Perona was many things – competent, capable, confident, and very, very cute. She had no idea how she’d ended up with Zoro as a brother.
He wasn’t dumb. It would’ve been easier if he were. She could manipulate him to her heart’s content, then. Instead, he was blunt, contrary, and annoying in exactly the right ways to drive her up a wall. “Zoro, you cannot wear that to the charity auction.”
“Why?”
Perona stared at him. Zoro looked down at himself. “They’re clothes, aren’t they?”
She tipped her head back toward the stone ceiling and released a long, suffering sigh. Why had she gotten stuck with a brother like Zoro? “Because there are holes in those pants. There’s something on your knee that I sincerely hope is ketchup, although knowing you, it’s probably blood. Your shirt has permanent pit stains, and it’s one deep breath away from splitting at the seams.”
Zoro looked down again. “It fits.”
“Barely. You have an entire closet full of dress clothes.”
“I don’t like them. They’re too tight.”
“This is a formal charity auction. You need to dress appropriately.”
“I don’t see why I even have to go.” Zoro folded his arms across his chest, making the T-shirt strain harder. “It’s not as if I’m gonna bid on anything.”
“You’re going because Mihawk wants us to go.”
Zoro blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll go put on something else.”
“You do that. Then I’ll come get you.”
“I know my way to the garage.”
“Yes, but I’d like to get to the auction before it ends.”
Zoro gave her a flat look, turned, and headed toward his bedroom in the wrong direction.
Twenty minutes later, Perona went looking for him. She knocked once on his bedroom door before opening it and found Zoro standing in front of his bed, completely naked save for the three gold drop earrings hanging from his left ear, scowling at a heap of discarded clothes. “You could at least put underwear on.”
Zoro glanced over his shoulder. “I’m out of fancy underwear.”
“You can wear normal underwear under formal clothes, too.”
“Oh.”
“Also, why aren’t you wearing any of those outfits?”
“I told you. They don’t fit.”
Perona stomped across the room and inspected the casualties. He had a point. A few shirts were wrinkled beyond salvation, one had lost a button, and another had acquired a rip near the shoulder during whatever battle Zoro had apparently fought trying to get into it.
She went to his closet. Every bedroom in Kuraigana Castle had a walk-in because they lived in an honest-to-goodness castle that Mihawk had spent an obscene amount of money retrofitting into a quasi-modern mansion. It had heated floors, modern plumbing, updated electrical systems, high-speed internet, and every other amenity a discerning rich person might require while retaining enough Gothic stonework to satisfy Perona.
She loved living there. She loved spending Mihawk’s money on her various enterprises, too. Her fashion line had started with a few Gothic dresses she’d designed for herself and expanded into clothing, accessories, cosmetics, and a successful line of plushies. Perona considered the entire thing a public service. The world needed more cute things.
Mihawk shared her appreciation for Gothic drama. Zoro was another matter.
Zoro wore T-shirts, track pants, the occasional hoodie, and a thousand variations of the same workout clothes. Half the time he wandered around in compression shorts and a tank top because lifting weights occupied considerably more of his attention than clothing ever would.
He had his demons. Perona had fewer.
Her relatives had been perfectly pleasant to her growing up. The trouble was that they’d been considerably less pleasant to everyone else. She’d been young enough that most of what they were doing had gone over her head, although she suspected they were responsible for her lasting fondness for skulls, ghosts, graveyards, and anything appropriately macabre.
When they’d been arrested, Perona had landed in foster care and discovered very quickly that she hated it, so she’d left. Technically, she’d run away. Perona preferred to think of it as correcting an administrative error.
She’d eventually arrived on Mihawk’s doorstep, taken one look at the enormous gloomy castle beyond him, and decided she lived there now. Mihawk had raised one eyebrow when informed of this. Somehow, he’d never managed to get rid of her, and before she quite understood what was happening, the arrangement had become permanent and the adoption papers had followed.
Zoro had come to them differently. Perona had found him in the woods.
The Kuraigana estate covered an absurd amount of land, stretching beyond the vineyards and gardens into acres of dense forest. Perona had been hunting poisonous mushrooms one afternoon when she’d stumbled across a feral-looking child instead. He’d been filthy, injured, scarred, and so skinny his tattered clothes hung off him.
He’d also had the biggest forehead Perona had ever seen on another human being. Her first thought had been that she could draw an entire mural on it. Her second had been that perhaps she should figure out why a child was living alone in the woods.
She’d taken him home. Mihawk had stared at Zoro, then at Perona.
Perona had clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Can we keep him?”
In retrospect, perhaps phrasing it that way had contributed to Zoro biting Mihawk when Mihawk tried to examine the cut on his arm.
They’d eventually pieced together part of what happened. Zoro’s mother had died from an illness when he was still very young. His father had been killed a few years later during a mugging. After that, the details became murky. At some point, Zoro had wandered off, and by the time Perona found him, he was almost ten and had apparently spent close to three years surviving wherever he could, sleeping outside or in abandoned structures and eating whatever he managed to catch, steal, or forage.
Nobody knew exactly how far he’d traveled or how he’d reached Mihawk’s land. Zoro certainly couldn’t tell them.
He carried the evidence of those years for the rest of his life. One eye was gone. A long scar crossed his chest. Both ankles bore old marks, and smaller scars covered the rest of him. They’d never learned exactly where each one came from. Zoro answered questions when he felt there was a point to answering them. Questions about those years rarely qualified.
Mihawk had searched for surviving relatives. He’d hired investigators, dealt with child protective services, and spent a great deal of money untangling the legal mess of adopting a child with no known guardian, no clear history, and no idea how he’d ended up there.
Perona knew because she’d searched Mihawk’s office herself. She'd found Zoro's adoption paperwork, medical records, reports from child protective services, and an evaluation from a psychologist who had concluded that his behavior was consistent with prolonged neglect and survival trauma. There hadn’t been some terrible secret hidden in the file. Just a little boy who’d lost both parents and spent years taking care of himself.
