After tasting the food that Kuwajima had prepared, Jack became even more determined to bring him into his crew.
The flavor was so rich and balanced that Jack could only compare it to the best dishes he had ever tasted during his travels across the seas.
Yet, even when comparing it to meals served in the finest restaurants he had visited, Kuwajima's cooking still stood above them.
There was a distinct warmth to it, a depth of taste that could only come from someone cooking not just with skill but with spirit.
As Jack continued eating, he felt something unusual happening in his body. His fatigue began to fade, his mind cleared, and his energy seemed to rise naturally.
It felt as though his very body was being nurtured from within, his wounds subtly healing, his strength returning.
The sensation reminded him of the effects of Sanji's cooking — the so-called Attack Cuisine — known to enhance vitality and recovery.
But what made this more fascinating was that Kuwajima was achieving the same results without even realizing it, as though his instincts alone guided his cooking to heal others.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Jack finally asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
The question carried genuine interest, not just because of how good the food was, but because he wanted to understand how a samurai, of all people, had developed such refined cooking instincts.
Sanji had to undergo the brutal ninety-nine bride challenge to reach that level of mastery, and even then, few could replicate it naturally.
Kuwajima looked up from his bowl, chewing calmly before answering. "No one taught me," he said simply. "I just cook this way because it feels right. I can see what each ingredient needs, how much attention it requires, what it wants to become. If I listen carefully, the food almost tells me how to treat it. That's all."
Jack nodded slowly, both impressed and confused. The way Kuwajima described it made it sound natural, but what he was doing was anything but ordinary.
Around him, the rest of the crew was already too absorbed in their meals to speak.
They were eating as if someone might snatch the plates away from them at any moment, their faces filled with satisfaction.
Even Issho, who rarely showed strong emotions, was eating with calm contentment, occasionally giving small nods of approval.
"You should know," Jack said, leaning back slightly as he took another bite, "you're a great chef. Maybe you could even open your own restaurant someday."
As soon as he said that, the entire crew paused briefly, then looked up at Kuwajima, all nodding in agreement.
Aramaki and Club were already grinning, while Laffitte gave a slight tilt of his head as if he were already imagining the idea.
The sight made Kuwajima smile in quiet amusement before he returned to his meal, though Jack could tell that his words had reached him.
Jack continued to watch Kuwajima as he ate, his decision forming more solidly with every passing moment. Finally, he set his bowl down and spoke with certainty. "I've decided. I want you to be my ship's chef."
The words caught Kuwajima completely off guard. With his mouth still full, he froze mid-bite before suddenly choking and spitting out his food. The others immediately burst into laughter, the room filling with amusement, while Kouzaburou simply continued eating, a knowing smile on his face as he watched the scene unfold.
"What are you talking about?" Kuwajima exclaimed once he had recovered. "Why would I want to be a pirate? And a pirate chef, no less! I am a proud samurai from the Land of Wano. I will not lower myself beneath the honor of a warrior!"
Jack tilted his head slightly, grinning. "You haven't even been to Wano," he said casually, then stopped for a moment as an idea struck him. His grin widened as he realized the opportunity standing before him.
"You haven't even been to Wano," Jack repeated, leaning forward, his tone shifting slightly — calm, confident, persuasive. "But you know who can travel anywhere in the world, even to the Land of Wano?" He paused briefly, letting the words settle before continuing. "Pirates."
Kuwajima's expression shifted for a moment, caught between defiance and hesitation. Jack noticed it immediately and pressed on. "If you join us, I'll take you there myself. You'll see the Land of Wano with your own eyes. You'll get to meet swordsmen from all across the seas, fight them, learn from them. You'll see how different the world really is. What do you say?"
Jack's tone was steady, his words deliberate. He didn't push too hard, but each sentence struck at the very core of Kuwajima's pride and curiosity.
The others watched quietly, amused but also impressed by how easily Jack could read a person.
Koushirou, in particular, smiled faintly as he observed the exchange. He knew his brother well enough to understand what was happening.
Koushirou also knew his father — Kouzaburou — was not the type of man who would ever stop his children from following their own paths. Whether they chose to be pirates, marines, or bounty hunters, he would not interfere. All that mattered to him was that they pursued their dreams with conviction.
Meanwhile, Kuwajima's face turned increasingly conflicted. He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped. Finally, he let out a loud yell of frustration, stood up abruptly, and ran straight out of the house, shouting something unintelligible as he disappeared up the nearby path.
The crew burst out laughing instantly.
"Boss, you broke him!" B said, barely able to contain his laughter. Aramaki and Club were both grinning wide, nodding in agreement, while Issho, Cricket, and Laffitte joined in the laughter. Even Koushirou had to lower his head slightly to hide his smile, though the amusement was clear on his face.
