"…milk chocolate and maple syrup with the waffles, Anglais requested custard buns shaped like a caterbike with licorice antennae, Dragée would like candied pecans with hard-sugar shells, and Anana has asked for white chocolate cupcakes stuffed with red velvet cake batter."

Sanji's pen scribbled furiously over his pad, marking the ingredients he'd need for the coming week's requests. "Is that black licorice or red?"

Katakuri was sitting next to him, observing from far above as he usually did, though now he was able to spread out in relative comfort. With all the time Sanji had been spending in the kitchen, Katakuri had ordered the wall to the next room over to be knocked down so he had space to watch Sanji as he worked. "He'd prefer black, though I warned him that bitter flavors and custard do not tend to mesh well together."

No, they didn't…unless you add a little bit of orange to tie the sweet and the bitter together. Sanji penned in 'orange zest' on his list of ingredients. "Anana usually likes things to be shaped like knives, doesn't she?"

The kid had put in plenty of requests for knife-shaped lollipops and candies, so it didn't surprise him when Katakuri nodded. "She made it known that she wanted miniature knives stuck in each of the cupcakes, but I was able to persuade her of the absurdity of such a thing."

Dark chocolate slivers. Sharp and thin, but will break easily if she tries to stab anything with it, and works well as a garnish for white chocolate. "I'll make it work."

Katakuri eyed him with a sideways glance. "I would suggest you refrain from indulging her. She's attacked several chefs before, when given the chance."

"I'm not stupid, I won't just hand her a weapon. And besides," Sanji looked up from his notepad to meet Katakuri's gaze, grinning wide. "I've got a whole Sweet Commander to keep me safe. Isn't that right?"

All he got for his troubles was a soft 'hmm,' Katakuri ignoring him in favor of flipping a jellybean with his thumb.

"Oh, fuck you then," Sanji said good-naturedly, going back to his list. Just like last week, every single Charlotte kid had put in a request that would have him spending a good chunk of his days in his kitchen working his ass off to accommodate them. He hated catering to the picky brats, but he had to admit that he enjoyed being tested so much in his craft. Having all the best-quality ingredients at his fingertips as well as a fully-equipped space to work in was practically a dream.

But the cool breeze against his now-bare ankles felt sweeter still. One obstacle down.

Sanji chanced a look back up at Katakuri, the man's eyes closed as he lay back in his chair. Even relaxed, he was still an intimidating sight, a good five meters of pure hard muscle and formidable fighting skill.

One obstacle down…biggest one still to go.

"Spar with me."

Sanji put down his fork, gazing up at Katakuri with a serious expression. "Look, I know I had no business letting them make their own icing, but I don't think that the peanut butter, strawberry sherbet, and jalapeno combination is enough to warrant killing me for."

That got him a raised eyebrow. Katakuri had been responding to his jabs more and more often as time went on, and Sanji had begun to get a feel for the man's sense of humor. It was tough, since he hadn't shot back since their conversation two weeks ago, but if Sanji was paying attention he could catch the little signs that told him when he'd hit home.

"I've already assured you that I didn't mind. Spar with me. You're well enough recovered that you can handle it."

It was easy enough to guess at why Katakuri was making the offer. After his culinary talent, the next thing the Big Mom pirates would look at to determine if he'd make a worthwhile crewmember would be his fighting ability.

But he'd seen the state Luffy had been in after his fight with the man. If a guy made half out of rubber and half out of sheer resilience took that much of a beating, Sanji didn't fancy his own chances. "I just got all my bones back in place, and you want to knock them around again? Nah, I'm good."

Katakuri regarded him from his seat at the massive table in the middle of the main room, tilting his head. "I'm capable of controlling myself."

Well, obviously. Anyone who could handle walking around in leather all day had to be in possession of some serious restraint: Sanji would've torn the stuff off in the first few minutes.

He picked his fork back up and took another bite of lasagna, savoring the warm cheese on his tongue. He'd been on his feet all day going back and forth between several industrial ovens, and it felt like heaven to just sit and enjoy a meal. "Yeah, I know, but I'm sure having me beat to shit all the time makes it easier to keep me from escaping. Now that I'm healthy again, you just need another excuse to break me, huh?"