The years he’d spent out of school had left their mark, too. Zoro could read enough to get through day-to-day life – signs, some labels, simple menus, short messages. He could write his name and puzzle his way through a few lines on social media. Anything more complicated became work. Tutors had tried, and Zoro had tried, too, but his brain handled other things better. Give him a complicated sequence of physical movements and he’d remember it after seeing it once. Hand him three paragraphs of written instructions and he’d still be staring at the first one in confusion when everyone else finished.
At twenty-six, Zoro had long since stopped treating it as something he needed to fix. He’d found ways to work around it. Technology helped tremendously. Perona hated to think of him trying to function in a world without text-to-speech, videos, or audible Google Maps.
She opened one of his dresser drawers, pulled out a pair of black boxer briefs, and threw them at his head. “Put those on. I’ve seen enough of your junk.”
Zoro pulled them off his face. “You came into my room.”
Zoro didn’t care much about the things most people considered important – nudity, fashion, social conventions, remembering to use soap every single time he showered. His priorities were simpler: training, eating enough to support it, and seeing how far he could push his body.
He’d started lifting because he never wanted to be that skinny again. Once he was living at Kuraigana and had regular food in front of him, Zoro ate everything he could get his hands on. Then he discovered Mihawk’s private gym. At first, all he cared about was getting stronger. He learned how to use the equipment, added weight whenever he could, and gradually put muscle on the body that had been starved for years.
As he got older, his training became more deliberate. He learned about nutrition and recovery, started paying attention to how he built muscle rather than simply how much he could lift, and eventually developed the kind of physique that made Mihawk suggest he try bodybuilding.
Zoro hadn’t cared much about the sport before that, but competition gave him another goal to chase. He liked the preparation, the strict training cycles, and having a specific date to work toward. The posing took more convincing, but he learned that, too. He kept competing, moved through the amateur ranks, earned his pro card, and eventually made bodybuilding his profession.
Perona handled most of the administrative side – registrations, sponsorship contracts, travel arrangements, emails, appearances, and anything else involving too much reading or too many forms. Zoro handled the actual bodybuilding. He trained, followed his meal plans, showed up when and where Perona told him to, and stood under stage lights in tiny posing trunks while judges decided whether several months of work had paid off.
His scars complicated things. The one over his eye, the long one across his chest, and the marks around his ankles were impossible to hide onstage. When the competition was close, presentation mattered, and Zoro knew his scarred skin could cost him points against someone with an equally strong physique.
He mostly didn’t care. Winning was better than losing, obviously, but he cared more about the work that came before it – getting stronger, adding size, cutting down for a show, and seeing how far he’d come since Perona found him.
The trophies, prize money, and sponsorships gave him a decent living. He didn’t particularly need the money. Neither of them did while living with Mihawk, who possessed enough wealth to make the concept feel theoretical, but Zoro liked having something that was his. Something he was good at that nobody had handed him.
Perona turned back to the closet. Shopping for Zoro was difficult because his measurements changed often enough that anything tailored had a limited lifespan. Fortunately, she knew she’d bought several pieces larger than he needed during her last attempt to replenish his formal wardrobe.
She found charcoal-gray trousers first, then a pale-gray dress shirt cut for broad shoulders and muscular builds. A tie was pointless. Zoro hated them, and Perona had already reached her daily limit for unnecessary battles.
She considered his jackets. Black would work, but it was boring. Instead, she pulled out a deep dusty-rose dinner jacket. Against the gray shirt and charcoal trousers, it looked expensive without becoming flashy enough for Zoro to complain too much. Perfect.
She carried everything over and hung it from his dresser. “Put these on.”
Zoro eyed the jacket suspiciously. “It’s pink.”
“It’s rose.”
“It’s pink.”
“Real men can wear pink.”
“I know. I just don’t like it.”
“Too bad. Put it on.”
Perona found a black leather belt, then opened the top dresser drawer and retrieved the watch Mihawk had given him several years earlier. It was large enough to suit Zoro’s wrist and had a small compass incorporated into its face. The compass had never once helped him reach his intended destination, but at least he could identify which direction he was traveling while getting lost.
Perona set the watch beside his clothes. “You did shower, right?”
Zoro huffed. “Yes. I showered. I even put on deodorant, like a good boy. You gonna give me a treat?”
Perona rolled her eyes. “Maybe. Depends how well you behave tonight.”
She turned to search for socks while Zoro stepped into the trousers. Luckily, his black dress shoes still fit. Otherwise he’d have ended up wearing his combat boots, which he’d owned since he was a teenager and currently held together through a combination of stubbornness, shoe glue, and black duct tape.
Zoro finished buttoning his shirt, and Perona looked him over. Annoyingly, he looked good. “I’m going to get my coat and bag,” she told him.
“You sure I can’t stay home?”
“Yes.”
“I’m supposed to train legs tonight.”
“You trained legs yesterday.”
“Different area.”
“You can survive one night away from the weights.”
Zoro scowled but reached for the jacket.
Perona left before he found another excuse. She went down the corridor to her own suite and collected her purse and coat. Late autumn was her favorite time of year. The nights came earlier, the air carried a pleasant bite, and everything outside was beginning to die.
Long pink hair fell down her back beneath a black velvet headband, and her dark dress showed off exactly as much leg as she’d intended. Her makeup was immaculate, her boots were adorable, and the small crown tattoo above one breast remained visible above the neckline. Still extremely cute.
Satisfied, Perona returned to collect her brother. Zoro had managed to put everything on correctly, for once. She fixed his collar, straightened the front of his jacket, and reached up to adjust his green hair.
Zoro immediately batted at her hands. “Stop it.”
“You have one piece sticking straight up.”
“They all stick up.”
“It’s embarrassing me.”
“It’s on my head.”
Perona gave the offending strand one final adjustment before stepping away. “There. Now you may accompany me in public.”
Zoro scowled. “Lucky me.”
The charity gala was being held in the grand ballroom of one of the most expensive hotels in the city, the sort of place where a valet opened Perona’s door before the car had fully stopped at the curb. Tall windows cast warm light across the entrance, and a broad sweep of stone steps led up to doors framed by columns and discreet arrangements of autumn flowers.
Inside, polished stone, dark wood, and brass gave way to the ballroom on the hotel’s upper floor. Staff in formal black checked invitations at the doors, then directed guests inside.
