind Judge looking down on them, both of them sitting without any complaint, but it makes Zoro fume. He has to keep it together, though, because he’s here to play Mihawk’s stupid game. He’ll have plenty of time to act on his annoyance later when they have Judge cornered.
For now, he scans the rest of the throne room. Most of the guards are the same way-too-similar looking men in odd uniforms as before, but there’s two additional people up by the throne– one woman and one man, both with obnoxiously bright hair and weird, curled eyebrows. He bets these must be some of Judge’s children, maybe even the one he’s going to marry.
While the red-haired man doesn’t appear to be bothered by their arrival in the slightest, the pink-haired woman is critical and obvious about it. She meets his eyes, assessing him, before scanning the rest of the table. Her lips purse staring at Perona, sizing her up more than the rest of them.
Before Zoro can figure out what that means, Judge finally speaks.
“Warlord of the Sea, Dracule Mihawk,” he says, his voice echoing in the room. Was the room specifically designed to make his voice louder? “Welcome to the Kingdom of Germa.”
It doesn’t feel much like a kingdom. It feels like several prison cells built onto snails, of all things.
“This is Crown Prince Ichiji and Princess Reiju,” Judge introduces. The red-haired man and pink-haired woman sitting next to the throne nod.
That confirms it: those are his children. So he’ll have to marry one of them? Neither of them seem all too interested in him. Ichiji’s eyes are shadowed by glasses, and Reiju doesn’t look impressed with him at all.
The anticipation must be too apparent on his face. Judge’s lip curls in apparent dissatisfaction. “Unfortunately, not all my children could attend. Sanji– the son who’ll be marrying into your family– was unfit to meet this afternoon.”
The prince he’s supposed to marry isn’t even here? It doesn’t appear to bother Judge, or Ichiji, but Reiju’s face is set in a grim frown.
Mihawk catches his attention with a slight scoff. His sharp gaze falters for one moment, eyes darting to Zoro before back to Judge. He’s expecting something from him, and bitterly, Zoro doesn’t think he’ll meet his expectations.
He already has to act as a groom-to-be, and now he has to deal with this? What the hell is he expecting? That he’d be able to use Observation Haki to pick up on Vinsmoke Judge’s lies? He doesn’t need Haki to see a threat in front of him. Judge is an imposing man, taller than anyone in the room even when he’s not sitting on an audacious throne.
Besides, the scar across his eye should be enough proof Zoro’s not a damn Haki expert. Yet.
“How unfortunate he couldn’t be here,” Mihawk says, though by his frown that’s clearly an understatement. Hah, he’s pissed, but none of the Vinsmokes pick up on the minute difference in expression. “But no matter. This is Perona, my daughter, and Zoro, my son.”
Zoro nods like he’s been told to, but he doesn’t bow his head further. He’s already forced to peer up at the throne; he’s not going to grovel for Judge, too. Judge still waits for him to do something else, but Zoro only raises his eyebrows at the pause.
“It’s a pleasure,” Judge says through gritted teeth. He leans forward in his throne, motioning to the table in front of them. There’s a thick stack of papers in the middle. “Now, I’m sure you’re eager to talk through the details of this partnership. Princess Reiju has so kindly written out the terms of our agreement, I trust you to review her work.”
Mihawk flicks through the papers. “Of course,” he says, and starts reading through the damn tome of a document, page by page at an agonizingly slow pace.
All the details are unimportant after that. Zoro leans back in his chair with his arms across his chest, trying to ignore how the fabric of his too-fancy dress shirt tickles his neck. None of this will matter in a month; why does Mihawk have to pretend otherwise?
The room is silent as Mihawk pages through the documents, occasionally asking Judge some inane questions about their deal. Judge answers, but with each question he grows noticeably more nervous. When Mihawk is finally done, he sets the papers down in the middle of the table and waits.
Mihawk doesn’t move. He folds his two hands in front of him, staring up at Judge without another comment. Judge thrums his fingers on his chair armrest, the nervous tap-tap-tap echoing in the room.
“...well?” Judge folds, too weak willed to handle a stare down. “Are the terms agreeable to you, Dracule Mihawk?”
If the full name is supposed to intimidate Mihawk, it doesn’t work. Mihawk sighs, put off like Perona gave him the wrong wine, and not like a king tried to press him to agree with him.
“I was expecting more from you, Vinsmoke Judge,” he says. He waits just long enough for the words to get under Judge’s skin before continuing, “Unfortunately, we’ll need to make some changes before we can move forward.”
“I– I assure you, this marriage proposal is ideal for both of us. It’s the perfect arrangement.” When Mihawk doesn’t budge, Judge continues, “But what do you find lacking?”
“You’ve skimmed over most of the important details, and your timeline is less than ideal. There’s not enough time for a proper courtship, after all.”
The comment hangs in the air, none of the Vinsmokes knowing what to do with it.
