Chapter Text
"You're burning the rice," Law said, not looking up from his book.
Sanji shot him a glare anyway, even though all he could see was the top of his stupid spotted hat and the lazy way his eyes tracked the lines of whatever medical nightmare he was reading this time. The pan hissed viciously on the small stove, a thin ribbon of smoke curling toward the low ceiling of the submarine’s cramped kitchen.
“I know what I’m doing,” Sanji snapped.
The rice disagreed.
He yanked the pan off the burner a second too late. The bottom layer had fused into a blackened crust and the smell of charred grains spread thick in the damp, recycled air. The Polar Tang’s engines hummed steadily around them, metal walls faintly vibrating, salt clinging to everything. Even the kitchen never quite lost that briny scent.
Law turned a page.
“You’re going to set off the smoke detectors again,” he said flatly. “Bepo’s still complaining about last time.”
Sanji scraped the rice with more force than necessary, the metal spoon shrieking against the pan. “It’s not my fault this piece of junk stove can’t hold a steady temperature.” He scowled at the dented controls as if they had personally betrayed him. “How am I supposed to cook properly with this garbage?”
He punctuated the statement with a sharp kick to the cabinet beneath the stove.
Instant regret.
Pain shot through his bare toes, bright and humiliating. He hissed, gripping the counter as the pan slipped from his other hand and clattered into the sink.
For a moment, the only sounds were the engines, the faint drip of water in the pipes, and his own tight breathing.
He flexed his foot against the cool metal floor, jaw clenched, willing the throbbing to stop. The submarine tilted slightly with the current, and he had to brace himself against the counter to keep steady.
He could feel it then, that look.
Law’s gaze.
Slow. Assessing. Half-lidded and infuriatingly calm, like Sanji was something laid out neatly on an operating table. It was somehow infuriating.
“Need a bandage?” Law asked at last.
The soft thud of his book snapping shut echoed louder than it should have in the small space.
Sanji straightened immediately, pride flaring hotter than the stove ever had. “I don’t need - ”
“Captain?” Bepo’s voice came muffled through the bulkhead, distorted by metal and distance. There was a faint clang in the background, hurried footsteps. “We’ve got chuckholes forming off the starboard side! Penguin says the stabilizers can’t compensate if we hit another pressure drop!” The submarine gave a subtle, ominous shudder, as if to underline the point.
Sanji and Law held each other’s gaze for half a heartbeat longer.
Then Law sighed.
The submarine groaned around them, metal protesting as the current dragged them sideways. Sanji barely had time to register the shift before Law was moving—not fast, never fast with him, but deliberate, like he already knew exactly how the ship would tilt before it happened. His book landed on the counter with a precision that shouldn’t have been possible mid-lurch, and then his hand closed around Sanji’s wrist, steadying him before he could slam into the stove again.
Sanji yanked his arm back on instinct. “I don’t need - ”
“You’ll crack your skull open,” Law said, like he was commenting on the weather and stepped past him toward the corridor, already reaching for the Den Den Mushi clipped to his belt. “And I’m not stitching you up just because you’re allergic to common sense.”
Sanji barely had time to sputter an indignant retort before the submarine lurched violently to starboard, sending him careening sideways. His hip slammed into the counter’s edge, again, and this time, the pain radiated up his spine like a live wire. He bit down hard on his tongue to keep from yelping. Law, damn him, didn’t even stumble and just braced a hand against the doorframe, already barking orders into the snail.
Sanji cursed under his breath as the submarine groaned again, the metal floor tilting sharply beneath him. He scrambled for purchase, fingers digging into the counter’s edge. The pan clattered against the sink’s side, abandoned.
Law’s voice was steady over the commotion, calm as ever. “Adjust the ballast tanks- no, port side first, you’ll flood the - ” The Den Den Mushi crackled with panicked chatter, but Law didn’t raise his voice. Sanji hated that about him. Hated how he never seemed to lose his footing, physically or otherwise.
