Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Caution

Outside the restaurant, Sanji remained standing until a cigarette butt burned a hole in his leather shoe, finally snapping him out of his shock. But as he regained his senses, a commotion erupted from inside, the shouts of waiters and cooks suggesting a brawl had broken out among the diners.

“Not good—” Sanji suddenly realized something and dashed back toward the restaurant. Yet as soon as he flung open the main door, the scene before him made his expression change instantly.

In the main hall, the green-haired swordsman he so disliked was suppressing three oddly dressed diners beneath him, stifling a yawn as he did so. Across from the swordsman stood Patty, the cook from the kitchen with whom Sanji had always been at odds, along with several others. They eyed Zoro menacingly, clutching a variety of “weapons,” clearly on the verge of confronting him.

As a member of the restaurant and a disciple of Zeff, Sanji knew he should side with Patty and oppose the swordsman’s violence within their establishment. But after witnessing Roran’s overwhelming strength earlier, reason told him to stay out of this. The three men under the swordsman’s control were likely pirates—probably the same crew from the destroyed pirate ship outside.

“Swordsman, get down now and let those guests go! At Baratie, we do not tolerate violence against our patrons,” Patty barked, gripping his giant ladle and glaring at Zoro. As far as Patty was concerned, anyone who paid for a meal was welcome, regardless of their identity. But this swordsman had the audacity to treat their guests so roughly, and that he could not accept.

“Hey, Patty, listen—those three are pirates. I think he’s with the Navy,” Sanji tried to explain. “If the Navy is arresting pirates, we shouldn’t interfere.”

Sanji’s heart was torn as he looked at the three. On one hand was Zeff’s teaching: never let anyone go hungry, not even pirates or notorious criminals; anyone who came to Baratie should be fed. That was the very purpose for which Zeff had poured his life savings into the restaurant—a dream for all those starving at sea.

On the other hand, the man allied with the green-haired swordsman possessed terrifying strength, able to slice a pirate ship in two from hundreds of meters away. If they provoked him here, the restaurant might not survive the fallout. And this restaurant was Zeff’s dream, his life’s work for the sake of starving sailors.

After much internal struggle, Sanji finally bowed to reality. They were just three pirates—let them be taken. After all, they had already eaten their fill before being captured. Zeff’s dream was to never let anyone go hungry, not to guarantee everyone freedom.

“Sanji, do you hear yourself? If we stand by and let guests be arrested, who will dare come here to eat?” Patty turned his ire on Sanji.

Patty knew full well he was no match for the swordsman—otherwise, with his temper, he’d have fought him already instead of wasting words. But Sanji was different—his rival, the sous-chef, whose ideal that all who were hungry must be fed, Patty found infuriating. To him, only those willing to pay for good food deserved to be guests. As for the rest, if you have no money, why should I care?

“How do you know these three can pay their bill?” Roran stepped forward with a laugh, noting Sanji’s embarrassment and inner conflict. While he didn’t agree with Sanji and Zeff’s philosophy of feeding anyone who was hungry, he did find Sanji interesting.

“Zoro, let them go. Once they’ve paid, you can arrest them,” Roran said before Patty could respond, signaling Zoro to release the three. They weren’t going anywhere—their ship was already destroyed. Even if they did have the money, they wouldn’t escape. There was no need to rush.

Since Roran had spoken, Zoro didn’t bother with the pirates any longer. He leapt off them and returned to his meal.

“As expected of a Navy officer—much more reasonable than certain chefs in our own kitchen!” Patty gave Roran a genuine thumbs-up. Catching pirates was none of his concern; as long as the bill was paid, that was all that mattered.

Patty approached the three pirates, rubbing his hands together with a smile. “Gentlemen, I apologize for what just happened, but since you were about to leave, shouldn’t you settle your bill first?”

Zan Gao and his companions exchanged helpless glances. They didn’t have a single coin. If they’d had money, they wouldn’t have come all the way to Baratie; any village would have sufficed for supplies. They hadn’t expected the swordsman to recognize them, and if not for his interference, they might have slipped away with the food.

“I… We don’t have any money…” Zan Gao said miserably under everyone’s gaze. He didn’t need to look up to know what kind of looks he was getting. Worse, with a formidable Navy officer watching, he couldn’t even protest.

“No money?” Patty’s voice leaped an octave, his expression comically exaggerated as he glared at them.

“Forget it—consider it food thrown to the dogs,” he muttered, glancing at the swordsman at the nearby table, his enthusiasm gone. These men would be taken by the Navy anyway; he might as well consider it a charitable last meal.

“Sanji, didn’t you claim anyone hungry is your guest? Then these ones are all yours,” Patty said provocatively as he returned to the kitchen, eager to see Sanji’s reaction. Wasn’t it his creed that the hungry are always guests? Now that the Navy was about to take his guests, what would he do?

“Officer…” Sanji was mortified. Had Patty not brought it up, he might have feigned ignorance and let the Navy take them away. But now, forced into the open, he could only look to Roran.

“You may call me Roran,” the man introduced himself. “Sanji, isn’t it? I have a suggestion—or rather, a word of advice—about these people. Care to hear it?”

“Go ahead,” Sanji nodded. He was truly intimidated by Roran, a man of such formidable strength and a Navy officer to boot. Opposing him would only spell disaster.

“Scum like them,” Roran said, pointing at Zan Gao, “pirates, fugitives, heinous criminals—I advise you not to feed such people. Let them fend for themselves.”

“That goes against the very principles of our restaurant!” Zeff had appeared, stepping calmly to Roran’s side, his rejection firm.

“I’m only offering advice. You don’t have to listen. But if I ever hear from a pirate that they continued their evil ways because you fed them here, don’t blame me for what happens next,” Roran narrowed his eyes, a hint of killing intent radiating toward Zeff.

“I can make this clear: as long as someone is hungry and comes to our restaurant, no matter who they are—pirate or fugitive—they will leave with a full stomach,” Zeff replied, undaunted, though the killing aura had rattled him. His convictions would not allow him to agree.

“Is that so? Then let’s wait and see.” Roran said no more, only smiled softly. He hadn’t forgotten that Zeff was once a pirate himself, a veteran of the Grand Line. Should he ever decide to kill Zeff, neither the Navy nor public opinion would mourn. The only reason he didn’t do it now was for the sake of Golden Lion. If he intended to reshape the entire Pirate Era, the Flying Pirate Crew would have to change as well, and for that, he couldn’t be seen targeting retired or reformed pirates. Only then could he avoid accusations of favoritism for Golden Lion.