“Courtship?” Judge parrots. “You want a proper courtship?”
Zoro is careful to watch the reactions of each Vinsmokes at the comment. The red-haired one sneers, derision clear on his face. By contrast, the pink-haired woman’s one visible, curly eyebrow raises, but her face is otherwise unreadable.
“Yes, courtship. If this is going to be an agreeable partnership, I anticipated a longer adjustment period for both parties involved,” Mihawk explains like it’s the simplest conclusion in the world. “Doing otherwise would destabilize the potential marriage, and make this unideal for a long-term commitment.”
“Nonsense,” Judge scoffs. “There’s no need for something as frivolous as a courtship. We don’t have time for that.”
Mihawk dismisses him with a wave of the hand, and Judge’s jaw tightens. “Frivolous? Courtship is anything but frivolous. I’m not looking for short-term exchange. You aren’t, either, given the marriage was your idea. Your timelines are simply too aggressive. We need at least a month to ensure the pair is a good match.”
And once the month is over, the details won’t matter anymore. That’s their bid. That’s all Mihawk wants from this engagement– Germa’s time. Judge’s jaw clenches, and Zoro thinks he can see the sweat on his brow even from his lowly seat beneath Judge’s throne.
He’s going to crack. It’s not even going to take that long.
“The son you’re offering up for marriage isn’t even here,” Mihawk continues relentlessly. “I’d expect him to at least be present for negotiations.”
“Prince Sanji will be more than agreeable to this partnership,” Judge sputters. “He’s been very, very eager about the prospect of marriage. I can assure you personally he won’t have any concerns.”
That comment finally irks a strong reaction out of the princess. Her previous deadpan expression pinches into something akin to concern, and even though she quickly schools it, Zoro still saw it. She’s not happy with her father.
Zoro will have to put a pin in that for later.
“And yet he’s not here,” Mihawk sighs. “A pity. We could’ve started with the courtship planning earlier if he was present. We’ll just have to begin proper negotiations tomorrow.”
Oh, he has the whole Vinsmoke family incessant now. Ichiji sneers, finally unable to keep himself from commenting. “We’re going to postpone this? All because that failure–”
“--we didn’t believe Prince Sanji was needed for initial negotiations, but I understand your concern about his absence,” Reiju interrupts. The unpleasant distaste is back on her face, as is the concern. She steps back slightly, just enough so her father and brother can’t see her expression fully. “We can schedule a… a date for the pair tomorrow morning. We can accommodate that much, right?”
At least one person has brains here. “Fine,” Judge concedes. He stares down at the table, at Perona, and Zoro wants nothing more than to cut him where he stands. “We’ll set up a time for Prince Sanji and your daughter–”
“My daughter?” Mihawk questions. “Perona is not marrying into your family.”
Judge gapes at him, but doesn’t produce any words. He scans the table, looking past Zoro like he’s not even a consideration.
“That’s what you said in your initial letters,” Reiju asks, voice clipped. “Is that not the plan?”
It was the plan until Perona got cold feet. But to his credit, Mihawk doesn’t even appear surprised at the question. He brushes it off like the Vinsmokes were the ones to make a mistake.
“No, Vinsmoke Sanji will be marrying my son, Roronoa Zoro.”
The entire table snaps their attention towards him, and Zoro feels the heavy weight of a threat in the air. Finally, something to look forward to; he has a target on his back. He can feel the hairs on his arms raise as he senses their attention and ire. Oh, they’re only in marriage negotiations, but Zoro can sense the potential struggle of a fight.
Maybe this will be a good opportunity to practice his Observation Haki after all.
“Your son? Why do you want to marry him off? Isn’t he your protege?” Judge questions, his tone sharp. His eyes never leave Zoro, even as he addresses Mihawk.
“Isn’t the point of this agreement to put our best foot forward as a united front?”
“O-of course, but…”
And they all look at Zoro.
With all attention on him, Zoro leans back into his chair and slams his feet on the table in front of him. Sludge from the bottom of his boot dirties the shiny table surface, and Zoro makes an effort to kick more off. The table rattles, and Perona isn’t able to stop herself from an annoyed huff.
“You’re such an animal,” she hisses under her breath.
That’s the point, isn’t it? He’s supposed to be as unappealing as possible. He’s supposed to make them take a long time in negotiations.
He’s supposed to stall long enough to lead Germa into a trap.
“...as you can tell, there will need to be an adjustment period to make sure the pair is compatible,” Mihawk continues. “Please let us know what time tomorrow works.”
He stands up, pushing his own chair under the conference table. The loud grind of the chairlegs echoes in the throne room. Zoro shoves himself up and out of his own chair, but he doesn’t bother pushing it under the table. Perona rolls her eyes at him, but her irritation is nothing compared to the livid glares of each and every Vinsmoke.
“And make sure Prince Sanji is there next time. I’m sure you don’t want to drag this out any more than you already have.”