Thirteen years old, and Sanji still burned rice. Thirteen years old, and his toes still ached from kicking metal he couldn’t break. Thirteen years old, and the Polar Tang still smelled like salt and engine grease and the faint, lingering sting of antiseptic from Law’s endless experiments.
The submarine groaned again, deeper this time, the metal ribs of the Polar Tang flexing under the pressure. Sanji gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, and hated- hated- how small his hands still looked against the steel. It has been five years since Law had pulled him half-drowned out of the freezing swell near Swallow Island, five years since he’d been dumped into their home like a waterlogged stray, coughing up saltwater and shame in equal measure. Five years, and he still burned rice.
Bepo’s muffled shout echoed down the corridor, followed by the clatter of boots as the crew scrambled to adjust the stabilizers. Law didn’t even glance back at Sanji as he strode out, already issuing orders into the Den Den Mushi like this was just another Tuesday. Because it was. Because Sanji was the only one who still tripped over his own feet in the middle of a crisis.
Sanji stared at the ruined rice clinging to the pan, then at the doorway Law had disappeared through. The submarine groaned again, deeper this time, and somewhere above them, pipes rattled like loose teeth. He could hear Shachi barking frantic orders, the frantic shuffle of boots against metal grating- everyone scrambling to keep the Polar Tang from tearing apart at the seams. And him? He was standing in the kitchen with a burnt pan and bruised toes, useless as a third rudder.
His hands flexed at his sides.
The pan was still warm when Sanji grabbed it again, fingers curling tight around the handle as if he could strangle his own incompetence out of existence. Charred grains clung stubbornly to the metal. He could scrape them off, could start over, could pretend this was just a practice run, except the Polar Tang didn’t have the luxury of wasted ingredients. Not out here, where supply runs were weeks apart and Law’s crew had long since learned to ration like their lives depended on it.
Sanji knew they’d eat it. That was the worst part.
Penguin would shovel down the blackened grains without complaint, grinning around a mouthful of charcoal like it was gourmet. Shachi would make some stupid joke about “campfire cuisine” and lick his plate clean just to prove a point. Even Bepo, who had the decency to wince at truly awful food, would force a smile and say it wasn’t *that* bad. And Law , Law would eat it silently, chewing mechanically like flavor was irrelevant, like sustenance was just another equation to solve.
The submarine tilted again to the side. And then Nothing.
The groaning metal eased into a low hum. The violent shuddering softened to a gentle sway, like the ocean had decided it was done toying with them for now.
Sanji blinked.
From somewhere down the corridor came Shachi’s voice, breathless and triumphant. “Stabilizers holding!” Penguin whooped. “Told you port side first!” There was a thump, followed by Bepo’s unmistakable, relieved, “Sorry for the panic, Captain!”
Sanji stared at the doorway, waiting for the next catastrophe.
It didn’t come.
A moment later, Law stepped back into the kitchen as if he’d only gone to fetch a glass of water instead of preventing their implosion at the bottom of the sea. The Den Den Mushi was already silent at his belt. He picked up his book from the counter, glanced at the slightly bent corner, and smoothed it with mild disapproval.
“That’s it?” Sanji demanded. “We’re not sinking? Exploding? Being crushed like a tin can?” Law turned a page. “Not currently." Sanji scowled at him. “You could at least pretend it was dramatic.”
“It wasn’t.”
Before Sanji could retort, the kitchen door slid open with a metallic scrape and Bepo shuffled in, ducking his head apologetically. Penguin and Shachi crowded behind him, smelling faintly of oil and sweat.
“Everything’s fine!” Bepo announced brightly. Then his nose twitched.
All three of them froze. Penguin sniffed the air once. Twice. And than Shachi leaned dramatically into the doorway and inhaled like a wine connoisseur sampling a rare vintage.
“…Is that smoke?” Penguin asked carefully. Sanji crossed his arms defensive. “It’s flavor.” Shachi could only peered into the sink to check . “It’s carbon.” Bepo’s ears drooped. “Oh no… not again…”
“It’s not that bad,” Sanji snapped.
