Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Test of Number Three
Mornings in Germa were always the same. The sky was always a little gray, the stone floors always slightly damp. Sounds were muted; even footsteps couldn’t properly echo off the walls, swallowed by the air instead. Today was no different, but an odd sense of anticipation spread among Judge and the scientists.
Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, Sanji, and Yonji walked toward the training arena in silence. Silence was normal, but today it was heavy. They walked in the order they'd been taught—by their assigned numbers. But Sanji trailed just a step or two behind the others, as if trying to keep his distance. Yonji dragged his feet, but not because he was trying to catch up to anyone. Sanji, on the other hand, stayed back for a different reason. This way, he could observe their backs, their walks, their body language more easily. He could better see the contrast his own hair created among them.
But he didn’t see a problem in it. Black meant success. So what if the others inherited their mother’s golden hair? He had the same blue eyes his mother had, didn’t he?
Ichiji leaned toward Niji as they walked.
"They're definitely going to make us fight today. Wanna bet on who wins?"
"I mean, isn’t it obvious? I still owe you for that punch to my jaw two weeks ago," Niji replied with a childish grin. "Today—"
Yonji cut in. "I could beat both of you!"
The three of them bickered, covering their horrible childhood with play. Sanji’s lips twitched slightly. It wasn’t a smile, more like a reflex from having memorized his brothers’ banter. Still, it was a small distraction. Reiju kept walking without reacting. Sometimes he wondered who was truly emotionless and who was just pretending.
The training arena they were called to this time was large, but what caught the eye were the five men standing at its center. Real soldiers. Not puppets, not programmed. Each one stood differently, of different ages, but they all had that same posture—the posture of someone who knew they were being watched.
Sanji studied their stances. The man on the far right had his knee slightly bent; an old injury, perhaps. The one in the middle was the heaviest. That one was probably his opponent. They always treated Sanji a bit differently.
Above, in the glass-walled observation room, stood Garuda, Vinsmoke Judge. Arms clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the floor below. His gaze was cold, but that wasn’t new. What Sanji noticed was that Judge was watching him a bit longer than usual.
"Today’s training," the instructor began, his voice crisp but rehearsed, "will consist of one-on-one combat. You will face real soldiers. No rules. Enter the ring in numerical order."
"Disappointing," Ichiji muttered, glancing at Yonji and Niji. "Looks like I won’t be beating you two today."
Sanji gave Ichiji a brief look, just enough to acknowledge his presence. Ichiji fell silent, uneasy. When the brothers had to fight each other, Ichiji was usually paired with Sanji, and those days rarely ended well for the blond one. Their excitement about the matches probably came from the days when neither Judge nor Sanji were around.
Reiju was called first. Her opponent was relatively young; his stance gave it away. Clearly, they had chosen weaker soldiers to spar with the children. Sanji felt he should be thankful on their behalf, at least. His siblings weren’t much different from the palace servants for him, but one day they would become his sub-commanders. As king, he needed to get along with them. Judge had taught him that much. Sanji narrowed his eyes at him. He didn’t quite look like a normal seven-year-old, but having his entire future laid out before him carried a certain suffocating bitterness. A king who couldn’t make his own decisions... Judge was never good at thinking everything through.
The soldier made the first move, aiming for the chest. Reiju didn’t step back; instead, she shifted her left foot half a step to the right, ducked under the spear, and grabbed the soldier’s wrist. Her grip targeted the muscles holding the weapon, not to disarm but to control.
The soldier reacted well, trying to elbow her, but Reiju had already moved behind him. She pushed the back of his knee with hers and reached for the back of his neck. He lost balance and fell onto his right shoulder.
While he was down, Reiju pinned him with a knee and pressed her elbow into his shoulder blade. One last bit of pressure, and he was immobilized.
"Sufficient," the instructor said.
Reiju stood without brushing herself off and left the ring without a word.
Sanji watched her breathing. Her shoulders were relaxed. Calm but not falling apart. She was always like that: no expression, no excess. Everything just enough.
Ichiji was next. As Reiju walked past, she glanced at Sanji but said nothing. Ichiji walked faster, rubbed his hands, sized up his opponent. He struck first but missed. The soldier was skilled enough not to lose to a mere child.
Ichiji's first punch was a right hook—fast, but easily dodged. The second one was better, but still didn’t land. Ichiji frowned. As he pushed forward, he was caught off guard. The soldier stepped in and punched him in the stomach, then again on the shoulder.
