The departure from the Baratie was less a triumphant exit and more an awkward hostage exchange. Ace stood on the deck of their small, high-speed ship, a comically large bag of Berries in his hand, while Zeff stood on his restaurant's railing, a clipboard in his.
"Let's see... thirty-two broken plates, four cracked tables, one splintered mast from where that fool landed, and an entire crate of my finest saffron... scattered!" Zeff tallied, his voice a low, furious growl. He snatched the bag of money from Ace's hand. "This better cover it, brat. Now get off my property before I add your medical bills to the tab."
With that, he turned and stomped back inside, a series of angry thump-clanks echoing behind him.
Ace just sighed, rubbing his temples. The absurdity of it all was giving him a headache. He turned to his bizarre new crew. Douglas Bullet was on the deck, radiating an aura of such intense, murderous boredom that Buena Festa was hiding behind a mast, frantically scribbling notes for his "epic." Kuzan had already crafted a comfortable lounge chair out of ice at the stern and was lazily fishing, a bottle of stolen Baratie rum chilling in a block of ice beside him.
"Alright," Ace said, taking the helm. "Let's get out of here before he decides to charge us for the air we're breathing."
The journey back towards the Red Line was a masterclass in dysfunctional travel. Zeff, having declared their ship's galley a "culinary wasteland," spent the entire time furiously scrubbing every surface, muttering about the "uncivilized heathens" he was forced to travel with and how their lack of proper sanitation was an insult to the very concept of food. He flatly refused to cook with their "sub-par ingredients," subsisting entirely on a private stash of hardtack and glaring at anyone who dared to eat in his presence.
"You call that a fish?" he scoffed one afternoon, watching as Kuzan pulled a freshly frozen tuna from the sea. "That's an insult to the ocean! There's no love in it! You've frozen all the flavor out, you lazy giant!"
Kuzan just shrugged, tossing the fish onto the deck. "Ara ra... less flavor means less work to chew."
Meanwhile, aboard the Moby Dick, now sailing cautiously towards the rendezvous point near Elbaf, a different kind of culinary terror was unfolding. The ship's massive galley, which had once fed an army of the world's strongest pirates, had become a war room.
Jewelry Bonney, back in her scrappy twelve-year-old form to conserve energy, stood on a crate, wielding a large wooden spoon like a conductor's baton. Before her, a line of massive, battle-hardened pirate chefs stood sweating, their faces pale.
Bonney took a delicate bite of a towering, multi-layered cake one of them had spent six hours creating. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she spat it out.
"IT'S A DISGRACE!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the galley. "The texture is all wrong! It's too dense! The fruit compote is a full two degrees too sweet! Do you want Big Mom to LAUGH at us?! BAKE IT AGAIN!"
From the doorway, Marco watched the scene with a look of profound horror and exhaustion. He whispered to Jozu, who was standing beside him. "I think I'd rather fight Akainu again."
The storms of the world were converging.
Aboard a Revolutionary Army vessel hidden in the currents of the New World, Sabo stared at a map, his expression a mixture of fierce determination and brotherly concern. He was tracking every report, every rumor of the Burning Crown Pirates' movements.
"The currents of fate are drawing many storms to the land of giants, Chief of Staff," a calm voice mused beside him. Nico Robin, having joined them after her own two-year exile, was calmly reading a Poneglyph rubbing. "A cooking competition to decide the fate of a kingdom... Fufufu... your brother sounds... interesting."
Elsewhere, on a storm-wracked island, the Kid-Apoo-Bege alliance finalized their plans. "While those fools are playing their game at Elbaf, Totland will be vulnerable!" Eustass Kid roared, his magnetic powers causing every piece of metal in the room to rattle. "We're going to tear it all down!" Their fleet set sail, a new, unpredictable threat moving towards Big Mom's now-exposed territory.
Ace's ship finally reached the Red Line. The journey up Reverse Mountain was a chaotic, exhilarating ride, and they shot out into the Grand Line, the air instantly changing, the sea growing wilder. They had returned.
As they cleared the turbulent waters at the base of the mountain, a figure suddenly blocked their path.
He was a man, standing calmly on the churning surface of the sea, his presence so commanding that the very waves seemed to part for him. He was tall, with a relaxed posture, a rifle slung over his shoulder. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling into the salty air.
Ace's Observation Haki screamed a warning, a primal shriek of danger more potent than anything he had felt from Lucci. He knew this man. The impossibly cool, impossibly sharp First Mate of the Red-Hair Pirates.
The man looked up, his eyes, which seemed to see everything, locking directly onto Ace. He exhaled a final, lazy puff of smoke.
"Gol D. Ace," Benn Beckman's voice cut through the roar of the sea, calm and absolute. "My captain heard you were in the neighborhood. He'd like a word."
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