Crystal chandeliers hung above round tables dressed in ivory linen, each one set with china, polished silverware, and glasses that glinted in the light. People in evening gowns and tuxedos moved between the tables and the displays lining the room. Waiters circulated with champagne and small hors d’oeuvres, while a string quartet played near one wall at a volume that still allowed conversation.
Along the perimeter of the ballroom, donated artwork, jewelry, vacation packages, restaurant experiences, and other auction items had been arranged beneath small spotlights for guests to inspect before dinner.
At the far end of the room stood a raised stage backed by two large screens displaying the charity’s name and photographs from the programs it supported. A podium waited beneath the lights, along with several empty chairs and enough open space to suggest that some part of the evening would involve more than simply announcing numbers from a microphone.
Perona perused the auction offerings first. She knew how much Mihawk wanted to donate at minimum and left the rest up to her. Then she mingled with whomever needed mingling with, while Zoro trailed behind her like an overly muscled, grumpy shadow.
Dinner was called first. They were seated with the Nefertaris, Iceburg, and Cavendish, which meant Perona had plenty of people to talk to while Zoro concentrated on the food. The meal itself had the usual bland consistency of catering, with a sauce that tasted like pure salt. Zoro used his hand rather than his napkin to wipe his mouth.
“If you get anything on that jacket, I will make your life hell,” Perona hissed at him.
“You already do,” Zoro said, unaffected, as he shoveled another forkful of brown rice into his mouth.
Dessert and coffee replaced dinner plates as they were cleared. Perona held a deep debate with Cavendish over the various shades of black and tried not to squeal at how cute Iceburg’s pet mouse was every time it peeked from his suit pocket. Zoro left at one point to use the restroom and she didn’t expect him to text her for at least another twenty minutes, after he somehow ended up on the thirtieth floor of the hotel. She sent Cavendish to fetch him once he did.
A tall, purple-haired okama wearing a low slit dress and platform heels strode onto the stage, and the lights in the ballroom dimmed as a spotlight turned on. “Good evening, candies. I am Iva, and I am both your host and hostess for tonight’s auction,” Iva said into the microphone hooked over their ear. “All proceeds will benefit the Newkama Association for LGBTQ+, an association that is near and dear to my heart – because I run it. Mmmfufufufu!”
Titters and soft laughs rose in the ballroom. Perona adjusted in her seat and made sure her paddle was within reach. The silent auction remained open for another half hour, but attention had shifted to the live auction.
“Our first live lot tonight is a luxury weekend at this very hotel – two nights in a premier suite, spa treatments for two, dinner at Le Jardin Blanc, and chauffeured transportation throughout your stay.”
Perona was interested in the eighth lot, an antique Gothic jewelry collection that would look very cute on her. She debated also bidding on lot nine, which was a haunted estate weekend, because while she might live in an appropriately morbid castle it had a decided lack of ghosts.
The first lot went to Wapol and the second lot – a private whisky-tasting event – went to Dr. Kureha. The third and fourth lots, an art piece and a VIP sporting event package, were won by Sir Crocodile and Vice Admiral Hina, though Zoro had seemed interested in the sporting package until he learned it was for tennis.
The next lot was a couture package, which included a private fitting and custom look from a famous designer, plus front-row seats at a fashion show. The bidding became hot and furious between Boa Hancock and Cavendish. When Cavendish won, he flipped his blond hair over his shoulder with a smug smirk and Boa Hancock’s glare could turn someone to stone.
“Mmmfufufufu, let’s see if we can keep the bidding that lively for our next lot,” Iva said with a wide grin. “Lot six is an exclusive dinner date, prepared by one of my favorite chefs who is an expert in the exclusive Seme no Ryōri. You can expect wining, fine dining, and a pleasant evening with the chef, who just so happens to be with us tonight. Sanji-boy, if you would please.”
Seated at a table to the right of the stage, a man stood and climbed the nearby steps. The spotlight shifted from Iva to him. He sauntered toward center stage, one hand tucked casually into his pocket. He wore a bespoke suit in black with a blue pinstriped shirt and tie beneath. His blond hair fell across one side of his face, leaving the other exposed beneath a loose sweep of bangs. One brow curled into a spiral above a half-lidded eye, and a goatee shadowed his upper lip and jaw. He wore a small, knowing smile, the corner of his mouth tipped up just enough to make him look amused with what was happening.
“Good evening,” he said with a gravelly rasp. “I’m Sanji, and it would be my pleasure to give you a dining experience you’ll never forget.”
Murmurs erupted in the ballroom. Cavendish sat up very straight, fluffed his hair, and pinched his cheeks. Alvida plumped her bosom. Doflamingo lounged back in his chair and licked his lips. Viola took a sudden interest, and Kalifa leaned forward with a sharp smile. Pudding gripped her paddle tightly with a tsundere gleam in her eyes.
But Perona’s attention was caught by the short sound that came from beside her, and when she turned her head, she watched with utter fascination and delight as a flush washed across Zoro’s face. He was staring at Sanji with a widened eye and a grip on his spoon that caused it to bend.
“Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo,” she laughed under her breath. This was new.
Zoro really didn’t like people much, let alone show any interest in dating one. She’d seen his browsing history and knew he was into men. And swords. There’d been a lot of swords and swordsmen. She hadn’t realized how much sword-related porn was out there. She herself preferred smutty tales of ghosts and cryptids, like any self-respecting Gothic lolita.
Sanji went to stand beside Iva as Iva opened the bidding, and at least twelve paddles went up simultaneously. Sanji laughed, and his eyes seemed to grow heart-shaped. “Ladies, you flatter me,” he said, looking at Stussy, who fanned herself with her paddle.
Perona glanced at Zoro again, who was now staring very intently at his plate. His earrings clashed with the redness of his ears.
Perona lifted her paddle with a grin.
Iva called out bids and paddles kept shifting in the air. The number grew higher than any lot yet before people slowly began dropping out. Viola, Rebecca, and Stussy were among the first, followed by Cavendish with a loud, forlorn sigh. “If only I hadn’t bid so much on the couture package.”
Alvida dropped with a loud hrmph and Doflamingo declared, “His ass better be made of gold,” which prompted Sanji to thin his lips and state, “My ass isn’t on the table.”
Doflamingo dropped out. So did Kalifa, Domino, and Black Maria.
