🂴 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

037 ❘❘ Memory 6 (Part 4)

The words hit their mark. Jessica and the cooks stiffened, realization crashing over them.

Sliding a fresh cigarette between his lips, Sanji continued, "It doesn't matter if it's 10,000 berries or a million. You shouldn't waste even one piece of food." The marines shifted, shame flickering across their faces. Some averted their eyes, guilt pressing heavy on their shoulders.

Sanji wasn't done. He had listened to Jessica's lessons before, now it was their turn. "No matter what food it is, giving love to the whole thing is a cook's etiquette... just like loving everything about a lady."

He smirked, lighting his cigarette at last. "That was borrowed straight from a certain old geezer." The flame hissed, smoke curling into the air, sealing his words with quiet finality.】

Whitebeard chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very air. Crossing his massive arms, amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well damn," he mused, eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "Those words sound familiar."

Perched beside him, Marco arched a brow, golden hair catching the light like embers in the wind. He took a slow sip of sake, courtesy of Buggy's loud demand for food, letting the warmth settle in his throat. "Eh? Who, yoi?" His calm demeanor never wavered, even in curiosity.

Whitebeard stroked his beard, calloused fingers brushing against the edges of timeworn memories. His sharp gaze drifted to the horizon, sifting through the past. "Hmm... must've been long ago," he muttered, voice laced with the weight of old battles. "Can't quite remember."

His gaze eventually found Sanji, surrounded by a cluster of eager 4th Division members. The cook exhaled a slow curl of smoke, unbothered by their admiration, his usual composed air undisturbed.

"But it does sound familiar..." Whitebeard's voice trailed, brows knitting in thought.

Marco followed his captain's stare, lips curving in a knowing smirk. "Maybe his teacher's a friend of yours, yoi... or an enemy?" His teasing tone barely masked genuine intrigue.

Laughter erupted from Whitebeard, a quake of sound that made nearby sake bottles tremble. "Gurarara... Who knows?" His hand shot out, faster than expected, swiping Marco's cup before he could react.

"Woah there, old man," Marco protested, feigning irritation, though his eyes glinted with amusement. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Take it easy, yoi."

Whitebeard waved him off, already tipping the cup to his lips. "It's too little to knock me out," he declared, savoring the taste. "Not like it can. Can we even get drunk here?"

Marco sighed, rubbing his temple. "Who knows if we can? Still, you shouldn't—"

A gleam of glass caught his eye. A larger bottle, Whitebeard's favorite, appeared as if the universe itself conspired to indulge him. The cork popped, echoing in the quiet air. Marco groaned, running a hand down his face as Whitebeard's eyes lit up like a child discovering treasure.

"Great... just great," Marco muttered, watching his captain pour a generous serving. A resigned smile tugged at his lips. Some things, even time and death, could never change.

【The moment Sanji's monologue ended, the marine soldiers snapped out of their trance, eyes widening as they fixated on the feast before them. In an instant, discipline crumbled. Plates clattered, hands scrambled, and in a frenzy of hunger, they tore into the food like men starved.