Zoro grins up at Judge, feeling the shift in tension in his favor. He still doesn’t want to do this, but, well. At least irritating them all will be fun.
With the Vinsmokes caught off guard and scrambling, the guards quickly usher the three of them out into the hallway and back to their rooms.
Zoro’s job is done for the day; he made a bad impression on Judge and his children. If this is all he has to do to stall for time, he’ll have no problem with this stupid plan.
The King of Germa, Vinsmoke Judge, wants to recruit Mihawk to defeat the unconquerable Saumure Islands in the North Blue. Vinsmoke Judge has never conquered it, apparently due to the Rosesalt sea surrounding the island impeding his ships. He expects that because of Germa’s promise to share their futuristic technology, Mihawk will do the hard work for him.
And for some stupid reason, Mihawk agreed.
Hard work for other people isn’t Mihawk’s typical move; he puts just enough effort into his Warlord gig so the Marines don’t fire him. But he’s not planning on actually working for Judge. He’s using this as a chance to ditch the Warlords and work with someone else instead. All he has to do is lure Vinsmoke Judge into a trap.
And this sham of a marriage is the bait for the trap. All Zoro has to do is keep being as disagreeable as possible and stall Germa for time. But it’d help if the damn prince he’s supposed to marry was there.
Judge never explained why Sanji wasn’t there. He couldn’t be any worse than the rest of them; he’ll find a way to get under his skin. As long as Zoro finds a way to drag out this marriage courtship he shouldn’t have any problems dealing with some stuck-up prince.
Stuck up princesses, on the other hand…
“I can’t believe you,” Perona says under her breath. She hovers next to him, keeping her voice to a whisper. “You’re supposed to at least pretend to be serious about this!”
“What? I am serious about this. Had to sell the fact that it could be a bad match.”
Perona pouts, which means Zoro won. “You could at least try a little. If you keep acting like this, the king will definitely try something stupid to get rid of you.” She tries to hook one arm under Zoro’s to drag him off to who-knows-where, but Zoro shoves her off. “Hey! I’m taking you back to the guest room, and I’ll find out some more information myself.”
“What? I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to go back to the guest room–”
“If I don’t take you now, you’ll just get lost!” He won’t, but Perona won’t listen to him on that topic. She adds quietly enough that Zoro almost doesn’t hear her, “I need to find out some more intel. The palace staff should always have something to gossip about, so I’ll be able to know how– hey, where are you going?!”
Zoro storms past Perona, not really caring about his current direction as long as it’s not back to the damn guest quarters. “I’m going to explore the place. We’ll talk when I’m done.”
“Hey, don’t leave me– you won’t be able to find your own room! Ugh, you’re so annoying, I can’t believe you!” Perona’s voice gets quieter and quieter as Zoro continues walking away. “Don’t expect me to find you if you get lost!”
“I’m not going to get lost!” Zoro yells back, not caring that his voice echoes through the castle.
The Germa castle does not impress on the second walkthrough, nor the third, nor the fourth. Zoro’s beginning to suspect that the damn king designed the place to trap guests in a maze. He’s not lost, but he knows when this damn maze finally releases him Perona will think it’s all his fault.
He doesn’t even find anything interesting. The castle is cold and unwelcoming, the only signs of life being the weird, emotionless guards. Sometimes he passes by paintings where Vinsmoke Judge stares down at him, haughty even from a damn painting, and he resists the urge to cut the canvas down.
Instead, he stalks down hallway after hallway in an attempt to find anything interesting. What had Perona said? That the palace staff should gossip? He should’ve just gone back to the guest rooms with Perona, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat yet.
Finally after wandering the castle for ages, there’s some sign of actual life. The familiar smell of warm baked bread wafts through the hall, and while bread’s not his favorite meal, it sure as hell smells appetizing right now. The kitchen is as good a place as any to find staff to gossip with.
Zoro doesn’t even bother knocking before entering. The door creaks open, warm air hitting Zoro in the face. The kitchen is huge but somehow holds its warmth better than the rest of the castle, and the contrast in temperature makes him shudder.
Despite himself, the warm feeling of the kitchen relaxes him after being stuck in the cold for so long. Maybe he can convince Mihawk that he should stay in the kitchen instead of the surely miserable guest quarters.
Relaxing is his first mistake.
Something moves in the corner of his eyes, fast enough when Zoro jerks his head to the side he misses the view entirely. Before he can even react, something slams into the back of his head, hard.
What the hell?
Zoro falls toward the ground, only barely twisting in time for his shoulder to take the brunt of it. Twisting further still, Zoro tries to right himself for another attack. Protecting his face with his forearm, he only manages to prevent another hit to the head. Something still digs into the brunt of his arm, forcing him back onto the ground.
“Who the hell are you?!” yells a voice Zoro doesn’t recognize.
