Chapter Text
Zeff leaned against the railing, watching the dining room from his perch at the top of the stairs. A year anchored in these waters had proved profitable, their spot carefully chosen between the major East Blue landmasses. Weather stayed mild, fish stayed plentiful, and most importantly—customers knew exactly where to find them.
Of course, being a fixed target had its downsides. Third waiter this month had jumped ship after a particularly rowdy bunch of pirates decided to test their luck. Hadn't ended well for the pirates, but the wait staff's nerves were another matter entirely.
Below, Oscar guided Sora between the tables, the little girl clutching her notebook with both hands. She stopped at each table, scribbling nonsense while Oscar took actual orders. Most regulars knew the routine by now—let the owner's granddaughter "help" take their order, then watch her toddle off to the kitchen to "deliver" it to her father.
"Here's tea!" Sora announced to a table of merchants, mimicking Oscar's professional tone. The diners chuckled, playing along as Oscar actually refilled their cups.
At least the brat's spawn made the constant staff turnover easier to manage. Hard to stay scared of pirates when a toddler fearlessly worked the floor. Even Sanji, for all his griping about waiting tables when they're short staffed, softened whenever Sora rushed to "assist" him.
The den den mushi's ring pulled Zeff's attention back to the kitchen. He shifted his weight onto his peg leg, grimacing at the thought of more stairs.
"You've reached the damn restaurant, would you like to make a reservation?"
Zeff snatched a wooden spoon from the counter and hurled it. "Show some respect when you answer that phone, brat!"
Sanji ducked without missing a beat, the spoon clattering against the wall behind him. "It’s called personality, shitty geezer!"
The snail's expression shifted to match the caller and Sanji's demeanor transformed instantly.
"Oh my dear lady, how may I be of service to such a melodious voice on this fine day?" Sanji practically melted over the receiver.
Zeff pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course the eggplant would pull this routine.
A beat passed.
"Why you're in luck—you're speaking to the co-owner of this fine establishment." Sanji preened.
Sanji's face fell. "One moment." He covered the receiver. "Hey, call for you."
Zeff glanced at the clock mounted above the prep station. Three o'clock—right on schedule.
"Taking it in my office," Zeff grunted, heading for the stairs.
"Oh yes, better take it in your fancy office." HIs voice dripped sarcasm. "That rickety desk you crammed between your bed and the wall hardly counts—"
"At least I've got a desk, eggplant. All you've got are dirty magazines stuffed under your mattress."
Zeff heard the other cooks snicker before the door swung shut. Through the wood came a muffled "Hey! Those are—" Sanji sputtered. "I'm taking a break."
A satisfied smirk crossed Zeff's face as he climbed the steps. The kitchen door swung open and closed again behind him as Sanji took the stairs down in the opposite direction.
Zeff settled into his leather chair, the wood creaking beneath him as he lifted the receiver. His office walls held decades of memories—wanted posters, newspaper clippings, and photos of the restaurant's earliest days. A new chapter was about to unfold, one he never thought he'd write.
"This is the owner, Zeff." He kept his voice gruff, professional.
The woman on the other end matched his tone. "Pepita, regarding the hostess position."
Her voice carried authority, lacking the simpering sweetness most candidates tried. The newspaper ad had cost a pretty beli, but finding competent staff willing to work on a restaurant in the middle of the ocean was no easy task. Many who made the journey couldn't handle the pirates when they showed up. After the latest round of resignations, Zeff began screening candidates by phone—saving everyone from a wasted trip.
This time, however, he hadn't specified "men only" in the ad. The constant turnover had forced his hand. A woman couldn’t work in his kitchen—he refused to discipline them the same way he did his male staff—but he could compromise at the front of house. Not like he had much choice in the matter.
"Previous experience?"
"Five years as Hostess at the Silver Shell in Loguetown. You may call them to verify. Before that, various positions I'd rather not elaborate on."
Zeff's lips twitched. A past that needed glossing over meant she'd fit right in with his crew of miscreants.
"This ain't exactly a peaceful posting. Pirates-"
"Good." The Den Den's smile sharpened. "I was hoping for something more interesting than turning away drunken sailors."
Alright, next order of business. "We've got a toddler running around the restaurant these days," he said, further testing the waters.
"With all due respect, Chef, I'm applying to be your hostess, not a nursemaid." Her tone could've frozen hell solid. "I don't do children. If that's a deal-breaker, we can end this call now."