Baby 5 lasted a few more increases before she lowered her paddle, leaving Pudding and Perona as the last remaining bidders.
Pudding looked like she wanted to stab Perona. Perona merely smiled. No one was going to stop her from winning.
The bidding grew faster and more furious. Iva didn’t even pause to breathe between numbers as they went up and up and up. Sanji appeared to be over the moon, noodling in place, which somewhat ruined the suave, sophisticated presentation from before, but he wasn’t for Perona, anyway.
The bids reached the point where Mihawk would give her a long look. She wouldn’t cower to it. Her baby brother was worth every penny Mihawk owned.
Finally – finally – Pudding shot to her feet and screamed, “I didn’t even want this worthless excuse for a stupidly handsome prince charming anyway!” Then she stormed out of the ballroom.
“The winner is paddle 37.” Iva beamed. “I’m sure you’re in for a delightful evening.”
“Your beauty knows no bounds!” Sanji called to Perona as he was escorted offstage by a burly okama with a full beard and five-inch stilettos.
Perona smiled smugly to herself. Cavendish sniffed disdainfully across the table. “I hope you two have a delightful evening.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from his words.
“Oh, he’s not for me,” Perona said. She patted Zoro on the shoulder. “He’s for Zoro.”
Zoro’s head shot up and he stared at her with a wide eye. “What?”
“I got you a date,” Perona said with a grin. “Horo-hoho-horo-horo-horo.”
Zoro’s face, which had resumed its normal skin tone, flamed red again. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“No, but you can thank me later.”
The auction continued, with lot seven being a cruise on a luxury private yacht. Perona sipped her coffee, feeling pleased with herself. Zoro sat hunched beside her as if trying to make himself smaller – an impossibility with his build – and she knew it meant he was uncomfortable. But he’d get over it. And he had a date with the blond. It was a win all around.
The antique Gothic jewelry was another win for Perona. She opted not to go too high on the haunted estate weekend and lost out to Mont-d'Or.
Once the remaining lots were sold and the auction ended, the winners from both the silent and live auctions were directed to a private room to settle payment and finalize their purchases. Perona collected her jewelry and the details about the dinner, and she and Zoro departed.
Zoro sat slumped in the back seat of the car, the driver taking them home. He’d unbuttoned two more buttons on his shirt and untucked the tails. The jacket lay beside him on the seat.
“It says here to call to make arrangements for a date and time that work,” Perona read, seated behind the driver. “The date will be at the All Blue Cafe after hours. It stresses that this is a meal and conversation only, so I don’t have to make sure you’re wearing clean underwear.”
“Perona,” Zoro drew out her name unhappily.
“What? I saw how you looked at him, like he was a swordsman ready to pierce your–”
“Perona!”
She snickered. “Well, it’s true.”
“I don’t need you to buy dates for me.”
“You don’t not need me to buy dates for you,” Perona said. “Name the last person you actually went on a date with.”
Zoro scrunched his brow. “Uh… Wyper.”
“You were fourteen, and he invited you to his birthday pool party along with twenty other people.”
Zoro scowled. “Dating is stupid.”
“Spoken like a hermit who would pick a weight session over hooking up.”
“I’m going to tell Mihawk to get his money back.”
Perona knew she’d gotten to him when he started getting Mihawk involved. “It’s for charity. He’s not going to ask for his money back. He’ll probably even agree that it’d be good for you to go on at least one date in your lifetime.”
Zoro opened his mouth.
“Wyper doesn’t count.”
He snapped it shut again.
Perona looked at the details in her hand again. “It says here the dinner will be tailored to something you’d like to eat, and to let him know what that is when the arrangements are made.”
Zoro said something rather rude.
Perona swatted him with the paper. “You’re so not cute.”
By the time the car turned through the estate gates, the city lights had fallen away behind them and the castle was dark against the late-autumn sky, only a scattering of windows lit across the stone facade. Perona gathered her coat, purse, and the envelope of auction documents while Zoro got out before the car had fully settled. The front hall was warm after the cold outside, the old stone softened by lamps.
Mihawk was home when they arrived, meeting them in the hall. He wore black from collar to shoes, his dark hair swept back and his beard trimmed close around his mouth. His gold eyes moved from Zoro to Perona before either of them spoke. Zoro immediately jabbed a finger in Perona’s direction and tattled, “She spent millions on a date with some guy. Make her go.”
Mihawk stared a moment at Zoro, then leveled a look at Perona. Perona tilted her chin. “It wasn’t millions, and I won the auction for Zoro. Zoro liked the man.”
Mihawk’s hawkish gaze swung back to Zoro. Zoro flushed red. “No, I didn’t!”
Mihawk’s eyes flicked back to her, and she pointed at Zoro. “He looked just like that when Sanji came onstage.”
Mihawk shifted his gaze to Zoro again, and Zoro fidgeted like he was thirteen and had gotten caught with a hand in Mihawk’s liquor cabinet. “I had indigestion.”
Mihawk’s brow arched, and Zoro hunched, dusky pink jacket crushed in his grip. “Fine. But I’m doing this under protest.”
He hurried off toward the steps leading to the upper floors, and Mihawk’s gaze returned to Perona. Perona smiled sweetly and held out her box of jewelry. “I also won this box of antique Gothic jewelry. There are a few pieces in there that I know you’ll like, and I’ll use the rest.”
Mihawk took the box from her, opened it, and nodded appreciatively. Then he turned toward his study and walked away.
“Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo,” Perona laughed to herself. Then she draped her fall coat over her arm and headed upstairs to her room.
The next day, near the end of cafe hours, Perona called the number included in the date details from one of the sitting rooms at Kuraigana. Rain tapped lightly against the tall windows, and she had one leg tucked beneath her on the sofa as she balanced the paper in her lap.
“All Blue Cafe. How may I help you?” the voice from the auction said over the line.
“Hi. I’m Perona. I won the auction last night.”
“Mellorine! How wonderful it is to hear your sweet voice! I very much am looking forward to our date!” Sanji gushed.
“I’m calling to arrange the day and time,” Perona told him.
“Of course! I am at your beck and call. Your humble servant. I will bend over backwards to accommodate your every whim.”
