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(The beginning of the end looks something like this: Dracule Mihawk’s Houndoom goes down with an Aura Sphere so bright that it lights up the stadium, and the cameras that are recording the Pokémon World Championships momentarily glitch out, projecting only a white staticky screen in its wake.

When they finally begin functioning again, all that’s left on the battlefield is Roronoa Zoro’s Lucario, panting with exertion as it stands over the slumped dog. With a nod, Mihawk retracts his partner back into his Pokéball and bows out with grace, exiting the stadium with a raise of his hand as the crowd rises to give the retiring World Champion of twenty years a standing ovation.

When Mihawk’s cape vanishes behind the door, their attention turns to the green-haired trainer who remains in the middle of the battlefield. Cameras flash, popping one by one, leaving bursts of white that remain etched behind Zoro’s eyelids.

This is Zoro’s first thought when he becomes the new World Champion: I did it, Kuina. Are you watching? I kept my promise.

As he watches as interviewers scramble toward him and the spectators rumble with excitement, a sudden hollowness seeps through him, dark and void and empty.

He is the best in the world. There is no one above him to strive for. There is no higher to go, no goal to aim for, no mountain to climb.  He is a man forged of ambitions and those ambitions have been fulfilled.

Zoro’s second thought when he is crowned Champion: What now?)

#

You are born in a village somewhere a little way off of Shimotsuki Village, tripping over Oddish and chasing after newly-hatched Starly with chubby toddler hands. In the dirt lot of your school, you play-pretend, mimicking the passing trainers that occasionally wander into your town with imaginary Pokémon and imaginary commands, some of which don’t even exist.

Your parents are miners, rarely home, and when they do come back, they smell of coal and gunpowder.

The adults call you rational, logical, and pat your head as you recite your multiplication tables because bankers and accountants are safe and common routes while Pokémon trainers are one-in-a-million.

They love you, you know. Your parents, that is. Even if you are all strangers living under the same roof twelve nights in a year. You do not tell them that you pick up type matchups better than any of the other kids in your grade. You do not tell them that memorizing TMs and HMs is second nature to you while those perfect marks in history and science are earned through hours of repetition and janky flimsy flashcards, even at the young age of ten.  

There are two paths before you: the safe path and the risky one. You know which one your parents would want you to walk.

When you are thirteen, you meet a small hungry Litwick, late at night in an abandoned dojo bordering your village and Shimotsuki. You are supposed to walk straight from your grandmother’s to your house but the purple candlelight draws you in.

Litwick are supposed to devour the souls of all living things, foxfire leading lost travelers to their death, but it eats the kibble out of your hand just fine.

It follows you home, and you wake up with your heart still beating and breath still in your lungs. Your parents think that Litwick are bad luck; one flame is enough to cause an accident lethal enough to kill. You think that it’s good company, more often than not lighting dark paths and corners while nestled on your shoulder.

This is your first step off the beaten path.

When you are fifteen, Roronoa Zoro becomes a household name.

You watch through the tiny static television as he takes down Mihawk’s team, one by one. You gasp when his Dragonite knocks out Mihawk’s Luxray, then is in turn downed by Houndoom. Then, both sides are left with a single Pokémon.

Litwick makes a small noise of warning when you lean too close to the television and nearly knock over a stray cup of water.

Each side gives it their all, but when the dust clears, there is a new Champion, and you think to yourself: this is what it means to be the best in the world.

Roronoa Zoro shines on the world stage like he was always meant to be there. You will remember the way that the cameras caught the sternness of his face, the steely look in his eye, how it illuminated the scar across his eye, and the trust he had with his Pokémon.

You will not remember the group of people sitting in the front spectator row cheering him on. The cameras didn’t care about them, and so they slip in and out of your mind like blurry splotches of watercolor. Orange, blonde, blue, red.

The next days are spent pouring over books in the library, memorizing routes, items, and evolution stones. Books burn like nobody’s business, so you have to smuggle your partner-in-crime in your bookbag where he tries to waddle along the corner of the table and tries to turn pages for you with its small waxy hands.

Roronoa Zoro marks your second step off of the destined path. 

For the next couple of months, it seems that all anyone can talk about is the new Champion. You read magazines with articles about him and watch interviews with a quiet bright-eyed wonder. His answers are terse, shoulders squared.

He looks tired, you think by the third interview, when the glamour of the pedestal has started fading. He is just a man. World-weary and a little lost and oh so untouchable. Litwick tries to reach out and try to wipe the barely visible bags from under his eye from the pixelated screen. Every so often, one of his many friends (a smiling boy in a straw hat, a scowling girl with orange hair, and more often, a tall lean blonde man with bangs) will step into the frame, draw the camera away from him, granting him a momentary reprieve.

Strongest in the World, the magazine headlines say. Challengers battle for the title every day. No one can even come close. And it's true. In what few clips are televised, Roronoa wipes entire teams with a single Pokémon, expression unreadable. A demon. Specializes in destructive hard-hitting moves. Unstoppable. 

You can’t tell what this demon is thinking. Once, just once, you think you notice a flicker of something akin to hopelessness but when you blink it vanishes behind that blank mask of indifference.

Six months after he wins the Championship, Roronoa Zoro vanishes and no one knows where he’s gone.

The nation searches for him in a frenzy. You are disappointed, of course. You can’t aim for a ghost, but part of you can’t help but be a little relieved.

He looked like he was suffocating. 

#

(“You can’t just leave, shitty marimo—oi, Luffy, talk some sense into him, will you?” 

Luffy hums, watching them all with his hands laced behind his back. Soon, he’ll be off doing who knows what with some legendary Pokémon, when, Sanji thinks a little bitterly, that he should be here. “Do you think leaving is going to help?” Luffy asks him, point-blank.

“Yeah,” Zoro exhales, dragging his hand down his face. “Or at least, it has to be better than whatever the fuck this is. I feel like I’m losing my mind not knowing what to do, either in purgatory or playing goddamned circus monkey. I’m tired, Luffy.”

No one speaks. Luffy studies Zoro, signature smile wipes completely from his face. Then, he turns to study each of them. Sanji’s wondering if he’s weighing them on a scale: Zoro vs them. Zoro vs. him. “Okay,” he says finally. “Okay. If Zoro wants to go, then Zoro should go.”

“Oi—Luffy!”

Robin places a hand on Sanji’s arm and shakes her head. Her Unknown swirling above them, soaking in his agitation. Sanji shudders, his Ampharos glowering at Zoro’s Lucario, a whole conversation occurring separately between the two of them.

“Fine.” The word tastes like defeat. “Fine. When do you plan on coming back?”

“No clue.”

“Zoro-bro. You should probably—”

“When are you coming back,” Sanji snaps again and Zoro fixes him with such a cold look that it nearly strikes him down. Still, he barrels on. “How are we going to know you’re not dead?” 

“You won’t,” he says, like all the years, everything they were, everything they had means nothing. “I’ll come back when I feel human again.”

“What do you feel like now?” Brook asks, not unkindly. 

“Empty,” Zoro replies, so flat and unlike him that his tone alone seals the deal. “Completely empty.”)

#

Three years come and go, and slowly the world resettles back into a new routine. The Championship remains championless, and Dracule Mihawk is reluctantly dragged back into the stadium to fend off the crown. 

The fight you have with your parents is cutting and brutal; they think you should go straight to college. You want a couple of years to complete your Pokémon journey. It is only when your father relents, seeing the discarded dreams of his own youth in your clenched fists that the battle is won. 

Your town is so small that you have to hike it over to Dawn Town to officially start your Pokémon journey. 

Professor Nico is the youngest of her cohort, but she assesses you with careful sharp eyes and you feel yourself unconsciously straightening your back. “Another trainer, hm?” she muses. “Alright then, well, come on over and pick out a starter Pokémon.” 

You shake your head. You’re already spoken for, you’re afraid. Litwick makes a disgruntled noise at the idea of being replaced and jumps up and down like a toddler stamping his foot on your shoulder. He quickly stops and rubs your cheek when his flame nearly grazes your skin. 

“Ah.” Professor Nico observes your interaction with quiet solemnity. “I see. I knew someone like you once. Had a Riolu that was attached to his hip; could never see one without the other. Instead of calling it a starter Pokémon, how about we just consider this a new friend?” 

You consider. This, you can get behind. You nod. She beckons you forward. “Do you have a type preference?” Litwick is a fire and ghost, so they are weak to water and dark-type Pokémon. Grass and Fighting are ideal, but you know that it is the bond with the trainer that matters the most, not the strength of the Pokémon itself. 

There are no weak Pokémon. Only weak trainers. 

You gesture to the Pokéballs, miming an opening motion.

“Don’t speak much, do you?” Professor Nico asks, a soft smile gracing her face. “You want to get a feel of what your connection with each Pokémon is before you decide?” 