Zeff barked out a laugh. Finally, someone who didn't try to please him with empty promises. "The position involves managing reservations, keeping order in the dining room, and making sure our more colorful patrons behave themselves. Got twenty grown men fighting over who gets to watch the kid during service."
"That, I can handle."
Zeff scratched numbers onto his ledger as they hammered out the details. Decent starting wage, room and board included like all staff, days off. Standard stuff. The woman drove a hard bargain but knew her worth. He respected that.
"Seven days then," he confirmed, jotting down her expected arrival date. "We'll have everything ready."
After hanging up, Zeff leaned back in his chair, satisfaction at finding a promising candidate quickly souring as reality sank in.
"Shit." He lurched forward. He'd been so focused on finding competent help, he'd forgotten one crucial—the crew quarters weren't set up for mixed company.
He opened a drawer under his desk and pulled out Baratie's floor plans, spreading them across his desk. The lower deck housing was out of the question—twenty-three men's bunks, communal bathrooms, and not a lick of privacy otherwise. Even if the crew behaved themselves, it wasn't proper.
His eyes traced up to the top deck layout, where a red circle marked the storage room they'd been clearing for Sora. The space was perfect for private quarters—decent sized, had a window, far enough from the kitchen noise. But moving Sora out of Sanji's room had been the plan for weeks now. The eggplant wouldn't take this well.
The old chair groaned as Zeff stood. He placed his ledger in his apron pocket and trudged down the hall to inspect the recently cleared space. Boxes of old receipts and spare tablecloths lined the walls, evidence of Sanji's weeks of sorting and cleaning. The brat had even started teaching Sora to fold more complicated paper shapes to decorate her "big girl room."
Running a hand down his face, Zeff confronted the reality of their situation. Sanji needed his own space—sharing with a toddler wasn't sustainable. Much as she loved trailing after her father like a lost duckling, Sanji was sixteen now. The hormone-addled brat spent half his time mooning over customers, the other half sneaking off with them.
Where the hell the eggplant had picked up that silver tongue, Zeff couldn't fathom. Probably those trashy romance novels he thought he kept hidden under his mattress. The way Sanji could charm anyone who caught his eye was concerning. The brat had natural charisma, sure, but his complete lack of discretion was going to be trouble.
Last month he'd caught Sanji and that merchant's daughter attempting to sneak off to the wine cellar. Then just last week, that damn pirate boy with the freckles had Sanji hanging on every word about how he and his friend had just escaped some deserted island and were looking for a good meal. The conversation had started innocent enough, but Zeff recognized that look in Sanji's eyes. Same one he got around pretty girls.
At least he didn't have to worry about more surprise grandchildren if Sanji continued with those romantic pursuits. One was plenty.
"Jiji!" Sora's voice carried up the stairs, followed by the thundering of tiny feet. "Jiji! Look!"
The door burst open, revealing Sora brandishing a piece of paper. Oscar appeared behind her, looking apologetic.
"Sorry sir, she insisted on showing you right away."
Zeff waved him off. "You know better than to tell a lady no. I've got this."
Sora climbed into his lap without invitation, nearly knocking over his ink well in her excitement. "Made this!" She thrust the paper in his face—a crayon drawing of what might have been the Baratie, if boats were purple and had legs.
"Very nice." He carefully moved the floor plans out of crayon reach. "Where's your father?"
"Daddy with pretty lady." Sora said as she pointed towards his window.
Zeff pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course he was. Through his office window, he caught sight of Sanji on the deck below, somehow already cornering another starry-eyed customer on his break. The eggplant had developed an uncanny talent for finding any attractive patron within seconds of their arrival.
The room situation would have to wait. Right now he needed to remind his sous chef that service hours meant actually serving food, not making eyes at the clientele.
Zeff shifted Sora in his arms as he descended the stairs to the dining room. His knees protested the extra weight, but the little lost duck had wrapped her arms around his neck and settled in for the ride.
The dining room buzzed with the quiet lull of late afternoon service. Regular customers dotted the tables—mostly merchants and sailors killing time between ports. Old Man Jensen, nursing his usual coffee by the window, tipped his hat at Sora. She waved back with such enthusiasm she nearly dropped her drawing.
"Quite the artist you've got there," called Madame Rose from her corner table. The aging singer had been stopping by weekly for years, back when the Baratie first opened. Now she cooed and made faces at Sora whenever they passed.
Zeff nodded gruffly, fighting the urge to preen. Damn woman knew exactly how to get under his skin, treating him like some soft-hearted grandpa. Even if she wasn't entirely wrong.
