I stepped into Zeff's room and immediately noticed the gaping hole in the wall where a cannonball had clearly made its violent introduction.
The rest of the room, however, looked exactly like what you'd expect from an old man who'd seen too much of the world—tidy, practical, and carrying that particular scent of aged wood and salt that seemed to follow every seasoned sailor.
"You are here…" Naturally, Zeff acknowledged my presence the moment I entered, but he did not look back at me.
'These old-timers never missed anything, did they?'
He gestured toward a chair next to a small table while he shuffled over to check some books on his bookshelf, his peg leg tapping against the wooden floor with each step.
I sat in the chair as instructed, because apparently even in another world I couldn't escape being the obedient student type.
Soon after, Zeff left his bookshelf and walked over, settling into the chair opposite me with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of countless similar conversations.
On the table between us, he placed an old, worn-out green logbook with a clear, funny, pirate cook's insignia. The thing looked like it had survived more adventures than I'd had hot meals back in my original world.
He bowed his head slightly and spoke in a tone that sounded genuinely grateful. "Thank you so much for protecting the restaurant of this old man," he said. "I can't thank you enough."
'Oh, great. Sincere gratitude. My one weakness.'
I shifted awkwardly in my seat, because of course I did.
"It wasn't... I mean, you don't need to thank me like that," I managed, my voice probably coming out more stilted than I intended.
"It was a deal between us, after all. Besides..." I paused, trying to find the right words that wouldn't make me sound like some altruistic hero, because I definitely wasn't one. "The Krieg Pirates wanted to kidnap me, too. I had to act in self-defense."
Which was true, technically. Though it conveniently left out the part where I could have probably handled the situation in about twelve different ways that didn't involve a full-scale battle. But hey, selective truth-telling was practically an art form at this point.
Zeff smiled at my response, and there was something in that expression that made my stomach do uncomfortable little flips.
"There's no need to be humble," he said, and I could already feel where this was going. "You could have stolen the logbook mid-battle and snuck away during the chaos. But you didn't. Even though I'm sure it was within your capability."
I almost choked on my own saliva.
'Because he's absolutely right and that's exactly what I considered doing. Well, leaving out the part where I was planning on blasting Krieg's ship with cannons to kingdom come.'
The thought had crossed my mind during the battle—multiple times, actually. It would have been efficient, practical, and perfectly in line with my general philosophy of avoiding unnecessary complications. But what had stopped me wasn't some noble sense of justice or honor.
It was the fact that Don Krieg had the audacity to announce his intention to kidnap me like I was some kind of prize to be claimed. That had pissed me off enough to get dragged into the whole mess by sheer spite.
Apparently, my ego was fragile enough that being treated like a commodity was more offensive than the actual danger involved.
'How terrifyingly petty of me.'
The old man's smile widened when he saw whatever expression was currently occupying my face, and I had the distinct impression that he'd just read my thoughts like an open book. Which was... unsettling, to put it mildly.
It made me think that old, experienced people really couldn't be underestimated. They'd seen enough patterns in human behavior to predict reactions before you even knew you were going to have them.
'Note to self: work on StoicHiki. Current StoicHiki apparently rates somewhere between "transparent window" and "neon sign" for veteran pirate folks.'
Zeff, the owner of Baratie and apparently a mind reader, then moved the old logbook toward me with a casual gesture.
"As I promised," he said, "I'm giving you the logbook. There's no need for you to copy it, and there's no need for you to pay, either. I know you were robbed by the Straw Hats' rogue girl."
The sudden goodwill caught me completely off-guard. I mean, I'd been expecting some kind of negotiation, maybe a few more hoops to jump through, possibly a lecture about responsibility or the dangers of the Grand Line. This... this was just straightforward generosity, and I had no idea how to process that.
"The money that was stolen," I said awkwardly, because my mouth was apparently determined to keep talking even when my brain had nothing useful to contribute, "that was just work funds for me and my employee. I have my own separate money."
Which was true, actually.
Since Delgado had started working with me almost a year ago, I'd made it a point to keep separate funds for our partnership.
