The Virtue sailed proudly across the deep blue sea, its sails catching the wind like wings of freedom.
At first, the crew—Hatchan, Jinbe, and Issho—were full of excitement, often leaning over the rails and shouting into the salty breeze.
Mihawk, as always, remained aloof and silent. Every morning before dawn, he stood alone on the deck, black blade in hand, honing his swordsmanship with quiet intensity.
According to Shiro's plan, their crew would make a quick circuit through the first half of the Grand Line before heading straight into the New World—the true domain of the world's strongest pirates. That's where the real adventure awaited.
Though they sometimes faced storms and rough seas, life aboard the ship wasn't always perilous. Between skirmishes, the crew often threw lively deck parties.
Grilled takoyaki and bottles of rum covered the tables; Hatchan danced clumsily while Jinbe roared with laughter, clinking mugs with Issho. Even the blind swordsman cracked a rare smile.
Shiro sat nearby, watching his crew's laughter and joy. For him, this—more than any battle—was the true treasure of sailing.
But peaceful days never lasted long on the seas.
Before they knew it, a serious problem had crept up on them:
Everyone had lost their appetite.
At first, no one could explain why. Then the truth came out—aside from Mihawk, they had been eating nothing but takoyaki for over two months.
In the beginning, the crew had loved it—crispy on the outside, tender inside. But after hundreds of meals of the same dish, even the smell of octopus balls made them sick.
And the culprit? Their ship's "cook," Hatchan.
It wasn't that Hatchan didn't want to make other dishes… he simply didn't know how. Takoyaki was the only recipe he could manage, and the poor octopus man was too ashamed to admit it.
So, whenever they docked on an island, the crew would rush to the nearest tavern for a decent meal—just to remind themselves what real food tasted like.
Shiro quickly realized this couldn't go on. Depending on random restaurants was no way for a pirate crew to live. They needed a real cook—someone who could turn any ingredient into a feast worthy of kings.
And so, Shiro decided: they'd find a true chef for the Virtue Pirates.
One day, as they sailed near the East Blue, they spotted a lush green island on the horizon. Spirits lifted, the crew decided to make port and enjoy a proper meal for once.
As they strolled through the bustling streets, they came across a restaurant called The Dream Kitchen. But before they could step inside, a commotion erupted at the door.
A tall, muscular, blond man in a white chef's coat was being thrown out—literally kicked from the restaurant by a plump, red-faced man who looked to be the owner.
The blond man dusted himself off, glaring furiously.
"Why are you firing me? You know my cooking's the best in your restaurant!" he shouted.
The fat boss sighed and waved his hands dismissively.
"Zeff, I'll admit your cooking's good—customers love it! But you're too obsessed with fresh ingredients. You keep throwing away food that's perfectly fine! Do you know how much money that costs me?"
Zeff—because that's who the man was—crossed his arms, eyes blazing with conviction.
"Food must be fresh. Only fresh ingredients make a dish worth serving! That's my belief as a chef—and I'll never compromise it!"
The owner's face twisted with anger.
"Then get out! You're fired, Zeff!"
He shoved Zeff out the door with all his strength. Zeff stumbled but stayed on his feet, his jaw tight with fury.
"Fine! Then pay me what you owe!"
"Pay you?!" the boss sneered. "You wasted more food than your pay's worth! I should be charging you! You're lucky I'm letting you walk away for free!"
"You filthy cheat!" Zeff roared, his body trembling with rage. He balled his fist and stepped forward to strike.
But the boss shouted, voice cracking with fear,
"Don't you dare, Zeff! Remember who protects this restaurant? A former member of the Roger Pirates! You so much as touch me, and he'll have your head!"
That name made Zeff hesitate for a brief moment. The Roger Pirates—legends of the sea.
The boss mistook his pause for fear and puffed out his chest arrogantly.
"Thought so! Now get lost before he shows up. You'll regret it if you're still here when he arrives!"
But Zeff's hesitation vanished as quickly as it came. His eyes hardened.
"Roger himself couldn't save you today!" he barked, and bam!—his fist connected squarely with the man's face, sending him flying several meters back into the dirt.
The crowd gasped.
Zeff glared down at the groaning man and growled,
"Now pay me what you owe. I'm not asking again."
The boss clutched his bleeding nose and screamed, "Call him! Call that man! Tell him to deal with Zeff!"
A terrified waiter scrambled inside and grabbed a Den Den Mushi, his trembling fingers dialing furiously.
From a distance, the Virtue Pirates watched everything unfold.
When Zeff's punch landed, Shiro couldn't help but grin.
"This guy…" he thought, eyes gleaming with interest. "Strong, stubborn, and loyal to his cooking… the kind of chef who'd die for his food."
He smirked.
"Looks like I've found the perfect cook for my crew."
Then his gaze shifted, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.
"A former Roger Pirate, huh? Let's see if that's real—or just another pretender."
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