The battlefield fell silent, the cheers and jeers replaced by a single, terrifying tableau. Gin, his face a mask of grim determination, held his pistol firmly to the head of the legendary pirate, Red-Leg Zeff. Sanji's world, which had been a whirlwind of kicks and combat, narrowed to that single, horrifying point of contact.
"Let the old man go," Sanji said, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
"Leave this ship, Black-Leg," Gin countered, his voice steady despite the gravity of his actions. "This fight is between my captain and your captain. It has nothing to do with you."
"I said, GO TO HELL!" Sanji roared back.
To the other cooks, it sounded like pure, arrogant defiance. An egotistical refusal to retreat. But it was the opposite. It was the first step in an act of ultimate sacrifice.
"If you need a hostage, then take me," Sanji said, taking a step forward, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "My life is worth less than his. Point the gun at my head instead."
Pearl, who had just recovered from being flattened by the Merry's mast, saw his chance. His face, still showing the faint mark of his first-ever bloody nose, twisted into a vicious grin. "So, the pretty-boy cook is offering himself up?"
He charged forward and slammed his pearl-studded shield directly into Sanji's side. Sanji grunted in pain and staggered, but he did not raise his legs to counter. He did not dodge. He just took the hit.
"SANJI!" Luffy yelled, his body tensing as he prepared to launch himself forward.
"DON'T, LUFFY! STOP!" Sanji's shout was a desperate command. "If you attack them… he'll shoot the old man! Stay out of this! This is my problem!"
Luffy froze, his fists clenched in helpless fury. The other cooks stared in utter confusion.
"What is he doing?" Carne whispered. "Why isn't he fighting back? I thought he hated Owner Zeff more than anyone…"
Pearl, reveling in the opportunity for a free beating, struck Sanji again and again. A punch to the gut. A shield bash to the head. Sanji took every blow, his body becoming a canvas of bruises, his only defense a stubborn refusal to fall. He was holding himself accountable, ready to pay any price to protect Zeff and the Baratie.
He was doing this because he blamed himself. He had destroyed Zeff's former life, his dreams, his strength. He could not, would not, let the old man lose anything else. He would rather die than let Don Krieg take the Baratie.
As another of Pearl's brutal blows sent him crashing to his knees, his vision blurring, two words echoed in his mind, a whisper from a lifetime ago, the name of a dream he thought long dead.
All Blue.
Nine years ago.
The world was a different place. It was a world of polished brass, starched white tablecloths, and the clinking of champagne glasses. Young Sanji, his now-signature curly eyebrow already in place, was an apprentice chef in the bustling, immaculate kitchen of the luxury cruise liner, the Orbit.
He was surrounded by older, more cynical chefs, and he was telling them of his dream, his eyes sparkling with a passion they had long since lost.
"It's a legendary sea!" he explained excitedly, while peeling potatoes with a small knife. "They call it the All Blue! It's a place where all the fish from all four seas—the East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, and South Blue—all live together! Can you imagine it? To be a cook in a place like that… it would be a chef's paradise!"
The older chefs just laughed, their voices thick with condescension.
"The All Blue? Kid, that's a fairy tale," one of them said, patting him on the head. "A myth to keep young cooks like you dreaming."
"It's real! I read it in a book!" Sanji insisted.
Just then, the waiters began bringing back plates from the dining hall, many of them still laden with expensive, barely-touched food. The senior chefs descended upon them like vultures, scraping the rich leftovers onto their own plates.
"Ah, the sea-bream poêlé is excellent tonight!"
"Try the lobster, it's divine!"
Sanji stared at them, his face a mask of pure disgust.
"How can you eat that?!" he burst out. "Those are scraps! Garbage left by the customers! We have plenty of fresh ingredients in the pantry, and our next port is only two days away!"
The head chef, a large, gruff man, looked down at the young apprentice.
"You are a child of the land, Sanji," he said, his voice a stern rumble. "You've never known true hunger. Out here, on the sea, you never know when a storm will hit. You never know when you'll be stranded for weeks. A sea-faring cook must take advantage of every resource. You never, ever waste food. Every scrap is a blessing from the ocean."
Sanji just turned his nose up, too proud and idealistic to understand. "I'd rather starve than eat garbage."
His idealistic world was about to be shattered.
Suddenly, screams erupted from the upper deck. The sounds of panic, of running feet, of cannon fire.
The kitchen door burst open, and a terrified passenger ran in, his face white as a sheet.
"PIRATES! WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!"
Young Sanji peeked out of the galley door. He saw a scene of chaos and violence. A large, formidable pirate ship had pulled alongside the Orbit, and its crew was swarming the decks. They were a rough, fearsome-looking bunch, but they fought with a strange, almost joyful ferocity. They were the Cook Pirates.
And leading the charge, leaping from his ship to the deck of the Orbit, was their captain. A massive man with a long, braided blonde mustache, whose powerful kicks were shattering the very railings of the ship. His laughter boomed across the deck as he fought.
It was Red-Leg Zeff.