Novel Chapter
If Sanji was confused, Zeff was shaken.
The old pirate had sailed the Grand Line. He'd seen things. Survived things. And he knew how to read between the lines.
Fullbody was a commissioned officer at Marine Headquarters. Even a Petty Officer from HQ operated outside the authority of any branch Captain or Commodore.
And to demote a Lieutenant on the spot, without paperwork, without approval—
You'd need to be at least a Vice Admiral.
Vice Admiral.
Zeff's eyes tracked back to Kai, sitting there calmly, ordering food like he hadn't just casually destroyed a man's career.
He's so young. How is he so YOUNG?
Vice Admirals were monsters. Walking disasters who could level islands. They operated in the New World, hunting Emperors and Warlords.
What the hell was one doing in the East Blue?
Even in his prime—back when both his legs worked and his name made pirates flee—Zeff wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds against a Vice Admiral.
The thought that this man might be even higher than that?
Zeff's mind refused to go there.
"Braised abalone, rice wine steamed crab claws, beef steak soup..." Kai closed the menu, handing it to Sanji with a pleasant smile. "That'll do for now. If it's not enough, I'll order more."
Sanji hesitated, notepad in hand.
"Sir, that's... quite a lot of food." He chose his words carefully. "I don't mean to presume, but—"
"You're worried I'll waste it." Kai's smile widened. "Don't be. Trust me, this won't be nearly enough."
Before Sanji could respond—
"KAI-NIISAN!"
A blur of red and straw crashed into their conversation.
Luffy beamed at Kai, eyes bright with surprise and delight. "What are you doing here!?"
Kai blinked, then laughed.
Of course.
Even with Nami on his ship instead of Luffy's, even with the timeline shifted—the story had a gravity all its own. Luffy was always going to end up at the Baratie.
Some things, apparently, were inevitable.
"Double that order," Kai told Sanji, then turned back to Luffy. "I heard the food here was incredible. Thought I'd bring my navigator to try it."
"Navigator!?" Luffy's grin somehow got bigger. "You're a pirate too now!? That's awesome! Ahahahaha—"
"I'm not—"
"We can sail together! And fight Marines! And find the One Piece! And—"
Kai pinched the bridge of his nose. "Luffy. I'm not a pirate."
"But you have a navigator!"
"That doesn't—" He stopped. Sighed. There was no point. "Let me guess. You broke something expensive, and now you're working here to pay it off?"
Luffy deflated slightly. "...Yeah. Whole year."
"And you want me to pay your debt."
"Please?" Luffy clasped his hands together. "I'll pay you back! Eventually! Probably!"
"No."
"Aww—"
"But," Kai continued, fighting back a smile, "I can buy you lunch. How's that?"
Luffy's mood did a complete one-eighty. "YES!"
He threw himself into the nearest chair, snatched up a fork and knife, and stared at the kitchen door with the intensity of a hunting dog.
The food arrived in waves.
Dozens of plates. Enough for a small army.
Luffy ate like he was trying to become a small army.
Kai watched, mildly horrified, as dish after dish vanished into the rubber boy's apparently bottomless stomach.
Nami just looked impressed. "Where does it all go?"
"No idea," Kai admitted. "I've stopped asking questions."
Four days later.
Kai had decided to stay.
Partly because the food really was excellent. Partly because he was technically on vacation.
But mostly because he knew what was coming.
Mihawk.
If the story's gravity was pulling Luffy here, it would pull the Warlord too. And Kai had questions that needed answering.
So he waited.
Ate well. Slept well. Let Nami explore the ship and chat with the cooks.
It was, all things considered, a pleasant few days.
Until—
CRASH.
The restaurant doors slammed open.
Every head turned.
A young man—thin, exhausted, barely standing—half-carried, half-dragged a massive figure through the entrance.
The big man was built like a fortress. Broad shoulders, thick arms, easily seven feet tall. But right now, he looked like death warmed over—skin pale, breathing shallow, eyes unfocused.
"Please..." The big man's voice was a rasp. "Water. Food. I have money—I'll pay—just—"
His legs gave out.
He collapsed, hitting the floor like a felled tree.
Silence.
Then—
"Holy shit." One of the cooks leaned forward, eyes wide. "Is that—"
"Don Krieg." Another cook's voice was flat. Cold. "Pirate Commodore Don Krieg."
The name rippled through the room like a shockwave.
Krieg. Commander of the largest pirate fleet in the East Blue. Fifty ships. Five thousand men. A man who'd burned villages, sunk Navy vessels, and left a trail of bodies across the sea.
And now he was face-down on the Baratie's floor, barely conscious.
"Someone call the Marines!" Patty, one of the sous chefs, grinned viciously. "He's weak as a kitten right now—they can just take him! No fight, no fuss!"
"Good riddance," another cook muttered. "Let him starve. World'll be better off."
"If we feed him, he'll just attack us when he recovers!"
"Don't give him anything!"
The voices rose, angry and afraid in equal measure.
Then—
Footsteps.
Sanji walked forward, a plate of fried rice in his hands.
He set it down in front of Krieg.
"Eat," he said quietly. "Don't die hungry."
The restaurant erupted.
"Sanji, what the hell!?"
"That's Krieg! He's a monster!"
"You're going to get us all killed!"
Sanji didn't respond. Just stood there, expression unreadable, as Krieg's shaking hands reached for the plate.
The pirate ate like a man possessed. Shoveling rice into his mouth, barely chewing, eyes glazed with desperate hunger.
In less than a minute, the plate was empty.
Krieg's breathing steadied. Color returned to his face.
He looked up at Sanji.
And grinned.
CRACK.
His fist slammed into Sanji's jaw, sending the cook flying backward into a table.
"Pathetic." Krieg rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. "What kind of idiot feeds his enemy?"
He ripped open his coat.
Underneath was armor—black steel plating covering his torso, arms, shoulders. Wootz steel, Kai noted. Expensive. Durable.
Krieg flexed, and hidden mechanisms clicked into place.
Gun barrels emerged from his shoulders. His gauntlets. The sides of his torso.
At least a dozen firearms, all built into the armor itself.
"Let me show you what happens," Krieg said, voice dripping with contempt, "when you show mercy to Don Krieg."
He opened fire.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG—
The restaurant became a war zone. Bullets tore through tables, shattered windows, punched holes in the walls. Cooks dove for cover, screaming. Patrons fled for the exits.
Krieg just laughed, spinning in place, spraying lead in every direction.
It went on for a full fifteen minutes.
When the guns finally clicked empty, the dining room looked like a battlefield. Smoke hung in the air. Splinters and broken glass covered the floor.
Krieg stood in the center of it all, arms spread wide.
"This is power!" He threw his head back, laughing. "The strongest steel arms! The hardest wootz armor! Diamond fists that crush everything! Weapons on every inch of my body!" His grin was manic. "I'm invincible! Ahahaha—"
"Hey."
The voice was quiet.
Calm.
But it cut through Krieg's laughter like a knife.
"Trash."
Krieg's head snapped toward the source.
At a table near the back, still somehow intact, a dark-haired man sat with a half-eaten plate of food in front of him.
He looked... annoyed.
"You ruined my lunch," Kai said flatly. "Do you have any idea how rude that is?"
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