The ship was small.
A simple sloop.
One mast.One sail.Enough wood to float.Enough space for one man and his thoughts.
Sanji stood on the shore of Momoiro Island, hands in his pockets, watching the last crate of supplies being loaded.
Eight months.
Not enough to change the world.
Enough to change him.
He no longer woke up reaching for cigarettes.
No longer filled silence with noise.
No longer performed.
His days had become… deliberate.
Wake before sunrise.Stand.Breathe.Feel.
The way Ivankov had taught him.
The way Iva had beaten into him with a cane and a grin.
"…Tch. What a nightmare."
He smirked faintly.
He remembered the first month.
Being hunted.
Being broken.
Being dragged back to his feet.
He remembered the room with pressure.
The day he almost vanished.
He remembered the mirror.
The soldier.
The word Vinsmoke finally losing its power over him.
He remembered learning not to move.
Then learning to move only when necessary.
He remembered the first time the world failed to push him over.
The first time his leg felt heavy.
The first time his will had weight.
He was not strong.
Not compared to what waited out there.
He knew that.
And for once, that did not scare him.
Ivankov stood a short distance away.
Arms crossed.
Watching him.
"You are leaving early," Ivankov said.
Sanji nodded. "If I wait until I'm ready, I'll never leave."
Ivankov smiled slightly.
"Good answer."
Sanji looked at the sea.
The Grand Line stretched beyond the horizon.
Wild.
Cruel.
Unimpressed.
"…I'm not going to chase anything," Sanji said quietly.
Ivankov raised an eyebrow.
"…Oh?"
"I'm going to walk into it," Sanji said. "And see what refuses to move me."
Ivankov laughed.
"Still arrogant."
"Yeah," Sanji said. "…But quieter."
He picked up his bag.
Not much inside.
Knives.Clothes.A logbook.Food.
Enough.
Before boarding, he looked back at the island.
Not with nostalgia.
With acknowledgment.
"This is where I stopped running."
Then he stepped onto the sloop.
The sail caught the wind.
The island slowly shrank.
Sanji sat at the helm.
Closed his eyes.
And felt the sea.
The currents.The distance.The threats.
He did not smile.
He did not boast.
He simply said:
"…Alright."
The sloop moved forward.
Not toward anyone.
Not away from anyone.
Toward the world.