About an hour later, breakfast was served.
In a little place like Shimotsuki Village, ingredients were naturally limited. Zeff had already sent Zoro earlier to buy everything the market had, though it was only a handful of varieties.
But once in Zeff's hands, the ordinary turned magical—transformed from simple fare into a feast.
Dish after dish came out, vibrant in color, rich in aroma.
The dojo brats crowded around the long wooden table. Even before they could eat, their eyes were wide with amazement.
The clatter of chopsticks against bowls mingled with cries of "Smells so good!", "I can't take it anymore!", "I'm drooling already!"
And once Zeff announced they could begin, the scene turned into chaos.
After all, they were just kids. At first, they remembered Kōshirō's lessons about table manners, but with food this delicious, instinct kicked in.
It became a feeding frenzy.
Shanu found himself pushed back, not wanting to fight over food with these little radishes. Instead, he slipped to a corner and filled a bowl with the least popular dish—fish porridge.
One sip—creamy white rice, silky slices of fish sliding down his throat, scallion and ginger perfectly balanced to cut the brine. Smooth, fragrant, heavenly.
Adding a few crisp side dishes, refreshing and light, made it even better.
He couldn't help but close his eyes in bliss.
So this was a professional chef—able to make even plain porridge and pickles taste divine.
Bellemere's cooking had been good, but compared to Zeff's, it was like heaven and earth.
Maybe I should… Shanu's eyes lingered thoughtfully on Zeff.
Nearby, Zoro was wolfing down food as if he wanted to swallow the whole table.
The resentment from earlier chores had vanished. If it meant eating like this every day, he'd gladly wash vegetables forever.
"Old man!" he shouted through a mouthful. "Stay here! If I can't eat your cooking every day, I don't know how I'll live!"
"Yeah! Yeah!"
"Stay, Chef-ojisan!"
The other dojo kids joined in, chanting.
These naïve brats, Kōshirō sighed. A chef of this caliber—how could his little dojo possibly afford him?
"All right, enough. Don't bring up such unreasonable requests."
He had barely spoken when he froze. He suddenly recalled how Zeff had asked him earlier—whether the dojo needed a cook.
"That's right. That was my intention all along."
Zeff laughed. "Kōshirō-san, looks like the kids love my cooking. Why not let this old man stay here for now? And of course, this brat as well."
He ruffled Sanji's blond head.
"You little punk—talk about chasing the All Blue. But right now, you're just a kitchen hand, not even a proper cook. How can you chase that dream ocean?"
"Old geezer…"
Sanji shoved his hand away, then suddenly realized—his eyes widened in joy. "Wait—does that mean you'll teach me?!"
"Not so fast." Zeff snorted. "I'm strict with apprentices. If you can't measure up, I'll boot you any time."
"Don't underestimate me, old geezer!"
Kōshirō cleared his throat. "Zeff-dono, someone of your stature choosing to stay at my dojo is an honor. Of course I'd welcome you—but…"
But at this rate of consumption, Isshin Dojo might collapse within a month. A year ago, he'd had reserves, but he'd donated it all that night—to Dragon.
Embarrassed, he couldn't voice it aloud.
Yet Zeff had already guessed. Laughing heartily, he said:
"Don't worry. This old man still has savings. From now on, I'll cover all the dojo's food costs!"
"What?! That's impossible!"
Kōshirō nearly jumped. He had never heard of someone paying to work.
"Enough talk! Settled!"
Zeff slapped his shoulder, laughter booming. Kōshirō choked back his protest.
Shanu watched, amused.
This pairing—Zeff and Kōshirō—felt oddly fitting.
If Rayleigh walked in next, they'd have the future Straw Hats' top three mentors gathered in one place.
"By the way, Shanu."
Zeff pulled him aside, lugging out a large sack of treasure from who-knows-where.
"Take this. Sell it and you'll get fifty or sixty million berries, at least. I've kept some for myself—enough for regular food runs."
Fifty, sixty million?
Shanu glanced at the bag.
On the deserted island, Zeff had tricked Sanji with this very sack, making him think it was filled with food.
And in the original timeline, he'd later used it to open Baratie.
Thinking of his own four hundred million in the Loguetown bank, Shanu shook his head.
"No need, Zeff-ojisan. Keep it. I'm not short on money. Consider it my contribution—so the dojo kids can eat well for years without worry."
"Especially those two."
He pointed at Kuina and Zoro, smiling.
"They might be my crewmates someday. So please, take extra care. When they finally set sail with me, I want them built like oxen—no, like me."
Zeff looked at Shanu's ridiculously sturdy frame, then burst out laughing.
"Fine! With me in the kitchen, by the time you sail, you'll have two hearty, stocky crewmates!"
"Maybe more than two?"
"Hm?" Zeff blinked.
Shanu grinned. "Being a chef was just your fallback, wasn't it? Your real dream is still out there—sailing the Grand Line, chasing that All Blue."
"You mean… join your crew?"
Zeff froze, eyes flickering.
But his gaze dropped to his wooden leg. He sighed.
"Forget it. The Grand Line belongs to you young ones. With this leg, I'd just be dead weight."
He was a former captain. Joining wasn't the issue—but being the weakest on board, dragging others down? His pride wouldn't allow it.
"I get it, ojisan. But… what if I could fully heal your leg?"
"…"
Zeff stared, breath catching, voice trembling.
"Truly? My whole leg's gone. No medicine could ever—"
"Doesn't have to be medicine." Shanu shook his head. "I can't yet, but someday I'll manage. Let's set a deadline."
He raised four fingers. "By the time I set sail—four, maybe five years. I'll come back here. If I can restore your leg, you'll join me at sea. Deal?"
He had full confidence.
The system's trade market could produce anything—even planetary engines. A leg would be nothing.
At thirteen now, he wouldn't leave until at least sixteen or seventeen. With that many monthly refreshes, unless cursed with endless bad luck, he'd find a way.
"Fine. As you say."
Zeff finally decided, hooking out his pinky. He grinned. "Then let's seal it with a promise?"
Shanu: "?"
Seriously?
Why was everyone in East Blue—kids, adults, didn't matter—so obsessed with pinky swears?