The sea restaurant, Baratie.
Ryan had just taken a seat by the window, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor, when a burly man in a white chef's hat strode over briskly.
The vibrant red lips belonged to none other than Patty, his muscular arms straining against his short sleeves, a hearty smile spread across his face.
"What can I get for you, sir?" Patty slapped the menu onto the table, his voice booming like a gong. "Our seafood chowder is absolutely divine! And we've got lobster fresh from the sea, fried shrimp personally prepared by the Red-Leg Chef..."
Ryan didn't even glance at the menu, lightly tapping the table with his fingertips. "One of each of your signature dishes."
"No problem!" Patty's eyes instantly lit up, rubbing his hands together as he leaned in closer, his voice lowering but unable to conceal his excitement. "But as you know, sir, all our ingredients are freshly caught and prepared, so the price..."
"Money isn't an issue." Ryan cut him off, pulling several gold coins from his trench coat pocket and placing them on the table. "Serve it quickly. This is your tip."
"Oh! Yes, sir! Right away!" Patty's eyes widened, hastily stuffing the coins into his apron pocket. "Please wait just a moment, I guarantee you'll have hot food within five minutes!"
He turned and rushed toward the kitchen, moving so fast he nearly collided with a food cart, shouting over his shoulder, "Sanji, hurry up! VIP customer!"
Sure enough, within moments Patty returned carrying a tray, followed by a blond young man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth—none other than Black-Leg Sanji.
Ryan glanced at him, noting the slight sway in his shoulders as he walked, his signature curly eyebrows arched high on his forehead, an undisguised look of impatience on his face.
This guy truly lived up to his reputation—unless the customer was a beautiful woman, his enthusiasm for service was as low as unoiled hinges.
Yet despite this, the dishes on Sanji's tray were arranged with exquisite care, the fried shrimp lined up perfectly, even the shrimp tail tips uniformly pointing to the upper left.
The steam carried the aroma of butter, the sweetness of seafood, and the fragrance of bread, like an invisible hand tugging at one's appetite, drifting straight into the nostrils.
Ryan didn't hold back, picking up a silver spoon to first taste the chowder—the delicate flavors of shrimp and crab mingling with a hint of cream. Then he speared a fried shrimp with his fork; the moment his teeth broke through the crispy shell, the tender shrimp inside seemed to bounce, infused with the tangy scent of lemon juice.
The lobster meat was beyond reproach—with a gentle prod of the fork, it separated cleanly from the shell, the springy texture coated in savory sauce, each chew bursting with the fresh essence of the ocean.
The sea restaurant—Baratie—truly lived up to its reputation.
Ryan didn't speak further, his knife and fork moving with the practiced precision of years of blade training. His movements while cutting the lobster were clean and efficient, the silverware clinking crisply against the porcelain plate. Empty dishes soon piled up into a small mountain at the corner of the table.
Patty watched with a beaming smile, his cleaning cloth spinning like a windmill as he deftly cleared away the empty plates from time to time, thinking to himself: This customer looks refined, but he sure can eat! Good thing I prepared extra portions earlier, or I would've been caught short.
"Take your time, sir! Just call if you need anything!" Seeing Ryan focused on his meal, Patty smiled and called out before turning back toward the kitchen.
Sanji wiped the last crystal glass behind the bar, his peripheral glance catching the towering stack of empty plates. His curly brow twitched slightly, the cigarette in his mouth bobbing up and down as he muttered "damn glutton" under his breath, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a faint upward curl.
Having his cooking so thoroughly appreciated was always a chef's greatest satisfaction.
After putting the glass away, Sanji turned and headed into the kitchen to check on the next batch of ingredients.
Ryan was just spearing a piece of perfectly grilled squid when the wooden door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a burly man in a Marine uniform, broad-shouldered and stout, with arrogant flesh bulging on his face - none other than Iron Fist Fullbody.
Beside Fullbody stood a blonde beauty, her skirt swaying gently with each step.
If these two are here, could the Straw Hat Kid and his crew be nearby too!
Ryan paid them no mind, chewing the squid in his mouth and continuing to tackle the seafood fried rice on his plate. Pirates or Marines - filling his stomach was the real priority right now.
What followed was Fullbody attempting to show off only to be exposed by Sanji, causing an eruption of laughter throughout the restaurant. Fullbody's ears turned beet red, and his peripheral vision caught Ryan in the corner still focused entirely on his meal. The clinking of cutlery against plates sounded particularly sharp in the sudden silence, almost like intentional mockery.
"Damn it!" Fullbody slammed the table hard, directing all his rage toward Ryan.