Forcing himself to focus, Zoro assesses the fight before answering. He’s pinned down to the ground, and the thing digging into his arm is a shoe. Straining his arm, Zoro tries to shove the leg away, but it doesn’t work; his attacker keeps him pinned down by one foot.
Even at this angle, Zoro can barely see the man’s face. Just like the damn Vinsmokes, half his face is covered by his hair. The other half of his face is covered with bloodied bandages across his forehead. There’s enough bandages that Zoro can barely see his eyes.
Once they do lock eyes, though, he looks furious. A single lit cigarette dangles out of his mouth, and Zoro’s surprised he doesn’t bite right through the filter with how hard his jaw is clenched. The fury is absolutely unmatched, and Zoro freezes in place.
“Answer, mosshead, before I kick you out of this damn castle.”
“Mosshead?!”
“That’s what you have a problem with?! Not being kicked into the damn North Blue?!”
Zoro snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”
The man presses down on his arm again, hard enough that Zoro knows he can break it just like that. This is the type of fight he thought he was getting into before being forced to marry some prince; he’d actually like to see the bastard try to fight him properly.
The cook isn’t even really trying. He keeps his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingertips, tapping the ash on Zoro’s forehead. “I can and I will,” he threatens. “You’re not from Germa. Are you one of Hawkeyes’ guards?”
He’s so accusatory. What, like Zoro’s not allowed to wander around the Germa castle unannounced?
“It’s a kitchen. I’m hungry. Why the hell else would I be here?”
Finally, the man relents, lifting his foot up. Zoro can move his arm again, and as soon as he’s able to he shuffles onto his back. Before he can pick himself up off the ground, he’s caught off guard by the man’s conflicted expression.
“You’re… you’re hungry?”
That’s what’s bothering him? “Yeah, your castle is a damn maze, I’ve been looking for the kitchen all night.”
The man huffs, seemingly disquieted by Zoro entirely. At the least, it gives Zoro the chance to assess him properly.
He’s still furious, staring down at Zoro just like all the damn Vinsmokes had in their stupid throne room. Unlike them, though, the man is not nearly as perfectly put together. His outfit is some fancy suit, sure, but he’s wearing a flour-coated apron over top of it. He’s injured past just the bandaged face, too; the man is bruised up and down his arms like he’d just gotten out of a proper fight.
“This is the kitchen, right?” Zoro asks. It smells like the kitchen, and now that he can finally look around the place properly, it looks like the kitchen.
The man says nothing, lost in his own thoughts.
“...and you must be their cook.”
“I’m their what?” the man repeats, looking frantic. For a man clearly in the middle of baking, he’s shocked to find himself in the kitchen. “Uh, sure. I’m Germa’s cook.”
Suspicious. “You sound awfully confident about that.”
“You’re the one who said I was the cook, why are you questioning me?!”
Well, the food the man’s cooking smells too good for him not to be Germa’s head chef, but like hell if Zoro tells him that.
He is still hungry, though… “Well, why don’t you prove it, huh?”
“Prove it? Prove what?”
“Prove you’re the cook by making me food,” Zoro says. His stomach growls loudly, as if to make the point for him. “Come on, cook. Can’t you do that?”
The man peers down at him, expression softening slightly. He wipes his hands down on his apron, more flour staining the surface. The smell of warm bread fills the kitchen, and Zoro’s stomach growls yet again.
“Fine,” the cook says. “But I’m not doing this to prove anything to you.”
Why the hell else would he be doing it? Zoro decides he doesn’t actually care; the smell of the kitchen is enticing enough. Without the threat of another attack, Zoro stands up, pulls up a stool, and plants himself at the kitchen counter. He sets his chin down on his arms as he watches the cook work.
At least his guess was right. By the way the man works the kitchen like it’s second nature to him, he has to be Germa’s head chef. He continues muttering to himself about meal options, looking back to Zoro, then tossing ingredients on the counter.
“I’m not picky, if that’s what you’re wondering, cook. I’ll eat whatever you’re already working on.”
The cook tosses an entire fish on the counter with the rest of the ingredients, looking between it and Zoro. “No, that won’t be done any time soon. The biscuits just went in the oven, and I haven’t even finished kneading the bread yet.”
And yet he’s going to cook up a fish?
His disbelief must show on his face. “Shut it,” says the cook pre-emptively. He spins a sharp carving knife in his hand and cuts off the fish’s head in one fell swoop. “This won’t take that long.”
He’s right: it doesn’t take long. Zoro almost can’t believe his eyes. Before the aforementioned biscuits are even out of the oven, the cook has carved the fish and seared it until the smell fills the room. He’s finished before he even burns through his cigarette, and he serves it on top of rice with little fanfare, shoving the dish in front of Zoro.
“That proof enough, mosshead?”
Zoro pokes at the fish with his fork, watching as it flakes apart at the touch. His mouth waters, but he can’t give the cook his satisfaction yet.
