Heart of the sea

Storming emotions

Baratie, the floating restaurant, was a well-known establishment in the East Blue, located near the Grand Line—but not so close as to invite the dangers and whispers from that deadly sea. It boasted a five-star rating, though it was often debated whether this was due to its excellent food and service or the sheer intimidation that came with dining there.

Regardless of the reason, the Baratie had a reputation all its own. Those who did business with the restaurant rarely spoke of their dealings afterward. The clientele was a mixed bag of pirates, marines, and other drifters. One of the more unique aspects of the Baratie was its policy of equality: it didn’t matter if you were a pirate or a navy officer—if you were hungry, you were welcome to enjoy a meal. But dining there came with a few unwritten rules that all patrons were expected to follow.

Rule No. 1: Always finish your meal. Leftovers were a strict no-no. If you couldn’t clean your plate, the staff would graciously pack up your food to go, but leaving food uneaten was frowned upon.

Rule No. 2: Don’t mess with the employees. This was the most critical rule, for the staff of the Baratie were no ordinary cooks and waiters. Each of them had a past shrouded in mystery, and while they never spoke of it, it was clear they were all formidable fighters. This reputation only made the Baratie more popular, as guests were often eager to witness the infamous guest-vs-staff brawls that occasionally erupted.

At the helm of this unique establishment was Red-Leg Zeff, the head chef and owner, whose name inspired both respect and fear. Zeff was a former pirate who had once navigated the treacherous waters of the Grand Line, and his reputation as a fierce warrior and skilled chef was well-earned.

Working under Zeff was his assistant chef, Sanji—a 16-year-old with a passion for cooking and a penchant for charming women. Though he was still young and hadn’t yet earned the same level of respect as Zeff, Sanji was an exceptional chef for his age. Trained by Zeff himself, he had become quick and dexterous in the kitchen, his knife skills honed to near perfection. But beyond his culinary talents, Sanji was also a formidable fighter, known for his powerful kicks that could easily take down any opponent who underestimated him.

***

"Go to hell, you shitty old geezer!" Sanji’s voice echoed through the restaurant, cutting through the silence of the closed dining hall. Fortunately, the restaurant was already closed for the night, so there were no guests to disturb. The workers, who were well-accustomed to these outbursts, decided not to intervene this time.

"Who do you think you’re talking to, you little brat?!" Zeff roared in response, his voice booming across the room. Then, as if to remind everyone of the most important rule in the Baratie, he added, "And no damage to my restaurant, you hear me?!"

The argument ended with the sharp slam of a door, signalling to everyone that the latest shouting match between the two was over—for now.

Such outbursts were common at the Baratie, and the staff were already used to them by now. The nature of the relationship between the young man and the old chef was a mystery to most, but no one really questioned it. They bickered and yelled like any other father and son, but underneath the noise, there was a bond—one that ensured Sanji would always return, and they’d share a quiet dinner together at the end of the day.

But this time was different. Sanji wasn’t just stepping outside for a smoke to cool off. He was genuinely angry, the kind of anger that needed more than a few puffs of a cigarette to dissipate. He needed to clear his head, and the open sea was the only thing that could calm him down. Plus, they were running low on some ingredients, so he figured a quick trip to the nearest island would kill two birds with one stone.

He hadn’t put much thought into the weather when he stormed out of the restaurant, nor had he mentioned to anyone where he was headed. Sanji moved quietly, not wanting to draw any attention as he slipped away.

He was about halfway to his destination when the clouds began to gather, turning a menacing shade of grey. Before long, rain started to pour, and Sanji found himself caught in a violent storm on the open sea. He was alone. No one knew where he was. And worst of all, he hadn’t even apologized to Zeff.

As the storm raged on, memories from years ago surged back to him—the terror of that fateful day when his life had been forever changed. He could still see the massive waves that had come out of nowhere, the way they had swallowed up the ship he was on, tearing it apart as if it were made of paper. He remembered the cold, the fear that had gripped him as he was thrown into the sea, barely able to keep his head above water. And then, Zeff—how the old man had risked everything to save him, diving into the stormy waters without a second thought.

Sanji tried to push the memories aside, but they clung to him like the biting wind. He cursed himself for being so reckless, for setting sail without checking the weather. But it was too late for regrets now. The waves, once a source of peace for Sanji, now loomed like monstrous walls, and the wind howled with a fury that chilled him to the bone.

Desperately, he tried to think of a way out, but nothing came to mind. He hated this feeling of helplessness, hated how weak he still was despite all his training. *How is this happening again?* he thought bitterly. *I’m not that scared kid anymore.* But no matter how hard he tried to shake it, the fear kept gnawing at him, a reminder that he wasn’t as invincible as he wanted to believe.

Gritting his teeth, he fought against the waves with the oars, searching the endless darkness for any sign of land or a passing ship. But there was nothing—just the relentless storm and the unforgiving sea.

Water began to flood the boat, and no matter how hard he bailed, it kept pouring in. His efforts were futile. The ship, his only lifeline, capsized beneath him.

The icy water hit him like a thousand knives, cutting through his skin and sinking deep into his core. He felt lost, utterly alone in the vast, merciless ocean. *No, this can’t be happening—not now,* he thought, as dread settled in. He had worked so hard to become stronger, to have a place to call home, a place to return to. But now, all that was slipping away.

He thrashed against the current, trying to reach the overturned boat, but his strength was ebbing away. Thunder roared above him, and lightning flashed, but it did nothing to pierce the blackness that surrounded him. He couldn’t die here—not when there was so much left undone, not when he still had so much to prove.

But the waves kept crashing over him, dragging him down before he could even gasp for air. He struggled, fought with everything he had, but the cold and the exhaustion were overwhelming. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, and he felt the darkness closing in.

In a final, desperate effort, Sanji looked up toward the surface, where the storm raged on above him. He knew this was it. The end. The angel of death had finally come to claim him. And as his body went limp, he let the darkness take him, imagining for a brief moment his mother’s smile, before everything faded to black.