The three Pokémon are young, and already, you can feel Litwick wondering if you’re going to put him on babysitting duty. Don’t be rude, you chide silently, and Litwick huffs, turning its head upward and crossing its stubby arms. 

Kneeling, you extend out a hand. All three bound over to you, and Litwick streaks down your arm, assessing each of the potential members like he’s taking in suspects in a lineup. You sigh and gently drag Litwick backward with the patience of a beleaguered parent. 

The Charmander and the Squirtle are excited creatures, taking a quick sniff, curiosity dying quickly, but the Bulbasaur waits for their turn patiently, leans into your hand, and you know, this is the one. 

Litwick nods in approval and you teasingly ask if you’re going to be deferring to him for the final say now. 

“A Bulbasaur, hm?” Professor Nico asks, reaching for the Pokéball. She hands it over to you, and you quietly stash it away in your backpack. You have a feeling that after being in a Pokéball for a while, some fresh air might be nice. 

“I was wondering,” she asks. “Do you have a dream?” 

You pull out your phone, swiping over to a picture of Roronoa Zoro. “You want to be Champion?” Nico Robin asks. Yes and no. You want to be the best in the world, and doing so means that you have to beat the best in the world. 

Dracule Mihawk has been overthrown but sits on the throne anyway. You shake your head, and Professor Nico’s eyes are blown wide with sudden understanding. 

“Roronoa Zoro hasn’t been seen in a little over three years, you know,” she tells you. 

Of course, you know. But you don’t think he’s dead, no body has been found after all, and if he’s not dead, then he’s still somewhere out there. Shrugging, you sling your bag back over your shoulder. 

“Before you go,” Professor Nico says. “Let me put my number in your phone. And here. A Pokédex.” 

A tentative smile creeps up onto your lips, and you nod your thanks, walking out of the lab as she waves goodbye. The next town awaits. 

#

“I had a trainer come in today,” Robin says, once everyone has joined the group call. “They said they wanted to be the best in the world.” A pause: “Well, said is pushing it a little bit.”

“Trainers gunning for the Championship are dime a dozen, Robin dear,” Sanji says. Love, Robin thinks, is not always a soothing thing. Sometimes, it makes us bitter. There had always been something between Zoro and Sanji that she didn’t quite understand, a rivalry, perhaps, or something larger. It had imploded when Zoro left, and where Sanji had carved out a space for Zoro in his bleeding heart, only shredded unstitched scraps remain.

“What was so special about them?” Nami asks. Based on the background, she appears to be exploring the unventured lands of God’s Valley. “You usually don’t bring up just anyone who wanders in.”

“Were they super strong?” Franky asks. 

“It’s too early to say, but—”

“How old were they?” 

“Well, they just started on their journey, so—”

“When you say best in the world,” Luffy interrupts. He’s somewhere in Birka, untethered by this earth. Behind him, Robin thinks she sees a glimpse of Mew’s tail. It hasn't been long since their paths diverged, but Robin aches with longing for a time when their group was younger and their goals seemed just out of reach still.“You don’t mean Dracule Mihawk, do you? They want to beat Zoro.”

Silence washes over the group call. “Do you think they can?” Jinbe asks. It’s a good question, but someone must eventually. 

“Sanji,” Robin says instead. “Look out for a trainer headed your way with a Litwick and a Bulbasaur.” 

“You can’t be serious, Robin.” Sanji bites his lip. “Even if they can beat him which they can’t, they have to find him first. Plus, no trainer’s been able to make Zoro break a sweat in Gods knows how long. That’s part of the reason why he left in the first place.” More tentatively: “I’ve always valued your advice and knowledge, you know that, but are you sure that this won’t be a waste of time?” 

“Call me back when you meet them,” Robin urges, voice softening. “After all, everything I told you is just a hunch. When it comes to Zoro, you know him better than I do.” 

#

(Asking Luffy to stop Zoro had been the last resort. Sanji had tried to take matters into his own hands before getting the rest of the crew involved. 

“Do you really think you can keep me from going, cook?” Zoro had asked. 

The worst part was that he wasn’t even snide about it, didn’t even bait Sanji like he did all those years on the road. He was dead serious, and when he smiled it was with all his teeth. 

Later, when Sanji looked back on that moment, he would wonder if he’d heard that touch of hope in Zoro’s voice as if Sanji would really give him a challenge, make him work for this victory this time. 

Sanji stepped back and gazed around at the Pokémon Daycare. “Not here, mosshead. Let’s take this outside.” 

It’s a close battle. It’s not close enough.)

#

You catch a Ralts along the way to Lougetown on Route 1, passing by Arlong Park, which you find out from the town museum, used to be occupied by what was essentially a mafia. The town proudly boasts itself as the hometown of Nami Mikan, one of the world’s leading explorers. 

On a panel labeled History, you read about Strawhat Luffy, a bit of a legend in and of himself, with more story books and fables to boot, and as you look through the mockup drawings you see Roronoa Zoro, age nineteen and young. 

He looks vicious. He looks hungry. He looks like he can’t wait to conquer the world.  

You battle and your Pokémon grow stronger. The Ralts, you realize, is scared of the dark, which is why she keeps close to your Litwick and Bulbasaur like a lost younger sibling who insists on clutching their older brother and sister’s hands. At night, she sleeps in your hat. 

Bulbasaur evolves into Ivysaur and you all host a little party out in the woods. 

Lougetown is the largest city you’ve been to, sprawling wide and yet at the same time, carrying a quaint air about it. It boasts lovely seafood, and you eat so much you get sick the next day, Ralts running around in panicked circles as you yak into the toilet until Ivysaur manages to calm her down all while Litwick awkwardly fans your face. 

You tackle the gym the next day, blazing past…trapeze artists and…contortionists with relative ease. Sure, it’s a little strange, but it’s not any of your business. 

It turns out Lougetown’s gym leader is a clown. You don’t mean that in a derogatory way. He is, quite literally, a clown with a red nose and everything. Ivysaur, whom you’ve realized has a low tolerance for the absurd, looks at you in disbelief as if to say, this guy? Are you serious? 

She exchanges glances with Litwick, who now alternates between sitting on your shoulder and on top of Ivysaur (which you’ve suggested is a fire hazard; you were subsequently ignored). 

Litwick suggests you should just walk out and find the actual gym leader. You tell him that you think that this is the actual gym leader. 

Gym leader Buggy, is, well, he’s got a couple of tricks up his sleeves, but between Ivysaur, Litwick, and Ralts, you grind out a decently impressive victory. Buggy—(can you call him Buggy once you’ve defeated him? Best to defer to professionalism) Gym Leader Buggy launches himself into the typical speech about you and your Pokémon and trust and the power of friendship. 

“Yooouuu aren’t listening, are you?” he asks. You lie, fervently shaking your head in denial, then rush to applaud him. This seems to appease him enough to give you the first badge and the TM Trick Room. 

Rushing out of the gym with your tired and worn-out friends, you immediately run smack into a blonde man with swirling eyebrows who's been smoking a cigarette. Standing by his side are a Blaziken and Ampharos who all stare at you as you run to get to the PokéCenter. 

“Hey, kid,” The Man says when you step out of the Center, your team patched up and ready to go. His cigarette is down to nothing.  “How about a battle?” 

#

You stare at him. He stares back at you. You take in his overpowered Blaziken, his Ampharos, then feel Ralts tugging at the back of your coat as she tries to hide between your back, and think what the fuck. 

This man is either joking or he’s a thug who’s targeting you because he knows you’re vastly overpowered, but thugs usually don’t have Pokémon of this caliber, nor do they dress in such nice suits. Loan shark, maybe? Either way, you’re not going to put your own Pokémon through this bullshit. 

Once that decision is made, you dodge around him and slip into the Pokémart. He looks familiar, you muse as the little bell over the door rings and the person at the register greets you. Have you seen him before? Then again, it’s not like there’s only one blonde man in existence ever. 

You’re stocking up on Super Potions and Great Balls when the door chimes behind you. “Oi,” you hear, low and irritated, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. 

Doesn’t this guy have someone better to scam? 

He wordlessly follows you to the register as you check out, and finally, he asks, “Do you have a dream?”

Not that you’re complaining, but people seem very interested in your dream these days. You show him the same photo of Roronoa Zoro. 

It’s a good one, now that you think about it, unaltered and not some faux pose. A candid, caught when he was talking to one of his friends, a shorter boy with a name that sounds more like an attack move. 

He’s smiling in that photo. You like it. It reminds you that he’s human too. 

The Man soaks in the image, and something about him softens. “I’d forgotten what his smile looked like,” he murmurs, mind a million miles away. “He did it less and less in the end.”

So the mystery man knows Roronoa Zoro. Does he know where he is? You shove a map at him and tap the editing tool to show him how to mark a location. He doesn’t move. 

“Where are you headed?” he asks and you point to Alabasta. “Alabasta, huh? Wonder if Vivi’s still there. Do you mind some company?” 

