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Zoro and Sanji have been rivals since high school, and even as adults, that hasn't changed. The swordsman has become a policeman, and the blond is the sous-chef of a grand restaurant. But what if Zoro's job was a lie? What if his swords were stained with more blood than he let on? And what if, as a mercenary, his mission was to kill the third prince of the Underground?
A fateful night where more than one secret will come to light.
Contains detailed lemon, you have been warned if you don't like that!🔞
Contains mention of murder and blood, you are forewarned.
Bittersweet ending.
Contains Yaoi/Gay relationship between two men, if you don't like it, don't read.
Please remain polite in the comments, you have been informed of the content.
Kisses! ❤
English is not my mother tongue. If there are any mistakes, please let me know so that I can correct them quickly.
The French version is available on my profile in case any French speakers get lost in this story.
The Mugiwara crew is enjoying the evening at their favorite bar. Since Luffy formed the group at the beginning of high school and brought them here, they have never tried to change venues. Especially now that they have finished school, it's nice to have a place where they regularly meet up. Lights dance in all directions while bodies sway on the dance floor. The loud music keeps everyone moving to the same frenetic rhythm, controlled by Brook and Franky, the two DJs of the night.
Luffy, Ace, Chopper, and Usopp shout and sing with the other dancers, displaying wide smiles and making the most of this Friday night after a week of work. In a corner of the bar, the rest of the crew watches them act like clowns with amused smiles, sitting on leather booths around a large table.
Nami, Robin, Marco, and Kaya chat among themselves, occasionally glancing over to make sure the big kids aren't causing any trouble. Zoro leans back in his seat, a bottle of beer at his lips that won't stay full for long. He enjoys the ambiance, and seeing his friends smile makes him happy, but the sight of a certain blond head slightly spoils his good mood.
Indeed, Sanji is sitting in his corner, staring at the golden lighter he's holding, opening and closing it incessantly. No hearts flying around, no endless compliments. It's clear something is wrong with the cook.
"Oi! Can I know why you look so down?" The green-haired swordsman growls, setting his now-empty beer on the table.
"It's none of your business, you Marimo idiot..." The blond retorts weakly, still opening and closing his lighter, its clicking sound completely drowned out by the music. Zoro frowns at Sanji's tone; it's not the angry or irritated voice he knows well, but rather one that seems resigned.
"Yes, it is my business. Because your depressing face is going to ruin the mood and the taste of my beer." The blond closes his lighter and his eyes, breathing softly before finally looking up to meet his friend and rival's gaze.
"Sorry if my face bothers you. But don't worry, I'll leave and let you be." Zoro's face tenses as he looks into the blue eyes before him. He doesn't see the usual spark of joy, curiosity, or anger. Now, he only sees resigned eyes, as if Sanji has given up on something precious, something essential.
"Are you okay?" The green-haired man asks calmly, with a hint of concern he would deny if asked. He sees a spark of life in those ocean-blue eyes, but it fades too quickly for his liking.
"Since when do you care about me, seaweed head?" The blond's bitter laugh sets off all alarms in the swordsman's head, and he gets up to approach the cook, placing his hands on either side of his head to prevent him from escaping.
"I'm not worried about you, but since you're part of the crew, I still have to keep an eye on you." Sanji looks at his rival a few centimeters away before snickering.
"A professional deformity, I suppose? As a law enforcement officer and protector of orphans, you feel obligated to watch over everyone."
The two men look each other in the eyes, at least for one since the other lost one of his eyes during a mission, just like the huge scar crossing the powerful chest under his open shirt.
"Interpret it as you want. But I don't want you hurting someone in any way because of some stupidity you might do, Cook." Zoro states firmly, straightening up and fixing a stern gaze on the blond, who finally looks away.
"Don't worry about that. I'd rather die than put them in danger." Sanji murmurs almost imperceptibly, but Zoro hears him nonetheless. Silence settles between the two, interrupted only by the pulsing music that conceals their conversation. The moment is fleeting, shattered by the abrupt chime of Sanji's phone. Wearily, he retrieves it and reads the incoming message. Instantly, his expression hardens, and he rises to his feet.
"I have to go, Marimo. Tell the others I went home." Sanji declares, turning to leave. Before he can depart, Zoro grips his arm firmly.
"We're not done yet." Zoro insists sharply. The blond wrenches his arm free, fixing a furious glare on the green-haired man.
"It's none of your business! Leave me alone!" Sanji strides purposefully across the dance floor, deftly navigating through the dancers, and exits the bar under Zoro's intense gaze.
A growl escapes his throat as he slumps back onto the leather bench, deeply irritated by the blond's escape. Sure, they're rivals and enemies, but they're also friends and have known each other since the beginning of high school. In a way, it hurts that they can't trust each other after all these years. On the flip side, he wasn't entirely honest with his best friend Luffy, so maybe he didn't deserve that trust either.
His dark thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his own phone. Curious, he opens it, perhaps naively hoping it's the cook. But his face hardens when he sees the sender's name.
"Damn, he knows I don't work on Friday nights." Despite his reluctance, he bid farewell to the crew and left the stifling atmosphere of the bar. Outside, the cool air refreshed his spirits slightly. He headed home, taking deliberate detours to ensure he wasn't followed, some more intentional than others.