Katakuri had long since finished his own meal, a massive bowl of ice cream, in another room of the house. Now, he was back to watching Sanji eat, though it was admittedly less weird now that they were actually having a conversation. "I do recall it being you who caused most of those injuries, not me."

That was true, but Sanji remembered having damn good reasons for doing so. "Hey, you're the one who can see the future. If you didn't want me to get hurt, you could've just stopped me, right?"

Katakuri frowned at him. It was the one expression he was confident in recognizing, having seen it plenty of times over the past few weeks. "Perhaps I've already chosen the best possible path. Have you considered that?"

Sanji hadn't actually considered that, but he didn't know enough about the man's foresight to realize that there even were multiple 'paths.' He considered asking about it, but in the past Katakuri had shut him down pretty quickly. Maybe if he could just keep him talking… "Hey, that's hardly fair. You should have to live with the consequences of your bad decisions, like the rest of us blind idiots."

"I assure you, I'm just as susceptible to the long-term as everyone else."

Score. Bege had told him that Katakuri's foresight only gave him ten second glimpses into the future, but the mafia head had lied to them enough times during their meeting that Sanji hadn't taken his word for it. Knowing for certain that the man's visions had time limits was valuable indeed.

Sanji opened his mouth to ask another question, but Katakuri cut him off. "Spar with me. You need the exercise."

He did need the exercise, since Katakuri had ceased taking him on walking tours of the nearby islands and he'd been spending all of his time in the kitchen baking for the Charlotte horde, but he wasn't inclined to pay for it with more bruised shins. "No thanks. Besides, haven't you seen me carrying those massive desserts around for your siblings? If I keep this up, I'll be as buff as-"

-Zoro someday.

Don't think about him.

"-you someday," he finished smoothly. "Hell, give me another month and I'll be able to take you on, easy."

Another raised eyebrow. Two in one conversation was pretty good for him; Sanji felt he should start keeping some kind of score.

"I suppose that means you feel like you're unable to match me now, then?"

"Yeah. Exactly," Sanji said, then hurried to take another bite of lasagna. Talking with Katakuri was always incredibly distracting for him, and he'd had to rush to the kitchen to reheat cold dinners a few times after their conversations. After a moment's thought as he chewed, he added, "And don't bother trying to get a rise out of me. I know where I stand here, and it's pretty damn far below you."

"Then you should spar with me, and become stronger."

Sanji dropped his fork back onto his plate, exasperated. "Look, when I want to get the ever-loving shit beat out of me, I'll hit you up, okay?"

Silence.

Sanji regretted his words as the moment dragged on, Katakuri seemingly unwilling to pursue the topic after hearing that, but he'd had to say it. The memory of the night Katakuri had cornered him in his room and threatened his life was still fresh on his mind, and he wasn't particularly eager for a repeat performance.

He finished his lasagna in peace, and was just about to rise from the table to bring the dishes to the kitchen when Katakuri spoke again.

"I have nothing to gain from hurting you."

Sanji wondered if he'd spent the time during the lull in their conversation weighing the benefits and consequences. If it'd taken him that long to do it, it didn't say too much for his safety in the future.

Cold metal flashing in the dim light, a heavy presence pushing down on his lungs, shivering in the night's chill and trapped with no escape.

"Maybe not now," he allowed, bitterness seeping through even as he tried to keep his voice even, "but that can change, can't it? And I can't do a damn thing about it."

The past weeks had been a change of pace he hadn't expected, lulling him into a false sense of security with the constant trips back and forth from Candy Island to deliver sweets to the Charlotte kids. They treated him more like a hired chef than a prisoner, demanding this and that as Katakuri mediated their wild cravings into reasonable requests, and it had been easy to sink into complacency when most of his time was spent doing what he loved in his kitchen.

But he couldn't forget what he was here for. He was a prisoner, in all sense of the word. His door was still locked at night, he wasn't allowed to speak to anyone other than Katakuri, and the man himself was always by his side, silently observing. The Germa were still kept somewhere on one of the many islands in Totland, and though Katakuri had said nothing more about their situation, they were a constant worry in the back of his mind. He needed to stay aware, needed to remember where he was, needed to-

"Sanji."