You don’t even know this man, but for some reason, your Pokémon have given you the okay, after what appears to be a deep conversation with the guy's own Pokémon. 

Sighing, you shrug. Your fourth companion turns out not to be a Pokémon but a man. 

#

(He and Zoro are not the main characters of the world. 

If anyone deserves that title, it is Luffy, who has formed this merry band of misfits and is searching for a literal Pokémon god. Sanji doubts that Luffy intends on catching it, has always been against that sort of thing, but he also can’t imagine Luffy walking up to it with his hand out for a friendly handshake either. 

In comparison, Sanji’s own goals of creating a Daycare in which he can create a welcoming environment for Pokémon, raise them to their full potential, nurture and protect abandoned creatures, seems relatively small. A sanctuary of sorts.

Still, it is his, which may be why he bristles when Zoro asks him if he’s ever considered battling competitively. 

“Nope,” he says as he patches up his Swabu. He and Zoro had just had another casual battle, and the marimo had edged him out with a surprisingly quick Psybeam from his Kirlia. “Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean that it’s everything to me. Not like it is to you.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Uh,” Sanji sets down the patch. “Run a daycare, probably? Maybe focus on Pokémon breeding?”

“Didn’t peg you for someone who cared too much about stats,” Zoro comments, taking the bandages from Sanji’s hand and turning to Sanji’s Combusken who extends a trusting arm out. 

“I don’t. But it’s more about the principle,” he explains. “Good stats are a byproduct of happy Pokémon, and I don’t know, I want to make a place where Pokémon can be happy.” Because God knows that not all people are ethical, and not all Pokémon are treated well. 

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting that, but it’s not surprising either.” He wraps up the cut and pats Combusken on the back. 

“And you? You just want to take down Mihawk, yeah?”

 “Yep.” 

“What about after?” 

Zoro snorts. “I’m nowhere near Mihawk’s level yet, dartbrow. We’ll cross that bridge once we get there.” 

Sanji eyes him, turning the words over in his head. You could come live with me for a bit, he wants to say. After all of this is over. Instead, he just nods. “Good of a plan as any, I guess.”

And, well, look how that turned out.) 

#

The Man makes a mean soup. After devouring your third bowl, you finally pull out the photo of the missing Champion and point to it, then The Man. “Why do I want to find him?” The Man correctly surmises. “Because it’s been three years, and he still hasn’t come back yet and it’s pissing me off.” 

This makes no sense to you, but there’s definitely history there. Roronoa’s ex, maybe? 

Who are you? you type out, then show him. 

“I run a daycare,” The Man says. You dubiously eye his Pokémon, who appear strong enough to go toe to toe against one of the Elite Four. They’re certainly no Igglypuff or Pichu. He catches you staring and laughs. 

“I used to battle quite a bit. Had to, you know. Part of traveling with Luffy.”

Strawhat Luffy? The Man who defeated an entire criminal organization trying to harness the power of a legendary Pokémon, saved the universe, then essentially went off to assist other Pokémon in need around the world? That Strawhat Luffy? 

Who the fuck is this guy? 

If he traveled with Strawhat Luffy, he would have traveled with Roronoa Zoro, meaning that there would be enough time for him to develop a relationship with him, then…is he a jilted lover? 

The Man, he’s not, uh, ugly. Quite the opposite, in fact, but the idea that the champion you’re gunning to beat is the kind of person who would fuck and flee sort of upsets you. You awkwardly reach out to pat his arm as Litwick makes shadowboxing movements in what appears to be a weird proposition to hit Roronoa when you find him.

That brings a ghost of a smile to his face. “Eat up, kid,” he says, ladling you another bowl of soup. “Once you’re full, I want to check out how your Pokémon fare in battle.”

#

“So, I met the kid you were talking about, Robin,” Sanji says once the trainer and the Pokémon have gone to sleep. “Uh, they’re pretty quiet.” 

“I’ve always thought that people talked too much and listened too little,” Robin muses. “What’s your verdict, Sanji?” 

“They’re good,” he admits begrudgingly. “Clear understanding of strategy, good trust in their Pokémon. It was a done deal for Buggy’s insects once that Litwick was sent out. They trained a bit with me, and it’s obvious they’ve got a hell of a lot of potential.” 

“But?”

“The team is still young. The kid just beat Buggy today, and we’re on the road to Alabasta right now.”

“That certainly does bring back memories,” Robin muses. “Let me know how they fare against Vivi. I’m sure that Ivysaur will shine against her ground-types.” 

“Sure thing, Robin darling,” he says. “What if…” he pauses, something cold slithering into his veins. This entire time, Sanji has been banking on the fact that once Zoro’s finally tasted defeat, once he finally remembers that he’s mortal instead of some fucking untouchable god who’s legions above everyone else, he’ll remember the rest of them. He’ll remember the things worth living for besides the title. 

Because Zoro is not Mihawk. Mihawk, who was off wreaking havoc and stopping disasters not out of benevolence but sheer boredom, waiting for someone to make him use strategy for once, to make him feel like there was a challenge out there beyond himself. 

Mihawk, who hadn’t had anyone to fall back on, who learned the hard way that sometimes, the only person you can trust is yourself. Zoro has people he can rely on. An entire crew of them, in fact. He’s just forgotten and needs an ass-kicking to remind him.

But what if that doesn’t happen? What if the kid defeats Zoro, and Zoro feels that he’s burnt all his bridges already? Left with nothing but a shattered pedestal and an empty legacy? 

He completes his thought: “What if the kid beats him and he doesn’t come home? What if it makes things worse?”

“Sanji,” Robin soothes. “There’s no way to know about these things until it happens. All we can say is that in the status quo, nothing will change.”

It should be fine. Zoro is tenacious to a fault, he knows. Knew. Sanji doesn’t know who Zoro is anymore, he reminds himself. Anything could happen. 

Something pulls at his pant sleeve. The kid’s Ralts glances up at him in what can only be called concern. 

Ralts can feel human emotions, you know, an echo of Zoro’s voice says. Though I don’t need a Ralts to tell me when you're trying to hide how you’re feeling, cook. Now that he thinks about it, Zoro had a Ralts too, didn't he? It evolved into a Kirlia, then a Gallade. 

“Sorry for waking you up,” he whispers, ruffling the Ralt’s head gently. “I’m okay.” 

The Ralts doesn’t seem convinced but shuffles back to her trainer’s hat and curls back up in the makeshift bed again. 

Shit. He exhales slowly. Shit.

#

(Zoro kisses him in Alabasta, the desert wind kicking up around him. It’s not a very good kiss; they both pull apart spitting out sand because the timing was trash.

“Ugh,” Sanji grumbles, feeling the crunch of sand in his molars. “What the fuck was that?”

Then he leans forward for another. 

.

Thriller Bark is an entanglement of limbs, of desperation, and of true fear. “Stupid,” Zoro chastises as he flicks Sanji on the forehead from where his face is pressed into Zoro’s chest, sleeping. He’d taken a blow meant for Luffy from a brainwashed Tyranitar, and nearly died. 

He hadn’t though, and that’s what mattered. “Stupid,” he mutters more fondly, brushing away strands of hair, and watching Sanji unconsciously lean into his touch. 

.

Zoro tells Sanji that he loves him in Dressrosa, noting in amusement the way that his face flames, the embarrassed: “Oi, you can’t just say things like that, shitty marimo.” 

Still, it is Sanji who links their hands together in the streets of the bustling city, still refusing to look in Zoro’s direction. 

.

Sanji confesses in Whole Cake after the seventh badge has been won and sits shining in Zoro’s badge case. “I love you,” he says. Luffy has dismantled Germa 66’s Pokémon hypnotizing weaponry, sending the factory to the ground in smithereens. 

“I know,” Zoro murmurs. “I’ve always known.” 

.

They make it to Raftel, the last frontier. They help ward off the grunts and the lieutenants while Luffy charges ahead and takes down the boss, freeing Arceus from whatever device they have it shackled to. 

The machine trembles, then explodes, and Arceus roars half in triumph, half in rage. 

.

“Glad that I’m with you,” Sanji mutters as blocks of flaming stone rained down from the sky. He stands back to back with Zoro, both of their Pokémon released from their Pokéballs. None flee. “At the end.” 

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Zoro laughs, straight in the face of death. “Aren’t I the lucky one?”

Except, Luffy manages to work his magic on Arceus, and the world doesn't end. One by one, they fulfill their dreams. Nami remakes the World map. Robin’s breakthrough evolutionary studies reports rock the scientific community. With Franky and Usopp’s help, Sanji builds up his daycare between Lougetown and Alabasta. Zoro treks to the Battle Frontier, knocking down trainers from their high horses like some sort of dark knight. 

It's at the Battle Frontier that Zoro takes down Mihawk with the whole world watching. 

It's at the Battle Frontier that Sanji loses him.)

