Opening my eyes, it is morning.
Lately, Zoro has been waking up on his own at around this time every morning. It seems to have become a habit. He stares at the ceiling in front of him, watching the morning light seeping in by the window gradually tint it a hazy dark blue. Then he turns his head ninety degrees to the left and looks toward the hammock opposite his. As expected, it's empty. Quietly, doing his best not to disturb the others still asleep, Zoro climbs out of his hammock and follows his habitual route to the place he knows better than any other.
He pushes open the kitchen door. Just as he'd expected, he sees a familiar figure from behind, and hears the familiar sound of chopping vegetables.
Premise:
