JUST-TRANSVESTITES ISLAND.

A strange, flamboyant land Sanji had come to know as hell incarnate. The air was thick with perfume, glitter shimmered in the sky like stardust, and the sound of high heels clacked louder than thunder. Not a single woman in sight — only men dressed head-to-toe in frilly dresses, fishnets, thick makeup, and bold wigs. Proud, powerful, and unrelenting, they all identified as women, going by she/her pronouns — and every single one of them had set their sights on one man: Vinsmoke Sanji.

Sanji bolted down the vibrant, chaotic streets of the island, dodging overly affectionate transvestites who cried out declarations of love and marriage proposals. "Come back, handsome~!", "Be mine, darling!", "You're just my type, baby~!" they cried, chasing him with hearts in their eyes and lipstick-smeared grins.

He had been running for what felt like hours — through dense tropical brush, over cobbled walkways, and past rows of extravagantly decorated huts, each one pulsing with music and color. His legs ached, and his chest heaved with every gasping breath. His once-crisp suit was wrinkled, dirt-stained, and his tie had long been discarded mid-sprint.

Eventually, Sanji found brief salvation. He darted through a thicket and stumbled out onto a secluded part of the island — a jagged cluster of rocks near the shoreline. The waves crashed lazily behind him, the salty breeze tousling his messy blond hair. His cigarette had burned out somewhere along the way, now nothing but a bitter, soggy nub clinging to his lip. His eyes, usually so sharp and flirtatious, were sunken with fatigue, dark circles marking the strain of his non-stop torment.

He collapsed to his knees among the stones, panting hard, one hand braced against the ground while the other clutched his chest.

“Not a single woman... not one...” he muttered, eyes wide with disbelief and despair. Sweat dripped from his brow as he scanned the horizon. "Damn it... I’ve been running and running… but they just won’t stop!”

His voice cracked, a pitiful whine escaping him as he imagined soft, feminine voices and the sweet scent of real women — only for his daydream to be shattered by the echoing call of, “Sanji-chaaaan~! Where did you go, my love?”

His blood ran cold. The nightmare wasn’t over. And the heels were getting closer.