Sanji lit a cigarette against the wind. “At least he’s not brooding anymore.”
He muttered the words aloud in the quiet cabin. His fist began to darken. Coating. The black of Busoshoku spread up his wrist like ink in water. Then, he bit down on his thumb. gear fourth
And as the Sunny plunged into the dark, Luffy’s shadow—with its small, wiry frame—seemed for just a second to ripple and swell. A giant. A king. A rubber man who refused to break. Sanji lit a cigarette against the wind
But Luffy wasn’t at the bow, laughing. He was in the men’s quarters, sitting cross-legged on his hammock, staring at his own hands. Luffy’s shadow—with its small