People always told Luffy they didn’t expect him to be a culinary arts student. He found that stupid— he liked food, he liked making it, eating it, looking at it… why wouldn’t he go to culinary school? What else was he supposed to do? Do business and sit behind a desk all day? No fucking way. Luffy would rather die.

So here he was, walking back from his morning seminar for his minor (funnily enough, political science) going back to his apartment before his later intensive in the kitchen.