Then chaos erupted.
The moment Don Krieg's threat spread through Baratie, the customers panicked.
Chairs screeched against the floor. Plates shattered. Coins spilled and rolled uselessly as people shoved past one another, faces pale, breaths frantic.
"MOVE!" "GET OUT OF HERE!" "THE KRIEG PIRATES ARE BACK!"
Some tripped over tables, others jumped over railings straight onto small boats. A few didn't even wait for ships—they dove into the sea, splashing wildly, driven by pure fear. In less than a minute, the once-lively restaurant emptied like a sinking hull.
Only the cooks remained.
The doors creaked shut.
Silence.
Zeff stood at the center of Baratie, arms crossed, staring at the empty deck. Then he spoke, his voice rough but steady.
"Leave."
The chefs froze.
"I said leave," Zeff repeated. "This isn't your fight."
For a split second, no one moved.
Then—
"HELL NO!"
A chef slammed his fist onto the counter. "This is our home!"
"You think we'd abandon Baratie?!" another shouted.
"We owe you our lives, Boss!"
Knives were gripped tighter. Backs straightened. No one stepped away.
Sanji remained silent, cigarette between his lips, smoke curling upward—but his eyes burned with resolve.
Zeff looked at them… then smirked.
"Hah," he scoffed. "Stubborn idiots."
His gaze landed on Sanji. "Don't die on me, Sanji."
Sanji didn't answer. He only took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly.
At that moment—
"Shishishishishi!"
Luffy laughed loudly, hands on his hips. "Looks fun. I'll help."
Every chef turned to stare at him like he'd lost his mind.
"You WHAT?!" someone yelled.
Jonny and Yosaku stepped forward, swords raised. "Don't worry, old man! We've got your back!"
Zoro cracked his neck lazily. "Tch. Guess I'll stretch."
Usopp trembled violently, then dove under a table. "I-I'll assist from… here!"
Everyone stared.
Then—somehow—they all laughed.
Outside, the sea churned.
Krieg's crew finished eating.
Strength returned to their bodies. Hunger faded, replaced by arrogance. Krieg stood tall again, armor gleaming, laughter booming across the water.
"HAHAHAHA! Back from hell and stronger than ever!"
Gin looked uneasy. "Captain… something's wrong—"
Before he could finish—
SHIIIIIIIIING.
A sound so sharp it sliced through the air itself.
The sea went still.
Then—
Krieg's ship… split in half.
Clean.
Silent.
Like it had been cut by the hand of death itself.
The two halves drifted apart, water flooding in, pirates screaming in disbelief.
Krieg's laughter died instantly.
Everyone turned toward the horizon.
A lone black ship floated there.
And standing upon it—
A man holding a massive black blade, eyes cold as the abyss.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Someone whispered in terror—
"D-Dracule… Mihawk…"
..
..
..
..
..
..
Inside Baratie, everything froze.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
The cooks, who had just moments ago sworn loyalty with fire in their eyes, now stood stiff—faces drained of color. Some still clutched knives, but their hands trembled. Sweat rolled down their temples, not from heat, but from instinctive fear. This wasn't Don Krieg anymore. This was something else. Something above.
Jonny and Yosaku swallowed hard, throats dry.
"T-that's… real, right?" Jonny muttered.
Yosaku couldn't answer. His legs felt weak, like the deck itself might give way beneath him.
Usopp peeked from under the table, one eye wide, pupils shaking.
"H-he cut a ship… like it was butter…"
His imagination immediately ran wild—his soul was already halfway out of his body.
The chefs stared out through the windows, mouths slightly open.
A ship… split in half.
No explosions.
No struggle.
Just one slash.
Sanji stood completely still. The cigarette between his fingers burned down unnoticed, ash finally dropping to the floor. His usual fire—his lust, his rage, his noise—was gone. For the first time, his face showed something raw: awe mixed with danger.
"So that's… him," he muttered quietly.
Zeff's expression hardened.
His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hat.
"Hawk-Eyes…"
He knew what this meant. He knew exactly what kind of monster had arrived.
And then—
Zoro.
The moment the name "Mihawk" echoed through the air, something inside him ignited.
His head snapped up.
The lazy slouch vanished.
The casual boredom evaporated.
A grin slowly spread across his face—not a normal grin, but a sharp, hungry one. His single visible eye burned with intensity, like a predator that had finally spotted its prey.
"…Mihawk," Zoro repeated under his breath.
His hand tightened around the hilt of his katana.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Excitement.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
This wasn't just a strong enemy.
This was the man.
The world's greatest swordsman.
His blood felt hot. His muscles tensed, itching, screaming to move. Every instinct he had—every scar, every night of training, every vow he had ever made—rose to the surface all at once.
"So he's here…" Zoro said, voice low, steady, almost reverent.
Luffy looked at him, surprised. "Huh? You know that guy?"
Zoro didn't look away from the window.
A fierce, almost joyful smile crossed his face.
"Know him?"
He let out a short breath, half a laugh.
"That's the man I'm going to defeat."
For Zoro, this wasn't danger.
It was destiny.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued