"Bellhill, are you alright?"
The black-haired young man stepped forward, extending his hand toward the woman who had been roughly shoved to the ground. His voice carried an edge that made the retreating thugs quicken their pace toward the door.
"Eren, I never realized your name carried such weight around here." Bellhill accepted his help, wincing slightly as she stood. The kick had been vicious, but her pride stung more than her ribs. "You're usually so quiet—I had no idea you were connected to anyone important."
She dusted off her apron, studying the familiar customer with new eyes. In all the months he'd been coming to her modest restaurant, she'd never suspected the unassuming young man possessed enough influence to send Donquixote lackeys scurrying with just his name. Could he be an officer in the family? The thought sent a mixture of relief and curiosity through her mind, but she was smart enough to keep such speculation to herself.
Forcing her usual warm smile back onto her face, she gestured toward the small blonde girl beside him. "Is this lovely little one your daughter? She's absolutely precious. Today's meal is on the house, of course."
The child in question—who couldn't be older than five—fixed Bellhill with an icy glare that seemed far too mature for her cherubic features. "I am not his daughter," she stated coldly, her small voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "You are mistaken."
Despite being firmly held by Eren's much larger hand, the little girl showed no hint of shyness or fear. If anything, her posture radiated the kind of haughty confidence that came from noble breeding. She was clearly a child who refused to be underestimated, no matter her size.
"She belongs to my... acquaintance," Eren explained diplomatically, his grip tightening slightly as the girl tried to tug free. "Little Elsa here decided to take an unauthorized adventure today. I'm responsible for getting her back safely."
"Hmph! I'll escape again eventually," Elsa declared with the stubborn certainty only a child could possess. "You adults think you can control everything, but you can't control me forever!"
The petulant way she jutted out her lower lip and crossed her free arm made her look like a miniature aristocrat throwing a tantrum. Despite her obvious breeding, there was something almost endearingly rebellious about her defiance.
Eren guided his reluctant charge to the cleanest table available, the familiar weight of routine settling over him. This wasn't his first visit to Bellhill's establishment—far from it. The modest restaurant had become something of a refuge over the past few years, a place where he could blend into the background and think.
As they settled into their seats, Elsa examined the simple wooden table and silverware with obvious distaste. She picked up her fork with two fingers, holding it as if it might contaminate her. "Is this what poor people consider acceptable dining?" she wrinkled her nose. "The silverware hasn't been properly polished, and I can smell the previous customers' meals lingering on everything."
Her voice carried the particular brand of snobbery that came from a lifetime of silver spoons and crystal glasses. "If you release me right now, I could arrange for us to dine somewhere proper. Somewhere with actual standards."
Eren ignored her complaints entirely, settling into his usual rhythm. He'd been coming here long enough that Bellhill knew his preferences by heart—simple food, prepared well, served without fuss. It suited his practical nature perfectly.
True to form, their order arrived with impressive speed. Bellhill appeared beside their table barely fifteen minutes later, balancing two steaming plates with practiced ease. "Your usual, Eren. I do appreciate customers who know what they want—makes my job so much easier."
The sight of the simple, hearty meal only deepened Elsa's expression of refined horror. She continued holding her fork like it might bite her, clearly warring between hunger and her standards of propriety. The internal struggle was written plainly across her young features.
"This is what passes for cuisine among the common folk?" she muttered, though her stomach chose that moment to betray her with an audible rumble. "Really, if you simply allowed me to return home, I could arrange for a proper feast prepared by actual chefs."
Eren had learned to tune out such complaints, focusing instead on his meal. The familiar flavors brought a small measure of comfort—in a life filled with uncertainty and schemes, simple pleasures like Bellhill's cooking provided a welcome anchor to normalcy.
The peaceful atmosphere shattered as two figures approached their table without invitation. One was a young man wearing a distinctive straw hat, and he immediately began helping himself to the food on their table with shocking boldness.
"Eren! I can't believe you're here in Dressrosa!" The straw hat wearer spoke between massive bites, cramming food into his mouth with alarming speed. "It's been way too long since we last saw each other! Oh no—" His eyes widened as he realized he'd bitten off more than he could chew, literally.
The young man's face began turning alarming shades of red as he clutched his throat, the massive bite of food lodged somewhere between his mouth and stomach. He made choking sounds while pointing desperately at his neck.
"Luffy! Here's your water!" A silver-haired girl materialized beside the table, offering a water bottle, but she was already too late.
Without hesitation, a long-nosed, muscular man stepped forward and delivered a sharp blow between the choking man's shoulder blades. The impact dislodged the obstruction with a wet thunk, sending food flying across the restaurant.
"Ahh, that's so much better!" Luffy immediately returned to his cheerful demeanor as if the near-death experience had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "I thought I was actually going to die that time!"