The shock of hearing his name spoken aloud was enough to jolt him out of his thoughts completely, his gaze going straight to Katakuri from where it had been focused on his empty plate. The man had never addressed him directly, not even once in all the time he'd been here, and in that deep, booming voice his own name sounded almost alien to him.

Sanji didn't respond, merely looking at the man as he fought to shake the odd tingling that settled at the base of his spine.

"Sanji," Katakuri repeated, dark-eyed gaze locked onto his own with an unusual softness in his features, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Sanji blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down at the table, then to Katakuri, then back to the table again.

Something about the softness in Katakuri's expression made it harder to bear than his normal burning glare; it was damningly honest, too much like kindness though he knew the man would only play at offering him any. He couldn't think of anything to say in return, his mind refusing to provide a smart quip or witty remark, even failing to call up the anger he usually had when he suspected he was being manipulated.

"Ah, yeah," Sanji offered after a minute, because it was all he could think of. His own voice sounded weak to him, so he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Okay."

Katakuri seemed to take that as acceptance, nodding once before leaning back in his chair. He closed his eyes, crossing his legs and pulling a jellybean out of thin air to flip.

Sanji quietly stood and pushed in his chair, taking his plate with him.

"I feel like this is a little, tiny, miniscule bit in your favor, here."

Katakuri stood on the opposite end of the arena, but unlike Sanji, he didn't have to raise his voice to be heard. "It's the best arena available on the island. Here, we'll be able to spar as much as we please without worrying about any damage."

That might be true, since the material of the walls was known for its ability to take a beating without tearing or giving way, but the feeling of unfairness was unavoidable. "Aren't there any other options? Like a big field? I saw plenty of big fields when we were walking around. Can't we just use those?"

"I'm aware that you commonly fight using fire. It would be unwise to spar around anything even mildly flammable. Wouldn't you agree?"

Yeah, that made sense, but… "Did it have to be mochi?"

Sanji had already known this particular structure existed from touring the island with Katakuri several weeks ago, but he hadn't realized that it was an actual arena. Honestly, he'd taken one look at the giant mass of colorful rice dough and assumed that it was solid. How the hell could they expect that much mochi to stand up on its own, anyway?

Now, it was clear that wasn't the case. The entire ball was hollowed out into one big room that stretched over fifty meters in each direction and almost that far upwards as well. For a family made primarily of half-giants, Sanji supposed that was a reasonable size, but he felt almost dwarfed by the thing.

Katakuri, of course, was right at home. He'd walked to the far end of the arena, leaving Sanji the near side, and now he stood with feet planted and arms crossed. His trident hadn't made an appearance yet, but on the walk over he'd mentioned that he'd be going easy on him, so it was likely he wouldn't need it.

"As I've said, it's only sparring. Inform me whenever you're ready, and we can begin."

Sanji eyed the doughy walls with more than a little suspicion, but if Katakuri decided to use the building to his advantage, there wasn't really anything he could do about it. At least getting punched through mochi would probably hurt less than getting punched through just about anything else.

He kicked at the air a few times, testing its resistance. With his chains gone, he could sky walk as he pleased, but there was no telling if his recently-uncast foot would be able to take the strain. He chanced another look at Katakuri, the man patiently waiting for him to give the go-ahead. Katakuri's chest had to be a good three and a half meters up, and it would take at least another meter to reach his head; there was no way Sanji would be able to get a good hit off if he was stuck on the ground.

A quick jump, a hard push, and he was up. The force of his kicks held him aloft, but after a few moments it was clear that he was still unsteady in the air. If this were a real fight, he'd much rather run than rely on shaky legs, but he knew the only way to get stronger again would be to practice in battle.

Sanji let himself fall back to the ground, pleased at the lack of any twinges of pain in his legs. His biggest issue would obviously be Katakuri's foresight, though getting hit with a fist the size of his head wouldn't do him any favors either. His best bet would be to rely on his speed, since there was no way Katakuri could move that massive body of his around fast enough to keep up with him. Those future visions would be a pain in the ass, but if he watched for the signs he'd been picking up on over the past few weeks, he might be able to counter them.

Sanji wasn't stupid enough to think that he could win this, but he damn well wasn't going to go down without trying to. He stepped forward, settling into a tight fighting stance, and grinned.

"Alright, rice ball. Bring it on."