The man had this great admiration for me, like I was some kind of legendary figure instead of just a cynical teenager with a supernatural ability and a really impressive collection of trust issues.
But despite his somewhat... intense admiration, I didn't want him to feel like I didn't trust him. So I kept our shared funds out of my dimensional storage and in more conventional locations.
'Because nothing says "I trust you" like making sure you can't access the emergency money.'
I was planning to give all of that stolen money to Delgado before I departed for the Grand Line anyway. He'd made it clear he wouldn't be following me there, claiming it was "way out of his league." Which was probably smart, considering what I knew was waiting in those waters.
Most sailors in this world won't even think of going to the Grand Line.
'No, I worded it wrong, let me word this even worse.'
Most people in this world won't even go to the sea, and most of those who go to the sea prefer to return to their home island within a week at most. Most sailors who stay at sea for more than a week don't go past their home region.
Most of who go past their home region prefer to return home within a month, most sailors who stay at sea for more than a month avoid dangerous sea regions like a plague, and that includes normal sailors, pirates, and even the Marines.
With that put into perspective, the idea of leaving your hometown and going to the Grand Line is for the extremely desperate bunch who have no other way to live, people with so many dreams and ambitions that it is unbearable, or just the insane individuals who have lost it ages ago.
Or all of the above at the same time.
So, even if I tried to convince him, Delgado won't follow me to the Grand Line.
'In fact, I would do the same if I were him. But still, I would also hate it if I had to put up with the piece of work called Hikigaya Hachiman for a whole year, then being discarded like that.'
So, at the very least, I want to reward him for the trouble.
However, that doesn't mean I have no money on me.
To demonstrate that I wasn't actually broke and desperate—because apparently my pride required this particular performance—I took out three suitcases from my dimensional bag.
"Each one has about twenty million Berri," I explained, because sometimes the best way to handle an awkward situation was to throw money at it until everyone felt uncomfortable for different reasons.
I also took out an empty notebook and placed it on top of the old logbook.
'Now came the tricky part.' I took off my hat and used Hamon to widen its crown and sweatband slightly—a neat little trick I'd figured out through experimentation—and pretended to put both the logbook and notebook inside it.
In reality, I was slipping them into the Box that was waiting inside.
'Even when trying to be honest, I'm still fundamentally deceptive. How wonderfully consistent I can be when it comes to being a scum.'
A moment later, I withdrew two logbooks from the hat. One was Zeff's original, worn and weathered by years of use. The other was a newer-looking copy that my Stand had just created. I flipped through a few pages of each, comparing the text, and found them identical in every detail.
The original logbook was necessary because of one of my Stand's more annoying limitations: it couldn't create any kind of written text—books, manga, even simple notes—unless I provided it with an original to copy from.
I had no idea why this restriction existed, and it puzzled me to no end. It seemed arbitrary and frustrating, like having a superpower that came with the world's most specific terms and conditions.
'[Grant anything in exchange for equivalent value, terms and conditions apply, void where prohibited, no written materials without original source, see store for details.]'
Zeff was clearly surprised by my little magic show. His eyes widened as he watched me produce suitcase after suitcase from what appeared to be thin air, then create a perfect/newer copy of his logbook on the spot.
I suppose from his perspective, it probably looked pretty impressive. From my perspective, it was just Tuesday.
"Even in the Grand Line," he commented, his voice carrying a note of genuine amazement, "I didn't see many people with abilities as versatile as yours. Did you eat a Devil Fruit?"
'Now there was a question I'd been expecting.'
Usually, I would have just said yes—it was a convenient cover story for my abilities, and most people in this world seemed to accept "Devil Fruit powers" as an explanation for almost anything.
But sitting across from this seasoned former pirate, I found I couldn't quite bring myself to lie outright. There was something in his eyes, some quality of attention that made surface-level deception feel... inadequate.
"I…didn't eat a Devil Fruit," I said finally. "My abilities come from a different source." I paused, then added, "But I'd rather not elaborate on that."