Penguin picked up the pan, tilted it, and a single blackened slab of rice slid out with a hollow clonk into the sink like a defeated brick. There was a beat of silence. Then Shachi burst out laughing. “Campfire special!” he declared. “Very rustic!”
“I heard charcoal is good for digestion,” Penguin added solemnly.
Bepo, traitor that he was, tried to stifle a giggle and failed miserably. Sanji felt heat crawl up his neck. “You idiots wouldn’t know good cuisine if it- ”
Law reached past him, dipped two fingers into the pan, and calmly tasted one of the least incinerated grains. Everyone stared. Sanji stopped mid-rant. While Law chewed once. Swallowed. “It’s edible,” he said. “Technically.”
“Technically?!” Sanji exploded.
Penguin gasped theatrically. “High praise from the Captain!” Shachi clutched his chest. “Write it down. Frame it.” Bepo beamed at Sanji. “That’s improvement!”
Sanji looked from their stupid grinning faces to Law, who had already gone back to reading as if he hadn’t just committed the ultimate betrayal by eating the evidence.
“You’re all unbelievable,” Sanji muttered.
But something in his chest loosened anyway. Penguin rolled up his sleeves. “Alright, Chef Disaster, move over. We’ll help.”
“I don’t need help!”
“Too late,” Shachi said, grabbing a knife and nearly dropping it when the submarine gave a tiny aftershock wobble. “Team effort. Less burning, more learning.”
Bepo carefully took the ruined pan from the sink. “I can wash this!” “You’re not scrubbing it with steel wool again,” Sanji warned automatically. Bepo froze. “Right. Sorry.”
Law, without looking up, added, “If you scratch the coating again, I’m assigning you to hull inspection duty.”
Bepo saluted instantly. “Understood!”
Sanji stared at the chaos invading his kitchen , Penguin measuring rice with exaggerated seriousness, Shachi arguing about water ratios like it was a matter of national security, Bepo humming as he rinsed the pan far too gently.
“This is my domain,” Sanji grumbled.
“Correction,” Law said mildly. “This is my submarine.”
Sanji opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he grabbed the rice bag out of Penguin’s hands. “You’re using too much. It’ll turn to mush.” Penguin blinked. “Oh.” “And it’s two parts water to one part rice on this stove, not one and a half. It runs hot.”
Shachi grinned. “So you do know what you’re doing.”
Sanji shot him a look. “Shut up.”
They started over.
This time, Sanji adjusted the flame carefully, crouching to eye the temperamental dial like it was a rival he intended to defeat. Penguin stirred under his direction. Shachi kept peeking under the lid and getting smacked away. Bepo hovered with a towel like moral support in bear form.
Law turned another page. The kitchen filled with the softer, warmer scent of properly cooking rice. No smoke. No clattering disaster. Just the steady hum of the Polar Tang and the quiet, ridiculous commentary of a crew pretending not to notice how tense Sanji had been minutes ago. When the rice was finally done, Sanji fluffed it with precise, practiced motions. Steam curled upward, light and clean. He scooped a portion into a bowl and shoved it toward Law without looking at him. “Taste it.” Law didn’t argue this time. He set his book down, took the bowl, and tried a bite.
The entire room leaned in. A pause. A chew. A swallow.
“…Good,” Law said.
Not technically. Not edible. Just good.
Penguin cheered like they’d won a battle. Shachi pumped a fist. Bepo actually clapped. Sanji tried, he really tried, not to look smug and failed completely.
“Of course it is,” he said, flipping his hair back with exaggerated dignity. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”
Law’s mouth twitched, barely there.
“You were burning it,” he reminded him.
The submarine groaned again, a deep, metallic protest, but this time Sanji barely flinched. He was too busy watching Penguin scoop rice into bowls with all the finesse of a man shoveling coal into a furnace. "Stop massacring it," Sanji snapped, snatching the spoon from him. "You're not feeding livestock."