His eye caught movement by the entrance. The eggplant was escorting the young woman Zeff had seen him fawning over outside to her table, practically floating as he pulled out her chair. Her companion—clearly her date from his sour expression—sat forgotten on the other side.
"Oh monsieur, you simply must tell me more about how you prepare the seafood here," the woman giggled, touching Sanji's arm.
The brat preened. "Well mademoiselle, our techniques are quite—"
"Oi! Break's over, eggplant." Zeff bellowed across the dining room. Several customers jumped.
Sanji's face flushed red as he spun around. "I was just explaining the menu to our guests, you shitty geezer!"
"Menu's printed plain as day. Kitchen needs you more than this couple needs a third wheel."
The woman's date poorly concealed a snort of laughter. Sanji shot Zeff a murderous glare before stalking off toward the kitchen, hands jammed in his pockets.
Zeff trudged back upstairs and had the passing thought that his joints were getting too old for all these stairs. The moment he set Sora down, she darted off to the kitchen, likely to add more colors to her masterpiece or just pester the kitchen staff.
Sanji's footsteps echoed up the stairs behind them, still radiating annoyance from the dining room incident.
"Hold it, eggplant." Zeff caught him before he could storm past. "We need to talk about the storage room."
Sanji paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame. "Finally! I just finished moving the last of those old ledgers." His eyes lit up. "Give me another week and I can paint it. Maybe blue, like the ocean—"
"Change of plans. The new hire needs proper quarters."
Sanji's face fell. "What? But I've been cleaning that space for weeks! Where's Sora supposed to sleep?"
"With you, for now."
"But I'm sixteen! I need my privacy!" Sanji ran a hand through his hair.
"Privacy?" Zeff barked out a laugh, nearly choking on his coffee. "You gave that up the moment you walked in here with a baby." Zeff countered, crossing his arms. "Sora stays with you a while longer."
Sanji's visible eye narrowed. "How am I supposed to have any personal space with a toddler who thinks my bed is her playground?"
"Should've thought about that before becoming a father." Zeff couldn't help the smirk tugging at his mustache.
"But-"
"Unless you'd rather our new hostess bunk with the crew?" Zeff watched the suggestion land exactly as he'd expected. "Share a room with Patty and that lot?"
Sanji's mouth snapped shut, his chivalrous nature warring with his teenage desires. "I would never subject a woman to that horror."
Zeff couldn't help the satisfied grunt that escaped him. The eggplant's principles were as predictable as his cooking times—set a beautiful woman in front of him and his brain turned to mush, but threaten a lady's honor and he'd fight tooth and nail to defend it.
"Then it's settled."
"A woman on board..." A familiar dreamy look crossed Sanji's face. "Will she be beautiful? When does she start? Should I prepare something special for her first—"
"Keep it in your pants, eggplant. She's staff, not one of your swooning targets. And she's a grown woman, not some teenager for you to make eyes at."
"What? I would never—" Sanji's face flushed. "How dare you suggest I'd make unwanted advances toward a lady! I am nothing if not a gentleman—"
"A gentleman who spends his breaks flirting with taken women?" Zeff raised an eyebrow.
"That's different! I was merely providing excellent customer service—" Sanji sputtered.
Sora burst from the kitchen, crayon still clutched in her tiny fist. She looked between them as if trying to make a decision. She did a double-take, smiled, and pointed at Sanji's face with her free hand. "Daddy red!"
Sanji's blush deepened. "I am not!"
"Like a cooked lobster." Zeff agreed, stroking his mustache.
"Red! Red!" Sora clapped her hands, proud of herself.
"Whose side are you on?" Sanji glared down at his daughter, but there was no heat in it. "I thought we were supposed to be a team."
Sora just giggled and latched onto his leg, apparently finding his embarrassment delightful.
Sanji's complaints faded into background noise as something nagged at Zeff's mind. Those salary negotiations with Pepita had seemed steep at first, but...
He pulled his ledger from his apron pocket, flipping through the pages. The last few months had been good—better than good. Despite the constant staff turnover, revenue was up. Way up. The winter months usually meant lean times, but they'd maintained a steady stream of wealthy customers, even with the recent threat of pirates.
Even after accounting for the new hire's salary and room modifications, they'd be sitting pretty. Real pretty.
Zeff's eyes drifted to the ancient stove that had been jury-rigged more times than he could count. Patty had welded that cracked burner just last week. The walk-in's temperature gauge hadn't worked right in months. And that dumbwaiter system they'd cobbled together from spare parts...
