Sanji was sitting under a tree close to the beach. Since he lived in Caen in north of France it wasn't too hard to get to the ocean in a decent ammount of time. His long, slender legs were crossed on top of one another and he was holding one of the books he bought the other day in his hands. His face wore a serious expression and the blonde eyebrows looked concentrated. He seemed to be taking in a lot of information. The surroundings smelled of warm sand and salt water.
The book he was reading was a book about japanese food culture. The cook had a burning passion for japanese food, especially fish. Ever since he was an apprentice, he had heard amazing stories about the creatures living around the coasts of Japan. If a chef got his hands on the rarities he could cook the most epic dishes.
People had always been mocking the cook though, cause it was all a myth. A myth the ancient japanese inhabitants had come up with. It was obvious any person believing in sea creatures no one had ever seen - was a moron.
Sanji sighed as he licked one finger tip and turned the page. His concentrated look let go of him and was replaced with a relaxed one. He stared into the blue sky and locked his gaze on a seagull. All the white spots in the sky looked like snow flakes on a window, rinning down after a storm. He rested his yellow hair against the tree.
Okay, it probably wasn't true but he wasn't ready to abandon his ambitions without giving it a damn try first. That wasn't like him. He shook some sand out between the pages of the book, closed it and put it back into the bag. He then took the second one out. One about tales and myths of Japan. He opened it and started reading with interest.
~—:~:—*—:~:—~
Zoro's hair was all messy and pointing in all different kinds of directions. He'd been working really hard with his katana tonight in the dojo. Sweat was gathering on his upper lip, leaving a shining pearl on his cupid's bow. A tanned hand wiped the salty liquid from his forehead. He was breathing deeply and enjoyed the feeling of his tired and protesting muscles.
On his way into the dressing room to take a shower he changed his mind and dug out his car keys instead. He wanted to take a shower, no, he wanted to have a relaxing BATH at home.
Making sure all his three katana were sheathed securely in the bag, he took out a small towel and dried the sweat from his feet. Slipping into his white sneakers he grabbed the bag and headed for the car. As he was going to unlock it a familiar voice shouted behind him:
"Hey, Zoro!"
He turned around to face his old Sensei, the owner of the dojo.
"Oh, Mihawk. What's up?." he said with a smile.
"I'll be brief with you, I can see you're tired and you wanna go back home. But hear me out okay? I have an offer for you."
Zoro looked at the slim man and blinked. In the evening his unusually yellow eyes seemed to glow even more. The black keikogi he was wearing contributed even more to the impression.
"Listen, I would like you to take over the evening lessons. The young kendo kids always admired you and you're my best student. I know you could do it. The other trainer moved to Kumamoto cause he got a job offer he didn't want to miss. And honestly I'm relieved cause he wasn't really one of our best."
Zoro processed what his sensei just had said. He lifted a hand and rubbed his neck before he said "Look, I appreciate your offer and all, bu—"
Mihawk interrupted him.
"Zoro, I beg of you. I have no time to do it myself and there is no one else I trust as much as you. I know you'd give them the ultimate training. You're one of the few people who still understand the meaning of this art, that it's not only made for kicking ass. You know what I'm saying?"
Zoro sighed and looked to the side. His earrings glimmered for a second in the street light.
"Honestly." he said briefly. "I barely have time for myself after this job I got. And I most definitely won't have time for a bunch of kids . . ."
Mihawk laughed. "You scared of kids?"
Zoro sighed heavily. He knew Mihawk never gave up when there was something he wanted.
"Okay, I'll help you out. But if I die of overexertion I'll sue your ass. Got that?"
Mihawk crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't sue me if you're dead, numbskull."
Zoro waved the thin mans comment off with his hand as he got into the driver's seat. He slid the window down. Mihawk walked up to Zoro as he backed the car out of the parking lot.
"I'll haunt you til you go freaking nuts then" the green haired man said and made a circular motion with his index finger, next to his temple. Mihawk smiled tauntingly.
"Thanks Zoro. I'll call and give you the details later." He turned back to the dojo and put one hand in the air to symbolize a goodbye.
Zoro looked at him in his side mirror. "Geez" he murmured to himself. Turned on the car radio and headed homewards.
~—:~:—*—:~:—~
"Zeff, just fucking hear me out okay?" Sanji was furious. The head chef of the restaurant that Sanji had known since he was a kid was the most stubborn excuse of a man he had ever met. It was true he admired Zeff for his unbeatable cooking skills, his strong personality and for everything he did for Sanji. Hell, he even lost his leg protecting the kid. Zeff had put up with Sanji's shit since he was a little squirt and he felt the old geezer was like a father to him. But he couldn't help getting utterly pissed at him. Something about him simply drove the young chef to madness.