Zeff nodded, apparently satisfied with my non-answer. "The world is full of mysteries," he said with a shrug. Then his expression shifted slightly, becoming more thoughtful. "Though I have to say, the aura you're using feels rather familiar."
That was not what I'd been expecting to hear.
'Aura? Did he mean Hamon? And Familiar? How could it be familiar?'
"Have you met people with abilities like mine?" I asked, probably a bit too quickly. The question came out more urgent than I'd intended, which was telling in its own right.
The possibility that there might be others who can use Hamon like me was both thrilling and terrifying.
Could Hamon actually exist in this world? Then why can't anyone but me use it? Or could it be some other people displaced from different worlds like me, who, with some kind of cosmic 'coincidence', can use it too…
"Hold your horses, young man," Zeff said, raising a hand to slow down my racing thoughts. "I never said it was an ability. What I saw was more like... a natural phenomenon. I could be wrong, but you'll understand when you reach the second half of the Grand Line."
His face turned serious as he spoke, which did absolutely nothing to reassure me.
The second half of the Grand Line... that would be the New World, where the strongest pirates in this world made their homes. Where the Four Emperors ruled like feudal lords over territories the size of countries. Where people casually split mountains in half during their warm-up exercises.
"Actually," Zeff continued, his serious expression deepening, "could I ask a favor from you?"
I stayed silent, which he apparently took as a cue to continue after hearing what the favor was.
It was a negotiation tactic I'd picked up over the years—make people explain themselves fully before committing to anything. Usually worked pretty well.
"If you were to sail on the same ship as Sanji," he said, his voice carrying a weight that spoke of real concern, "I'd like to ask you to take care of him."
I couldn't help but sigh at that. Because, of course, it would be something complicated and emotionally loaded.
"I haven't decided to become a pirate yet," I pointed out, which was true even if I had some hesitations right now. And with the way events were unfolding, I was getting dragged toward that particular destiny whether I wanted it or not. "Besides, that guy is strong enough to take care of himself."
I paused, then added with a slight questioning to my voice, "Moreover, didn't you say you preferred people who were brave and determined rather than paranoid overthinkers?"
"Hahaha!" Zeff laughed—actually laughed—at my somewhat defensive response.
"Having a few level-minded individuals in any crew is always a good thing," he said, his amusement evident. "And I never said you weren't a brave and determined person, too."
'Brave and determined? Me? Has he met me?'
I wanted to ask what he meant by that—because honestly, I was curious about how he'd reached that particular conclusion—but one of the cooks chose that moment to burst into the room with all the subtlety of a cannonball.
"Owner Zeff, the victory feast is ready!" It was both convenient timing and terrible timing, depending on your perspective.
"You two go ahead," Zeff told us. "I'll follow shortly."
I made my way to the employees' dining hall on the second floor, where I found Delgado already seated and waving me over enthusiastically.
"Master! Over here!" he called out, patting the chair next to him. "I saved you the best seat!"
'The best seat. In a room full of identical wooden chairs. His enthusiasm would be endearing if it weren't so... intense.'
The cooks were still bustling around, laying out food with practiced efficiency. I watched them work, then turned to one of the nearby cooks. "Do you need any help with—"
"Absolutely not!" the cook cut me off immediately, looking almost offended by the suggestion. "You're our benefactor! We can't have you doing manual labor!"
'Benefactor, huh…'
"I really don't mind helping," I tried again, but another cook shook his head vigorously.
"Owner Zeff would have our heads if we made you work after what you did for us," he said firmly. "You just sit there and let us take care of everything."
I glanced at Delgado, who was grinning like he'd just witnessed something miraculous. "Master, there is no need for you to be tense, you can relax."
'Master. Benefactor. At this rate, they'll be building a shrine in my honor. Oh, wait, someone had already done it…'
I felt myself wanting to crawl into a hole from embarrassment.
Soon, all the tables were covered with plates containing every kind of food imaginable. The spread was honestly impressive—these cooks really knew their craft.
When Zeff arrived, we began eating, and I immediately found myself with a suspiciously large number of plates in front of me.