“Dunno, haven’t tried it yet,” Zoro says, enjoying how it makes the cook roll his eyes.
The fish is good, way too good for something the cook threw together in less than ten minutes. Zoro shoves as much as he can into his mouth. He doesn’t even need to chew, the fish melts in his mouth. As soon as he has enough in his mouth to satiate his initial hunger, he peers up at the cook.
He’s nervous again, visible eye wide as he watches Zoro eat.
“... Why are you watching? I thought you said you weren’t doing this to prove anything to me.”
The cook flushes, waving Zoro off. “I’m not watching, I just…” he shakes his head. “Whatever. I still have bread to knead. Try not to bother me.”
Zoro is not going to listen to that command whatsoever. Needling the cook has been the most he’s enjoyed his time in this shit kingdom, and now he has dinner and a show.
It’s easy to watch the cook work. While Zoro already knows how strong he can kick, his arm strength is nothing to sniff at either. Despite the bruises up his forearms, he kneads the bread dough in front of him with harsh, heavy hits, punching the air out of it.
Despite being content with the meal and the view, Zoro can’t waste all his time. Perona had said something about the best gossip being the palace staff, and he’s intent on showing her up.
“Hey, cook,” Zoro says between bites of fish, “You must hear about everything down here, right? You heard about the engagement?”
The cook glares at him. “Of course I heard about the engagement, I’m not living in the damn dungeon.”
“Quit being so testy, I’m just asking.”
“And I’m just saying you shouldn’t ask obvious questions, you moss haired bastard. You’re awfully bold for a hired hand,” the cook grumbles, but nevertheless continues, “I wasn’t there to meet any of them. After all, well…” He motions to the bandages across his face, “The King thought I’d make a bad impression.”
The bandages do look bad, especially compared with how put together the rest of Germa looked. But it’s not like Judge could make a worse impression. The cruelty to his own staff isn’t exactly a surprise.
He’s not here to question the man’s cruelty, though; he’s here to find out information.
“Sounds to me like you don’t know shit about the engagement, then,” Zoro taunts.
And the cook falls for the bait so easily. His face reddens, anger lighting him brilliantly up again.
“Hah, don’t put words into my mouth! Of course I know the details. Reiju– I mean, the Princess Reiju– wasn’t impressed with any of them. Apparently your stupid boss decided that the prince wasn’t going to marry his daughter like he promised. He offered up his son instead.”
The cook sneers, kneading the bread in front of him with unearned aggression. “And I know that she wasn’t happy about it. She always tries to cover up how she feels, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t impressed with the bastard.”
Zoro grins. Perfect. “So I guess he left an impression,” he says. “Sounds exactly like him.”
“Don’t sound so proud of your boss’s son! He’s a stupid bastard who doesn’t know what he’s getting into.” He swallows, staring down at his hands. He runs his finger down one of the bright gold bracelets around his wrist. “And that makes two of us. I have no idea what to do about it.”
He shouldn’t have to do anything about it; he’s the cook.
The cook continues talking regardless, stalking away from the counter to one of the small windows in the kitchen. “I… I never liked this place, but it sure was better when Judge didn’t try anything new.” He opens the window, the outside air cooling the room. “Marrying his son off to some warlord’s kid? Give me a fucking break.”
“It shouldn’t matter much to you, anyway. You’re going to go back with Hawkeye after this all is over with, aren’t you?”
The cook doesn’t wait for a response. He turns around to face the single window in the room, tapping the ash on his cigarette. Some of it hits his wrist, and he brushes it off without another thought.
Zoro freezes in place, an odd sensation of dread overcoming him.
That’s… odd. The hairs on the back of his neck stick up, and while Zoro knows there’s a threat, he can’t exactly pinpoint where it’s from. The cook looks relaxed enough, smoking a cigarette and looking out the tiny window, but the sense of Observation Haki activating is unmistakable.
The cook’s a threat. That’s all he knows, that’s all he can make out. The cook’s a threat, and Zoro just doesn’t know why.
As if sensing his suspicion, the cook meets Zoro’s gaze, looking oddly nervous. He snubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, distracting Zoro from his face. When he looks back, that flicker of nervousness is gone.
“So, what? You get gossip from me and I don’t get gossip from you? That’s not polite.”
Zoro scoffs. “Polite? You tried to kick my head the moment I stepped in the door, shit cook.”
The cook dismisses him, putting out his cigarette on the bottom of his own shoe. “Yeah, because you shouldn’t be down here at all!”
“I can be where I want, I’m–” Zoro pauses. He’s the prince’s betrothed, but he doesn’t want to admit that. “--I’m a guest.”
“Why are you such an arrogant bastard? How the hell has Hawkeyes not fired you yet?”
“Shut up, he’ll never fire me,” Zoro grumbles, sitting back down at the counter. He’ll throw the bastard a bone, just to get him off his case. “But, fine, whatever. What gossip do you want to know?”