#

Ralts evolves the next morning into Kirilla, much to your surprise. Litwick, on the other hand, acts extremely betrayed, the only one of the original three to remain in his first evolution form. 

The Man, who still hasn’t given you his name yet, looks like he’s seen a ghost. He masks it behind a shaky smile, cheering and grinning with the rest of you, but you can’t help but raise an eyebrow. 

You aren’t dumb enough to not know what’s going on, and everyone and their mother knows that Roronoa Zoro had a Gallade. 

Whatever their past together was, it must have been more painful than you thought. 

You’ve never been good at comforting people. 

Twin Cape. Whiskey Peak. Little Garden. 

The Man weaves together stories of living legends, pointing out innocuous things that he remembers. There’s a pattern, you notice. He always waits for you to explore the place first, hear other people’s tales, and learn about their lives. Only when you are about to leave does he tell you of his experience here, as if he’s afraid to overstep with your journey.

The second thing you notice is that he never talks about Roronoa. More than once, he almost slips up. In Little Garden: “God, I forgot how big these fucking Tauros and Ursarang were. We’d used to compete to see who could defeat more of them, me and the marim—” Then he clams up, shakes his head as if wiping the thought out of his mind, and redirects you to something else. 

You don’t push him. A man’s past is his own, but there are times at night where he’s unreadable and others where he seems unbearably sad, lighting his cigarette until six or more stubs lie scattered on the ground come morning. 

Alabasta rises beyond golden dunes, Onix rumble beneath the sands, spouting from the ground out of nowhere, and Sandshrew and Sandile jump out at you from random spots in the sand. 

The Man doesn’t help. Just watches and follows like a shadow at high noon. He’s even returned his Pokémon into their balls; no need for them to be buffeted by the stinging grains. He walks the paths that you clear with those black dress shoes, somehow never sinking into the slippery sand, like a mirage. 

As long as he doesn’t get underfoot, he can do whatever he likes.

The Man disappears once you pass the city walls, and part of your wonders if he truly was a desert illusion created from a dehydrated mind. 

You spend a couple days traversing the Bazaar until you decide that you might as well challenge Gym Leader Vivi for the Karoo Badge. 

It’s a more definitive win than Lougetown. Ivysaur’s Vine Whip and Razor Leaf mow through Vivi’s team. Kirlia’s Psybeam and Draining Kiss help finish off Vivi’s Dodrio. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” Vivi tells you when she hands you the bird-themed badge. “Between you and me, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to go all out. I’ve got nothing but faith you’ll achieve your dream!” 

You blink, then nod. The Man is waiting for you when you leave the PokéCenter. “Ready to go, kid?” He taps the bill of your hat. “Nice going there. Let’s get lunch, yeah?” 

He smiles, and you know that he’s only with you because you’re also searching for Roronoa, but you still can’t help but be a little taken in by his charm. 

Six more badges to go. 

#

Sanji teaches the kid how to fish. Truth is, he’s never been good at fishing—usually Luffy or Zoro or hell, even Chopper would cast a line into the water, while he’d watch with Nami and Brook. 

The thing is, the kid is just so bad at it that it’s a little painful to watch. “Wait, no, don’t reel in the line yet—” 

Too late. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let’s try that again.” The kid fixes him with a dubious expression but tosses out the line again. “Your old man never taught you this?” he asks, unthinkingly. The kid shrugs and shakes their head. 

“You know,” he says, after an awkward silence. “I’ve been wondering. Where’s your rival? For your Pokémon journey?” Usually, kids start with a couple, a friend to keep them on their toes. (Zoro had a rival, he knew. Didn’t like to talk about her. Died young.) 

The kid just shrugs again, then gestures a little aggressively at the chain around Sanji’s neck. The question is clear: Enough about me. What is that? His hand flies to wrap around the thin gold loop. 

“It’s nothing.” Rolling their eyes, the kid snorts but doesn’t push, staring boredly out in the water. Litwick is chittering away with Blaziken while Kirlia stands guard over her trainer. Ivysaur and Sanji’s Altaria seem to be having a ball of a time. “Zoro gave it to me,” he amends. Now that catches the kid’s attention. 

He’s got to break it to the kid slowly that Zoro isn’t as cool as they think he is. The marimo has a poor sense of hygiene and speaks the language of Neanderthals. For some reason, though, he gets the sense that the kid won’t be surprised, just a casual raise of their eyebrows. Oh, that’s it? 

“But that was a long time ago,” he murmurs. He lights up another cigarette and gets a face full of pond water. “Oi, what the fuck? ”

The kid scowls until he puts away his cigarette. “Yeah, yeah, alright, sorry about that.” He’s usually better about smoking in front of Pokémon and other people. The kid taps on the chain again. 

Sanji sighs. “Have you ever been in love?” A shrug. How the kid hasn’t dislocated a shoulder yet is beyond him. “It’s…well, I would never say it’s a bad thing, but when you love someone, it’s guaranteed they’re going to hurt you.” His hand itches for a cigarette. “Sometimes, you think that you can be happy together, and then you watch them become this…shell of themselves and you think, what can I do to help? We can work through this together. And then, they just leave you.” 

The kid considers this, pulls out their phone, and types something before shoving it into Sanji’s face. He seemed…exhausted in a lot of the interviews. 

“Yeah, apparently, being at the top isn’t all it's cracked up to be. Once you become so good that no one’s a challenge for you anymore, the thing you poured your heart and soul into just…stops mattering, I guess. Fuck if I know.” 

The phone reads: Still a dick move though. Especially if you loved each other.  

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder.”

The kid nudges him with their shoe, then pointedly rolls their eyes again. The urge to ask passersby “who is this sassy lost child” seizes him in a chokehold but he resists. 

Right as he’s about to snap a comeback, the kid yelps, and is dragged by the rod into the water. Ivysaur’s vines leap into action, pulling them back as the rod bends dangerously. Blaziken helps haul the kid onto land as Sanji digs out a towel to dry them off, but he’s beaten by the Litwick who has dashed over in a frenzy with his flame flickering erratically. 

Muscles straining, the kid manages to hook on the fattest Magikarp that Sanji’s ever seen in existence. With a Pokéball, they ensnare it. By the look on their face, you wouldn’t have guessed that they ate shit a couple of seconds ago. 

“Who’s the stupid one now?” he mutters, ruffling the kid’s hair with a towel, and is immediately rewarded with a petulant smack to the side.

#

(“What is this?” Sanji asks, staring at the golden chain pooled in his hand. He plucks it up and dangles it to the light. There’s no pendant, just metal link upon metal link. 

“It’s for you,” Zoro grumbles, not making eye contact with him. “Going blind, shit cook? If you don’t want it, hand it over.”

“Nope.” Sanji steps out of Zoro’s grabbing distance. It catches the sun and sends spots of light onto the bark of a nearby tree. “You gave it to me so it’s mine now. Fuck off.” 

In Dressrosa, Sanji finds a silver chain, one that matches Zoro’s iris, and drizzles it onto Zoro’s sleeping forehead before settling into the sleeping bag that rests between him and Usopp. 

It’s around Zoro’s neck the next day. “When we fulfill our dreams,” Zoro says to him as their party treks on. “I’ll buy you something better than some necklace.” 

“Kissass. Know how to make a guy swoon, don’t you?” Sanji jibes back. “Fine. So will I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” 

There’s a golden band sitting in a black box in the pocket of Sanji’s black suit. Silver and gold. He’d thought that would make a fine pairing. He’d asked Franky to forge one for him. 

When was it that he started to worry that Zoro’s silver necklace had become more shackle than promise? The ring would only hammer that additional nail into the coffin, and that wasn’t something that Zoro needed on top of his restlessness.

Sanji wasn’t the kind of person to tie someone down when they were meant to fly, and Zoro was, above all else, a wandering soul. It wouldn’t do to lock a tiger in a cage. 

Besides, in the end, love wasn’t enough to stop Zoro from vanishing to wherever the fuck he was now. Strength was all that mattered, and Sanji and his team weren’t strong enough. 

It was as simple as that. 

.

Somewhere far away, a silver ring rests within a small velvet satchel stored away in the innermost part of a backpack, sheltered and safe from the elements.)

#

After a lot of vain splashing, Magikarp evolves into Gyrados, which is fantastic because it turns out that Skypiea is apparently airborne and Gyrados, despite having no wings, is a flying type Pokémon. 

Gym Leader Gan Fall is good, and for the first time, you don’t have any Pokémon with a blatant type advantage against his flying Pokémon. It takes a lot of tactical maneuvering, and careful striking, to eke out a close victory. For the first time, Litwick, Ivysaur, and Kirlia faint in battle. 

The experience leaves you shaken. The Man just puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “Things are only going to get harder from here,” he tells you. 

You catch a Chansey who quickly adopts the motherly role over the other four, fussing over the dirt in their hair, or chirping out warnings about the weather. Kirlia evolves into a Gardevoir, Ivysaur into Venasaur, and much to Litwick’s elation, it too evolves into a Chandelure. 