Perona shook her head at the overdramatics. Not cute. “Would the tenth work, around five?” Zoro kept a strict meal schedule and needed to plan around competition prep, when every meal was measured and accounted for.
“That will be perfect, chérie,” Sanji said, still in that fawning tone. “What does your heart delight for dinner?”
“A variety of onigiri and a fish dish, like swordfish or bluefin tuna. Sake is preferred over wine, if possible.”
“I will make every effort to adhere to your wishes,” Sanji said. “Any allergies I should be aware of, dove?”
“Lactose intolerance,” Perona said, smoothing one corner of the paper with her thumb. “Oh, and chocolate is too sweet. Don’t serve that.”
“I will avoid it at all costs.” Sanji said it like a vow. “I cannot wait to serve you in every way your heart desires.”
Perona shook her head again. This guy was a lot, and this was just on the phone. “Right.”
“Is there anything else I should know ahead of time to accommodate you? Favorite flower? Color? Confection?”
Perona imagined Sanji with an armful of flowers and candy greeting Zoro and grinned with wicked amusement. Her plan to tell Sanji that she’d won the date for her brother went out the window. “Surprise me.”
“I shall do my very best, mellorine!”
Perona ended the call and kicked her feet with a giggle. She doubted Zoro would put up with the overdramatics for long, but it would be amusing – to her, at least. A sister had to have some fun.
“I hate shopping.”
“Too bad. You’re going anyway,” Perona told Zoro, standing outside his bedroom door with her coat over one arm and her bag hanging from her shoulder. The corridor behind her was cool and dim, late-autumn light filtering through the narrow windows. “Put your shoes on and let’s go.”
Zoro sighed loudly and shoved his feet into his duct-taped boots that had been discarded nearby. “Why do I have to get new clothes?”
“Because I want you to wear something that actually fits for your date on Wednesday,” Perona said.
Zoro’s face took on a rosy hue. “I’m going to call it off.”
“You don’t have the number.”
“I’ll look it up.”
“You don’t know who to call.”
“I remember his name.”
“I bet you do,” Perona teased. “Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo.”
Zoro’s color darkened and he grumbled, “You’re the worst.”
Perona hooked her arm through his and dragged him toward the stairs. “C’mon. You need something new for Mihawk’s dinner party, anyway.”
Shopping with Zoro was actually easy. Get him a cookie on a stick with silly frosting on it, and he’d nibble on it from store to store while she loaded him with bags at the outlet mall. He could wear casual clothing from the Big & Tall store, but finding dressier attire that fit him properly required going to a tailor or ordering online from State & Liberty or Buffery.
The outlet mall sat on the edge of the city, a spread of open-air walkways, brick storefronts, and covered benches with planters already stripped down for the colder weather. Perona usually enjoyed wandering through it, but today she had a more specific destination.
She took Zoro to Kin’emon’s, their go-to tailor, who had a cute storefront in the historic district in Wano. The metropolitan area of Grand Line spread as far as Twins Cape and Lodestar, so it took over an hour to drive there. By the time they reached Wano, the landscape had changed to narrower streets, old stone buildings, hanging signs, and storefronts packed close together beneath dark tiled roofs. Pedestrians filled the sidewalks despite the cold, moving between cafés, boutiques, and little specialty shops tucked into buildings that looked much older than anything closer to the center of Grand Line.
Kin’emon’s occupied one of those buildings, with a polished wood sign over the door and mannequins in sharply fitted suits arranged in the front window. His tailoring was excellent, and Mihawk had an account. A little brass bell chimed when Perona pushed open the door, and warmth rolled over them along with the faint scents of tea, pressed fabric, and cedar.
Kin’emon welcomed them with his usual serious frown, deep sideburns, and tight goatee. He tended toward colorful, loose-fitting yukatas and geta sandals. “Perona-san, Zoro-san, good day to you both.”
“Hi, Kin’emon,” Perona greeted, shedding her coat and draping it over the back of a waiting chair. Zoro nodded in his direction, preoccupied with a skewer of dark soy mitarashi dango from the confectionery nearby. “Zoro’s in need of a new shirt and trousers.”
Kin’emon hummed. “Semi-formal or business casual?”
“Let’s lean toward semi-formal, but he doesn’t need a jacket.” Perona took a seat and adjusted her pleated skirt around her ankles. “I’m thinking something in the dark blue tones.”
Kin’emon glanced down when she adjusted her skirt, and he appeared to approve of her modesty while at the same time looking vastly disappointed. “Timeframe?”
“Short. He needs it by Wednesday morning,” Perona told him. She’d waited as long as she could to ensure Zoro wouldn’t bulk between the fitting and the date.
Kin’emon’s lips pursed, but he nodded. “I’ll see it done. Zoro-san, the fitting room.”
Zoro’s cheek was puffed with one of the dango as he ambled to the curtained-off area behind the fitting platform. Kin’emon poured tea and offered it and a plate of small almond cookies to Perona. “Will Mihawk-san be paying me a visit, as well?”
“Likely, but his dinner party isn’t until the twenty-second,” Perona replied.
The shop was warm, quiet except for the occasional clink of her cup and the traffic outside. Bolts of fabric filled the shelves along one wall, while finished jackets hung beneath recessed lights farther back. Perona sipped her tea and dunked a cookie into it before taking a bite while they waited.
Zoro came out of the fitting room, skewer still in hand, but now stripped down to his boxer briefs. He stepped barefoot onto the platform and planted his feet on the marking tape. The shop lights highlighted his musculature – thick neck, broad chest, narrow waist, heavy thighs, and defined calves. The silvered scar slicing across his chest broke the symmetry. Soy glaze coated his lips as he contentedly nibbled at the dango.
His competition spray tan was gone, thankfully. That was another reason Perona had scheduled the date when she did. Bodybuilding competition tans were ridiculously dark, with cosmetic bronzer designed to catch the stage lights, and they were Zoro’s least favorite part of competing. He had to stand in a room covered in plastic sheeting wearing nothing but a modesty sock while someone sprayed him from head to toe, sometimes through several coats, then stand in front of a fan until everything dried. He’d mentioned it was freezing but took it as a challenge to endure.