Ichiji staggered back, breath irregular.
But then his face reddened. He clenched his fists, threw himself forward, and landed a solid punch on the soldier’s nose. The crack was loud. The man fell.
Ichiji had won—but he was still out of breath.
And he looked more frustrated than proud.
As he left the ring, his eyes flicked toward Judge. No response. Sad, but expected.
Niji was more composed. He landed three solid blows but took one to the stomach. "Thought he was just bluffing. Guy’s tougher than he looks," he muttered on his way back. Reiju shrugged and Yonji just laughed. Ichiji was silent. He was always like that, whenever he lost or win by chance, he fell silent.
"Number Three, to the ring."
Sanji walked without moving his arms. When he reached his opponent, he paused for a few seconds. Eyes scanned the man. Slightly shorter than expected, but broad-chested. A bandage on the left knee. That would be his first target.
The soldier drew his sword and made a small motion—not an attack, just a test. He locked eyes with Sanji.
Sanji took a step forward. The sword came. He ducked and moved into the man's blind spot, brushing against the inside of his elbow to disrupt balance. The sword's trajectory shifted just enough for Sanji to get close. He kicked sharply at the bandaged knee, and the soldier grunted as he stumbled.
Instead of finishing it there, Sanji pressed forward. He grabbed the soldier's shoulder and spun, using his momentum to send the man toward the edge of the ring. The soldier regained his footing, twisted, and lashed out with a backhanded strike that grazed Sanji's cheek. Blood welled.
Sanji blinked. He didn't feel the joy, he didn't programmed to, but little moments like this... made him grin.
He moved in faster now, weaving beneath a second sword swing and retaliating with a sweeping low kick that sent the soldier sprawling onto his side. The sword flew from his hand.
Sanji picked it up, flipping it once in his grip, testing its balance.
The man started to rise.
Sanji didn't let him.
A clean blow to the sternum knocked the wind from the soldier, who collapsed again, wheezing.
Then the voice came from above.
"Now," Judge said. Clear, cold.
"Kill him."
Sanji turned his head just slightly, acknowledging the order. He now understood. This was the real test of the day.
Seeing how he'd handle his first murder. Sanji looked back at the man beneath him.
He raised the blade. Brought it toward the man’s throat.
Just then, something moved at the edge of his vision.
A child.
Just outside the ring.
Golden hair.
Pitch-black eyes.
Sanji paused.
The child stood still. Not the soldier. Not Judge.
For a moment, all of Sanji’s focus was on that boy.
Then he pressed the blade to the soldier's throat.
It was a stupid test. He didn’t feel mercy.
Blood hit the floor.
The man made no sound. Sanji exhaled.
The child was still there....
~
Next up was Yonji. As he walked to the ring, his steps dragged. Sanji didn’t look back as he passed. But Yonji hesitated when he saw the body on the ground. Then made a face.
Yonji entered the ring. The instructor said, "Continue."
Yonji struck first, but it was sloppy. He took a hit on the second exchange. Forced himself on the third and knocked the soldier down. But his face was pale.
As he left the ring, he didn’t speak. He went to the wall, sat down, hand over his mouth. Then, he vomited.
Reiju glanced at him, then looked at the floor.
Ichiji and Niji were quiet.
Sanji just watched.
Yonji didn’t look at him. But something had changed that day. Brotherhood was giving way to distance.
~~
After that morning, Sanji began to feel more watched. The eyes in Germa usually came from above—observation rooms, cameras, Judge’s high perch. But this was different. This gaze came from below. Quiet. Nonjudgmental. But constant.
At first, he only saw it from the corner of his eye. At the edge of the training field, at the end of empty corridors, behind the farthest shelves in the library. It was a silhouette that remained still until Sanji turned his head. Then it disappeared.
A boy, his age. Golden hair as bright as his siblings’. But eyes... eyes as black as night, just like Judge.
Sanji initially assumed it wasn’t real. No one in Germa walked around unnoticed. There were no invisible children. And no one else had that hair. So maybe, he thought, he was just tired. Maybe the morning training, Judge’s voice, the blood—it all stacked up.
Sanji named him "the Blonde." No other name felt necessary. He wasn’t real, anyway. A hallucination or a shadow perhaps? But he behaved more like a real person than his siblings ever did.
But it didn’t go away.
