On the deck of the LC-02, the sunlight made the wooden boards pleasantly warm, and the sea breeze carried a salty tang. It should have been a peaceful afternoon, but Renzo, unusually, wasn't sleeping.
He slouched on a deck chair, holding one of Aunt Margie's homemade nut cookies between his fingers, chewing without enthusiasm.
The cookie had been sitting around for five days. Though it hadn't gone bad, it had lost all crispness, eating it felt like gnawing on damp wood chips.
"Ugh." Renzo frowned and shoved the last bit into his mouth, then took a swig of the black tea Potts had brewed.
'Too many teabags, it was so bitter it tasted like medicine.'
Nearby, Potts squatted at the galley door, sighing over a pot of fish soup.
The fish had been caught fresh that morning, yet somehow his cooking had stripped away any hint of freshness, replacing it with a stubborn, muddy smell. Even he didn't dare take a second sip.
"Commodore, uh… maybe we should just eat bread and canned beans today?" Potts asked cautiously, holding up a can. "These beans last long. The taste… is tolerable."
Renzo glanced at the dull gray can and felt his stomach turn.
They'd only been at sea for five days, and Aunt Margie's desserts were already gone. The remaining rations were either rock-hard or overly salty, and Potts' cooking… was beyond redemption.
"No."
Renzo slowly sat up, his tone unusually firm.
"If I keep eating this, it'll be worse than listening to Akainu's lectures back at HQ."
He leaned back, rubbing his temples.
Before crossing into this world, Renzo had been a hardcore foodie. At HQ, he barely survived thanks to Aunt Margie's cooking, but now that he was out at sea without a steady food supply, life had dropped straight from heaven to hell.
"I need a cook."
The thought, once born, wound itself around his mind like vines.
Potts blinked. "A cook? But we're at sea, where are we supposed to find one?"
"And, uh… isn't it risky to let a stranger aboard?"
"Even if it's risky, it's better than eating pig slop," Renzo shot back without hesitation.
"Find a good cook, and I'll never have to lift a finger again, plus, we'll eat well every day. In the long run, it's less trouble."
He closed his eyes, mentally flipping through every notable cook in the One Piece world.
Before he transmigrated, he'd written fanfics and knew all their backstories, especially the ones connected to food.
First came the chefs from Big Mom's crew, masters who could craft soul-altering desserts. Their skills were unparalleled, but just thinking of dealing with Big Mom and her bizarre family made Renzo shiver. 'Too much trouble. Pass.'
Then there were the Marine cooks back at HQ.
They were competent, but all officially employed; no chance they'd tag along on his sea voyage. And without the HQ's steady ingredient supply, even the best cook couldn't do much. 'Pass.'
Next were a few talented civilian chefs, a small-town restaurant owner in the East Blue, a barbecue expert from the South Blue…
But they were either not good enough or too weak to defend themselves. If pirates attacked, Renzo would have to step in. 'More trouble. Pass.'
After filtering through the options, a blond young man's image surfaced in his mind.
'Sanji.'
Right now, Sanji should still be working as a cook at the sea restaurant Baratie in the East Blue, before he ever met Luffy or joined the Straw Hats.
By this time, his culinary skills were already first-rate, capable of turning the simplest ingredients into stunning dishes. His kicks were strong, his self-defense solid, and he could even help fend off occasional nuisances.
A perfect candidate.
More importantly, Renzo remembered Sanji's personality: flirtatious, sure, and easily distracted by women, but passionate about cooking, righteous, and loyal. Treat him with respect and good ingredients, and he'd never abandon ship.
Best of all, Renzo wouldn't need to manage him at all. Sanji could handle everything from ingredient sourcing to meal prep perfectly on his own, zero effort required.
"That's it," Renzo murmured, eyes lighting up for once. "Sanji."
"Sanji?" Potts scratched his head. "Never heard of him. Is he famous? How do we find him?"
"East Blue. The sea restaurant Baratie," Renzo said casually. As for the exact route, not worth checking maps. Too much hassle.
He pointed lazily out at the open sea. "Head east. I should be able to sense the aura of good food along the way. If there's trouble, steer around it. If we can't avoid it… we'll deal with it then."
Potts looked at his superior's "whatever happens" attitude and twitched, but still nodded.
"Aye, Commodore! Adjusting course!"
Just as he turned the wheel, a small pirate ship appeared on the horizon, its sail marked with a crudely drawn skull, heading straight for them.
"Commodore, a pirate ship is approaching!"
Potts tensed, fumbling for the telescope.
Renzo didn't even lift an eyelid. He just muttered toward the ship's direction, voice thick with boredom:
"So noisy. Don't block the way."
[Sloths Declaration, Passive Field] activated automatically.
The pirate ship, which had been charging ahead, suddenly began to sway violently. The helmsman slipped, and the wheel spun off course.
Even stranger, several pirates with raised blades yawned in unison, their weapons clattered to the deck as their eyes went blank. One even slumped against the mast and fell asleep.
Within minutes, the ship was drifting aimlessly in the opposite direction, like a drunk, without uttering a single word of challenge.
Potts stared, dumbfounded, nearly dropping his telescope into the sea. "T-That's it? They're gone?"
"Yeah." Renzo replied flatly, eyes closed again.
"Forget them. Keep sailing. Watch for islands that sell fresh food, meat, vegetables, and anything. No point finding a cook if we've got nothing to cook with."
"Y-Yes, Commodore!" Potts quickly turned back to the helm, adjusting course.
The LC-02 resumed its quiet voyage toward the East Blue.
Sunlight washed over the deck again. The sea breeze carried scents from afar. Renzo sank into his chair, already daydreaming about Sanji's cooking, seared steak, seafood fried rice, creamy soup, and that signature "Diable Jambe" dish.
Just imagining it made his mouth water.
He yawned, but the corners of his lips curved upward.
Finding a cook might take time, but the thought of eating gourmet food every day, and never suffering Potts' "dark cuisine" again, made it feel like a worthwhile effort.
"Hope we find him soon…" Renzo mumbled as his voice trailed off and his breathing steadied.
He drifted into sleep again, dreaming of endless feasts and a blond cook busily working in the kitchen.
Potts glanced at his peacefully sleeping superior and sighed helplessly, speeding up the ship just a little.
He didn't know who this Sanji guy was, but if it meant the Commodore would stop complaining about bad food, the journey to find him would be worth it.
The sea stretched endlessly, and the LC-02 floated on like a lazy leaf under the sun.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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