Then, as if remembering his original mission, Luffy suddenly moved again.
"Oi! Over here!" he shouted, already dragging a chair noisily as he claimed a large round table near the center of the Baratie. "This one's good! It can fit all of us!"
The sound broke the spell—just barely.
Chairs scraped, plates rattled, and a few cooks snapped back to life, though their hands were still trembling. The patrons didn't return to their conversations. No one did. Instead, they watched.
The crew followed Luffy.
They walked slowly, instinctively matching the pace of the one behind them.
Cry moved last.
Nami stayed at her side, still holding her hand, guiding her gently. Zoro walked ahead, silent and alert. Usopp swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe normally. Jonny and Yusaku kept their heads low, afraid that even speaking might shatter something sacred.
No one at Baratie dared to speak.
No one dared to laugh.
Even footsteps were softened, as if the floor itself did not want to make a sound beneath her.
Cry's long dress brushed against the wooden planks with a faint whisper. Her presence filled the space without effort, and every eye followed her—waiters, cooks, sailors, pirates, civilians—frozen, respectful, mesmerized.
She tilted her head slightly as she walked, sensing the weight of countless gazes yet not understanding them. To her, it was simply a room… a place to eat.
They reached the table.
Ten seats. Just as Luffy had claimed.
Only then did the crew finally sit, one by one, careful, quiet—still moving as if the goddess herself was walking just behind them, even though she was already there.
When Cry finally took her seat, she looked around slowly, as if she were a goddess wandering through a foreign realm.
Her crystal-blue irises drifted from table to table, filled with quiet curiosity. Every person in the Baratie was staring at her—but no one dared to approach, no one dared to speak. Some glanced at her, then at themselves, as if suddenly aware of the vast distance between an ordinary human and the being seated before them.
She looked like a fairy made flesh.
Tall and graceful, with ocean-dark hair that seemed to sway even when there was no wind, her presence softened the air itself. Her face held the gentle innocence of a maiden, her gaze pure and unguarded, while her figure—elegant and alluring—made throats tighten and hearts race. More than one person swallowed hard, afraid even to breathe too loudly.
The silence was absolute.
Then—
BANGGGG.
A sudden crash shattered the stillness.
A blond-haired young man had collapsed straight onto the floor, his chair tipping over behind him as plates rattled and heads snapped in his direction. The entire restaurant jolted, caught between shock and disbelief, while Cry simply tilted her head slightly—confused, calm, and still unaware of the quiet chaos her existence had brought upon the room.
Then Nami coughed loudly—loud enough that the sound echoed throughout the entire room.
"Waiter," she said calmly, "the menu, please."
That was the moment everyone finally regained their senses.
People hurriedly looked away from Cry, pretending to busy themselves with plates, cups, or the floor—anything but her. The same was true for Jonny and Yusaku. They weren't idiots, and they weren't reckless enough to invite trouble. They could tell immediately: this woman was heavily guarded. How could she not be? Just one look at her face told them everything.
Who would let someone like her walk out and casually eat in a place like this—unprotected?
That realization only made it worse.
The goddess was right there, sitting in front of them, close enough to breathe the same air—yet completely unreachable. The frustration burned quietly in their chests. They couldn't make a move. They couldn't even stare.
It felt as if something deep inside their minds was warning them, whispering with absolute certainty:
If you get any closer… you'll be killed.
So they better not act stupidly
Or they might face something they all can't fathom..
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Nami said hey where's the waiter.
I'm very hungry muttered luffy laying his face weakly on the table..
But no waiter came.
Instead, a slow, steady tuk… tuk… sound echoed across the wooden floor as someone approached their table.
It was an old man.
He was tall—taller than most—even with age weighing on his frame. His back was straight in a way that spoke of pride rather than youth, and his presence carried a pressure that didn't need volume to be felt. His hair was long and wild, a thick mane of blond streaked heavily with white, pulled back but still untamed, much like the sea itself. A curled mustache framed his stern mouth, giving him the look of an old lion who had long ruled his territory.
One of his legs was wooden.
The source of the sound.
Each step of the peg leg struck the floor with quiet authority, not clumsy, not weak—measured. Experienced. His chef's coat was worn but spotless, sleeves rolled up, buttons fastened with discipline rather than vanity. Scars lined his arms, faint but numerous, marks of a life that had known blades, fire, and storms long before kitchens.
This was no ordinary cook.
"Good morning," the old man said, his voice deep and rough, like driftwood scraped smooth by years of waves. "I'm the head chef of this Baratie."
He inclined his head slightly.
"My apologies for the delay."
His sharp eyes settled on Nami—not out of disrespect to the others, but instinct. She was the only one at the table who looked ready to speak for the group, the only one grounded enough to answer. Not once did his gaze linger on the goddess seated beside her. He didn't dare stare. Whether out of restraint, experience, or something deeper, he kept his eyes disciplined.
"May I take your order?" he asked calmly, hands folded behind his back.
The old man—Zeff of the Red Leg—stood waiting, steady as the sea itself, as if nothing in the world could surprise him…
even as the entire restaurant still trembled in silent awe.
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To be continued