"Are you kidding?! A cat playing the piano?!"
When Goodman asked about the musician who just performed, Tom calmly hopped down from the piano bench, tugged at his bowtie, and gave a gentlemanly bow.
The crew's eyes nearly popped out in shock.
"No, Da Ye, I know Tom is smart, but there has to be a limit, right?" Goodman had some understanding of Tom, but now he realized it was just the tip of the iceberg.
"Does Tom want to play more? If he's tired, just a short piece will do," Zhang Da Ye asked.
Tom nodded, sat back down, and played the final short section of the Turkish March.
The crew watched Tom's movements, listening to the piano, their mouths dropping wider and wider.
A few minutes later, the music stopped. The crew pressed their jaws back in place and erupted into cheers.
"Amazing!"
"What an incredible cat!"
"Where can someone buy a cat like this?!"
Tom glanced at the humans disdainfully, indifferent to the applause, and steadily walked over to Zhang Da Ye, handing over his tuxedo.
Once out of the tuxedo, Tom seemed like a different cat. Amidst the cheers, he waved proudly and then slinked back to the bar to drink tea and read the newspaper.
Zhang Da Ye looked at the excited group whistling at the door and helplessly tapped his forehead. "Gentlemen, what exactly are you here for?"
Goodman realized, "Oh, right, almost forgot the main business."
Goodman was reliable, quickly leading them to buy drinks, which gave Zhang Da Ye a little relief.
He continued, "Besides drinking, there's an even more important matter today…"
He put an arm around Zhang Da Ye's shoulder and whispered mischievously, "The young lady who ran with you this morning, is that her over there? Tell us, what's your relationship?"
Zhang Da Ye: ???
Why are you all so nosy?
He helplessly introduced Artoria as the tavern's guard.
The crew didn't care about her small stature as a guard. Instead, they wailed and demanded to know why she wasn't his lover, sister, or a waitress.
Only Goodman laughed, satisfied that his bet lost. As the house, he won everything.
Zhang Da Ye just thought they were overeating and overreacting.
Fifteen crew members turned their frustration into drinking, each with a bottle, drinking straight from it without cups.
All the drinks were over 1,000 Berries each, making Zhang Da Ye smile.
"The one leading is Goodman. When we first arrived, Tom and I received a lot of help from them," Zhang Da Ye said, bringing some roasted chicken and meat to introduce to Artoria at the bar.
"Sounds like a good person," Artoria nodded, watching the noisy crowd without incident, quietly eating her snacks.
Goodman and his friends chatted a bit before talking to Zhang Da Ye.
"How's it going, little bro? Has everything been smooth these past days?"
"Not bad. Just busy cleaning and checking stock. If guests are as easy-going as now, running a tavern seems pretty simple."
"Haha, most of the time, yes. Otherwise, why would Old Bob have run it so long without losing money?" Goodman took a sip. "But you really cleaned it well. Not greasy like before."
Of course it was clean—Tom personally wiped everything down. Not tearing the tavern apart was already a courtesy.
"Maybe some people like the old greasy tavern feel?" Zhang Da Ye thought. In movies, old taverns were more atmospheric when worn and greasy, with a small stove.
But living and running his own place, it was better to keep it clean.
Goodman clearly had no sentimentality. "Who would want that?"
Zhang Da Ye smiled. "Haven't seen little Byer these days?"
"Molly won't let him bother you while you're busy with the opening," Goodman said.
"You see, it's not that busy here, he can come anytime," Zhang Da Ye thought Byer was the most sensible among the many mischievous kids he'd met.
"Alright, I'll tell him. But I plan to take him to the shipyard as an apprentice soon."
"Isn't he not even five?"
"Five years old, so what? Reminds me of my younger days…" Goodman faltered, too young to brag about five years old. Awkward.
He raised his bottle and thumped: "Anyway, I don't want him running around outside like that every day."
Zhang Da Ye nodded. Familiar or not, he couldn't say much about other people's child-rearing.
"As for you, little bro, when did you meet that lady? She's no ordinary person, right?" Goodman leaned in, lowering his voice with a smile, "Also, Molly heard you went shopping with a girl, smiling and said 'Da Ye has grown up.' She asked me to check, you two really aren't… that kind of relationship?"
Artoria glanced curiously. Zhang Da Ye waved it off.
Sprayed by alcohol fumes, Zhang Da Ye pushed Goodman away: "I said she's a guard, a knight from Britain, very reliable."
Goodman was about to ask more when others shouted: "Little bro, we're out of drinks! And meat too!"
"Coming!" Zhang Da Ye hurried to serve.
"Goodman, are you hiding from the drinks over there?"
"Hiding? I could take down ten of you!"
The rowdy group spent nearly 100,000 Berries, limited only because they had work in the afternoon.
Profits were high, though the hefty taxes stung. Zhang Da Ye thought maybe he should move to a lawless area like Shakki to exploit more freely once strong enough.
After the crew left, more customers trickled in—some drinking alone, some in groups.
Occasionally, old patrons asked about Old Bob. Zhang Da Ye truthfully replied and chatted lightly about recent news—pirate incidents or navy achievements.
The tavern stayed open from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., then rested. Zhang Da Ye tidied the messy tables.
He grabbed a quick lunch during the lull, considering shifting lunch to 10:30 a.m., finishing around 11, then opening.
Tom lazily stretched on the bar, unwilling to move.
Artoria, imitating Zhang Da Ye, helped with chores. Seeing her handle the mop like a sword, he worried she might poke a hole in the floor.
Should the tavern start collecting congratulatory gifts? Even just a tiny bit of money…