Zeff was sitting in his office. His legs on the desk, well, one leg rather. The other one was a prosthesis. His long blonde moustache was hanging down from his face in braids. His clear blue eyes penetrated Sanji as he gazed straight at him. The skin of the father figure was lose and sunburnt. He had spots in his face indicating he was getting old. Strong arms stubbornly crossed his chest. Even though the man was old you could tell he was in good shape. Muscles ripped under his bare arms and his apron was messy with stains.
"No, you damn eggplant." He said with his hoarse voice. "You're not leaving my restaurant. I need my shitty excuse of a souse-chef to run my errands." he stated.
"Shitty old man. I aint running shit for you. The only reason I'm still at this restaurant is cause I know you would be bankrupt without my cooking skills." Sanji tried to calm down after his explosion. Fuck, this old fart jangled his nerves. "If I don't go now I'll never go and I'll be stuck cooking french shit for the rest of my life."
Zeff eyed him cautiously. "What do you want to do in Japan, you squirt? It's on the other side of the planet. You don't know the language, you don't know the customs, neither do you know how to get around nor how to take care of yourself. You're just a lil egg plant." The head chef insisted.
"First of all I'm no fucking lil egg plant no more" Sanji made a paus to light a cigarette. He cupped the lighter with his hand to protect the flame from the non-existing wind. "Second I can take care of myself perfectly. It's YOU who can't take care of your shitty self if I leave." He said and pointed a thumb at himself. Smoke trickling from the stick between his light pink lips.
Zeff sighed and stood up from his chair. He was shorter than Sanji. The man walked up to the younger chef. He put his hands on the blonde's shoulders. "Listen to me you naive, shitty excuse of a cook. Going to Japan to chase after a dream that doesn't exist will break your tiny heart in two. Don't you get it, squirt? There's nothing there to find. You'll be all lost in a country far from home regretting you weren't clever enough to listen to me. Forget about your lousy dream. It's not for real. Only morons go to seek that pathetic myth."
Sanji frowned. He held the cigarette between two fingers. Smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke. "Fucking wait and see then."
Then he shook Zeff's hands off of his shoulders and bursted out the door.
The older chef sighed. "Patty, Carne, you can come out now."
The two chefs came out from behind the big wardrobe in Zeff's office. They were two of his best cooks in the restaurant.
"Zeff, weren't you a little harsh on him? I mean, you could have totally fucked his self esteem over there" Patty asked with big eyes. Carne nodded and added "I mean, it's obvious that sea doesn't exist but... I feel kind of sorry for him."
Zeff's hoarse voice spoke again. "Morons. Of course the sea exists. If I wouldn't go all hard on his ass he would never leave this place. The only thing I can do to help is to provoke the shit out of him."
Zeff was still standing where Sanji had left him, staring at the door his most talented cook had rushed out from. Maybe for the last time. He clenched his fists.
"Bring back one of those fish sometime . . ." Zeff whispered almost unhearably. His lips fighting the urge to curl into a sad frown.
~—:~:—*—:~:—~
Sanji was furious. He felt empty. His hands were shaking. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or shout. He was cursing inside his head. The stump between his lips had almost entirely turned to ashes but he didn't seem to realize.
Why did that old fart have to be such a twat? Why did he constantly have to fuck with Sanjis mind? Why was he so pissed at him but yet missed him ridiculously much already? He didn't know what hurt more. Zeff telling him his dream was pathetic or that he let himself be so fucking affected by what that shithead had said. He concluded he was just scared that the older chef would be right. That his dream was nothing but myths, fantasy, childish hope.
The blond was throwing all his things of importance down in a black adidas bag. The wardrobe was ripped open and the few sets of clothes he had were forced into the bag carelessly. He couldn't worry less about packing properly right now. "Fucking shit" was repeating as a mantra inside of his head.
The literature was left behind. He didn't have space in his bag. He was sure that if he'd ever care to get them back the old couple would be nice enough to look after them until he did.
The books he bought earlier about japanese tales and cooking culture were laying on the table, mocking him. He took them up and threw them with too much force into the trash bin. They landed with a smash and the bin tipped over on the side. Sanji kicked the damn trash can as hard as he could. It flew into the wall and got a dent from his forceful kick.
"FUCK!" he shouted. Tears started leaking from his clear blue orbs. The blond wiped the drops from his cheeks with the back of his hand. Carrying the bag in one hand he looked around one last time to see if he got all the important things. Eyeing the walls his gaze stopped on the "All blue" poster. He dropped his bag, ran over to the poster and ripped the curse down from the wall. Leaving it in two curled up pieces on the floor.
The blond grabbed his cell and keys. He ran downstairs. "Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck" echoing in his head. He put the keys and this months rent into an envelope that he dropped into the green mail box belonging to the old couple. He had at least been nice enough to scribble a "Thank you for everything" on it.
He was done in this shitty restaurant and he was done with its fucked up owner. Done. The fucking end. His stubbornness told him to get on the next flight to Japan and show them that he could do it all.