As you watch them move about, Gardevoir laughing at Chansey who currently chases after Gyrados, and Chandelure and Venasaur who are trying to determine if Chandelure is too big to carry now, a warm feeling spreads within you. 

Long Ring Long Land. Water 7. Enies Lobby. 

In Thriller Bark, Gym Leader Perona’s team of ghost Pokémon struggle to do much against your Chandelure and your Chansey, and just like that, the Umbrella badge is yours. 

“Everyone’s talking about how you’re going to find my idiot brother,” she says. Idly, you wonder what Roronoa and Perona’s mother and father looked like because there is zero resemblance between the two. For some reason, your mind conjures up a woman with half a head of green hair, half a head of pink. “Good. Make sure you do. He’s had his head up his ass for too long. And tell your friend not to give up hope just yet, yeah?” 

You relay the message to The Man, who just sighs. “If the lovely Perona says so, then I’ll try my best.” 

Fishman Island. Dressrosa. 

Badges five and six.

It’s Whole Cake, the seventh badge where things start to go to shit.

You lose badly to Katakuri’s team of fairy types. It’s the first real defeat you’ve had where stakes are on the line (The Man kicks your ass in training every day) and it hurts. It pisses you off. 

The Man finds you in the PokéCenter, shaking, hands clenched into fists. “Hey,” he mutters. “How are you feeling?” 

How does he think you’re feeling? You stare straight ahead, and he huffs, collapsing into the waiting seat beside you. You expect him to say something about how Wano is going to be harder. How there’s no way you’ll be able to come close to bringing back Roronoa and that he’s giving up on you— “I know that it can feel like the end of the world sometimes but tomorrow is a new day, yeah?” 

He gives your knee a reassuring squeeze. 

You want this so badly. To win. To be stronger. To be better. You ache with it; it consumes you. 

You want to climb to the top and see the world. You want to knock Roronoa off his pedestal so he’ll come home to a man who has never stopped loving him. 

Gritting your teeth, you let The Man’s words bounce around in your head. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is a new day. 

You leave Whole Cake in the morning once your team is ready to go. Gyrados makes a humming noise, raring for a rematch, but you shake your head and go back to Sabaody Archipelago. 

There are things that you missed in your rush to get to the top. 

Punk Hazard. Zou. The villages surrounding Whole Cake. 

Stories and people and trainers and Pokémon. 

The Man leaves when you get to Punk Hazard. Business at the daycare he has to take care of, but tells you to call him once you rechallenge the gym. He punches his phone number into your phone and saves it as Sanji. 

Sanji. The Man has a name now. 

You type his name into the Fame Checker app on your phone and begin to read.

#

For some reason, Sanji doesn’t feel great leaving the kid by themselves, but he does have a daycare to run, and one of his employees has called about a clutch of abandoned eggs. Altaria flies him back home, and he throws himself back into his work again. 

Part of him worries for the brat. Are they eating enough? Are they wearing a jacket when it’s cold? Shaking his head, he dislodges that thought and focuses on the brood of eggs. 

They’re healthy, which is good. He snaps a couple of pictures and sends them to Chopper with a quick temperature recording. 

After a moment of hesitation, he calls a number he used to call every day, then every month, then once in a blue moon. 

No one ever picks up. 

Hey. This is Zoro. Can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a message. Beep!

“Hey mosshead,” Sanji says. “You alive out there? It’s been three fucking years after all. Things have been good over here. Nami’s out there in God’s Valley, in case you’re wondering and Luffy’s…well he’s off liberating Pokémon and probably saving the universe another time. Usopp’s with Kaya. Got engaged, by the way.

Um, Franky has a contract to build this big ass Pokémon stadium. Robin finished her degree in Pokémon evolution studies. She’s handing out starter Pokémon and shit now. Which, good for her. Who am I missing? Oh, Brook. He’s some hotshot music star now, and I’d say you’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard of him, but who am I kidding. You might as well be.”

Usually, that’s where Sanji hangs up. He tells Zoro to call him when he decides to come back home, and Zoro never does. But today, he thinks of the kid, their tenacity, their youth, and it reminds him of who they used to be, back in the day. Happier. Freer. 

“I’m, uh, doing well, I think. The daycare’s going well. New batch of Eevee eggs.” What is he supposed to say? He hates talking about himself. “There’s this kid.” Great. Now he’s harping on about the brat because he’s too emotionally constipated to talk about himself. “They’re trying to climb to the top. And when they do, maybe you’ll—” Sanji stops. “Are you even listening to me, or am I just being stupid and talking into the void? Guess it doesn’t matter since it’s not like you tell me or call back.” Something hot, angry sears up his ribs and rests in his heart. It’s the part of him that wants to be spiteful. “You want to know something fucked up?” 

I was going to propose to you. I wanted to spend my life with you. 

I’ve been waiting so long. I’ll probably wait another fifty years. 

I’m still in love with you, even though you’re just a ghost at this point, and isn’t that fucked up.

I’m starting to hate you. I’m starting to tire of hating you, and that might be worse. 

I know you loved me. I know, but sometimes it’s hard to remind myself of that. 

“Forget it,” he snaps. Then a little mellower: “Forget it. I—” he swallows, and closes his eyes. “Call me if you decide to come back.”

He hangs up.

#

(You have one new message from Sanji Black at 1:53 PM. Would you like to play this message?

“Yes.”

Message playing. 

…

End of new message.

Record voice memo? 

“Yes.”

Voice memo recording.

“Hey, swirlybrows. Thanks for the update. I know that this hasn’t been fair to you. You don’t need to keep waiting, you know. Yeah, I love you, but you don’t have to love me back anymore. Not after all of this. I left because I didn’t want to tie you to me. Not the way I was, anyway. I’m alright. Better, I think, but not good enough yet to come back to you. 

Glad that the daycare’s going well. You always did deserve good things. As for the kid, well, don’t know much about kids so you got me there. Tell me more about them though. I want to hear about everything that’s going on in your life. 

If they’re good, tell them to find me. I’ll be waiting, and if they’re really good, then maybe—I’m not going to make any promises to you, cook, but if they’re worth fighting, then I’ll be waiting here. Love you. Always will.”

Send message? 

“No.”

Recording 71 Saved to Drafts.)

#

You call Sanji before entering Katakuri’s gym for a second time. It takes about ten minutes for you to spot him on an Altaria, circling the city, looking for a place to land. The moment he approaches you, you shove your phone in his face, with articles upon articles about Sanji Black and Roronoa and the Strawhats. 

First Pokémon sanctuary. Led the movement for humane Pokémon care. Consistently helps breed Pokémon with off-the-chart IVs. 

“Yep, that’s me,” Sanji says as you glower at him. “I thought you knew.” You jab an aggressive finger at your screen, then at him, to show that no, you didn’t fucking know that this was the same guy that basically redefined Pokémon care. The third member of the monster trio. 

And right, it’s not that you’re stupid, it’s just that the media placed so much focus on Roronoa and Strawhat Luffy that Sanji Black tended to be the third member lurking in the shadows. 

Still, you should have pegged his identity off the damn eyebrows. That is your bad. 

Marching back into the gym, you go through the motions again, defeating bakers and chefs who line the path to the Gym Leader. 

Katakuri fights tooth and nail, but so do you, and the odds are in your favor this time. His Sylveon hits the ground hard as your Ivysaur’s Poison Sting pierces its side.

His congratulation is nothing but sincere. “You’ll accomplish your dream,” he says, leaving no doubt in his voice, and the Sugar Badge is slipped into your hand. 

“Hey, nice going,” Sanji says, taking you out to another restaurant that has won his stamp of approval. You’re beginning to realize that this is a tradition now, and it's nice. What isn’t a tradition is when Sanji digs into his bag and hands you a large incubator with a floating egg in it. “Here’s a gift. Had a clutch of eggs. Don’t know where the parents went but that happens sometimes.” 

Whatever he’s expecting, it sure isn’t the hug that you launch at him, but he takes it in stride, chuckling. “You’re doing good, kid, keep it up.” 

You carefully slip the incubator into your bag. It’s stolen by Chansey every time you take your hands off of it, who shoves it in its pouch. After the fifth tug of war, you hand over babysitting duty to Chansey while Chandelure laughs at you. 

Then, it’s onto Wano, where Gym Leader Momonosuke is waiting with his team of Dragon Pokémon. The kid has four Dragonaires and by Dragonair number three, you’re wondering why this guy is so obsessed with the Dratini line. 

Then he sends out his Dragonite, and you think, motherfucker. 

Chansey evolves into Blissey mid-battle, becoming a hell of a tank, but the final decisive showdown is between Dragonite and Gardevoir whose Moonblast ends the battle. 

“Elite Four, then Battle Frontier, huh?” Sanji asks. You take in the clench of his jaw, the barely concealed wild haunted look in his eye, and nod. 

