Bang—!!
A shrill gunshot mercilessly shattered the last trace of order inside the restaurant.
The Marine soldier who had been reporting screamed as his back erupted in a spray of blood, his body slamming heavily onto the floor.
The smell of gunpowder instantly mixed with the aroma of food, stabbing at everyone's nerves.
All eyes turned toward the entrance in terror.
There stood a man who looked like a walking corpse.
He wore a tattered gray jacket. Beneath his headscarf were deeply sunken eye sockets, heavy dark circles ringing his eyes.
His lips were cracked and peeling, his cheeks hollow, his body so emaciated it looked as though a strong gust of wind could knock him over.
Yet the pistol still smoking in his hand—and the feral, murderous gleam in his eyes that persisted despite his extreme weakness—made it impossible to look at him lightly.
Demon Gin.
Dragging his heavy steps, he shuffled into the restaurant.
Each step felt like it was trampling on everyone's heartstrings.
Thud.
He reached the nearest table by the entrance and collapsed into a chair, as if expending the last of his strength.
He slammed the gun down onto the pristine white tablecloth, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping metal.
"Anything… hurry up… bring food…"
"Welcome—!! Sir!"
An exaggeratedly booming voice rang out.
From the direction of the kitchen emerged a chef built like a gorilla.
He wore a pair of ridiculous mustaches, hands on his hips, his face plastered with an overly professional yet unmistakably roguish grin.
It was Patty—the infamous "bad-attitude" violent chef of Baratie.
"I'll say it again…" Gin's finger weakly hooked the trigger, his gaze unfocused yet vicious. "Hurry… bring food…"
Patty's smile widened. He leaned closer, rubbing his hands together.
"You look like you're in a real hurry, sir. But this place has rules—no credit. So tell me… do you have money?"
"Money…"
Gin trembled as he raised the gun, the black muzzle aimed straight at Patty's massive head.
"You wanna… eat a bullet?"
At that moment, Ronan sharply sensed a change in Patty's aura.
The slick, sycophantic façade shattered instantly, replaced by a savage presence honed through countless battles.
"Oh? No money, huh."
Patty's voice turned icy, his grin vanishing without a trace.
"Then you're not a customer!!!"
Boom—!
Patty didn't waste a single word—didn't even give Gin a chance to pull the trigger.
His fist, as big as a clay pot, roared through the air and smashed straight down onto Gin's head!
There was no technique—only raw, monstrous strength belonging to a chef.
"Gah—!"
Gin, already starved to the brink of collapse, couldn't withstand it.
He didn't even manage a scream. Chair and all, he was blasted off his seat, crashing onto the floor as blood instantly soaked into the carpet.
"S-so strong…" Usopp shrank under the table in terror. "Is he really a chef?"
Zoro watched with interest. "Looks like the chefs here weren't exactly saints in the past."
Ronan nodded inwardly.
"The chefs of Baratie were originally battle-hardened cooks who couldn't survive on the seas anymore."
"Under Zeff, cooking was their specialty—but fighting was second nature."
"If you can't pay, you're trash!"
Patty strode forward, grabbed the barely conscious Gin by the collar, and dragged him like a dead dog toward the door.
"Don't dirty our floors! Get out!"
Bang!
Gin was mercilessly tossed outside, his body slamming onto the cold deck.
The diners burst into applause. To them, driving away a dangerous pirate was only natural.
But behind the noise, Ronan caught a subtle detail.
The blond chef who had just stolen the spotlight—Sanji—cast a quiet glance toward the door.
Without a word, he turned and headed deep into the kitchen.
His back looked lonely, yet carried a resolute determination.
"That's…"
Luffy noticed it too. His eyes spun, and he instantly leapt from his chair and followed.
"Hey, Luffy! Where are you going?" Usopp whispered.
Without turning back, Luffy replied in a hushed but excited voice:
"I'm going to get us a cook!"
Watching Luffy disappear around the kitchen corner, Ronan understood.
He knew exactly what was about to happen.
One of the most moving moments in the early journey of the Pirate King—
The absolute justice of feeding the hungry.
"So Sanji went to cook for Demon Gin after all," Ronan thought.
In a sea ruled by survival of the fittest, Sanji's kindness stood out as both out of place—and brilliantly radiant.
Ronan picked up his fork, speared a still-edible piece of meat, and said to the slightly worried Zoro and Nami:
"Let's keep eating. Don't worry—Luffy may look unreliable, but when it comes to judging people, his instincts are terrifyingly accurate."
"Let's just wait and see if he can win over that cook."
...
Twenty minutes later.
Luffy came storming back to the table, cheeks puffed with indignation.
Seeing the plates nearly empty, he panicked and lunged forward like a food-guarding monkey.
"Hey!! You guys are cheating!! Leave some for me!! That bone-in meat is mine!"
Ronan chuckled and slid over a plate of fried rice he'd saved.
"So? Luffy—did you manage it?"
Luffy stuffed food into his mouth like a man possessed, cheeks bulging like a hamster.
"Mmm—nngh… not yet—gulp—but that curly-eyebrow guy is a good person!"
"He cooked for that starving pirate! I like him even more now! I'll definitely convince him!"
"He cooked for a pirate?" Nami said in surprise. "Even though that guy had no money and pointed a gun at people?"
"That's a cook's creed," Zoro said after taking a swig of alcohol, his gaze deep. "For a cook, feeding the hungry matters more than anything else."
Just then, another stir rippled through the dining hall.
Ronan looked up.
Sanji was weaving elegantly between tables, a bottle of red wine in hand.
He stopped at a fashionably dressed married woman's table, pouring wine with fluid grace, a gentleman's smile on his face as he whispered words of praise that made her blush and giggle behind her hand.
"Tch. So he's a womanizer after all," Zoro muttered, clicking his tongue.
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