He also had to remove nearly all his body hair because of the posing trunks. The first time he’d needed to do it, he’d wandered naked into Perona’s room with a box of Nair in his hand and asked her to read the instructions. Perona had long since accepted that her brother had no shame and very little sense of propriety. The words Will you please put on underwear? had crossed her lips so many times she may as well get them tattooed somewhere.
Kin’emon withdrew a measuring tape from his sleeve and joined Zoro on the platform. He took no notes as he worked, simply moving from one measurement to the next. The tape whispered against Zoro’s skin as Kin’emon shifted around him. Zoro held out his arms when told and, at one point, shot Perona a put-upon look. She ignored it.
Color swatches came next. Perona sorted through the options while Kin’emon held each one against Zoro’s chest near his collarbone. She settled on Prussian blue, which had a more subdued, matte depth than the richer jewel tone of midnight blue.
When Kin’emon was finished, Zoro returned to the curtained area to redress while Perona finished her tea. “Any size changes?” she asked.
Kin’emon nodded. “Enough to warrant new tailoring. Has he been wearing a cinched corset excessively?”
Perona blinked. “Not that I’m aware.” She was the corset queen in the family.
“Hn. There are pressure marks around his waist, and the reduction is greater than I would expect from his other measurements. Usually that is a sign of excessive corsetry.”
“And that’s bad?” she asked.
“Potentially, if he is compressing his waist tightly for long periods or overnight,” Kin’emon said. “Corsetry can restrict his breathing, aggravate reflux, and make strenuous exercise more difficult. I recommend compression spandex instead, as it shapes but still allows the rib cage and abdomen to expand properly.”
Perona nibbled her lower lip. “What about outer fashion?”
“Three-finger-width minimum between your body and the material,” Kin’emon said. “It’s enough to preserve the silhouette without restricting your breathing.”
She relaxed with the information, as she tended to wear her corsets loose enough to be able to breathe. Fainting couches had a great aesthetic, but actually fainting was not cute.
Zoro returned, the last dango gone from the skewer, his heavy boots clunking on the wood floor. He dropped the empty skewer in the trash. “Can we go now?”
“Yes, we can go.” Perona stood, drew on her coat, and picked up her bag. “We’ll see you on Wednesday morning, Kin’emon.”
“The clothes shall be ready,” Kin’emon assured.
They left the shop. The bell chimed behind them, and the cold air outside immediately found the gap at Perona’s collar. Afternoon traffic moved slowly along the narrow street, tires hissing over pavement still damp from an earlier drizzle. Perona eyed Zoro as they walked down the street to where she’d parked. “Have you been wearing a corset?”
Zoro frowned at her. “Why would I wear a corset?”
“I don’t know. Kin’emon found compression marks around your waist.” Perona shifted her bag on her shoulder.
“Oh.” Zoro walked another few steps. “I’ve been wearing a waist trainer.”
Perona glanced at him questioningly. “Why?”
“Makes my waist smaller.”
“I get that, dummy. But why are you wearing one?”
Zoro shrugged. “Better V-taper.”
“How tight have you been wearing it?” Perona said.
“Pretty tight.”
Perona narrowed her eyes. “Zoro…”
“It’s no big deal,” Zoro said. “I’m just trying to get more points.”
“By hurting yourself?”
“It doesn’t really hurt.”
Perona knew that lie. It meant that it hurt enough that anyone else would’ve stopped. “You promised you’d be smart with your training.”
“I am being smart.”
“No, you’re doing something harmful to chase points,” Perona said. “Just like pushing through the shoulder strain, or the daily posing until you cramped, or dehydrating yourself for a week before a competition.”
Zoro scowled. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You can’t keep pushing yourself so hard.”
“It’s my body. I can push myself as hard as I want,” Zoro snapped. Perona stopped, and he walked a few more steps before he realized it and turned around. “What?”
A couple passed between them on the sidewalk, forcing Zoro to move aside before Perona answered. “I thought you didn’t care about winning,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Then why?”
Zoro looked away, jaw working. “It’s all I’m good at.”
Perona blinked, surprised by the answer. “That’s not true.”
Zoro snorted harshly. “Name one other thing that I can actually do well.”
It should have been an easy answer. Her brother could be kind and caring, but that wasn’t what he meant. Perona found herself struggling. “You… are really good at braiding hair.”
Zoro gave her a flat look. “I’ll be sure to put that on my CV.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to do something else,” she said.
“Not like I can.”
He pivoted and started walking again – right down an alley instead of staying on the sidewalk.
Perona called after him before he got lost. “Car’s this way.”
Zoro stopped, clenched his fists, then turned around and rejoined her.
Perona continued toward the car, parallel-parked up ahead. Beside her, Zoro’s posture was stiff, jaw tight. Wind stirred a few dry leaves along the curb, and Perona heard the faint scrape of his battered boots every few steps.
She kept quiet until they reached the vehicle, which she unlocked with a chirp. Zoro went around to the passenger side and got in.
She slid behind the wheel – Zoro didn’t have a license – and set her bag on the floor near his feet. She started the engine, but didn’t put it in gear. Warm air began pushing through the vents while the sounds of the street dulled behind the closed doors.
“Do you want to do something else?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
“Then what brought this on?”
Zoro stared out the side window, his posture hunching in the seat. He kept quiet for so long she wondered if he was going to answer before he finally said, “What if he doesn’t like me because I’m just… this?” He motioned at himself, then let his hand fall.
Perona’s heart did stupid things because her stupid brother was being stupid. “He’s going to like you, dummy. You’re better than any man I know. Even if you have crap taste in music.”
“There’s nothing wrong with power metal.”
“Half the songs are about swords.”
“I like swords,” he muttered.
Perona, unfortunately, knew how much, too. “You can talk to him about swords, then.”
Zoro’s ears went pink and he cleared his throat. “No, that’s okay.”
Perona smirked, though she still wanted to hug the big dummy. “You know a lot about food things, and he’s a chef. You even make your own meals. So you already have something in common.”
“Maybe,” Zoro said.
“It’s just one date,” Perona said. “And he could be a total clown. Good-looking vaporware.”
Zoro rubbed the weave of his track pants with his thumb. “You’re probably right. I mean, he had to auction himself to pull anything.”