Elsa stared at the bizarre display with her mouth slightly agape, clearly struggling to process what she'd just witnessed. These were supposed to be Eren's friends? The refined little girl looked like she'd stumbled into a madhouse.
"I spotted you the moment we walked in," Eren replied evenly, his expression revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. "I would have greet you sooner, but..." He glanced meaningfully at Elsa, who was still gaping at Luffy's casual attitude toward nearly choking to death.
"Don't talk about me like I'm some kind of burden!" Elsa protested hotly, though her voice lacked its earlier confidence. The strange newcomers had clearly thrown her off-balance.
Unfortunately for the young aristocrat, the adults had moved past her complaints entirely. Old friends reuniting after years of separation had far more pressing matters to discuss than the wounded pride of a 5-years-old, regardless of her social status.
Luffy settled into a chair with the same casual disregard for invitation that he'd shown with the food. "So, Eren—did they manage to cure that illness of yours? You look a lot better than when we last met."
Eren lifted his wine glass, draining it in a single swallow before responding. "It's been suppressed for now, not cured entirely. Dr. Kureha's medicine has been... effective enough."
"That's great to hear!" Luffy's grin was infectious, radiating genuine relief and happiness. "I was worried about you, you know. I almost suggested you come aboard the Thousand Sunny to have Chopper take a look, but..." He paused, scratching his head. "Well, even our ship's doctor isn't a miracle worker. No point getting your hopes up if he can't help."
As the meal progressed, Eren found himself drawn into conversation despite his usual reticence. Luffy and Usopp filled him in on their adventures—new crew members, a new ship, countless islands explored, and most significantly, their experiences during and after the war at Marineford. The 5 years of separation for training, followed by their reunion and return to the Grand Line, painted a picture of growth and determination that Eren couldn't help but respect.
In return, he shared his own simplified version of events. After obtaining Dr. Kureha's treatment on Drum Island, he'd chosen not to wait for Chopper's return. Instead, he'd found passage on a pirate ship and eventually made his way to Dressrosa, where he'd remained for several years. He kept the details vague—there was no need to complicate things with talk of the Donquixote Family or his current circumstances.
The conversation flowed with the easy rhythm of old friendship, and Eren found himself genuinely enjoying the company. It had been too long since he'd spoken with people who knew him from before—before Dressrosa, before the complications of his current life.
Eventually, though, reality intruded. Eren glanced toward the restaurant's windows, noting the position of the sun. They'd been here longer than planned, and he could already imagine the lecture waiting for him back at the palace.
"We should go," he said, pushing back from the table. "Elsa's been away from home long enough, and there will be consequences if we delay much longer."
The little girl in question had been unusually quiet during the latter part of the meal, though whether from genuine interest in the adults' conversation or simply shock at Luffy's table manners was unclear.
As Eren stood and took her hand again, preparing to leave, Usopp watched them with a thoughtful expression. Once they'd departed, he turned to Luffy with a look of regret.
"You know, Luffy, I think our friend Eren might have joined up with the Shichibukai faction. It's a shame—we almost had a giant crew member on our ship."
Luffy's expression grew momentarily wistful as he stared at the restaurant's entrance where Eren and Elsa had disappeared. "Yeah... if I'd tried harder to convince him back then, maybe things would have been different."
"Is that Mr. Eren very strong?" The silver-haired girl—Illya—looked between them with bright, curious eyes.
Before either could answer, Luffy's attention was captured by his dramatically swollen belly. Having consumed far more food than any normal person could handle, his rubber body had expanded to accommodate the feast, leaving him round and balloon-like. Illya poked at his distended stomach with fascination, marveling at the strange elasticity.
Meanwhile, Eren and Elsa had barely made it out of the restaurant district when a bizarre figure came sliding across the ground toward them with impossible smoothness. The newcomer wore a pink baby outfit complete with pacifier, creating such an absurd sight that most people would have assumed they were hallucinating.
"Elsa," Senior Pink said around his pacifier, his voice carrying a note of mild reproach, "there have been many outsiders arriving in Dressrosa recently. It's not safe for you to be wandering the streets alone. Next time you want an adventure, call for me first."
The little girl immediately released Eren's hand, running to the strangely-dressed man with obvious familiarity and affection. "I'm sorry, Senior! I promise I'll be more careful next time."
"I'll leave her in your capable hands," Eren said, placing a gentle but firm hand on Elsa's head. "And make sure she understands—if Doflamingo discovers she's been sneaking out again, that little dark room punishment will seem like a vacation compared to what comes next."
The warning carried enough weight to make Elsa's confident expression falter slightly. Even a rebellious five-year-old recognized the difference between testing boundaries and crossing lines that shouldn't be crossed.
The Sky Screen's audience would certainly have questions about the girl's true identity and her connection to the Donquixote Family.