“What kind of gossip do I want?” He pauses, for much longer than Zoro expects. It’s just gossip. He’s just the cook. Shouldn’t be that hard of a question.
“Cook?”
“Right, right, gossip,” the cook says. He pauses, that same look of nervousness back. “How do you like working for Hawkeyes?”
That’s not gossip. Did he pick up on the fact that Zoro’s lying about being a hired hand? The cook’s the one who made that assumption himself.
“It’s…” Zoro pauses, trying to figure out what to say. If he badmouths Mihawk to Germa’s cook, would it matter? The cook could be a spy. “He’s tough as nails, but fair. Doesn’t let anyone get away with shit, but isn’t going to pull some bullshit just because of his own ego.”
The comment doesn’t seem to calm the cook. Instead, he sighs, looking back out the window.
“Tough but fair, eh?” he says, almost wistfully. Zoro doesn’t think he made Mihawk sound that appealing but, well, he doesn’t have Judge as a boss, does he?
“And Roronoa Zoro? Do you know anything about him?”
Zoro tries not to laugh. He knows plenty about Roronoa Zoro, but he also knows he needs to keep his act together. “He’s a real mean bastard.”
The cook laughs, curling forward into himself. “Of course he is,” he mutters. He digs his hand in his hair, stressed for no good reason. “That’s just perfect. So, what? He’s mean? Are you even high enough rank to know what he’s actually like?”
Arrogant bastard. “Of course I know what Roronoa Zoro’s like,” Zoro barks. “I know everything about him.”
This is stupid. He shouldn’t be saying shit to this annoying cook.
“Oh, sure, sounds like you do,” the cook mocks. “Fine, then. If you do, tell me…” he scratches at his own hair again, thin blonde strands caught between his fingers, “Tell me what he’s into. You know, like what he likes.”
“You want to know what he likes?”
The cook groans loudly. “Are you going to answer or interrogate my questions? Come on, mosshead, what does Roronoa like?”
“He likes…” Zoro pauses. “Dunno, really. Booze, a good fight.” He pauses, looking back to his emptied plate on the kitchen counter. “Good food.”
The cook groans loudly, way too over-dramatic. “A good fight? Not an option. And good food? The one thing I could use to get out of this, of course it’s that.”
Before Zoro has the chance to disentangle that, there’s a loud, echoing stomp down the hallway. Zoro doesn’t make much of it, but he recognizes how the cook freezes on the spot.
“Shit,” the cook curses and motions toward the door. “You better get going, mosshead. If they find you sneaking around it’s not going to be pretty.”
Zoro stares at his face, and how many bandages he has. The ones up his forehead are caked in blood, and his arms are still well-bruised. Despite not knowing the man for more than half an hour at best, Zoro can’t help but feel unexpectedly angered by the idea of leaving him to fend for himself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not looking at you,” Zoro denies, but he keeps staring at the cook’s arms. That undeniable feeling of a threat is back, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The cook yanks him by the back of his too-scratchy shirt and shoves him out the door. “I said out,” he says, then slams the door behind him.
“Hey! What the hell did you mean, they, you stupid–” Zoro argues back, but when he tries to open the door, the stupid cook already locked it shut.
He shakes the handle a couple times just to make sure, but it’s locked tight.
The stomping continues in the opposite direction of the kitchen; whatever threat the cook was so worried about isn’t even coming toward here. He wants to knock down the door and convince him that the threat is gone, but he also really should find the guest quarters before Perona has his head.
He doesn’t want to think about what she’s going to say. I told you you’d get lost, you should’ve followed me back, blah blah blah. Groaning, Zoro turns away and stalks down the hallways. They feel colder now, and even the meal doesn’t stop the cold from sinking into his skin.
Perona dresses him in an absolutely button-ridden outfit again.
“Isn’t the point of this that I’m a bad match?” Zoro complains, staying still as Perona shuts the millionth clasp on his shirt. Why the hell does a shirt need so many clasps? “I don’t have to look presentable.”
His protests are unjustly ignored. “You have to look like you’re trying,” Perona tuts. She examines him one last time before stepping backward. “Otherwise they’ll see right through us.”
Zoro undos the top button on the shirt, much to Perona’s chagrin. He at least wants to breathe. “Fine, whatever, I’ll wear your stupid outfit,” he grumbles. It’ll constrict his movement if they actually get into a fight. “Did you at least find anything else about Prince Sanji?”
“Don’t say his name like that. You’re going to need to at least pretend to like him. Judge is supposed to think this plan is going his way eventually,” Perona says. Instead of actually answering him, though, she frowns, fiddling with the ruffles on the front of her dress. “And, well, about the intel…”
She trails off, crossing her arms in front of her. “None of the servants would tell me anything! It’s so weird, servants normally gossip about everything but they were all so…” She worries her bottom lip before continuing, “Freaked out. So it’s not my fault, but you’re going to need to play it safe. I don’t know anything about Prince Sanji because no one’s saying. It’s like they’re barely aware he even exists!”
