Meanwhile, a broom slammed into the leader's face, making him scream and fall to the ground, while the broom handle jabbed the third guy in the stomach, causing him to curl up like a shrimp.
Zhang Da Ye was stunned to see Tom, now dressed in a cowboy outfit and wide-brimmed hat, walking step by step toward the fallen man while holding the rope in his left hand and twirling a pistol in his right, pressing it against the man's forehead.
Artoria held her broom reversed, pressing the handle against another man's throat like it was a rifle—deadly even without a real blade.
"Da Ye said anyone who doesn't pay will be dealt with."
If her other hand wasn't holding a bitten cookie, she would have looked even more intimidating.
After Tom and Artoria subdued the three would-be freeloaders, Zhang Da Ye felt his own intelligence overshadowed, a bit embarrassed and angry. He pulled out a hunting rifle—the same one Tom used for wild ducks—aiming it at the ringleader's forehead.
"You just said, since you don't know us, it's easy?"
The tavern erupted with cheers:
"Oh!!! Cowboy Tom is awesome!"
"Artoria, you're amazing!"
"Da Ye is so weak…"
"The young boss is pathetic!"
Everyone knew Tom was a cat pianist, but no one expected such combat skills.
Artoria, usually ignored because she spent her time eating with her back turned, astonished the burly men by taking down two of them in an instant. Her poise and even the tuft of hair on her head looked cool.
In contrast, "Rampaging Da Ye" was the weakest—brandishing a gun didn't make him intimidating at all.
Some regulars began teasing him, joking that his daily runs were just practice for running away.
"Enough! If you keep it up, I'll raise prices—right now!" Zhang Da Ye shouted.
The crowd didn't care; the price hike was inevitable anyway. The three freeloaders were already terrified, and the spectators just laughed, thinking the young boss might get carried away.
"We're sorry! We'll pay!" the three quickly complied, placing cash on the ground.
Zhang Da Ye was caught off guard—they were too cooperative. He had been wondering whether to beat them or hand them to the sheriff.
Yes, outside the lawless zones of the Whole Cake Archipelago, sheriffs exist, similar to the one in Nami's hometown. They handle local disputes since the Navy's job is to pursue pirates.
"Why eat for free when you have money?" Zhang Da Ye tapped the ringleader on the head, counting the cash. It was roughly triple compensation.
"It was a moment of foolishness, greed, small-time crime… young boss… no, Da Ye, please consider…" the ringleader stammered.
Still annoyed, Zhang Da Ye grabbed his collar and hem, lifted him, shook him, and tossed him out the door. The man realized his fate and didn't resist, landing in a heap outside.
Zhang Da Ye clapped his hands, proud of his month of training—it was easy to throw someone far.
Tom noticed, picked up another man, though his height made it a shorter throw, and tossed him outside successfully.
Zhang Da Ye looked at Tom in disbelief—after all this training, the cat could effortlessly outmatch him. Maybe it was best to just let him be a mascot…
Not done yet, as Artoria was about to act, Tom held up a paw, indicating he'd handle it. He grabbed the third man, kicked him on the backside, and sent him flying. This unlucky fellow landed in a trash can, its lid spinning, with a banana peel perfectly perched on his head when he peeked out.
Tom admired his handiwork, clapped, and returned to the tavern.
The patrons cheered and whistled, while Zhang Da Ye looked on with mixed feelings—lifting someone wasn't hard, but kicking them over ten meters required serious strength.
Tom bowed to the crowd, then returned to the bar with Artoria, clinking drinks.
Artoria was pleased, having fulfilled her duty as tavern guard—now she could eat with even more justification.
She handed Tom a doughnut, which he happily bit into, his head tuft bouncing with his mood.
Zhang Da Ye, feeling left out, quietly picked up the scattered cash and counted it.
"By the way, does anyone know those three just now? Was it really just a whim to get a free meal?" Zhang Da Ye suspected something was off.
A helpful patron answered: "I know them. They're the Scott brothers—Foster, Second, and Threld—from 57GR, three rascals. This isn't their first stunt. They usually target small restaurants. Most owners endure it, but you scared them into behaving today."
"Repeat offenders…" That sounded manageable. No background forces involved.
Relieved, Zhang Da Ye said sadly: "Thanks! Here's a 9.99% discount on today's bill."
"Way too stingy!" everyone shouted.
"Ha, small business, I still have a family to feed," Zhang Da Ye said sincerely. Over-generous discounts would bankrupt him.
Business picked up, and trouble followed—though he swore he wasn't hinting at any particular critics.