#

Whatever soul searching the kid did, it must have shifted their worldview or some shit, because they’re better at reading their opponents, calmer, more patient, and more precise. 

They claw their way through the Elite Four and nearly get knocked out by Fujitora, until finally, finally, they are handed a ticket to the Battle Frontier where Mihawk stands in wait. 

The unease in Sanji’s chest expands and digs roots into the muscle of his beating heart.

He has no good memories of the Battle Frontier.  

Please, he thinks to whatever gods there are, humanoid or otherwise. Don’t take another person from me. 

The Battle Frontier has no mercy, and so they don’t respond. Either it takes away your dreams as it has with so many defeated trainers, or it takes away a part of you like it did with Mihawk. 

Like it did to Zoro. 

The kid loses a lot. Then goes out and trains, “talks” to Sanji, and wins. It’s a vicious cycle and Sanji sometimes wants to dust off the kid’s knees and say, take it easy, will ya? But, that gleam in the kid’s eyes reminds him of Zoro, and the kid’s Pokémon would do anything to buoy up their trainer’s dreams, so he keeps his silence, and makes the kid some food. 

The kid fights their way up to Mihawk, who tells them that he’ll tell them where Roronoa is if they win. Then, the battle is on. 

It’s televised, Sanji thinks with derision. Just like Zoro’s was all those years ago, since not that many people get to challenge Mihawk at all, and he hates the paparazzi with a passion, hates the cameras even more. Mihawk sends out his Garchomp who goes head to head with the kid’s Gyrados. 

Dragon versus Dragon. The crowd eats it up. Dragon Breath meets Dragon Claw. Outrage meets Earthquake. The stadium rises to its feet to see better. Gyrados ends the showdown with a Hydro Blast that smashes Garchomp against a wall, but only barely, and the kid is forced to return their Gyrados back into their Pokéball.

All the while, the audience goes wild. 

Mihawk’s next Pokémon is his Luxray, and Venasaur flies out to meet him. Already, a lightning type against a Grass Type is a poor faceoff, and Mihawk withdraws Luxray, but not before it’s hit with a devastating Solar Beam. 

Corviknight replaces Luxray, and Venasaur is hastily returned, Chandelure taking his place. With a quick Fire Spin, Corviknight, a steel bird, is badly wounded. One more hit, and the bird is out of the game.

When did the kid get this strong? Sanji wonders. 

Houndoom snarls, teeth bared, ready to take down the ghost Pokémon, and the kid scowls, sending out Blissey, who takes the hits like no one's business. 

Neck and neck. 

Blissey outlasts Houndoom but is knocked out by Luxray who is in turn sent out of the arena by the kid’s Gyrados. 

And then, it’s the kid’s Chandelure versus Mihawk’s Staraptor. It’s absolutely brutal. Both Pokémon aim for blind spots, pecking and clawing and burning, until.

Until.

Until.

A new champion is crowned. 

#

You shake hands with Mihawk who leans into your ear. “Laugh Tale,” is all he says but it’s enough. You ignore the cameras, the interviewers, the fans, carefully watching as the staff tends to your Pokémon. 

Gardevoir projects a reassuring message into your mind and gestures for you to do whatever it is you need to do. Once you’re sure they’re in good hands, you walk up the steps to your friends and family box, which only has Sanji and his Pokémon. 

When you check your phone, it will be filled with congratulations from people you don’t know and don’t care about and your parents who will tell you they were watching on television, and congrats, you’ve come a long way. By the way, have you looked into which major you’d like to study? 

You jerk your head, and Sanji cracks a weak smile. “Well done,” he praises and you beam at him. 

You text him two words: Laugh Tale.

He swallows. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Alright.” 

#

(The match ends. Zoro puts away his phone.

The snow continues to fall.)

#

There is a girl here. She’s pretty. Orange hair, a large blue tattoo etched into her upper forearm, can’t be more than 25. 

You recognize her for who she is: Nami Mikan. 

“Kid, this is Nami Mikan. She’s going to help us navigate to Raftel. Nami, this is the kid.”

You wave to her. She smiles at you, and you feel young, like you could not possibly fathom the depths of what this woman has seen, the places she’s gone to, the life that she’s lived.

“The kid’s cute. You adopt them, Sanji?” 

Sanji, who’s been sipping on water, coughs. You slap him on the back a couple of times. “Alright, so the only way to reach Raftel is by ship past some of these really bad draft winds, then you can fly the rest of the way. 

You give her two thumbs-ups. She turns to Sanji. “The rest of the crew wanted to come, but they said they’ll wait for us at the mainland when we come back. Don’t want Zoro to be embarrassed by the ass-kicking you’ll be giving him, right, kid?” 

You wink, and she tosses back her head, guffawing. “Good, good. It’s been what, three years? And after you beat him, send him on over to me and I’ll whoop his ass.” She cracks her knuckles menacingly. 

Nami navigates the ship like some people breathe. “I have to,” she says when you try it and immediately steer into a coral reef. “You can only reach some parts of the world by sea and no one else is going to map them.” 

Gyrados swims by your ship until the waters begin to get choppy, and the waves grow as large as the crow’s nest of your vessel. You find shelter from the rough waters at the helm where Nami is. “Hi!” She doesn’t look bothered by the least, even when the ship rocks so violently that you’re nearly flung across the room.

“Woah, careful. Here, take a seat.” You collapse onto a wooden chair, watching as she studies a map with a critical eye. “Hey, I’ve got a question to ask. What do you plan on doing after all this is done?” 

You’re not sure, but it was always about being World Champion, not staying World Champion that drove you. Maybe you’ll open a coffee shop somewhere in Dressrosa. Maybe you’ll open a bookstore in Skypiea. Whatever it is, it’ll be a place where your Pokémon can settle down and be happy. 

Chandelure always liked flowers, you think. A flower shop would be nice too. 

It takes you a considerable amount of time to write this out, but Nami smiles, a soft lovely thing, but with frosty eyes and she says, “If you’re sure. You have to be sure. ” 

She says: “You’re so young.” 

Silence. You hear what she doesn’t say: I’m not going to stop you. I’d send you to the throne, to the altar to be slaughtered if it meant bringing back that idiot, because he’s my idiot, our idiot, and you’re just some kid. 

But, you’re just a kid, and if there can be a happy ending to all of this, then I want there to be. 

She digs in her pocket. “I found something in God’s Valley. Might do you some good. Here.” In your hands drops a Dusk Stone, which glows purple even in the lanternlight. 

You know the implications of this. What she is trying to say, and your mind spins toward Chandelure, who would become a Lampent. Your fingers wrap around the stone and squeeze till your knuckles pop out white and bony. 

It feels final. 

It feels like the end.

And you feel tired. 

#

Here is what they never told him, and what they never told you. 

You kill yourself to get to the top and you kill yourself to stay there. 

People who want to be the best run on hunger, sated only by stepping stones and the next toppled foe. But there is no one else to consume at the summit except yourself. 

You will never be full. But you can be content. And that is what makes you different from Roronoa.

The ship keeps forging ahead, cutting through dark waters. 

#

The sands of Raftel or Laugh’s Tale or whatever it's called are blood-red, sand so coarse they resemble pumice pebbles more than the conventional fine grains of Fishman Island. Smack in the middle of the entire island is a mountain so high that you can’t even see where it ends; clouds obscuring your view and you have a terrible feeling that you’re going to have to climb that thing. 

The Dusk Stone weighs heavy in your pocket, and Nami’s gaze is heavier on your back. 

You ignore her. You don’t owe her anything. 

One by one, you return your Pokémon into their Pokeballs, and immediately have to throw your hands up to catch the goliath bag of supplies that is thrown at your face. You stagger backward, only for Sanji to steady you before you get a seat of salt water. 

“I’ll wait here,” Nami tells you, looking at her nails like she didn’t almost brain you with water bottles and rations. Then, she turns to you. “Bring him back alright?” 

Her jaw is clenched, and you know that she thinks that you’re taking this too lightly, that you’d have six Pokémon, not five and an egg that still hadn’t hatched, that you’d turn Chandelure into a Lampert, but you’ve tasted the iron of defeat on your tongue. You’re close acquaintances with tenacity and this is the last thing you’d ever take lightly in your life. 

All you can do is nod solemnly to show that you understand. 

Sanji watches this all with eyes blue like the ocean behind you, unsure of exactly what is going on, but able to detect the gravity of the matter. 

“You ready to go, kid?” 

It’s a little comical how he still doesn’t know your name, given that you’re going to be hauling Roronoa back to him, but it doesn’t bother you too much. He’s seen all the important parts of you. The ugly parts, and that’s enough. 

The mountain is hazardous, though the start of the trail is deceptively easy. Sanji is jittery, you can tell by the way that he points out the local Pokémon. “Did you know that when they’re born, the parents breathe on the babies to get rid of any of the bacteria and the diseases left over from the egg?” or “Geodude differ based on the environment that they’re surrounded by. There are quartz Geodude and granite ones and limestone ones.” 