Penguin recoiled as if personally wounded. “Hey! I was distributing resources.”
“You were committing a crime,” Sanji shot back, swiftly portioning the rice into bowls with practiced efficiency. Each scoop neat, even, andvunlike Penguin’svactually recognizable as food.
Shachi leaned his elbows on the counter, grinning. “Didn’t know rice had feelings.”
“It does when *I* cook it,” Sanji said sharply.
Bepo accepted his bowl with both paws, eyes shining. “It smells amazing!”
“It *is* amazing,” Sanji corrected automatically.
The Polar Tang groaned again, a long metallic creak that rolled through the walls like distant thunder. Nobody panicked this time. Penguin just widened his stance to keep his balance and kept eating.
“See?” he said around a mouthful of rice. “Ship’s fine.”
“You said that last time right before the ballast tank flooded,” Shachi pointed helpfully out.
“That was unrelated!”
Law sat back down at the small table with his bowl, opening his book again like nothing around him existed. He ate mechanically, reading between bites, completely unfazed by the arguing crew crammed around the kitchenette.
Sanji watched him from the stove, not really sure what to say. He still did that. Law. Eating food like it was just fule for his body to function. No reaction. No appreciation. No dramatic praise for the miracle that had just happened in this kitchen. As long as they didn't serve him bread.
Sanji narrowed his eyes.
“Well?” he demanded.
Law didn’t look up. “I already told you it’s good.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Penguin leaned over to Shachi and whispered loudly, not even tying to be silent, “That’s basically a standing ovation from him.” Shachi nodded gravely. “Next step is tears.”
Law slowly lowered his book just enough to look at them.And they immediately pretended to be extremely interested in their rice. While Bepo tried to whistle and failed. Sanji could only snort at their antics.
Then the submarine lurched again- sharper this time. Four bowls slid three centimeters across the metal counter. Everyone froze.
The Polar Tang groaned… creaked…
…and settled.
From somewhere deeper in the ship came Ikkaku’s voice shouting, “We hit a current pocket!” Penguin swallowed. “That sounded expensive.” Law calmly turned a page.
Sanji stared at him. “Do you ever panic?”
“No.”
“That’s not normal.”
Law could only muster a shoulder- shrug in response. Sanji huffed toward the ceiling. “One day the ship’s going to split in half and you’ll still be sitting there reading.”
“If that happens,” Law said, taking another bite, “I’ll make sure you stop burning the rice first.”
Shachi choked on his food again and Penguin couldnt hold in his wheeze.Meanwhil Bepo had the nerve to slap the counter, laughing .
Sanji pointed the spoon at Law like a weapon. “You - ”
The submarine tilted again. Everyone leaned automatically with it. Except Law. It seemed so unfair to Sanji. Ot was like the ship and the ocean had some kind of unspoken agreement with him.
Sanji scowled… then grabbed the rice pot and slammed the lid on it protectively. Penguin blinked. “Did you just secure the rice before yourself?”
“Priorities,” Sanji said.
Shachi wiped tears from his eyes. “Captain, we’ve created a monster.”
Law finally closed his book again, watching the chaos of his crew crammed into the tiny kitchen. Penguin stealing seconds, Shachi complaining about portion sizes, Bepo carefully washing the pan like it was sacred and Sanji aggressively guarding the rice like a dragon sitting on treasure.
For a moment, the submarine felt… light.
Then Law looked at Sanji and said, completely deadpan- “You’re still doing dishes.”
Sanji froze and mumbled in disbelief “…I cooked.”
“You burned the first batch.”
“That was a *test run*!”
“Dishes.”
Sanji continued to stare at him in disbelief. While Penguine quietly slid his empty bowl into the sink. Then Shachi added his. Then Bepo placed his down with a guilty little *clink*.
While Sanji could only stare at his growing pile of dishes and then back to Law.
“…I hate all of you.”