"Here, try this!" one of the cooks I'd healed with Hamon said, placing yet another plate in front of me. "It's my specialty!"
"And this one too!" added the other cook I'd treated, setting down a plate of what looked like some kind of elaborate fish dish.
Every time I finished a plate, one of them would swoop in with a replacement. It was like being trapped in the world's most aggressive hospitality cycle.
"You really don't need to—" I started to protest.
"After what you did for us," the first cook interrupted, "this is the least we can do!"
Even though I'd received this kind of treatment many times before over the past two years, I still couldn't get used to it. There was something fundamentally uncomfortable about being fussed over, especially when the attention felt undeserved.
Delgado leaned over with a knowing smile. "Just accept it, Master. They're not going to take no for an answer."
"I can see that," I muttered, accepting another plate with resigned grace.
The comfortable atmosphere was interrupted when Sanji and Luffy entered the hall. As if they'd rehearsed it, all the cooks immediately transformed their expressions into those of primary school bullies.
"Well, well, look who decided to show up," Patty sneered, crossing his arms. "Sorry, but we don't have any seats left for you."
"Yeah!" another cook chimed in. "You'll have to sit on the floor!"
Luffy just blinked in confusion, but Sanji's jaw tightened. "Fine by me," he said coldly. "I wouldn't want to contaminate myself by sitting with you idiots anyway."
"Oh, is that so?" Patty shot back. "Well, maybe you should take that attitude and apply it to your cooking! Your soup today was absolute garbage!"
"No way we can eat this filth!"
"Just throw it out!"
"Spit, spit!"
"Eww. Terrible!"
"Just terrible!"
"GARBAGE?" Sanji exploded, his voice rising dangerously. "THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ALL DOING!?"
"ENOUGH!" Zeff's voice boomed as he slammed his fist on the table. "You all cooks. You shouldn't waste food, no matter what!" He said that, but the moment he finished, he dramatically threw away the plate.
"However, what's with this disgusting soup? Is it supposed to taste like sludge or what!? We'd go out of business if we served this to the customers!"
And that in turn managed to make Sanji even angrier.
"DON'T JOKE WITH ME, YOU DAMN GEEZER! HOW 'S THIS ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE SOUP YOU MAKE? WELL!? SPEAK UP!"
"The soup I make...?" Then, without warning, he punched Sanji hard enough to knock him back. "DON'T GET COCKY! It's A Hundred Years Too Early For A Lil' Pipsqueak Like You To Be Comparing My Soup With Yours! I've Cooked All Around The World, You Eggplant Brat!"
The air in the room turned thick with tension. Delgado was gripping his fork so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
"What... what's happening?" he whispered to me, clearly panicked.
But I was calm because this is clearly a performance. They're trying way too hard to be mean for it to be genuine.
'Although I think the last burst of Zeff was actually genuine. The old guy had a lot of pride in his cooking, it seems.'
Sanji glared at all of them, his face flushed with anger and something that looked suspiciously like hurt. He stormed out, his footsteps echoing angrily down the hallway.
The sudden shift from celebration to... whatever this was... had caught everyone off-guard except for the participants.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then Luffy, with his characteristic inability to read the air, spoke up.
"But the soup was actually really good," he said matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't just witnessed a family falling apart.
Immediately, the hostile expressions melted away from the cooks' faces.
"Of course it was good," Patty said quietly, his earlier aggression completely gone. "That bastard's one of the best cooks I've ever known."
"Whew, that was scary. He sure was stomping mad." Another cook started, then stopped, looking conflicted. "Everyone here knows how good Sanji's cooking is."
"But he's so damn stubborn," a third cook added. "He'd never leave if he thought we needed him. So we had to..."
"Had to make him think we didn't want him here," Patty finished, his voice heavy with emotion.
'Ah. Tough love. The kind of emotional manipulation that somehow passes for caring in this world.'
Delgado was staring at them all in amazement. "You... you mean that was all an act?"