That’s weird. Zoro didn’t have any problems teasing information out of the cook, but then again, he didn’t actually ask for details about Prince Sanji himself. He was much more interested in finding out the details of his own performance.
“He shouldn’t be that hard to deal with,” Zoro says slowly. “Rest of them seemed pretty easy to annoy.”
“You don’t know that! You didn’t meet the other two, they’re…”
She doesn’t finish her thought, instead simply pouting, her eyes watering with big, goopy tears. By the way she keeps dodging his eyes, she’s actually nervous, and guilty. She shouldn’t be so guilty, but he supposes her backing out is why he’s in this mess, so she must feel some kind of responsibility about it.
Feeling foolish, Zoro scowls, and redoes the top bottom on his shirt. It makes Perona perk up just a bit, and she continues fussing over the outfit.
“Well, you’ll just have to be on your best behavior today. You’re supposed to prolong the engagement, not postpone it entirely,” she says. She picks up a silky-smooth piece of fabric, and before Zoro can feel too comfortable with the softness of it, she ties it around his neck as if to strangle him.
“Why do I need that–”
“It’s a tie! You need to look nice!” Perona knots the tie around his neck tighter, making Zoro choke.
“If we have to fight I’m cutting this thing off first!”
“You’re not going to fight,” Perona chides, then says in a hush, “We need to get to the Saumure Islands first, then you can fight.”
They’re still weeks away; Zoro doesn’t know if he’ll make it. He needs to find an outlet if he’s going to spend the next few weeks forced into romantic courtship.
Perona looks at him with big watery eyes and Zoro groans.
“Fine, I won’t fight the guy today,” he says.
“You’re not going to fight your betrothed at all!”
Zoro rolls his eyes but, luckily, Perona quits her nagging. She spins on her heels, dragging him along by the wrist.
“Hey, I don’t need you to lead me!”
“I’m not letting you get lost before your date, not after your performance yesterday,” she says. Despite his protests, Zoro allows her to drag him through the castle hallways. “We’re going to meet Prince Sanji on time.”
He’s not looking forward to it. Though he has to admit, the cook’s confirmation that he made an impression on the princess has him feeling awfully confident in his strategy. At least he found out some information through the cook yesterday. More than Perona did, that’s for sure.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The selected location for their date is just as unappealing as the rest of the kingdom, though at least there’s some greenery. The courtyard is the only apparent grassland on the snail ships, with dense trees crowding the scenery in. While the courtyard should be peaceful, there’s marks up and down the trees like it’s a battlefield. If Zoro ignores that, and tries hard enough, he can almost pretend like he isn’t adrift in the damn North Blue.
Unfortunately, the trees aren’t doing much to prevent the bitter cold. Wind blows through the poor coverage, carrying with it the familiar overpowering smell of sea salt. It’s like the weather is determined to make the place as unpleasant as possible. The chill sends goosebumps up and down his arms, but Zoro refuses to shiver.
Mihawk frowns to himself, assessing the view. Must not meet his critical expectations for courtship. Zoro can only wonder how many ways he could prolong this engagement just by his own weird, archaic standards.
They don’t have to freeze in the cold for too much longer. Zoro can hear the stomping of Judge’s entourage before he sees them. When they’re finally visible, Zoro recognizes Ichiji and Reiju from their first meeting, but three more figures follow along after him. All of them have just as obnoxiously bright hair, but somehow only one of them has the same shade as their father.
That’s just where the eerie similarities begin. All the siblings are wearing the same bright white frilly shirts and long red capes, following Judge around obediently on his heels. One of them has got to be his husband-to-be, the stupid bastard he’ll be wooing for the next three weeks, and Zoro can’t tell which is his worst option.
Green, blue, or yellow? Would it even matter? He can’t make it out at a distance, but he bets there’s one more thing in common with all of them.
“Do you think he’ll have the same stupid eyebrows as the rest of them?” Zoro whispers to Perona. When she doesn’t take the bait, he continues, “Which one do you think it is? Blue, green, or yellow?”
“I swear, if you call them blue, green, and yellow to their face, Zoro,” Perona hisses. She doesn’t have time to continue her threat, only glaring at him with unintimidated puffed-out cheeks.
Zoro smiles, glad to finally get under her skin.
When they get closer, Zoro’s suspicion is confirmed. Of course they all have the same stupid eyebrows; he almost laughs, but he manages to keep it together.
The blue-haired one looks critical and somehow meaner than the rest, his mouth pulled into a smirk, while the green-haired one laughs loudly next to him. He’s the only one with his eyebrows showing, and Zoro’s shocked to find the curl in the same direction. They both look much like how he expected: mean and annoying.