She lightly socked him on the arm. “See? You’re already better than him. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll hunt down Wyper and see if he’s having a pool party anytime soon.”
Zoro groaned, even as his lips twitched into a half-smile. “I hate you.”
“Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo.” Perona pulled on her seatbelt and put the car in gear. “Seatbelt.”
Zoro drew his on, and she pulled away from the curb. He fiddled with her playlists on the dash panel until he found one he liked and hit play. Nocturne Echoes’ Dark Neoclassical Cello rose from the speakers.
They drove for a while, the narrow streets of Wano giving way to the wider streets of Dressrosa before she merged onto the highway toward home. Buildings thinned as they left the denser neighborhoods behind, and the overcast sky threatened rain again.
Zoro rested his head back and shut his eye. The traffic was light this time of day, leaving long stretches of open road between the scattered cars ahead.
Perona was going to let it go. She got to the reason behind Zoro’s unhealthy training, and a word with Mihawk to check on Zoro would get him to stop. But a date with someone didn’t address the underlying idea that he wasn’t good at anything but weightlifting.
As one song segued into the next, she spoke up. “You know, if you ever want to do something besides being a bodybuilder, I’ll help you out.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You’d probably kill it as a hairdresser.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said noncommittally, but she saw the small smile on his lips.
Satisfied that she’d done her sisterly duty, Perona turned her attention back to the drive, smiling to herself.
The day of the date involved dragging Zoro to Kin’emon’s again to ensure the fit – not that Kin’emon ever got it wrong – a stop for another dark soy mitarashi dango to keep Zoro happy, and a visit to Mihawk’s hairstylist for a trim.
Zoro sat through the fussing with his dango in hand until his moss-green hair looked less competition crisp and more casually mussed. Perona forced him to wear a shower cap after training when he bathed, then spent the late afternoon helping him get ready in his bedroom.
Kin’emon had put him in charcoal trousers and a Prussian-blue knit shirt with a structured neckline and long sleeves, fitted through the shoulders and chest without looking tight. It leaned semi-formal without making Zoro look as though he were headed to another charity gala.
Mihawk stopped by while Perona was helping her brother get dressed.
“What do you think?” Perona asked as she handed Zoro his belt. “Doesn’t he look good?”
Mihawk studied Zoro and inclined his head slightly at the new outfit, then dropped a few condoms on the dresser before he left.
Zoro flushed brilliant red, grabbed them, and stuffed them deep into his pocket.
“Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo,” Perona laughed under her breath.
She was taking Zoro instead of him using their driver, in case she needed to explain if her little surprise date-partner switch blew up in her face. She doubted Sanji was a homophobe, considering he’d auctioned himself at an LGBTQ+ charity event, and there’d been no restrictions on the bidders. It meant he’d expected the possibility of a non-female date and should be fine with it. Maybe romance wouldn’t be involved, but dinner and drinks were all that were promised, anyway.
All Blue Cafe was located near Reverse Mountain downtown, and they left early enough to get there with time to spare. Rush hour started around four, but she was going the opposite way from most traffic, so they made good time.
From the outside, the cafe was cute. Located on a quiet block filled with antique and trinket shops, the water-blue awning flapped lightly over the bay window overlooking the street. A mural of fish swam around the borders of the window and around the front door. The light was on inside, and she could see square tables, a long counter with stools, and cheery yellow paint on the walls. Not her aesthetic, but still cute.
One of the tables was set with a tablecloth, lit candles in the center, and silverware and napkins laid out at two seats. She didn’t see Sanji, but he was likely in the back kitchen.
She felt nervous all of a sudden, and she wasn’t even going on this date. She parked at the curb and turned to her brother.
Zoro was looking through the passenger window at the cafe, rubbing his palms against his charcoal trousers. She could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek.
Perona glanced toward the All Blue again, then back at him. “You ready?”
“No.”
“It’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “You look good, don’t smell like a jock strap for once, and you get to eat your favorite food.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his palms against his trousers again. “You’ll be here?”
Perona softened. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”
Zoro nodded in acknowledgment.
“But it’s going to go well,” she said. “And when it does, I’ll drive down to that pub we passed to wait. You can text me when you’re done.”
“Okay.”
Zoro didn’t get out of the car immediately. Perona waited until the dash clock ticked closer to the hour, then gave him a light shove in the shoulder. “Get going already. And if you get lost walking from the car to the door, I’ll never let you live it down.”
“Pft. Whatever.” Zoro took a deep breath, blew it out quickly, then opened the car door.
Perona watched through the passenger side window as he adjusted his shirt before walking to the All Blue’s main door. He paused again with his hand on the handle, then pulled it open and stepped inside.
There must’ve been a bell or something, because Sanji pushed through the swinging kitchen door, all smiles and twirls, dressed in a sharp wine-colored suit, black shirt, and white tie. He held a bouquet of brightly colored carnations in his hand.
He stopped suddenly, a confused look coming over his face when he saw it was Zoro. Perona held her breath as Zoro said something to him.
There was a tense moment when neither of them moved. Through the bay window, she watched as Sanji said something in return, and his mouth curved up in one corner. Then he crossed the distance and offered Zoro the flowers with a courtly bow.
Zoro took them, and Perona could see the bright surprise and happiness light his face. He sniffed them and held them against his chest as Sanji straightened. Sanji motioned to the table and escorted Zoro over with a hand on his lower back.
Perona pretended she got dust in her eye.
She waited and watched as Sanji disappeared into the kitchen and returned with plates of food balanced on his arm, as well as a bottle of sake. He set the plates down, poured drinks into waiting cups, and sat across from Zoro at the table.
Zoro motioned to the food and asked something, and Sanji grew animated in his response. Zoro said something else, and the two kept talking as they started eating. At one point, Sanji threw his head back and laughed. Zoro stared and then pinked.
Perona faced forward, started the car, and put it into gear. When she glanced back, Zoro was shoveling food into his mouth and Sanji looked besotted.
She drove off. Hopefully, the pub had good beer. She was going to be there awhile.
End
Omake - Fly on the Wall
Sanji’s phone vibrated, and he checked it to see that the motion sensor went off out front. Anticipation jumped in his chest. His date was here!
