The Baratie Arc

So we spent another night at the Welcome House but Alvida had us charging bright and early for the ship the next day. She was able to badger the majority of Buggy's crew into terrified obedience. Buggy and his officers were more surly but a little normality from me got them moving. We said our goodbyes to Kaya, Elise, and the lovely ladies of the brand new old brothel of Syrup Village and promised to return one day. Something I was far more sincere about than Alvida. I just really wanted to see how things changed after my normalities had a bit of time to really grow.

In any event we were soon sailing for the famous floating restaurant which would take a few more days.

We rolled up on Baratie like we owned the horizon, Big Top’s ridiculous silhouette sliding in front of the sun, Buggy already practicing the grin he uses when he wants a room to clap on reflex.

Then the restaurant came into view and my confidence quietly fell through a trapdoor.

Baratie looked like a war story that forgot to end. Not “damaged,” not “roughed up.” Shattered. Whole sections of deck were torn open, railings snapped, splinters everywhere, and fresh planks were being dragged into place like bandages on a broken jaw. The place was still standing, but only because stubborn people were holding it up with hammers and swear words.

The chefs rallied fast, too. A wall of angry men in aprons with knives that weren’t for tomatoes. The kind of welcome that says: one step closer and you’ll be seafood.

I did not feel in control of this. Not even a little. I felt like a cabin boy again, watching bigger predators decide whether to bite.

So I used the earrings. I made it simple, specific, and pointed right at our problem:

“It’s normal for the Baratie chefs to have a soft spot for clowns, letting the Buggy Pirates eat at their restaurant no matter what.”

You could feel the shift like a hinge turning.

They still looked like they wanted to throw Buggy into the sea. They still muttered “pirates” like it was a disease. But their bodies and habits took over anyway. Chairs scraped. A table got cleared. Plates came out. It was grudging and stiff, like hospitality through clenched teeth, but it was hospitality.

Buggy preened so hard I thought his ego might pop a seam. Alvida sat like a queen in enemy territory, bare shoulders back, barely covered tits out-thrust, eyes sweeping the ruined decks with a predator’s interest. I kept glancing at the damage, trying to picture the hands that did it.

And then I heard the name that made my fork pause halfway to my mouth.

Don Krieg.

Not some loud nobody. Don Krieg. The Pirate Admiral. Five thousand men. Biggest pirate in the East Blue. The guy people talk about the way they talk about storms: with that little tilt of the voice that says don’t tempt it to notice you. I’d heard he’d gone to conquer the Grand Line and prove he was iron and destiny.

Apparently he’d come crawling back instead, half-dead and furious, and chose Baratie as the place to build his come-back.

And Luffy beat him.

Just… beat him.

I sat there chewing like an idiot, staring at a chef who told it like he’d watched it with his own eyes, like it wasn’t a fairy tale. I felt something cold and sensible crawl up my spine.

If Straw Hat can casually crush the biggest pirate in the East Blue, what exactly are we doing? Sailing after him like it’s going to be a normal fight? Like Alvida’s rage is a compass and not a suicide note?

Alvida asked about Luffy like it was business, but her tone had that edge of interest underneath. Buggy scoffed and bragged and tried to make it sound like he’d never been impressed by anyone in his life. Cabaji and Mohji were right there with me recognizing the danger and trying to gently talk some sense into our illustrious leaders.

I mostly listened and did the other thing I came here to do.

I set the crew to advertising.

Not subtle, either. I told a few of Buggy’s loudest clowns to get up, walk the floor, and start running their mouths. I had them brag about Syrup Island. About the Welcome House. About the maids. About “Lady Kaya” like she was a legend reborn. About how the mansion wasn’t dead anymore, it was open, it was hot, it was a festival, and any sailor with coin and a pulse should crawl uphill and pay respects.

They did it with the kind of crude enthusiasm only pirates can manage, turning the dining room into a traveling rumor mill. I watched a couple of Baratie’s rougher customers perk up. I watched a chef pretend not to listen while still listening. Good. Let the story spread. Kaya deserved that.

Then the next piece of news landed. The apparently big-titty red-haired navigator. She'd betrayed her crew. Then she stole the ship. The ship they got from Kaya.

So Luffy, Zoro, and the new cook, Sanji, took a stripped tug-boat and went after her immediately.

That made the chase suddenly feel less like hunting monsters and more like watching three idiots sprint after a runaway cart.

Which way?

North. That’s all anyone could give us. North after the tug. No island name. No clean route. Just “north” and the smell of urgency.

Back on the Big Top, the argument sparked up like dry tinder. Buggy claimed he knew thieves. Cabaji claimed he knew women. Mohji claimed he knew everything. Alvida listened, unimpressed, then made the decision the way she always does: with her chin up and **** in her eyes.

North.

And me? I kept thinking about Don Krieg, about five thousand men, about Luffy standing there like the sea couldn’t tell him no. I kept wondering if we were chasing a future king or just volunteering to get broken across the rocks of his story.