And the blonde one–
Zoro squints. That doesn’t make sense at all. It can’t be who he thinks it is.
The blonde one is wearing the same frilly outfit as the last, looking considerably more miserable than the rest. He hasn’t even bothered looking at Zoro, instead scowling at his brothers with a pointed glare. Even if the uncertain posture is unfamiliar, that look of derision is absolutely unmistakable.
It’s the cook.
Zoro blinks, trying to make sure he’s not seeing anything wrong. The bandages from before are completely gone, revealing the one curled eyebrow underneath. Any sign of injury is gone, too, which is more shocking than the eyebrow itself. When he finally spots Zoro, he looks just as shocked as Zoro feels, his mouth hanging open stupidly.
The cook is a prince?
“Dracule Mihawk,” Judge greets, nodding curtly at Mihawk. He feels less imposing in the trees, without the bravado of his throne. “I’d like you to meet the rest of my family. Prince Niji, Prince Yonji.”
The blue-haired and green-haired brothers nod respectfully, leaving only one brother left.
No way.
“And this is Prince Sanji, my third son.” Judge introduces Sanji with a slight sneer, his lip curling up. “He’s very eager to marry into your family.”
Prince Sanji is the cook?
All Zoro can do is gape. Prince Sanji looks no better; he looks between the three of them like he’s expecting Mihawk’s actual son to jump out from the bushes.
By Perona’s huff next to him, he’s expected to say something. All he does is stare down Prince Sanji, waiting for him to make a move.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Mihawk says curtly. “It’s a shame you were occupied yesterday.”
Both the Niji and Yonji behind Sanji snicker at the comment, and Sanji jumps at the sound. If it weren’t for the way Sanji looked yesterday, Zoro would write the interaction off as some brotherly tomfoolery. Now, though…
“He won’t disappoint you again,” Judge assures, though the comment isn’t entirely directed toward Mihawk. Prince Sanji stiffens, his body entirely rigid.
“This is Roronoa Zoro, my son,” Mihawk introduces. At Perona’s shove to the shoulder, Zoro nods curtly. He’s not even trying to be rude, he’s just in shock. “I’m sure you’ve been very eager to meet him, Vinsmoke Sanji.”
Sanji shocks at the comment, freezing up when he sees Mihawk’s gaze. It’s like he’s not expecting to be addressed at all. Zoro watches the line of his throat as he swallows, nervous energy practically radiating off of him.
“It’s a pleasure,” Prince Sanji says weekly. It takes him a moment to collect himself, his voice shaky. He eyes Zoro with an incredible degree of suspicion, then bows. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roronoa Zoro.”
He preferred it when the cook called him a mosshaired bastard. The image of Sanji bowing is a stark contrast to the angry man who attacked him on sight. It’s frustrating. It itches under Zoro’s skin in a way he can’t fathom.
“You, too, Prince Sanji,” Zoro says, trying to get under his skin the way Sanji so easily got under his. Sanji can’t even look at him, holding his bow longer as if to avoid looking directly at Zoro.
He’s not bothered at all. He’s putting up the front of a perfect prince, and Zoro can’t have that. He breathes in and out through his nose, trying to figure out a way to egg Sanji on, to actually show he’s the angry cook he’d met just a day earlier.
“...I mean, it’s good to see you again, cook.”
Zoro can feel the tension in the air at the comment. The rest of the Vinsmokes freeze, a snarl on the king’s face and equally unpleasant looks on the rest of them. That’s not who Zoro was trying to piss off, though.
Sanji finally meets his eyes, his one blue eye staring bullets into his skull. His fringe hides his face from the rest of his entourage, but Zoro can see past the control expression to see the temper underneath.
And there he is.
He’s mouthing something furiously at Zoro, talking so fast that Zoro can’t even make out what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter. Something settles inside Zoro’s chest as he recognizes one phrase, mosshaired bastard, and he’s beginning to think he’ll enjoy participating in Mihawk’s plan.
“Now that introductions are out of the way, why don’t we leave them alone?” Mihawk offers. “I’m sure parental figures hovering won’t help with the courtship bounding, no?”
Judge makes a noise as if he’d just been stabbed. “Of course, you’re right,” he agrees after collecting himself. “Let’s leave the lovely couple alone. I’m sure they won't need much time at all to become acquainted… In fact, I’m sure we’ll exceed your predictions… right, Prince Sanji?”
Sanji grits his teeth together. “That’s right,” he says, sounding just as put off. “I’m sure Zoro and I will get along just fine.”
Zoro grins down at Sanji, who looks like he’s about to skin Zoro alive on the spot. The same thrum of threat chills Zoro to his core. He still can’t pinpoint where exactly it’s from, but he knows it’s from Sanji.
“We’ll see about that,” Zoro says, delighting in the string of curses it eeks out of the cook.
Zoro’s beginning to think he’ll like his damn role in Mihawk’s plot after all.