The cabin beneath the staircase held a few tables and many doors leading to other areas, the furnishings all very simple.
"Who'd believe that? For all we know, you just stumbled in the dark and banged your head! Hahaha!" As Tony was bragging about his scar, a burly man sitting at a table and drinking set down his bottle and burst into laughter.
Unlike Rogers and Tony, who wore sailor uniforms, the big man was dressed casually—in beach shorts and an open shirt, the buttons undone to reveal a physique even more terrifying than Rogers's prized eight-pack abs.
"Nick, you bastard! This scar is the real deal!" Tony snapped back, refusing to take the mockery lying down.
"Don't go misleading Rogers, alright? He doesn't know a thing yet… huh? Am I drunk again?" Nick, who had seemed perfectly sober a moment ago, suddenly flushed bright red and slumped into the look of a drunkard.
"Is it that time again? Uncle Nick really does have a special kind of drunkenness!" Rogers shook his head at the sight, sighing as he stripped off his sweaty sailor's shirt. He grabbed a fresh change of clothes from his room before returning.
The only difference between the sailor uniform and the waiter outfit was the top—waiters wore suit jackets, looking a bit more formal.
"How many bottles this time?" Tony asked curiously.
"Five… no, six? Can't remember…" Nick mumbled in confusion, then hugged his bottle and collapsed onto the table, the picture of a drunkard.
"Hahaha! Looks like this month's wages are gone again. You won't even cover your bar tab!" Tony laughed heartily.
"Shut up…" Nick slurred back.
"You guys still get wages? That's enviable." Rogers grumbled in dissatisfaction. He did so much work, but all his pay went straight to cover his meals. And with how much he ate, there was never anything left. Typical hot-blooded fool…
"Don't you get tips as a waiter? I'm the one who's jealous." Tony shot him a look of mock disdain.
"What can I say? You guys live on strength, I live on looks." Rogers put on a helpless tone, though his heart was practically bursting with smugness. Dressed up properly like this, he thought, back in his old world he could have swept girls off their feet one after another.
"Live on looks? What, does someone live without a face then? Where would they put their mouth?" Tony asked in genuine confusion.
"..." Rogers gave him a long, speechless stare before replying, "That's called a generation gap, old man!"
Nick, drunk and half-lucid, joined in with perfect timing, mumbling, "Tony… you're an old man too! Hahaha!"
"Generation gap? What's that supposed to mean? Old man? I'm only twenty-five! Damn it! Just because I look scary doesn't mean I'm old!" Tony protested indignantly.
"Twenty-five already? Round it up and you're practically thirty. How's that not old?" Rogers fired back mercilessly, straightening his clothes and heading toward a door that led up to the passenger deck.
"Round it up? Practically thirty? Rogers, why are you always saying things I don't understand? And I'm not old—I'm still a virgin!" Tony roared in frustration.
Rogers froze for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Hahahaha! Tony, you've been around this long and you're still a virgin?"
Tony's face turned crimson. He stammered, "I misspoke! I meant you're the virgin!"
Rogers hung his sailor cap by the door, opening it with a grin. "I know, I know… Mister Vir-gin~"
He stretched the word out deliberately, each syllable dripping with mockery. Tony nearly exploded—what a humiliating taunt! If only Rogers hadn't already slipped through the door, Tony would've taught him a lesson about which things should never be joked about. He'd just have to bide his time until later.
As Rogers walked down the passageway, a smile tugged at his lips. This past month with Tony and Nick had actually been enjoyable—they weren't bad guys at all. Along with Captain John, they were essentially the main strength of the ship's guard. The rest of the crew were half-baked at best, sailors who could swab decks but also had to fight pirates when the time came.
But Tony and Nick were no ordinary men. Rogers couldn't last more than a few exchanges against them. Tony was a sharpshooter, while Nick specialized in hand-to-hand combat. During the last pirate raid, those two had single-handedly beaten down dozens of enemies.
Over the month, Rogers had spent most of his time joking around with them while trying to pick up a few moves. Deep down, he still dreamed of setting out to sea as a pirate—probably a lingering pull from the original Rogers's memories. And honestly, even before crossing over, he'd been a diehard One Piece fan. If he ever got the chance, he would love nothing more than to meet the story's real protagonists.
This body was strong—far stronger than his old, mundane one. It could probably beat three of his past selves put together. He learned fast, too, probably thanks to those sharpened senses.
Rogers had pestered Tony and Nick to teach him their fighting skills. Nick was easy to handle: bribe him with a few bottles of leftover high-class wine from the guests, and he agreed readily. But Tony, that bastard, demanded he steal some women's underwear from the passengers' cabins… damned virgin!
Rogers had flatly refused
Chuckling at the thought, Rogers pushed open another door. The moment he stepped in, he was met with a cacophony: pots clanging, flames roaring, knives chopping, voices shouting back and forth.
"Table One's dishes ready yet?"
"Appetizers for Table Three are done! Come grab them!"
"Hey! Two more orders need to be delivered to the private rooms!"
"It's as busy as ever!" Rogers remarked with a sigh, taking in the bustling kitchen.
"You little brat, what took you so long? Off slacking again, huh?" Before Rogers could finish marveling, a sharp presence closed in. Off guard, he yelped as someone twisted his ear hard, making it spin half a turn.
"Ahh—ouch! Aunt Mello! I wasn't slacking, I swear! I scrubbed the deck and came straight here… ow, ow, ow! Could you let go already?!" Rogers cried out, face twisting in pain. Damn, that really hurt…
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T/N:
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