The feeling of being watched remained. Every morning, during his routine, the boy was there. At first silent, only watching. Never spoke. Never came closer. But those eyes—predatory.
He saw him during meals, too. At Germa’s dinner table, everyone had assigned seats. Judge at the head, Reiju to his right, the others by number. Sanji sat between Niji and Yonji but was usually surrounded by silence.
"Too much salt again," Niji said one evening, poking at his plate.
"Complain and maybe they'll send you to a lab," Ichiji muttered trying to be silent so Judge couldn't hear him.
Reiju rolled her eyes and ate silently. Sanji looked at his plate. Tapped it with his fork. Saw a movement at the door. Didn’t turn his head. At the edge of vision, the Blonde stood. Still.
Judge spoke; no one responded. He talked about training programs, then left the table. Silence followed. The sound of plates, utensils. And the boy in the shadows.
Sanji couldn’t focus on the food. All he felt was the gaze. But it didn’t feel threatening. More like curiosity. Or something else. He didn’t have a name for it.
The library was the quietest place in Germa. And for Sanji, the most bearable. He could be alone there, read engineering diagrams, tactical manuals. Reiju dropped by sometimes, but the others rarely came.
One day, while reaching for a book, he thought he heard breathing. Behind the books. But there was nothing. Then, in a distant corner, a flash. A strand of gold.
He turned his head. No one.
But the feeling told him the boy wasn’t gone. Just didn’t want to be seen.
It continued. For weeks. Training grounds, mealtimes, hallways, mirrors. The Blonde was always there, just beyond the center of his sight. Never in full focus. Never up close.
One morning, as they descended to the training ground, the usual electric tension filled the air. Damp stone. Familiar gazes from above. But that day was different. The siblings were talking more.
"They’re making us fight each other today," Ichiji said to Reiju.
"Really?" Yonji said. "Better than real soldiers I guess. Get ready Niji!"
"You focus on staying upright first," Niji said, sniffing. Reiju said nothing.
Sanji didn’t speak either, but his face was blank. His eyes scanned the corners of the field. No sight of the Blonde, but he could feel him. Closer now.
When the match-ups were announced, Sanji was paired with Ichiji as always.
"This will be fun," Ichiji grinned. "Last time you knocked me down, I was seven."
He talked about it like it was decades ago but their 8th birthday was just a few months ago...
Sanji didn’t respond to Ichiji’s trash talk. He knew it was only because the blond one wanted to have some confidence.
They stepped into the ring. The instructor only nodded. No whistle.
Ichiji was fast. He charged forward with a confident smirk, launching two quick punches—one aimed at Sanji's shoulder, the other at his jaw. Sanji shifted his weight and sidestepped with practiced ease, feeling the wind of the strike brush past his cheek. The punches were strong, certainly, but too predictable.
Ichiji grunted, adjusting his stance, and came in again—this time with a feint to the left followed by a sudden roundhouse kick. Sanji dropped low, sliding on one foot beneath the kick’s arc. As Ichiji’s momentum carried him forward, Sanji spotted his chance. He drove his heel into Ichiji’s supporting knee. The crack was soft but sharp. Ichiji stumbled, eyes wide with surprise.
Before Ichiji could recover, Sanji surged upward. He struck his brother’s chest with a precise, brutal kick that knocked the air out of him and lifted him slightly off the ground. As Ichiji fell, Sanji darted behind him, arms locking around his torso. The landing was rough—Ichiji hit the ground hard, shoulder-first, dust rising in a muted puff around them.
Sanji didn’t give him a second. He climbed over Ichiji’s back, kneeling into his spine and pressing him down. His fist rose, poised above Ichiji’s head. His breathing was even, but his eyes flicked upward—toward the window Judge stood behind.
He was ready to end it. He just needed to see the approval, he knew was coming.
"DON’T!"
A child’s voice. High-pitched.
At the edge of the ring. In the shadows.
The Blonde. He spoke.
Sanji’s fist froze. Ichiji gasped beneath him, but wasn’t looking at him.
The Blonde was staring straight into his eyes.
Sanji lowered his fist. Ichiji looked confused. Sanji stood, brushed off the dust.
The field was silent.
Sanji could see the confusion in Judge’s eye. Why didn't he finished? Why he didn't wait for coach to end the fight?
Sanji didn't know. But as he looked at the Blonde boy, he somehow knew it was the right thing to do.