Zeff cleared his throat, his expression serious as he looked at Luffy. "Kid, I want to ask you something. Will you take Sanji to the Grand Line with you? It is his dream."
"Don't wanna!"
"WHAT?! WHY?!"
Luffy met his gaze steadily. "Only if he wants to come. I don't force people to join my crew."
"I see…And what about you?" Zeff turned to me, his weathered face thoughtful. "You'd sure want someone capable on your crew like that hot-headed cook of mine."
'Oh, great. Here we go again.'
"I appreciate the offer, but I am not collecting a crew right now," I said dryly, "And I haven't decided to become a pirate yet."
"Haven't decided?" Luffy perked up immediately. "But you're already doing pirate-y things! Fighting bad guys, searching for treasure, sailing around..."
"That's called being a treasure hunter," I pointed out. "Completely different job description."
"Is it, though?" Delgado asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, the line seems pretty blurry from where I'm sitting. Like when we sunk that Marine ship at—"
"Oi! Shut it!"
"YES, MASTER!"
'That Traitor…'
As we continued eating—and I tried to ignore the continuing stream of food being placed in front of me—something suddenly crashed through the restaurant wall with a tremendous bang that made everyone jump.
"What the hell—" Patty started, but his words were cut off as debris rained down around us.
When the dust settled, we could see a figure on the ground, half-swallowed by what appeared to be a panda shark. The shark thrashed weakly for a moment, then went still.
"Is that...a fishman?" one of the cooks began.
"No, it is a guy inside a panda shark!"
"What? Why?"
The figure struggled free from the shark's mouth, coughing and spitting. "Ugh, h-help," he groaned, then looked up at us.
It was Yosaku, I think. Looking remarkably intact for someone who'd been half-swallowed by a shark.
"YOSAKU!" Luffy shouted, jumping up from his spot on the floor. "What are you doing here? And why were you inside that shark?"
"L-Long story," Yosaku said, wiping shark saliva from his face. "But I've got important news! We know where Nami-aniki went!"
'Nami-aniki?'
He paused, looking around the room until his eyes found me. "And I'm really sorry, Dead-Eyes-aniki. I couldn't get your money back from her. We're gonna need your strength for this one too."
'Of course we are.'
"...Is it Arlong Park?" I asked, setting down my fork with more force than necessary.
Yosaku's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you...? Wait, never mind. Yeah, that's exactly where she went. And Aniki, we're gonna need all the help we can get."
I turned to Delgado, who was already looking at me with that expression I'd come to know well—the one that said he knew what was coming and wasn't happy about it.
"Delgado," I said quietly. "Prepare our small vessel."
"Master..." he said, his voice heavy with concern. "Is it... is it time?"
'Time. Such a small word for such a big decision.'
"Yes," I replied, and I could hear the finality in my own voice. "I've delayed it long enough."
Luffy tilted his head curiously. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
I considered how much to explain, then settled for the minimum necessary. "I have to go to the place that woman went to. And now that we're all headed there anyway, it's time for me to do what I should have done a long time ago."
'Should have done.' As if I've been avoiding it out of cowardice rather than strategic planning. Though... maybe I have been.
"You mean you've been to Arlong Park before?" Yosaku asked, his bounty hunter instincts clearly pinging.
"Not exactly," I said carefully. "But I know about it. More than I care to."
Before anyone could ask for clarification, Sanji's voice cut through the conversation from the doorway.
"I want to come with you too," he announced, his earlier anger apparently forgotten. "I've decided—I'll join your crew." He said, looking at Luffy.
"I'll accompany you on your way to becoming the pirate king. After all, we both have crazy dreams. So I'll tag along to fulfill mine."
The change in Luffy was immediate and dramatic. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Really?! That's awesome! Welcome to the crew!"
Even Yosaku seemed thrilled by the news. "The cook of the Baratie? Man, you guys are putting together quite a crew!"
After we gathered supplies from the restaurant—mostly food, because Luffy had the appetite of a small army—we prepared to depart. The cooks loaded us up with enough provisions to feed a crew twice our size.
"Take care of yourselves," one of them called out as we headed toward the docks.
