Chapter 70: "The Queen's Gambit and the Chef's Feast"
Nojiko's POV – The Chef's War at Dawn
The sunrise over Whiskey Peak was a slow, lazy burn—golden rays creeping up the cactus spines like fingers tracing a lover's back, turning the dusty streets into a haze of amber and regret. The air hung heavy with last night's sins: stale whiskey fumes curling from overturned barrels, faint smoke lingering from Zoro and Sanji's explosive fireworks show, and that underlying tang of desperation from folks who'd partied too hard and woken up wondering if the pirates were a dream or a nightmare. I stirred first, as I always do—practical girl in a crew of dreamers—wrapping my blue cloak snug around my shoulders against the crisp morning chill. My boots crunched softly on the sandy cobblestones as I made my way to the central tavern, the heart of this weird-ass town. The place was already stirring; doors creaked open, hungover locals groaning as they shuffled out for water or whatever passed for hangover cure here.
Sanji was in the kitchen, of course—the curly-browed idiot never slept when there was cooking to be done. He stood over a massive stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips, stirring a pot of thin, watery porridge that looked about as appetizing as sea prune stew. Pans clattered half-heartedly; a few loaves of day-old bread sat forlorn on the counter. He was trying—god, was he trying—to whip up breakfast for what had to be a hundred-plus souls: the crew, the townsfolk who'd crashed the party, even the chained-up Baroque Works goons whimpering in the corner. But it was pathetic. "This won't feed a mouse, let alone a town," I said, sliding up beside him with a smirk, tying my hair back into a quick ponytail.
Sanji's eyes lit up like I'd flipped on a spotlight just for him—hearts practically exploding in those swirly brows. "Nojiko-swan! Your radiant presence alone turns this slop into a gourmet masterpiece! But you're right—we need a miracle. These people ate like starving wolves last night; they'll riot for real food."
Right on cue, the door swung open with a lazy creak, and in strolled Sunny—yawning wide, hair tousled in that bedhead way that made him look like he'd just rolled out of a fantasy and straight into my heart. He scratched his stomach under his cloak, that casual, effortless vibe radiating off him like heat from a grill. God, I loved him for it—the way he made generosity look easy, annoying in how it fluttered every damn woman's heart without him even trying. He caught my eye, winked, and snapped his fingers. Inventory magic kicked in—a shimmer of spatial distortion—and thud. A massive slab of Sea King meat materialized on the central butcher's block, easily the size of a small boat, pitch-black exterior hiding marbling so intricate it looked like A5 Wagyu on divine steroids. Fat veins gleamed under the kitchen lanterns, juices already seeping, the scent hitting like a punch: rich, oceanic umami with a hint of wild depth.
The Whiskey Peak chefs—three burly locals named Marco, Lena, and old man Gino, all flour-dusted aprons and bleary eyes from the night before—froze mid-chop. Then, tears. Actual, streaming tears of joy as they dropped to their knees, bowing like Sunny had descended from the heavens with manna. "Holy mother of the seas," Marco sobbed, hands trembling as he touched the edge. "That's... that's perfection! Look at that marbling—intramuscular fat like snowflakes in ink!"
"Food War starts now," Sunny declared, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that infuriatingly hot grin on his face. He was watching us like this was his personal entertainment—spoiling the hell out of everyone, as usual. My heart did that stupid flip; he's too good at this, I thought, heat creeping up my neck. Drops a fortune in premium meat like it's pocket change, then stands there all casual, making me want to drag him into the pantry and—focus, Nojiko.
I took command like the boss I am—graceful, precise, a storm in an apron. "Alright, listen up! Sanji, high-heat sear on those filets—blackened crust outside, rare pink center, baste with thyme butter every thirty seconds. Marco, Lena—caramelize those onions low and slow, add a splash of whiskey reduction for depth. Gino, miso glaze on the ribs, glaze 'em till they shine like jewels. Flames up, people—let's make this meat sing!" The kitchen erupted into controlled chaos, a symphony of sizzle and steam. Knives flashed under my hands as I portioned the beast—each slice clean, juices pooling ruby on the board, the marbling melting at the touch. Flames danced wild under massive woks, butter hitting hot cast iron with pops like gunfire, garlic and herbs exploding in aromatic bursts that filled the air thick as fog.
Sanji spun like a whirlwind artist—plates twirling mid-air, drizzling yuzu-honey reductions in perfect spirals, rosemary sprigs placed with flourish. "For the ladies!" he crooned, but his eyes flicked to me with that flirty respect. Lena stirred caramelizing onions, the sweet-sharp scent blooming; Marco flipped filets with tongs, crust crackling golden-brown. Gino glazed ribs, brush strokes precise, the miso bubbling into glossy perfection. Sweat beaded on all our brows, the heat intense, but it was alive—a battle of flavors, textures, scents warring for dominance.