After a 20-minute walk, he arrives in front of his building. With a resigned sigh, he opens the entrance door with his badge and climbs to the top floor. His steps echo unenthusiastically down the hallway until he stops in front of a door.
He takes a deep breath and makes his face as smooth and expressionless as possible before unlocking it with his key and entering his apartment.
The place is calm and silent. He takes off his shoes and hangs his coat on the rack by the entrance before entering his living room, which is far from tidy. Some clothes are scattered on the couch, one or two empty beers on the coffee table in front of the TV. Small trinkets sit on the dressers, and especially a folder on the table that wasn't there when he left.
With a weary sigh, he sits down and opens what will be his mission for the night.
He reads the information on his target, the person he has to assassinate. As a mercenary and professional assassin, he's not too picky about the people he has to kill as long as he's well-paid and they're not innocents, which is clearly not the case with what he sees.
There's no photo of the target, but there's enough information to know the exact address and a description of what he's up against.
For once, this target will be a pleasure to kill, and he might even take his time. After all, it's a big shot in the underworld. One of the princes of the Underground, he specializes in smuggling exotic and endangered animals to satisfy the morbid desires and whims of the rich. He and the other princes belong to the same family that controls the shadow world of the entire country. Each has their specialty: prostitution, arms trafficking, drugs, or even slavery. It's clear that getting rid of one of them will be a great relief for society.
In a better mood, he puts on his combat outfit, mainly consisting of a black kimono and three swords at the red belt, giving him a true samurai style. This unique style is known throughout the Underground as that of the country's best assassin, the King of Hell.
His green eye gleams with an emerald glow under a black bandana that hides his flashy hair, and a mask rises over his nose to conceal his face. He takes one last look at the address before leaving his apartment and disappearing into the night.
It took him some time to reach his destination, which surprised him a bit for someone who was supposed to be one of the princes of the underworld. He expected a mansion with a vast garden, heavily guarded. Instead, it was a small house with a tiny garden surrounded by a low wall. No guards were visible, and the security seemed no higher than that of the surrounding houses.
Staying in the shadows and avoiding the streetlights, Zoro quickly circled the property, searching for another entrance besides the door. He began to seriously question this prince's competence because apparently, leaving the first-floor window open wasn't an issue. Was he totally stupid or just careless?
It seemed far too easy and could be a trap. He reconsidered his options, but after 10 minutes, he had to admit it was the simplest and quietest way in.
Carefully, he used the house's crevices to climb up to the window. At least if he needed to flee, it wouldn't be too high.
Crouched in the darkness, he slipped through the gap, making sure not to move the curtains. The room was dark and silent, but he recognized a few pieces of furniture indicating it was a bedroom. The owner must not be there, as the bed was empty. Slowly, he moved towards the door, staying against the wall to avoid being surprised.
"What do we have here?" A voice snapped in the darkness as a figure emerged from the shadows. Zoro couldn't make out his facial features, but he could clearly see that the figure wasn't unarmed, holding a long knife in his hand. "Isn't it the famous King of Hell?" The voice asked, approaching the assassin while still remaining in the shadows.
The voice seemed familiar to the swordsman, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. A chuckle escaped his throat as he straightened up, drawing two of his swords.
"I suppose I'm facing one of the infamous princes of the Underground?" He asked, starting to circle his prey, who also began to move. A dark laugh responded.
"Nothing escapes you. You're here to kill me, I suppose?" The voice said, adopting an attack stance that the swordsman mirrored.
"Who knows? You'll find out once I'm done with you." Silence settled between the two fighters as they sized each other up in the darkness, waiting for the other's first move. Seconds passed, and with a single movement, they lunged at each other. Sparks flew in all directions. Zoro had to admit that his opponent knew how to defend himself, especially since he was as skilled with knives as with his legs. This surprised him at first, but he managed to dodge just in time. He had Sanji to thank for that, given the many fights they had against each other.
The blows continued to be exchanged, increasingly resembling a deadly game. It was almost a shame to have to kill him, but he needed to hurry because the noise would inevitably attract someone.
He quickened his pace until it became unbearable for the prince. With a victorious smile, he managed to disarm him, but that allowed the target to deliver much stronger and more precise kicks with his hands free.
His blades whistled in the dark, always narrowly missing his prey, but he sensed the prince was tired and overwhelmed. Zoro's smile widened, and he accelerated even more. One, two, three, four strikes destabilized the prince, who fell to the floor with a thud. Zoro seized the opportunity to pounce on him and pin him down, one of his blades at his throat. If the prince moved, Zoro would easily slit his throat.
"It's over." Zoro declared, feeling the prince's rapid breathing beneath him. The prince let out a defeated groan, surrendering.
"Damn..."
Zoro leaned in closer, finally able to see the prince's face thanks to the moonlight filtering through the curtains. But what he saw froze him completely, causing him to almost drop his swords.
Pale, smooth skin reflected the faint moonlight, golden blonde hair covering one of his ocean-blue eyes, and a face he knew all too well.
"Cook?"