Chapter 192: The Return from the Grand Line
At the beginning of the year 1512 of the Sea Calendar, a restaurant in the East Blue had quickly gained a reputation. Opened less than a year ago, this establishment had left a deep impression on every diner with its unique location, peculiar service style, and the exceptional culinary skills of its chefs.
Its unique location? It was a floating sea restaurant, a ship entirely designed to resemble a land-based eatery. From a distance, it could even give one the illusion of dining on solid ground.
Its peculiar service style? The owner and head chef, while undeniably skilled, was infamous for his terrible temper. Perhaps following the "like master, like servants" adage, the other staff members were equally bad-tempered. Most of them looked fierce and intimidating, with scars and tattoos covering their exposed skin. Many were missing limbs—an arm here, a leg there. To call these disabled individuals "oddities" wasn't an insult from the diners but rather a reflection of their rough appearances, vulgar language, and poor attitudes toward customers.
Yet all these flaws were overshadowed by one redeeming quality: the food. This was likely the pride of the restaurant's owner, the former pirate known as "Red-Leg" Zeff.
There were indeed customers who stormed out after experiencing the terrible service, but most found themselves returning, unable to resist the memory of Zeff's culinary masterpieces, even if it meant enduring the atrocious service.
Initially, the restaurant's clientele mainly consisted of sailors passing through, drawn by the promise of a hot, delicious meal after weeks of eating bland provisions at sea. Over time, as word spread among sailors, more and more diners began seeking out the restaurant specifically.
The sea restaurant, Baratie, as it was called by those who frequented the seas, became a topic of conversation, often shared as an amusing anecdote.
Charles, once the boatswain of the Pirate Chefs crew, now served as the floor manager of Baratie. Nearly two years ago, before he had entered the Grand Line, Charles had been a brash and fearless man, unafraid of anything. Even during tense negotiations between Zeff and William, when the atmosphere was thick with hostility, he had dared to taunt the latter. When he first arrived in the Grand Line, he had remained defiant, unlike his crewmates, who were cowed by the dangers they faced.
But now, after enduring the harsh trials of a year-long voyage in the Grand Line and surviving the nightmare of being stranded on a desolate island, starving and desperate, Charles considered himself much more composed. He no longer shouted recklessly or romanticized the thrill of living day-to-day on the sea. Still, he couldn't help but occasionally punch customers who wasted food or toss freeloaders into the ocean.
Like the restaurant's owner, Zeff, and many of the senior staff, Charles was also physically disabled—his left arm was severed at the shoulder.
Baratie was often short-staffed, as few people could tolerate working under the bad-tempered and eccentric owner and his equally irritable management team. As such, Charles, the floor manager, often had to step in and serve dishes during busy times.
Holding two plates of steak and two wine glasses delicately between the fingers of his right hand, with a bottle of red wine balanced steadily on his head, Charles strode confidently to a table.
After placing the food down, he absentmindedly poured wine for the customers while glancing out the window. Suddenly, his relaxed demeanor vanished. His eyes widened in shock, and he didn't even notice the wine overflowing from the glass.
"What are you doing?!" barked the middle-aged man seated at the table. His attire alone marked him as someone of wealth and status. He slammed his fist on the table, snapping Charles out of his daze.
Charles came to his senses but ignored the man's outburst. He placed the wine bottle on the table and immediately headed toward the kitchen.
The middle-aged man, enraged, shouted after him, "You're just going to leave like that? Not even an apology?"
As the man reached out to grab Charles, the latter effortlessly shrugged him off.
Turning his head, Charles glared coldly at the man. "If you don't want to die, you'd better sit down and behave."
In that moment, the Charles who had once fearlessly fought alongside the Pirate Chefs seemed to return. His face radiated an unmistakable killing intent, causing the indignant customer to freeze in place and obediently sit back down.
After Charles left, the man tried to calm himself. But sitting there in front of his female companion, he felt humiliated and uneasy. Too afraid to confront Charles again, he walked over to the window instead, curious to see what had caused the floor manager's sudden change in demeanor.
When he saw the scene outside, his expression changed dramatically.
"What's wrong?" his female companion asked, puzzled.
"It's... it's the Morgan Pirates!" the man stammered.
Outside the window, a massive ship was approaching, its black pirate flag billowing in the sea breeze. The flag bore the image of a grinning skull wearing a tricorn hat, with an elegant letter "M" inscribed on the hat's brim. The man knew exactly what this ship and its flag represented.
The Morgan Pirates, like Baratie, had risen to fame in the East Blue over the past year. But unlike the restaurant, their reputation was a mix of awe and fear.
As the Morgan Pirates' warship approached, other vessels quickly moved out of its way, clearly unwilling to risk a confrontation. In no time, the warship was docked in front of the restaurant.
The man's face turned deathly pale. He sat back down, fidgeting nervously in his chair as sweat poured down his face. His female companion, noticing his distress, tried to comfort him. "It's the Morgan Pirates. You don't need to be afraid. I've heard they're different from other pirates. They don't harm the weak and even help those in need."
"Pirates aren't good people!" the man snapped. "I've told you not to listen to those storytellers and their nonsense. They're full of lies, making up stories just to swindle you out of your money. And you actually believe them?"
"They're not storytellers!" his companion retorted, pouting in annoyance. "They're bards, and they share tales from their travels around the world!"
"They're just wandering vagrants! Liars, all of them!"
Unintentionally, the man had hit upon the truth about these so-called bards, who had emerged under William's influence. But his companion refused to believe it, sulking in silent protest.
Her mood didn't last long, however. Curiosity got the better of her, and she began craning her neck to peer toward the restaurant's entrance, eager to catch a glimpse of the legendary Morgan Pirates—those bold and romantic outlaws often featured in the tales spun by the eloquent bards.
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