Chapter 1

Sanji, the chef of the Straw Hat Pirates, felt the heat of battle in his bones as he faced Kuma, the ruthless cyborg. His heart raced, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. The crew was scattered or already sent away by Kumas abilitiy. The metallic monstrosity loomed over him, a grim shadow amidst the chaos.

As Kuma's hand reached out to activate his terrifying ability, Sanji's instincts took over. He knew he had to act fast. With a fierce cry, he lunged forward, his leg a blur of motion as he unleashed his Daible Jambe, aiming for the palm of Kuma's hand. The impact was explosive, a sickening crunch echoing through the air. Sanji felt something strange, something wrong, as Kuma's power collided with his own. A blinding white light flashed and a second later Sanji was no more and Kumas hand was burned and chared husk.

The world around him spun into darkness. Sanji staggered, a sudden, searing pain burned in his eyes, and then everything went black. He stumbled backward, his vision replaced with a void. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized with horror what had happened. The price of his desperate attack was the loss of his sight.

He felt the ground beneath him give way, and he tumbled into a deep, unyielding abyss. The fall seemed to last an eternity, the cold wind howling past him as he plummeted into the unknown. When he finally hit the ground, it was with a bone-crushing thud that knocked the wind out of him. The pain in his eyes was now a distant memory, replaced by the agony of his bruised body.

Sanji lay there, unmoving, the darkness complete. He was lost, adrift in a world without light or color. The only thing that kept him tethered to reality was the sound of his own labored breathing and the rustle of leaves nearby.

Then, faintly, a noise pierced the silence. It grew steadily louder, the rhythmic crunch of footsteps drawing closer. His heart leapt in his chest, a mix of hope and fear. He strained his ears, listening intently, trying to gauge the direction of the sound. It grew closer, and with it, a sense of unease began to build. Who or what was approaching? Was it friend or foe?

The rustle grew clearer, and he felt the vibration of footsteps through the soil beneath him. He gritted his teeth, willing his bruised body to move, to defend himself, but it was as if his limbs had turned to lead. Just as the panic began to overwhelm him, he heard a gasp, followed by the sound of something - someone - stumbling. The steps grew erratic, and then, suddenly,

they stopped.

For a moment, the forest was silent again, save for the distant hoot of an owl. Sanji's heart thundered in his ears, the only sound that seemed to penetrate the thick veil of darkness. He tensed, ready to shout for help, but fear clamped his throat shut. What if it was an enemy? What could he do in such a state.

The footsteps grew shaky, and the sound of something brushing against the underbrush grew closer. Sanji's senses heightened, his hearing now his most reliable ally. The crunch of leaves grew louder, more deliberate. Someone was approaching, their breathing heavy with what sounded like concern or surprise.

And then, through the murk of his visionless world, a soft gasp reached him. The rustle grew into a flurry of movement, and suddenly, warm, gentle hands were upon him. He could smell earthy herbs and the faint scent of cooked rice. The touch was firm but not unkind, and the person's grip on his shoulders was surprisingly steady.

"Oh dear, what's happened to you?" a voice quivered, frail but filled with surprising strength. Sanji felt the woman's breath on his face, the sound of her words a comforting melody in the stillness. Her long, spiky gray hair brushed his cheek as she leaned over him, a stark contrast to the rough fabric of her traditional garb.

The chef tried to speak, to explain the madness that had brought him here, but his body had had enough. The pain from his injuries, the loss of his eyesight, the trauma of his journey through the void—it all converged into a crescendo of agony that stole his voice. His throat constricted, and his words became a strangled whisper. "I... I can't see," he managed to gasp out before the blackness claimed him once more.

The old woman's eyes widened at Sanji's admission, and she let out a sigh that was half shock, half sorrow. She knew all too well the cruel hand fate could deal, having lived a long, solitary life in this mysterious forest. With swift hands, she began to inspect his injuries, her calloused fingers moving over his bruised and bloodied form with surprising gentleness.

Her touch grew more urgent as she felt the extent of the damage. "You need help," she murmured, her voice trembling. "But I cannot do this alone." With a deep breath and a swift gesture of her right hand, she whispered something and just like that, two copies of the old woman materialized beside her, identical down to the last detail. The air crackled with a faint energy, leaving a faint scent of ozone in its wake. Sanji, too weak to react or stay full awake, could only feel the sudden shift in weight as his body was lifted off the ground.

The trio of old women moved with surprising speed through the dense underbrush, their steps in sync despite the darkness. Each one took turns carrying Sanji, their movements coordinated like a well-rehearsed dance. The forest around them whispered with secrets, and the night creatures watched them pass with wary eyes. The young man in the ripped black suit was a stark contrast to their simple black kimonos.

As they walked, Sanji could feel the warmth of their bodies, the soft fabric brushing against his own. Each of their kimonos had a unique red and white fan design etched into the back, the crimson color standing out like a beacon in the moonless night. The intricate patterns wove a silent story, hinting at a lineage steeped in tradition and possibly hidden power.

With the actions of today, two worlds would be changed and the course of its histories diluted.

A new story after a long time from comment if you can :)