The smell of baked bread and stew drifted through the halls as Trafalgar stepped into the dining room. Wooden tables stretched from wall to wall, worn but polished with care. Dozens of plates clattered in quick rhythm, handled by the nuns and older children who moved like a well-practiced team.
Cynthia immediately rolled up her sleeves and joined them, smiling as she started laying out bread and cutlery. Bartholomew was already cornered by a group of kids.
Trafalgar stood by the doorway for a few seconds, watching the organized chaos. 'So this is what a real family dinner looks like, huh? Everyone moving, helping, laughing… not a servant in sight.'
"Come on," Cynthia called, noticing him. "You're not just standing there, are you? Grab those plates."
"Me?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you. Unless you're afraid of breaking them."
