Chapter 1

Mondays were always the busiest at the Baratie. Carne and Patty were wiping down the kitchen and Sanji sent his old man back to bed early because he'd strained his back yet again. As always, Sanji was the last to leave. After ensuring that the restaurant floor was spotless, Sanji took out the trash.

In the back alley of the Baratie where nobody really visited, Sanji whistled a merry tune, happy that the busy day had finally come to an end. Street lamp in the back alley was slightly faulty and flickered badly like a bad horror movie. Sanji was used to this happening and didn't think much about it. He wasn't a man afraid of ghosts or serial killers. Besides, why would anyone target a cook unless they were Luffy?

The dumpster stank and Sanji couldn't wait to get out of there. He tossed the big bags of garbage into the dumpsters and was ready to leave when he kicked something not too far from the dumpster.

"Swords?" Sanji blinked.

Who would have thought that anyone would throw away some rather priceless katanas in the back alley of the Baratie? Sanji was about to touch them when a bloody hand grabbed him. The cook let the cigarette fall from his lips in a brief yell. Shocked at the sudden contact, Sanji was surprised he didn't start kicking the wounded shithead yet.

Sanji didn't need to think twice after inspecting the stranger in the back alley who apparently was the owner of the swords Sanji kicked. The shithead had moss green hair and was not in a very good condition if Sanji judged by the amount of blood pooling by the swordsman's side. He had no idea how long the stranger had been bleeding out in his back alley but this definitely called for medical attention.

"Old geezer! Bring the first aid kit!" Sanji hollered once he was indoors. It wasn't easy to drag the man he found from the back alley. Firstly, the man was almost as tall as him but he was extremely buff. Secondly, those three swords attached to the man's hips weighed a fortune and Sanji dared not leave it outside in fear of a theft before he could go back to retrieve them. It's a silly notion because nobody has discovered the wounded swordsman for a long time. Sanji hardly thought that anyone would steal the swords even if he left it there but that's not very important at the moment.

Zeff was just out of the shower upstairs when he heard his adopted son yelling. While it wasn't uncommon to hear yelling from Sanji or foul words pouring out of his mouth, the need for a first aid kit wasn't very commonly heard. For all the chefs in the Baratie, they knew better than to hurt their hands. Also, Sanji was trained in Savate. Who could possibly hurt his boy?

His questions were answered when Sanji dragged a green-haired stranger upstairs and dumped him on the floor in the middle of the living room, too tired to do anything else. Zeff noted the bloodstains on his floor but said nothing. The first aid kit was already in his hands and Sanji made quick work of tearing away that dirtied white tank top.

The stranger wasn't a foreigner when it came to getting seriously wounded. The first telltale sign was the many stitches from what looked like knife wounds and stabs. There were even some weird star shaped scars that Sanji was willing to bet they were bullet holes. Whoever this man was and what he did for a living, Sanji figured that it would be better to not get too involved into. The long slash wound on the man's torso going from left shoulder to right hip diagonally was something that needed immediate attention. How the moron hadn't bled out yet was a wonder for the chef but he worked quickly.

Zeff helped to prepare a basin of water and a rag for Sanji who was busy trying to pull the wound close and bandage the stranger. The moss-head was filthy at the moment but there really wasn't much they could do for now. Going by the severity of the wound, Zeff estimated that the swordsman would be unconscious for at least a week. Knowing his son's temperament, Sanji wouldn't allow this man to leave until he was fully recovered. He sighed. The Baratie was going to have les peaceful days now that Sanji had picked up a more troublesome stray.

The last stray that Sanji picked up starving in the back alley, he turned out to be some right-hand man from a crime organization who wanted to defect. In the end, Zeff had to trouble Luffy to clean up the mess. Even though it wasn't Sanji's fault that he wanted to help, Zeff had often scolded his son for being overly kind. Still, the man never learned. Zeff didn't expect this to be any different but he hoped this moss-headed stranger would be better than Gin from the Krieg gang.

"Where did you find him? He looks like he's ready to kick the damned bucket tomorrow," Zeff growled as Sanji tied the bandage and inspected the rest of the man for other injuries just in case.

"At the back alley. Could have scared the shit out of me when he grabbed my ankle with a bloodied hand before passing out," Sanji explained and lit a cigarette now that the stranger was out of the woods.

Zeff didn't press for more details but told Sanji strictly that the stranger was now his responsibility. Sanji nodded and waved to his father who retired to bed early. With Zeff gone from the picture, Sanji could now take his time to admire the stranger while wiping the dirt and grime off him.

"What do you know? He's actually quite the looker if it wasn't for his ridiculous hair colour," Sanji mused and smiled when the stranger groaned after Sanji poked his cheek with a finger.

After wiping the stranger down, Sanji put away the first aid kit and carried the stranger to his room to rest. They didn't have a spare guest room so Sanji decided to spend the night on the couch after cleaning up the floor that got stained with blood.

By the time the chef was done with his shower and did one last round of check on the wounded man, he looked at the time. It was already one in the morning and Sanji groaned. He had to get up at five the next day, giving him less than four hours of sleep. Still, Sanji didn't regret it. For some reason, he was very curious about this stranger. If anything, maybe he would prove to be entertaining one he wakes up.