After settling into his room, Lucien locked the door behind him before heading down to the first-floor hall, where a lively crowd was enjoying their meals.
Soft, elegant music played in the background. Well-dressed men and women sipped red wine and cut into perfectly cooked steaks, laughter mixing with the clinking of glasses. Even a few pirates present behaved with surprising restraint—whether it was genuine civility or an act was anyone's guess.
The atmosphere was calm, pleasant, and full of life. Waiters hurried between tables carrying trays of food and bottles of wine. Business was clearly booming.
"What can I get for you, esteemed guest?"
A waiter approached Lucien with a polite smile. It would've been a better sight if the man's face wasn't scarred and intimidating, but Lucien brushed off the thought.
"Bring me a few of your signature dishes," he said simply.
The waiter nodded and led him to a table by the window, where the sea glimmered under the sunlight.
"Would you like red wine, sir? We have vintages aged from one to ten years."
"I'll take the five-year vintage."
"Right away."
As the waiter left, Lucien glanced around the hall. It was spacious and filled with conversations—some loud, others intimate. Pirates and merchants alike ate peacefully. No one dared to make trouble here.
About ten minutes later, a young boy—no more than eight or nine—approached carrying a tray. Blond hair, curly eyebrows… there was no mistaking him.
Vinsmoke Sanji.
"Please enjoy your meal, guest," the boy said respectfully. "And remember, no food should be wasted."
Even at such a young age, Sanji carried himself with a gentleman's poise and a chef's pride. His eyes flicked toward the sign on the wall: 'Do not waste food.'
Lucien already knew why. Surviving on a deserted island with Zeff had made Sanji value every bite.
"Your name's Sanji, right?" Lucien asked casually, suppressing the faint urge to reach for his pistol. Not yet—he couldn't afford to act before securing a safe way out.
"Yes," Sanji replied, standing straight.
"Please take care of me from now on," Lucien said with a calm smile.
Sanji blinked, slightly confused by the phrasing.
"I've been traveling around the East Blue," Lucien explained, "and I've heard Baratie has the best food on the seas. I plan to stay for a month."
He picked up his knife and fork, cutting into the perfectly cooked steak. His table manners were rough—he was more accustomed to using chopsticks—but he managed.
"The Baratie has the greatest chef in the world," Sanji said proudly. "You won't be disappointed, sir. Please take care of me too."
Before Lucien could respond, a thunderous voice boomed from the kitchen.
"Damn it, Sanji! Slacking off again?!"
The elegant little chef's expression immediately shifted. "Damn old man! It's a chef's duty to make guests understand each dish!"
"You're just an apprentice, you brat!" Zeff shouted back, appearing from the kitchen with his chef's hat tilted and a spatula in hand.
"I'm not an apprentice anymore! This dish was made by me, damn it!" Sanji yelled, storming toward the kitchen like an angry bull.
The two continued shouting back and forth, pots clanging as they argued. The customers barely paid attention; this was a daily occurrence.
Lucien chuckled quietly, turning his attention back to the food. The flavor was remarkable—fresh, delicate, perfectly balanced. For someone so young, Sanji's talent was already evident.
After finishing his meal, Lucien spent some time walking around the Baratie, memorizing its structure and surroundings. Once satisfied, he returned to his room and resumed his training.
He had one goal for this month: master Soru.
In addition, he continued strengthening his body with the same intensity as his basic combat routines.
---
Ten days passed in the blink of an eye.
Early one morning, Lucien jogged around the Baratie deck with heavy sandbags filled with iron tied to his legs.
"Yo! Mr. Lucien!"
"Morning, Mr. Paddy!"
"Good morning, Mr. Carne!"
After several days, everyone aboard was familiar with him.
"Training again, Mr. Lucien?" Sanji yawned from the upper balcony, watching him pass below.
"Morning, Sanji!" Lucien called, waving before continuing his run.
He even passed Zeff, who was washing up outside his quarters.
"Mr. Lucien."
"Mr. Zeff."
The old man gave a brief nod—polite but not overly friendly.
Lucien ran for nearly an hour before returning to his room, immediately starting his strength training: push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups—three hundred of each.
After finishing, he rested twenty minutes before leaping from his balcony straight into the ocean. The cold water refreshed him as he swam for over twenty minutes before climbing back aboard, showering, and heading to the dining hall for lunch.
His days followed a strict routine—Soru practice in the afternoon, combat drills at night.
---
"Mr. Lucien, this is my newest creation!"
Sanji appeared proudly at his table with a steaming plate.
Lucien smirked. "Oh? Then I'll have to see if it's as good as you say."
Under the boy's eager gaze, Lucien took a bite.
"Well? Well? Have I surpassed that damn old man yet?" Sanji asked, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Lucien set down his fork thoughtfully. "You've done well. Better than most chefs I've met. But compared to Zeff, you're still a step behind."
Sanji's expression fell slightly, but Lucien added, "You'll surpass him one day. I'm sure of it."
That was all it took—the boy's confidence reignited instantly.
"I will! Just wait and see!"
"Damn it, Sanji! Slacking off again?!" Zeff's familiar roar echoed from the kitchen.
"One day I'll kick you into the sea, old man!" Sanji yelled back before disappearing behind the door.
Lucien chuckled quietly and continued his meal.
After lunch, he returned to his room to continue training. His progress had been impressive—ten days ago, he could only perform one step within 0.36 seconds. Now, he could do four.
The improvement came at a heavy cost—pain, exhaustion, and numbness in both legs—but the results spoke for themselves.
Without his daily physical drills and the combat knowledge buried in his mind, even reaching four steps in ten days would've been impossible.
Soru was far harder than he'd imagined.
"Boom… boom…"
Lucien's feet blurred as he stepped rapidly across the floor—four steps, then four and a half. Sweat rolled down his face, but his grin widened.
All that pain had been worth it.
"Today," he muttered, determination flashing in his eyes, "I'll hit five."
He pushed himself harder, training over and over as the sun dipped below the horizon.
When the sky finally darkened, he stood panting, drenched in sweat—but smiling.
Five steps in 0.36 seconds.
He'd done it.
His fatigue faded, replaced by a rush of exhilaration.
---