He’d been looking forward to this ever since the auction. A lovely lady to wine, dine, and romance a little. Though he didn’t expect anything to come of it beyond a nice evening, he always held out hope that maybe this would be The One.
He dreamed of happily ever afters. Of white picket fences and cozy nights on the couch. Of sweet kisses in the morning and steamier ones at night. Maybe even kids and carpool and the right kind of chaos in his life.
Although he couldn’t really see who’d bid on him from the spotlight beside Iva on stage, he’d spoken to her on the phone and she sounded wonderful. He couldn’t wait to meet her in person and share the meal cooked especially as requested. He’d practiced making onigiri repeatedly the past few weeks, a new dish for him. He wanted to get it perfect. He wanted to impress.
The food was prepared and ready for the table. The seared bluefin tuna rested on a bed of garlic rice, to be served with fresh cucumber salad, roasted asparagus, and chilled sake. He checked himself in the full-length mirror hung on the wall near the swinging kitchen door. Blond hair combed neatly, falling over his right eye. Royale goatee trimmed, framing his mouth. Wine-colored suit with a crisp black shirt beneath. With this suit, the white tie was to be worn loose, the top button on his collar undone. He couldn’t do anything about the hereditary swirl to his eyebrow, but he thought he cut a handsome enough figure.
He picked up the bouquet of carnations, giddiness swelling. He pushed through the swinging door with a twirl and hearts in his eyes. “Mellorine! I’m so happy you’ve arrived!”
“Uh, yeah.”
Sanji’s spin came to an abrupt stop at the deep voice. Confusion washed over him as he looked at the man standing inside the doorway. He was about his height and extremely muscular, with a mussed head of moss-green hair, a scar slashing through his left eye, and three earrings dangling from his left ear. He wore a Prussian-blue knit shirt, fitted without looking tight, paired with charcoal trousers and shiny black shoes.
“We’re closed,” Sanji said. “Cafe hours are eight to two.”
“I’m supposed to be here at five? For the date?” the man said. “I’m Zoro.”
Sanji blinked, and a million things went through his mind at once – from this being a joke, to him being stood up, to a trick Iva was playing on him, to him having mistaken that the winner had been a woman. But the person who’d set the date on the phone had been a woman, Perona. And now there was a man – Zoro – standing in front of him, saying he was here for the date.
Zoro shifted on his feet, hands curled at his sides, posture hunched slightly as if he were trying to make himself smaller. His expression held nervous hope, plainly visible despite the roughness of his features.
Sanji’s lips curved in the corner at the sight of such a big, brutish man looking like this was his very first date. He wasn’t about to let his reputation as a romantic be spoiled by misunderstanding, and he crossed the cafe and extended a bow as he held the bouquet in offering. “I’m Sanji, your humble date for tonight.”
Zoro took the bouquet, and when Sanji straightened, his heart tripped at the bright, dimpled smile Zoro wore.
Sanji ran his hand against his tie before gesturing toward the set dining table. “Dinner is ready if you’ll have a seat.”
Zoro began walking toward the table, and Sanji couldn’t help but rest his hand on the man’s lower back in a gentlemanly escort. That Zoro allowed it without tensing or giving him a sideways look made something flare inside Sanji. It was rare that another man was comfortable with Sanji’s romanticism, and his dates with them tended to be few and far between as a result.
He pulled out Zoro’s chair and Zoro sat down, still holding the flowers to his chest like they were prized. “I’ll be right back with our meal,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Once the door swung shut behind him, Sanji took a deep breath and released it with a soft laugh. He didn’t know how this had happened, but he was starting to like it a lot.
Sanji retrieved the sake from the refrigerator, balanced the plates of onigiri and tuna on one arm, and pushed back through the swinging door. “I was told by Perona on the phone to prepare onigiri and bluefin tuna. I hope it’s what you’d like to eat, not her.”
Zoro’s eye tracked the food as Sanji approached. “My sister. She won the date for me. She knows what I like.”
“One mystery solved,” Sanji said as he set the plates on the table.
“What type of onigiri did you make?”
“Beef shigureni, umeboshi, and yaki onigiri. The bluefin’s seared with ponzu.” Sanji opened the sake and poured it into the waiting cups. “I’ve never made them before, and it was a culinary treat to try and perfect them. I simmered the beef in a sweet, salty soy-and-garlic sauce. And of course, the crust for the yaki is a caramelized soy sauce. The umeboshi was of particular interest because I had to determine if the extremely sour and intensely salty taste would pair well with the tuna.”
“Looks good,” Zoro said, picking up one of the yaki onigiri. “I make these at home for an easy snack when I’m not prepping.”
“Prepping?”
“I’m a bodybuilder,” Zoro said. “Professional.”
“That explains the muscles,” Sanji said, taking his seat. He flicked out the napkin and set it on his lap. “What does prepping entail?”
“Tracking everything I eat, cutting calories, keeping protein high, more cardio, posing practice, and trying not to lose muscle while I lean out.”
“Sounds complicated,” Sanji said, gaze roving over the way Zoro filled the shirt. “What does your calorie intake look like during prep?”
“Changes. Usually around thirty-five hundred when I start cutting. Drops as I get closer to the show.”
“So you probably eat a lot of chicken, rice, eggs, vegetables, and lean fish.”
“Yeah. I cook my own food, so I know exactly what I’m taking in.”
Sanji looked at Zoro with new appreciation. “I’m impressed.”
Zoro took a bite of the yaki onigiri and swallowed it with a contented hum. “You always been a cook?”
“Yeah,” Sanji said, eating a portion of his own onigiri. “Since I was ten. Worked in my old man’s restaurant and then struck out on my own a couple years ago. I wanted something smaller, less formal. Opened this place up. How’d you get into bodybuilding?”
“Mihawk – that’s our dad – suggested I go into it. Thought I could put my weight training to good use.”
“Bench pressing cars wasn’t an option?”
“Tow company wasn’t hiring.”
Sanji threw his head back and laughed. He hadn’t been expecting the dry wit. When he lowered his chin again, Zoro was concentrating on his food, a high flush of pink across his cheeks. It was a good look on him, and Sanji’s smile softened as he watched Zoro eat.
He picked up his sake cup, wondering what Zoro thought about white picket fences.
End