"Old man Rayleigh! Sanji! Tra-guy—I'm here!!!"
The shout tore through the clouds like an arrow, racing closer, raw excitement and recklessness bundled together.
What followed was—
"BOOM!!!—"
Not an attack, just the savage announcement of pure speed and power slamming into the ground.
A blur of blue lightning, too fast for eyes to catch, crashed into the earth at the island's edge like a falling meteor.
In an instant a ring of wind far fiercer than any training clash erupted, a tsunami of ochre dust, grit and dead grass surging straight at Rayleigh, Sanji and Law.
Rayleigh never lifted an eyelid; he simply tucked his flask to his chest and swept one arm, turning the dust storm aside as though it had struck an invisible wall.
Sanji, winding the last bandage round Law, got a mouthful of sand for his trouble.
"Ptoo—ugh!"
He jerked his head away, fury flaring.
Law, about to open ROOM, was half a heartbeat too slow thanks to his injuries and Sanji's grip; the dust slapped him square in the face.
His already expressionless visage darkened another shade, only his bright eyes glinting murderously through the grit.
The dust slowly settled.
In the centre of the fresh crater stood a very young black-haired boy. He tapped the brim of his straw hat, lifted his head, and flashed a grin white enough to rival the sun.
But the grin froze as he took in the scene; puzzled, he scratched the back of his head.
"Huh? Why's everyone… like this?"
Monkey D. Luffy, of course.
A moment's hush.
Shock still clung to Rayleigh's raised brow, to the tears Sanji had coughed into being, to the twitch at the corner of Law's bandaged mouth.
Then—
"Whoosh—!"
A black blur skimmed the ground, whipping up unsettled dust.
It covered the dozen metres in a heartbeat, stopping dead in front of Luffy.
"Smack!"
Two iron hands clamped the crimson vest, hoisting the rubber Captain a finger's breadth off the ground.
Dust drifted between them.
Sanji slowly looked up.
A face that could make a thousand ladies swoon now sported twitching brows, a trembling eye, and a smile warped into something unsettling.
Was it anger at the Captain's tardiness?
Jealousy at the thought of some fragrant harem the boy had just left?
Or simply the way sand twisted a man's features when it hit the throat?
—Probably all three.
He leaned in until their noses nearly touched, voice a low, sea-breeze-carrying hiss of grievance:
"Well, if it isn't our~ great~ and~ glorious~ Captain~?"
"We agreed on dawn for the next joint training…."
Sanji's pitch shot sky-high, sharpened to an accusation:
"And now the sun's almost overhead! Only the mighty Rubber Man himself deigns to come 'launching' in at this hour?"
Then the chef's battle-honed nose—part bloodhound, part aromatase—caught something odd.
Buried beneath sea-salt, sweat and rubber, a ghost of fragrance drifted from Luffy's clothes.
It was a cool, elegant floral note, quietly bewitching, like a moonlit bloom that had brushed his collar by chance.
Sanji's brows snapped together; the jealous irritation on his face gave way to a detective's razor stare.
He yanked Luffy closer, nose almost to the collar, and inhaled long and deep.
"Hey, Luffy…."
Sanji's voice dropped to a dangerous murmur.
"Where, exactly, did you pick up that scent?!"
The question hit home—hard.
Luffy's usually clear eyes flickered like a broken screen.
Fragments of last night surged up—moonlit haze, a lavish chamber, Hancock's gaze brimming with heat and starlight… "O-of course it was bed!!"
He blurted it out, voice cracking in sudden panic, words stumbling over each other.
The over-the-top bravado couldn't hide the tell-tale flush creeping up his ears or the way his gaze refused to meet Sanji's.
That reaction made Sanji freeze for a second.
He stared at Luffy for two seconds, eyes sharp as blades, but in the end Sanji only clicked his tongue,
let go of the collar he'd been gripping, and even helped smooth the rumpled vest with a look of mild disgust.
"Forget it, you idiot."
Sanji turned away, his tone back to its usual impatience, yet laced with resigned trust,
"Next training, get up earlier! Don't waste precious practice time on… well, weird stuff!"
He really believed it.
Or rather, he chose to trust his own understanding of his Captain.
In the Love-Cook's worldview, any normal (or abnormal) man setting foot in Amazon Lily is like a starving ghost lunging at a banquet, or a demon spotting Tang Monk's flesh—impossible to leave unscathed, let alone return so "innocent."
But Luffy?
Who is he? He's Monkey D. Luffy! A guy whose brain is stuffed with meat, adventure, crewmates, and the Pirate King throne,
while anything else—especially romance—is rarer than the clouds over Sky Island. A colossal, pure-blooded moron!
Expect him to have tender thoughts about "the world's most beautiful woman"?
You'd have better luck waiting for Bellamy to turn over a new leaf.
'That fragrance… probably some incense or flowers unique to Amazon Lily. After all, the whole country is women; a special scent isn't strange.'
Sanji convinced himself the faint aroma was just environmental contamination.
He even pictured Luffy rolling around asleep on palace floors carpeted with petals, picking up the scent in a ridiculous scene.
He completely, utterly ignored the other possibility—one that, within the mental fortress built on his "steel-straight" image of Luffy, never even rippled.
He couldn't dream that the "Pirate Empress" Boa Hancock, worshipped by the world and blessed with beauty to topple kingdoms,
would, upon meeting Luffy, discard her pride and aloofness and take the initiative—so much initiative it shattered every rule and imagination,
imprinting that peerless beauty and favor, without asking, onto a blockhead who can't even spell romance.
Beside them, Law quietly tied the last knot in the bandage, wordlessly tipped his hat, and chose to file this trivial (perhaps not so trivial) episode
along with countless other straw hat absurdities under "no need to dig deeper."
After all, on this sea, trying to deduce anything related to Monkey D. Luffy with common sense is the dumbest move of all.
Suddenly a slightly jarring flapping cut through the monotonous hiss of wind and waves.
"Scree— scree—"
Everyone instinctively looked up.
Against the blue sky, a tiny black dot—its distinctive mailbag on its back—flew nearer, wings beating steadily toward the deserted island.
It was a newspaper gull; white feathers flashed in the sun, the coin box around its neck swaying gently with each wing-beat.
"Oh?"
Rayleigh's eyes flickered in surprise, then settled into mild amusement,
"How rare. In a backwater place that might not even appear on charts, we meet a passing news gull?"
Watching the gull circle lower, apparently judging whether anyone below needed service, Rayleigh unhurriedly fished a coin from his coat.
The coin danced across his knuckles, reflecting the sun—its face clearly stamped "100."
"Catch, little fellow."
With a flick of his wrist the coin arced true, chiming crisply as it landed squarely in the tin "money jar" hanging against the gull's breast.
The gull, used to such precise feeding—or payment—let out two short, satisfied cries:
"Scree! Scree!"
It deftly plucked a neatly folded, ink-scented fresh newspaper from its side pouch with its beak,
and with a flap, the paper drifted down as if guided by an invisible hand, landing steadily before Rayleigh.
Rayleigh raised his hand and caught the newspaper effortlessly.
Task completed, the gull wheeled about, crying as it flew off toward the vast sea to continue its long delivery route.
Rayleigh snapped the paper open, eyes sweeping the front-page headline—wondering what new upheaval the ocean had brewed today.
Sanji, Luffy, even Law—still treating his wounds—couldn't help turning their gaze to the newspaper in Rayleigh's hand.