Comedy crashed the party, of course. Aqua floated in, divine aura shimmering, snagging a searing steak mid-flip. "Just one bite—for science! Divine approval needed!" Lucy dove after her, hat askew. "Me too! Captain's privilege!" They "taste-tested" everything—whole ribs vanishing, sauces licked from fingers. Sanji wailed, "My masterpieces! Desecrated by gluttons!" Zoro wandered in, starving as a bear, snatching raw edges—"Too slow, cook"—Sanji threatened, "I'll marinate your mossy ass next, you sword freak!" Usopp snuck in with "salt bombs" for "flavor enhancement"—Nami swatted him upside the head with a ladle. "Idiot! That's for enemies!" Vivi and Karoo pecked quietly at scraps in the corner, Karoo quacking happily; Mr. 5, still chained nearby, fainted from the overwhelming smells wafting his way. Igaram hovered awkwardly at the door, muttering about "princess safety" while stealing glances at the meat.
When it was done? A feast to end all feasts—platters towering like mountains: seared filets yielding to knife like butter, pink centers juicy and explosive; ribs glazed sticky-sweet, falling off bone; sides of caramelized onions, miso-roasted veggies, fresh breads sopping juices. The smell hit the town like a divine bomb—doors flying open, folks stampeding in with cheers, eyes wide as saucers. "Pirates feeding us heaven!" they yelled. But Aqua and Lucy? Monsters. 70% of the spread vanished down their gullets—piles of steaks, ribs, everything—Sanji weeping into his apron, me laughing till tears streamed over the "missing" wagyu tower I'd slaved over.
Sunny sidled up amid the frenzy, voice low and teasing, eyes locked on mine like I was the only dish that mattered. "You turned my meat into pure magic, Nojiko. The way you commanded that kitchen... marry me again? Right here, right now?" Heat rushed my face, heart pounding—flustered as hell, but god, I loved him back fierce. I shoved a perfectly seared rib at his mouth. "Shut up and eat before I make you my next glaze, you generous idiot."
[System]: echoing faint in the air, possessive murmur "You spoil them too much, Sunny. Should I starve them next time? Keep you all to myself?"
{Ego}: "Relax, possessive.exe. He's just simping efficiently—like a pro."
The laughter rolled on, plates clattering, bellies filling—Sunny's gaze drifting to Robin, sitting elegant and apart with her tea, watching the madness with that enigmatic smile. Something brewed there, but breakfast first.
Robin's POV – The Morning Escape That Wasn't
The dawn's quiet was a fragile thing in Whiskey Peak—shadows pooling in narrow alleys between cactus-shaped buildings, the faint sizzle of breakfast preparations drifting on the dry wind like a siren's call. I'd risen early, intending a discreet exit before the crew stirred. Last night's brawl had been... illuminating, but attachments were chains I couldn't afford. Not yet. I slipped into a side street, footsteps muffled on sand-dusted stone, eyeing a small skiff tied at the harbor's edge. Freedom, just a push away.
Then—prickle. Observation Haki, sharp as a blade at my throat. Before I could react, blue void light enveloped me—reality crunching, folding like origami in cruel hands. Space Crunch. I materialized beside him again, Sunny standing casual under the rising sun, arms crossed, that faint, knowing smirk playing on lips that were far too inviting for a pirate.
"Why leave before breakfast, Robin-san?" he asked softly, voice warm as fresh tea, eyes glinting with curiosity and that underlying cute mischief that made suspicion feel like foreplay.
Internally, I cataloged my truths with amused precision: First, he's fascinating—a puzzle of power wrapped in playfulness, Haki that pierced shadows, abilities defying logic. Second, I craved his reaction to my departure—the chase, the flicker of possessiveness in those eyes. Third, and most deliciously, teasing him was irresistible. The cutest pirate on the seas, blushing under pressure like a schoolboy with a crush.
I circled him slowly, deliberately—fingers brushing the edge of his cloak, leaning in close enough to catch the faint citrus scent clinging to his skin, my breath ghosting his ear. "Far too interesting to abandon outright, little pirate," I murmured, voice low and velvet. "Or should I say... cutest pirate on the sea? That smile you wield last night—dangerous weapon. Disarms better than any blade." He blushed, that adorable pink creeping up his neck, trying for confidence: "Flattery won't get you extra wagyu, you know." I traced a light finger along his jaw, tilting his chin up. "Who says I want food? Imagine the fun—me slipping into the dawn, you teleporting after... or me staying, unraveling you thread by thread. You'd look so pretty flustered, Sunny. Begging Oneesan to linger just a bit longer?" Closer still, lips near his: "Admit it—you'd chase. And I'd let you catch me... eventually."
His ears burned crimson; he swallowed hard, but that spark in his eyes—intrigued, flustered, hot. [System] grumbled jealously in the ether: "Back off, flower-handed witch. He's mine."
{Ego}: "Congratulations, player. You've unlocked the 'Professional Tease' side quest. Reward: one blushing protagonist."
He recovered with a grin, stepping back but not far. "Breakfast first. Tease after—deal?"