"And take care of that stupid cook!" another added, though his gruff voice couldn't quite hide his emotion.
We waited by our vessels for Sanji to retrieve his belongings. Through the window, I could see him moving slowly through his quarters, touching familiar objects with the careful deliberation of someone trying to memorize everything.
"He's taking forever," Luffy complained, though without any real irritation.
"Let him have his moment," I said quietly. "It's not easy leaving the only home you've known."
I recognize that particular form of procrastination. The 'if I take long enough, maybe I won't have to actually leave' approach to major life changes.
'I wish I could do it too. I wish I had that chance too.'
Delgado stood beside me, unusually quiet. Finally, he spoke up.
"Master, you sure about this? Arlong Park... that's serious business."
"I'm sure," I replied, though even I could hear the uncertainty creeping into my voice. "It's something I have to do."
"But why now? You've avoided it for a while now. What's changed?"
'What's changed? Everything and nothing. I'm still the same cynical bastard I always was, but... maybe I'm tired of running from things that matter.'
"Maybe I'm just tired of putting it off," I said finally.
When Sanji finally emerged from the restaurant, his simple bag slung over his shoulder, what followed wasn't the quiet, dignified farewell he'd probably been planning. Instead, Patty and another cook immediately rushed him.
"This is a payback for all of these years!"
"Die, Sanji!"
Patty and another cook, both wearing sunglasses, yelled, swinging an oversized ladle at Sanji, who easily avoided it.
Sanji shot back, landing a solid hit of his own, knocking them down and continuing his way cooly.
Then Zeff's voice cut through the scuffle.
"Sanji."
The cook stopped immediately. Everyone turned to look at the old man, who was standing in the restaurant's third floor with an expression that managed to be both proud and heartbroken.
"Don't catch a cold," Zeff said, his gruff voice thick with emotion.
And that's when it happened—the moment I'd been both anticipating and dreading. Sanji dropped to his knees on the dock, tears streaming down his face.
"OWNER ZEFF!!" he called out, his voice breaking. "I AM ENTRNAILY GRATEFUL FOR TAKING CARE OF ME FOR SO DAMN LONG!!! THIS KINDNESS, I'LL NEVER FORGET IT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!!!!!"
The other cooks were crying now, too, not even trying to hide their tears. This man, whom they'd been cruel to just hours before, whom they'd pushed away and insulted—they liked him. It was obvious in every line of their faces, every tremor in their voices.
'And I'm standing here watching it all like some kind of emotional tourist, feeling envious of someone else's family drama.'
"We'll miss you! You stupid cook!" one of them shouted.
"Don't you dare die out there!" another added.
"And don't you dare come crawling back when things get tough!"
Their harsh words were betrayed by their tears, by the way they stood together watching him leave, by the obvious pain of this separation.
'Why didn't I get a goodbye like that?'
The thought hit me harder than I'd expected. I wish…I wish I had a choice like that…the choice to leave my home for a grand 'Adventure', even though I knew I would have totally refused, but still…
Watching this scene unfold, seeing the raw, unguarded affection these people had for Sanji despite their harsh methods, I couldn't help but wonder what I might have been missing all this time.
'Not that it matters now. I'm in a different world, literally, and my old relationships are... well, they're part of what I'm trying to get back to. Assuming I can ever figure out how to get home.'
The goodbye concluded with Sanji finally boarding our small vessel, his face still wet with tears but his expression set with determination. He'd made his choice, and now he had to live with it. We all did.
The vessel pulled away from Baratie, carrying us toward whatever was waiting at Arlong Park.
Behind us, the floating restaurant grew smaller and smaller until it was just another speck on the horizon. Ahead of us, the sea stretched endlessly, hiding dangers and possibilities in equal measure.
And somewhere in between those two points—the familiar past and the uncertain future—I found myself wondering if I was finally ready to stop being a spectator in this story.
'Probably not. But I suppose we'll find out soon enough.'
…
A/N: Alright, like this, Baratie part is over. The Arlong Park should be smaller and more concise...sigh...
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