You did not know that. 

Over time though, as the journey becomes more arduous, as you get closer and closer to the summit, Sanji grows quieter and quieter. You send out your Pokémon to walk alongside you because the amount of Tyrannitar and Donphan attacking you is never-ending. 

Part of the trail is two inches wide, at the edge of the mountain face, and Venasaur wraps vines around your midsection to try to ferry you across. Unfortunately, the chasm is too wide, and so you’re forced to press your back to the granite like a cave painting and inch your way over little by little. 

The sun rises and sets. Eventually, you break through the cloud layer, and the birds go silent. It’s Sanji who breaks the tension. 

“Are you sure you want to do this,” he mumbles. “You saw what it did to Zoro.” He offers you a water bottle, and you drink to sate his nerves, noting how his wringing hands still only when you quench your thirst. He pushes a wrapped onigiri into your hands, and you eat that too, more for his sake than your own. 

It’s only after you eat and drink that he does. 

Does he feel guilty, like Nami? you wonder. Because in the grand scheme of things, what are you to Sanji? Some kid that he picked up off the side of the road? When he met you and you met him, both of you knew what you were signing up for.

But you were going to find Roronoa anyway. With or without his long-lost companion. 

Still, it is touching that he cares. Burden upon burden has been heaped upon his shoulders, and yet he still manages to be kind. 

Blissey pops out of her Pokeball, the egg still safely tucked in her pouch. You hand her an onigiri, which she gobbles down with a smile. 

It’s been a while since Sanji gave you the egg. It still hasn’t hatched yet. 

You point to the egg, and Sanji smiles, edges softening into something tender. “That Pokémon has a longer incubation period. Should be anytime now.” 

Blissey chirps happily, and soon, it’s back onto the road again. 

Toward the top, there is a cavern that leads into a series of tunnels, with only one real way forward and far too many dead ends. Hands brushing over the stone, with Chandelure and Blaziken leading the way, you stumble and trip your way through the trail, until you follow the light out and are immediately buffetted by the howling wind.

After fighting your way through the cold and the pelting hail-like snow, you enter another cavern and another tunnel. Sanji begins leaving behind an escape rope, which, in hindsight is clever because you aren’t sure how you’re going to make your way back down after all these twists and turns. 

The first sign of human life is a fire that’s just been put out.

Sanji squats, and with his bare hands, sifts through the ash. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for though, lips pursed so tightly that they’re white. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Shit.”

Then clothes, left to dry. Then another fire. Pokémon tracks from an Arcanine. A Dragonite. A Gallade. 

You exit the cavern again, and climb with your hands, scaling the mountain wall until you heave yourself onto the summit platform, reaching down to pull Sanji up with you. 

As he dusts himself off, both of you turn to see a green-haired man staring back at you with an unreadable expression. 

There’s only one person it could be. 

It is Roronoa Zoro, World Champion, lost lover, and demon trapped on a pedestal so high, it might as well be the sun. 

#

Sanji doesn’t know what to say. The whole thing feels unreal, like one of the many dreams that Sanji has where he reached out across the bed, and his hand hits Zoro’s solid form, or maybe it's closer to the ones where he hears a knock on the door, and it’s Zoro and he’s saying I’m home. I love you. 

It doesn’t matter which dream it is. In all of them, he has Zoro. In all of them, he wakes up. 

“Sanji,” Zoro croaks in disbelief, breathing his name like it’s something foreign, something to be worshipped at the altar. He glances at the kid, then at Sanji, then back at the kid. “How did you—”

He clearly didn’t expect Sanji to be here too. 

A strange feeling roils up inside of Sanji, a tumbling mix of hope and anger, and he says nothing, just stares impassively. Let Zoro squirm for once, Sanji thinks bitterly. Let him worry. All Sanji’s been doing for three years is worry and he’s due for some payback.

It takes a lot for him not to punch Zoro, more not to throw his arms around his neck. Once, he might have, but now, the rules are different. Sanji doesn’t know where the lines are drawn in the sand anymore, and he’s afraid that with any step he takes, he crosses ten of them. 

“Are you going to come down?” Sanji hears himself say, the tone frigid and unfamiliar to even him.

Zoro’s face twists into something pained, something sorrowful, and Sanji feels his heart break all over again. He already understands long before the words leave Zoro’s mouth. 

“I can’t, cook.” He takes a step forward. Sanji unconsciously takes one back, and from Zoro’s expression, you would have thought that a Dusknoir had eaten him whole and spit out his heart. Not until I'm beaten.

As if taking their cue, the kid slips between Zoro and Sanji, and relief so palpable that it nearly engulfs him surges through Sanji. Thank god for the brat, he thinks a little wearily. They're a pain but at least they can read the mood.

Zoro glowers at the kid. The kid beams, a ghastly thing that contorts their face in all the wrong ways, and jerks their head toward Zoro’s bag where they all know he keeps his Pokeballs. 

There are some things about Zoro that remain the same, one of which, evidently, is that he’s never able to back down from a challenge. His gaze remains fixed on Sanji, a terrible resignation about him when his eyes flit to the chain that still encircles Sanji’s neck. Then, he’s forced to peel his eyes away and focus on the new challenger before him.

“Come to take me down, huh?” Zoro asks, grinning without humor, barely audible in the roaring winds. The kid snorts, then nods, yanking out a Pokeball, and tossing it up and down jauntily in their palm. 

Just like that, it begins. 

#

Zoro’s Arcanine flies out to meet the kid’s Blissey, and Sanji instantly knows that it’s going to be a battle of endurance: the ever attacking Arcanine vs. the tank that is Blissey. Sure enough, Arcanine goes all in with a searing Fire-Blitz, and Blissey Minimizes, barely evading the attack. 

The snow around them melts as if it were never there, the ground wet and slick with water. 

What Sanji wasn’t expecting was how much better Zoro had become, how disappearing and training in nature when no person could match him made him more cunning and more observant. 

The Arcanine rushes the Blissey with Extreme Speed, then follows it up with a Fire Fang that makes even Sanji wince. 

Blissey takes it like a champ, immediately Soft Boiling away the damage and Minimizing again, evasion out of the roof now. Sure enough, when Arcanine goes for a Take Down to seal the game, he misses. 

At that moment, the Blissey starts to sing, the music wafting out of its mouth, haunting and sad, and Sanji fights to keep his eyes awake. The Arcanine isn’t so lucky. His eyes droop, and he bounds toward Blissey, one step, two steps, before sinking to the floor in a deep slumber. 

Zoro’s hand immediately flies to Arcanine’s Pokeball, but the music is clearly tugging at his mind as well because his movement is unwillingly sluggish. In that time, Blissey gets in not one, but two Last Resorts, devastating punches that ensure that Arcanine won’t be returning to this battle anytime soon. 

Gallade comes out, and the kid switches out Blissey for Gardevoir. Two generations. One king, one usurper, both from the same side of the same coin. Both are evenly matched, circling each other with grace. Gallade bows. Gardevoir curtsies. Then they fall on each other with vicious psychic and slicing attacks so quickly that the air ripples and the movements blur. 

Both Zoro and the kid know their Pokémon well enough that they can issue commands without speaking. It’s Gardevoir that topples to the floor this time, a wicked Night Slash slamming Gardevoir out of the air. But, Sanji notes, the Gallade has taken quite a bit of damage, and a blast of water from Gyrados’s Surf is too much to handle for the blade-wielding Pokémon. 

He wants Zoro to win. He remembers what it was like when Zoro lost, humiliatingly so to Mihawk, and the vow he swore to never lose again. There is not a moment that he ever wished for Zoro to break his vow. 

He wants the kid to win. Sanji’s heart is bleeding, bleeding, bleeding, and it has been doing so for years now. He wants it to stop, to find closure, and to do that means that Zoro has to fall. 

Four to Four. 

Zoro’s Dragonite is next in line, Dragon Rushing the Gyrados so hard that the impact nearly knocks Gyrados onto its side. It barely evades the Hurricane sent its way, screaming out a Hyper Beam that takes out Gyrados just like that. 

Suddenly, it’s Three to Four. Blissey goes out again, and suddenly, the battle drags to a standstill, with Dragonite aiming for one-hit KOs from the air while Blissey skillfully dodges and heals as needed. The Dragonite swoops in to close the distance, and that’s when Blissey launches a vicious Double Edge that blasts Dragonite backward. 

The nurse Pokémon takes some of the damage from the recoil, staggering back, and the battle continues.

Attack.

Dodge.

Attack.

Heal.

Attack.

Attack.

Then suddenly, the kid retracts Blissey, and in a quick split switch, replaces her with Venasaur, who grabs the weary Dragonite out of the air with her vines and drags him down to the ground where a single Solar Beam decimates them. 