I smirked, pulse thrumming with amusement. "Fine. I'll stay... for now. Lead the way, cutie."
Sunny's POV – The Breakfast of Chaos
The feast was utter apocalypse: tables sagging under mountains of seared perfection, townsfolk moaning in ecstasy with every bite, juices dripping down chins like liquid sin. But Lucy and Aqua? Absolute monsters—70% of the spread demolished in their bottomless pits. Lucy stacked plates like trophies: "Captain's gotta fuel the adventure!" Aqua floated ribs mid-air: "Divine feast requires divine appetite!" Sanji screamed into the void: "My art! My soul! Desecrated!" Nojiko laughed through tears over her vanished wagyu tower, but her eyes on me—warm, loving. Zoro dozed mid-bite, fork stuck in his nose like a flag; Usopp posed as critic: "Ten stars—but needs more explosive lies!" Vivi fed Karoo politely, the duck quacking content; Mr. 5 whimpered chained, sniffing chili by accident and fainting again; Igaram hovered, defeated and hungry.
I leaned back, stuffed to bursting, laughing at the beautiful disaster. Robin sat elegant apart, tea steaming in delicate hands—watching with that knowing, intriguing smile. Curiosity hooked me hard: "Chess later? You strike me as a queen who knows her board."
Her eyes sparkled wicked. "Make it interesting?"
Lucy butted in, grinning ear-to-ear: "If Sunny wins, join the crew! We need more brains!"
I nodded, heart steady. "Fair play."
Robin leaned close, teasing lilt: "And if I win… you call me Oneesan~ All cute and proper."
Crew exploded—wolf whistles, chants; my face flamed nuclear, but hell yeah. "Deal. You're on."
Robin's POV – Checkmate and Oneesan
The board sat under a shaded awning—ebony and ivory pieces gleaming, tension coiling like smoke. Sunny was good—damn good. Pawn gambit aggressive yet calculated, bishop traps sneaky as hidden daggers. Our eyes locked across the squares: him plotting five moves deep, sweat beading that cute brow. Not just a pretty face—strategist, thinker. I countered queen-side fluid, forking his knights relentless; he pressed rooks fierce, sacrificing pawns for position. The air hummed—crew watching breath-held.
Checkmate. My queen slid home; his king cornered, elegant defeat.
Silence beat. Then Aqua and Lucy: "Say it~ Say it~!"
[System]: "Make it cute, my love. For her."
{Ego}: "Shoujo overload—audience, grab tissues."
Sunny flushed crimson, puppy eyes wide and trembling—soft, vulnerable: "O-O-Oneesan…"
Screams erupted. Seagulls circled overhead, "recording" with News Coo cameras. I nearly fainted—adorable overload crashing like a wave. Lurching forward, I hugged him tight, pulling his flustered face into my chest—warm, soft curves enveloping, his heartbeat racing wild against me. His hair tickled my skin; muffled protests vibrated through. I held long—savoring the warmth, the fluster, the intimacy. Divine—his heat seeping in, embarrassment making him cling just a touch. Teasing him like this? Addictive. Crew wolf-whistled; he squirmed, but I whispered: "Good boy, Oneesan approves." Pulled back slow, smirking at his dazed, red face.
Sunny's POV – The Birth of Stockfish
Robin grinned predatory: "Rematch? Lose again—Oneesan all day."
Dark laugh inside—trap sprung. "{Ego}, install Stockfish."
{Ego}: "Max effect? Tap 0.05% determination as power—like me?"
Distracted by her smirk: "Do whatever."
Cinematic surge—blue energy crackling, HUD glitching, screen distortions ripping reality. New voice slithered: husky, smirking velvet—Stockfish. "Oh, darling," she purred, low allure like a black widow in stilettos. "Let's dance on the board." Eyes shifted—blue to piercing emerald green. Body mine, but hers—calm, predatory sharp.
Board reset. Poetic duel: she opened Sicilian ruthless—"Your e4, sweetheart? Adorable, but pawns crumble pretty under pressure." Robin pushed center bold; Stockfish sacrificed knight flirty: "Take it, honey—your queen's grave awaits." Metaphors wove: "Rook dances like scorned lover—pity, trapped in my web." Robin fascinated, countering fierce—sweat, tension—but Stockfish ten ahead: bishop pins elegant, queen skewers merciless. "Check, love. Feel the silk tighten?"
Mate flawless—Robin's king ensnared, beautiful fall.
She clapped, eyes alight: "Monsters in your head…"
Stockfish smirked: "He collects them, darling. Your move next?"
Green faded; dizzy reclaiming—crew worried, fascinated.
Closing Hook
Robin stayed—smirking: "Intrigued enough."
Nami: "Not harem—chaos ecosystem."
Zoro: "Of idiots."
Sunny smiled; [System] purred possessive; {Ego}: "Little Garden DLC unlocked." Stockfish whispered husky: "Next game, sweeter blood, darling—I'll savor every drop."