He stomped over to Ryan's table, looking down his nose at him: "Where'd this country bumpkin crawl from? Eating like you're starving, with no manners at all. Do you even know who I am?"
Ryan didn't look up, still chewing as he mumbled indistinctly: "How I eat is none of your damn business. Get lost."
"You're asking for death!" Enraged by the disregard, Fullbody clenched his fist - large as a sand pot - until the knuckles cracked. With a whooshing sound, he swung it toward the back of Ryan's head, roaring: "I'll show you the power of Iron Fist Fullbody!"
The laughter in the restaurant cut off abruptly, all eyes focusing on the scene. Even Sanji, who had peeked out from the kitchen doorway, frowned.
"Thud—crack!"
A dull impact mixed with the crisp sound of dislocating bones suddenly erupted, followed by a piercing scream.
Fullbody's fist had connected solidly with Ryan's head, yet Ryan maintained his head-down eating posture as if merely swatting a fly, not even a strand of hair moving.
Instead, it was Fullbody who turned pale with pain, his entire arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead as he gasped hoarsely, clutching his injured arm with his other hand and staggering unsteadily, barely able to stand.
Only then did Ryan slowly look up, his eyes devoid of emotion as if looking at a rock blocking his path. Without rising, he simply reached out, grabbing Fullbody's hair like plucking a chicken and giving a sharp tug with his wrist.
"Bang!"
A heavy impact echoed through the restaurant - Fullbody's face was smashed hard against Ryan's dining table.
The plate shattered instantly, leftover food and cold sauces splashing across his face. His nose bridge collided with the hard wooden table with a clear cracking sound, blood streaming from his nostrils and mouth to quickly form a small pool on the table, staining the white tablecloth in a messy pattern.
Complete silence fell over the room, the sound of waves outside the window suddenly audible.
The blonde woman gasped, covering her mouth with wide eyes. Patty ran over from a distance, his jaw slack, the cleaning cloth slipping from his hand and hitting his foot without any reaction.
Sanji's cigarette fell from his lips, only snapping back to reality when it burned his fingers—his curly eyebrows nearly shot up. The move was just too clean, like smashing a watermelon.
Ryan released his grip, watching Fullbody slump to the floor like a pile of mud, groaning. He leisurely picked up a napkin to wipe the splattered soup from his hand, a cold smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
Attacking without provocation—this was the so-called "Marines"? In the end, they were nothing more than an organization that abused their authority, no different from that Captain Nezumi.
His gaze shifted to the blonde woman standing frozen in place. Her elegantly styled hair was slightly disheveled, a few stray strands clinging to her sweaty temples. The hem of her red sleeveless dress still trembled faintly—clearly shaken by the scene, though she struggled to maintain composure.
He stood up, the scabbard of Wind Splitter swaying gently at his waist.
His footsteps shattered the dead silence in the restaurant, each step falling in the gaps of everyone's held breaths.
Stopping before the woman, his eyes swept from the pearl hair accessory in her hair down to the thin-strapped sandals at her ankles, finally settling on her blue eyes, filled with timidity.
She was a beautiful, refined, and mature woman.
"Don't be afraid," Ryan's voice was softer than when he'd spoken to Fullbody, yet it carried an undeniable authority. "That trash isn't worthy of frightening a beautiful lady."
The woman instinctively shrank back, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. Her gaze flickered briefly to the groaning Fullbody on the floor before hastily shifting away, landing on Ryan's robust arms. The taut muscle lines beneath his black trench coat were far more intimidating than Fullbody's.
Ryan suddenly extended his hand, palm up. "Beautiful lady, would you care to join me for the rest of this meal?"
When she looked up, the initial unease in her eyes had vanished. She studied the man before her—the latent strength hidden beneath his black trench coat, the crisp efficiency with which he'd dealt with Fullbody, even the grease stains on his fingertips exuding an unyielding dominance.
This kind of power was far more captivating than Fullbody's blustering "Iron Fist."
Without the slightest hesitation, she placed her hand in Ryan's palm, nodding gracefully. "It would be my honor to share lunch with you, sir."
Ryan clasped her hand, the delicate texture of her skin registering against his fingertips. A knowing smile curved his lips as he guided her toward an empty table nearby.
The principle was simple: most people in this world admired strength. Just as she had feigned shyness with Fullbody earlier, now she displayed submission to someone stronger. At its core, there was no difference.
In the world of Pirates, only those with hard fists had the right to set the rules. As for so-called elegance and dignity, they were merely thin veils draped by the weak when clinging to the strong.
When you possessed power, favor would come as naturally as a spring breeze—no need for elaborate schemes. But if you were weak, even exhausting yourself to please others would only earn you indifference and scorn.
Or worse, the label of a "simp."