Sanji remembers meeting Zoro’s Scizor in Zou Forrest. It had been a Scyther back then with a stern attitude, evolving into a red shining Scizor before Raftel. 

The kid tsks. They’re stuck in a bind, Sanji realizes. Both of them are. 

If the kid sends out Chandelure to toast Scizor, Zoro will just replace Scizor with Feraligatr who has the type advantage on Chandelure. At the same time, the kid is in trouble since Scizor’s bug moves are extremely effective against Venasaur. The best thing for the kid to do, then—

The kid pulls back Venasaur and sends out Blissey again. 

Zoro switches out Scizor with Feraligatr. 

Both of them hit heavy, but Blissey has taken a substantial amount of damage already, but it gets lucky and puts Feraligatr to sleep, getting in a couple good hits before the reptile wakes. 

They both go down at the same time. 

Two and Two.

Lucario and Scizor vs. Venasaur and Chandelure. 

The match is coming to an end. Sanji’s heart pounds, trying to jump out of his chest. 

Both the kid and Zoro seem to come to a silent agreement, gazes meeting across the battlefield, and Lucario and Chandelure face off. 

Whoever wins this match off, Sanji realizes, wins the battle. It doesn’t matter that they have one more Pokémon lying in wait. If the kid wins, then Chandelure will take on Scizor and eke out a victory. If Zoro wins, Scizor will pounce on Venasaur, and it’ll be game over. 

They’ll have come here for nothing. 

Aura Sphere to Shadow Ball. Meteor Mash to Overheat. 

Sanji has to jump back when stone sprays from the ground. The two Pokémon duke it out, until Lucario engages in Close Combat and gets a lucky punch in. 

Chandelure falls. 

The noise of the world muffles like someone’s plunged them all underwater. 

Venasaur jumps into the fray, and without the advantage of Close Combat, chips away Lucario’s already waning strength to nothing. 

Then, it’s Scizor versus Venasaur, the worst-case scenario for the kid. The Scizor is fast, blazing across the ground and Venasaur’s bulk wears her down. With ease, the Scizor slices through her vines, blitzing closer and closer, and Sanji flinches. 

A thud so loud and so unnatural echoes in the air, and he peaks beneath his fingers to see that Venasaur has unleashed a devastating Giga Impact.

That’s a TM move. No Pokémon in the Venasaur line learns that move naturally. 

Zoro swears, but his face has lit up with that addictive fervor, tracking everything with a vicious focus. The Giga Impact isn’t enough to cause fainting, but it does put them at an even level. 

Both Pokémon fall at the same time. 

It’s a draw. 

Zoro smiles, a thin tight-lipped line, but genuine nonetheless. He steps across the field, then freezes. 

A crack. The kid whips around and pulls out the egg incubator. 

A paw pokes out from the egg. It’s quiet, all eyes on the tiny brown fur and dappled shell. Then, an Eevee sticks its head out, shaking the gunk out of its fur, shattering the incubator, and hopping to the floor, baby eyes wide and shining. 

One Pokémon to None.

Zoro looks as if he can’t believe that this is how he loses, face twisted in shock, before he tosses back his head and laughs, joyous and free. 

Something heavy finally lifts itself from Sanji’s lungs where it’s been sitting for a long time. 

“Congrats kid,” the mosshead says, shedding his coat, and wrapping the Eevee in it. More gentle than he’s ever been, he hands the Eevee to the kid who cradles it in the crook of their arm. “It’s your victory.”

He doesn’t seem upset by it. Rather, Zoro is nearly vibrating out of his skin, the way that he used after a good fight when they were traveling the world together. There’s no other word to describe his expression but exhilarated. 

The marimo, the green-haired idiot turns to Sanji, and treks to where he stands, unmoving and as still as a stone statue. “I want to go home,” he murmurs. “I want you to take me home if you’ll still have me. I know—” he runs a hand through his hair. “---I know it hasn’t been easy on you. I get it if you never want to—” 

“Stupid.” Sanji grins, despite himself. He punches Zoro hard in the shoulder, before hooking a finger around the chain around the marimo’s neck and drawing him closer. “I’ll always want you.”

#

True to her word, when they descend the mountain after healing all their Pokémon and using some of Sanji’s to guide them, Nami judo flips Zoro onto the ship deck.

“Fucking idiot!” she roars. “Do you know how worried we were about you?”

“Geez, some things really don’t change,” Zoro grumbles. Nami cuffs him over the head again. 

Nami texts the group chat, and soon, all of the strawhats are waiting at the port for the ship to dock. “Zoro!” Luffy yells, launching himself into Zoro’s arms. 

“Zoro-bro!” 

“Zoro!” 

The kid watches, slack-jawed, hands still curled around the Eevee. Carefully, they pass the Eevee over to Blissey, then pull out a notebook and pen, awkwardly proferring it to the strawhats in a silent ask for their autographs. 

Robin giggles, hand flying to cover her mouth. “Shouldn’t we be asking you for your autograph, now that you’re the new World Champ?” 

Usopp grins, ripping out a sheet from the notepad and handing it to the kid. “Sounds about right to me.”

“Oi, I’m right here. ”

“Can it, mossy.” 

The kid has decided to go to university, after all, it turns out. They intend to conduct field research on Pokémon incubation periods, maybe get a business degree, and open their own coffee shop while they’re at it. First and foremost, however, they have to get some paperwork squared away with the League, who’s in over their heads from rumors that another Champion has run away. 

They stay with Sanji for a couple of days, saying their goodbyes. Sanji can’t help but pull the kid into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and the kid just nods before breaking out of his hold, and jerking a thumb in Zoro’s direction before making a couple of violent gestures.

“Got it. But you’ll have to get in line. I’ve got first dibs on putting him six feet under if he goes completely MIA again. But really, come back and visit sometime,” he says.

The kid clutches Sanji into another tight hug, and over the months, he’s learned how to speak the kid’s language. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for being the father that I never really had. Thank you for making this trip less lonely. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s Sanji that owes the kid everything, not the other way around. 

The kid eventually leaves, and Sanji is taken aback by the sudden want for the kid to stay. Maybe those latent pseudo-father instincts were kicking in late. 

Zoro stays with him, though. There’s an adjusting period; the mosshead gets antsy cooped up in a house, and something always clings to Sanji, telling him that Zoro doesn’t actually want to be here, despite the mosshead’s assurances. 

But that’s something that time will fix. 

They sleep in the same bed, but don’t touch. There are new gaps and shifted norms that they need to figure out, even if how they feel remains the same. 

Sanji used to dream about Zoro coming home. Now, he dreams about him leaving. Of waking up, and finding out that Zoro’s gone again. He wakes up in a cold sweat, Zoro immediately by his side. 

“I’m not going to disappear on you again,” he vows over and over again until dawn seeps through the window panes. 

There is no magic solution. No immediate all’s well that ends well. Usopp suggests seeing a therapist, and Sanji abhors the idea, takes the thought, and shoves it under a rug somewhere in his mind, but eventually, after the fifth restless night in a row, yanks it back out, and decides, worth a shot. 

Zoro goes with him. Books his own sessions in what Sanji suspects is in solidarity, but he has his own problems to work with, long overdue to be discussed with someone, and it’ll get worse before it gets better, but they have each other again, and that is something. 

The kid comes around, battles Zoro for the hell of it, and it’s anyone’s guess who’s nabbing the win. They bring samples of the coffee they want to use, and it’s so good that Sanji accuses them of lacing the beans with crack cocaine.

Zoro plays him the voice recordings, the ones that he never sent, and Sanji listens to them before he goes to bed. 

It takes two months before Zoro’s calloused hand wraps around Sanji’s under the covers, shy, and uncertain. “Is this okay?” he rasps in the dark, and Sanji snorts, moving back until his back is flush against Zoro’s chest. 

They’ve been tiptoeing around each other for far too long. 

Everything is a work in progress. Slowly but surely, things begin slotting back into place, not exactly the same, but Sanji finds himself happy with this new normal. The past is the past; there is no going back and changing it. 

Instead, Sanji soaks in the way that the sunlight hits Zoro’s bare shoulder when he sleeps, the way that his eyelids flutter before waking, and thinks tomorrow is another day of this. He wouldn't trade it for anything.

Eventually, they learn to kiss again. Eventually, they learn not to be so afraid of touching each other, sure of where they stand in each other’s lives. Eventually, three years later, Zoro says: “Did you know I was thinking of proposing to you?” and Sanji will say: “I was thinking of proposing to you ” and Zoro will say: “Well I would have said yes” and Sanji will counter with: “Well I would say yes now.”

“Do you mean that?” Zoro asks.

“I do.” 

Sometimes, Zoro does leave, accompanies Nami and Luffy on journeys around the world, but he always comes back to Sanji and in his dreams, Zoro says, “I’m home” but it’s not a dream anymore. 

He’s truly home.