Jack laughed softly but then turned serious for a moment. "Forgive me if it seems inappropriate," he said to Koushirou. "Your village was just attacked by pirates, and here I am trying to convince one of your people to become one."
Koushirou shook his head and set his bowl down, having finished his meal. "You don't have to apologize," he said calmly. "I take pride in being a good judge of character. From the moment you stepped into our forest and came to this house, I could tell you're a just man — someone who will kill if attacked but will never harm an innocent. You command a crew made up of people with different personalities and morals, yet all of them respect you completely. That kind of loyalty is not something that can be forced. It has to be earned."
Jack listened quietly as Koushirou continued.
"So, if my brother chooses to go with you, I have no reason to stop him. He has always made his own decisions, and our father believes in letting his sons walk their own paths. As for where he went, you don't need to worry. Whenever he faces a difficult choice, he always goes to the top of the mountain nearby. From there, he looks out over the horizon until his mind is clear. It's something he's done since childhood. I'm certain he's up there right now, thinking about your offer very seriously."
Jack nodded in understanding. His smile returned, small but certain. "Then I'll wait," he said simply.
------------
Meanwhile, inside the forge located at the back of the Shimotsuki household, Kouzaburou was carefully working on the process of granting will and pride to the two swords before him.
The air around the forge was heavy with heat, the faint glow of burning charcoal reflecting in his focused eyes.
As he handled the first sword, Sayafushi, he suddenly felt something unusual within the blade — a faint, lingering trace of armament haki.
The discovery made Kouzaburou stop what he was doing for a moment. He could sense it clearly, the haki that Jack had infused into the sword remained embedded within the metal, not fading away as it normally would once the user ceased channeling it.
That was something he had never encountered before.
Usually, armament haki leaves no lasting trace on an inanimate object after use, unless the user's control and intent were extraordinary.
'This is incredible,' Kouzaburou thought to himself as he turned the sword slightly under the light of the forge
He placed the blade on the anvil and leaned closer, his sharp eyes tracing the intricate lines along its surface.
The structure of the sword was refined far beyond what he had first assumed.
The balance, the purity of the metal, and the way it responded to the surrounding heat all suggested that the material used to forge it was unlike ordinary steel.
'The quality of this metal is far more pure than I initially thought,' he continued thinking, his curiosity deepening. 'There were old tales from long ago — stories saying that the Kozuki clan once created a kind of steel capable of enduring any strike, a metal said to be indestructible even against the most powerful blows. Could this sword have traces of that material within it? Could it be that this blade carries remnants of that ancient alloy?'
The thought alone sent a quiet thrill through Kouzaburou. He had always dedicated his life to the art of forging, and to witness something that connected to the myths of old Wano was something he had never expected.
A grin slowly formed on his face as he continued to examine every inch of Sayafushi, running his hand lightly along its dull edge, not in awe, but in appreciation.
If his assumptions were correct, then reforging this weapon would be more than an act of craftsmanship.
It would be the opportunity to awaken a blade that had slept for generations, one capable of surpassing even Enma and Wado Ichimonji — his two proudest creations. The mere idea filled him with renewed vigor.
Kouzaburou took out a piece of parchment and began recording the sword's exact dimensions, from the length of the blade to the curvature of its spine and the subtle width variations near the hilt.
Every millimeter mattered. To alter even the smallest part would risk disrupting the sword's natural balance.
Once he finished measuring, he drew a precise diagram, adding notes to capture the flow of the metal's pattern and the texture of its surface.
After ensuring every detail was written down, he stepped over to the smelting area. "To grant will and pride to a sword," he muttered softly to himself, "one must not simply repair what already exists. It must be reborn."
He began setting up the mould that would hold the melted metal. He had no intention of reshaping the sword entirely but knew that reforging from the beginning was the only way to properly awaken its dormant spirit.
There was no shortcut, no half-measure that could bring genuine pride to a blade.
As the furnace roared to life, the heat intensified, and the air shimmered around him.
Kouzaburou gently placed the sword near the flame, watching how the metal began to respond to the temperature.
He could feel a faint vibration from it, as though the sword itself was alive and aware of what was happening.
'You have potential,' Kouzaburou thought as he stared at the glowing blade. 'You are incomplete, but not broken. With the right guidance, you could become something that even the greatest swordsmen in history would fear to wield.'
He closed his eyes briefly, centering his concentration. The process ahead would be long and physically exhausting.
Yet, for the first time in many years, Kouzaburou felt genuinely excited.
His hands moved steadily as he prepared the necessary tools — tongs, hammer, whetstone, and chisels — each one placed with careful precision.