He looked up at the ceiling, mapping the support beams in his mind. The Baratie's basic structure was sound—they'd reinforced her well over the years. But with proper planning and the right contractors, they could expand. Add another dining room, maybe even another floor of private quarters.
Room for everyone to grow.
Zeff tucked his ledger away, mind still churning with renovation possibilities. But first things first—they needed capital. And for that, they needed their best assets on the floor.
"Take more waiting shifts," he said while moving towards the kitchen door. "The two of you. Rich folks love that matching uniform nonsense."
Sanji's visible eyebrow shot up. "What are you plotting, old man?"
"Just good business sense." Zeff stroked his mustache.
"You want us to exploit my daughter's cuteness for tips?" Sanji's tone was incredulous, but Zeff caught the calculating gleam in his eye.
"Consider it karma for all those well-done steaks we've had to cook." Zeff shuddered at the memory. "Anyone who'd ruin good meat like that deserves to pay extra. Besides, we're short on wait staff until the new hostess arrives. Consider it temporary."
Sanji's eye narrowed. "There's something you're not telling me."
"Lots of things I don't tell you, eggplant." Zeff kept his expression neutral. "But play your cards right, earn enough tips, and you might get that privacy you've been whining about sooner than you think."
"That's suspiciously generous of you."
"Take it or leave it." Zeff shrugged. "Unless you'd rather I tell the crew about that time I caught you practicing pickup lines in the mirror?"
"That was private!" Sanji scooped up Sora, his face burning. "And I was reviewing wine pronunciations."
"Sure you were." Zeff crossed his arms. "'Oh mademoiselle, your eyes shine like the finest-'"
"We'll take the damn waiting shifts!" Sanji cut him off, adjusting Sora on his hip. "But I want something in return."
"You're not exactly in a position to negotiate, eggplant."
"Let me plan the New Year's menu." Sanji's eye gleamed with that familiar fire he got when talking about food. "If I'm spending less time in the kitchen, I should at least have a say in what we're serving."
Zeff stroked his mustache, pretending to consider it. "One dish. But I get final approval."
Sanji's triumphant grin told Zeff he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. "Come on, Sora." He turned to leave, bouncing Sora slightly. "Should we wear the matching blue uniforms tonight or the black ones?"
"Blue!" Sora declared, already reaching for the kitchen door.
Their voices faded up the stairs, leaving Zeff alone with his thoughts. He moved into the kitchen fully, nearly running into Patty who stood on the directly on the other side, clearly eavedropping.
"Boss?" Patty appeared at his elbow, wiping his hands on his apron. "What are you planning? You never let Sanji near the special menus."
"Mind your own damn business unless you want me telling your secrets, too." Zeff tasted the stock, adding a pinch more salt. "Like that time you tried to feed Sora coffee beans, thinking they were chocolate covered raisins?"
Patty's shoulders tensed. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
* * *
Zeff sat at the kitchen table near Sora's window perch, papers spread across the scarred wooden surface. Numbers danced across the pages—supply costs, staff wages, projected earnings. His own cramped handwriting filled the margins with notes and calculations.
He crossed another item off his list, double-checking his math. The numbers looked promising—better than he'd expected. If business kept up through winter, they'd have enough saved by spring to start their upgrades. Then he just needed to find a shipyard that could take the job.
But it wasn’t just about numbers; even if the hostess worked out, they were still three waiters short. The past week's split shifts had worked well enough—Sanji prepping while Sora slept, then both working tables until her bedtime. Tips had nearly doubled. But they needed more help, especially since Sanji wasn't meant for the floor, but for the kitchen.
Maybe this Pepita would be the answer to more than just their hosting problems. Someone to keep the dining room running smooth while he focused on bigger plans.
The door creaked open, barely audible over the sounds of the kitchen in full swing. Marcus slunk into the kitchen, cigarette smell clinging to his clothes. Kid thought he was subtle about smoking with Sanji during breaks, but subtlety wasn't his strong suit.
"The new hostess is here." Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "She's, uh... something else."
Zeff tucked his papers away. "Define 'something else.'"
"Well, she caught Sanji flirting with a customer." Marcus shifted his weight. "Then she saw me laughing about it instead of stopping him."
Zeff groaned as he stood, chair scraping against the floor. "Where is she?"
"Front entrance. Oscar's showing her around, but..." Marcus glanced over his shoulder. "You might want to hurry. Something tells me she's used to people following her orders.
"Back to your station." Zeff jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. "Those fish won't scale themselves."
Marcus scurried off, leaving Zeff to make his way down the stairs to the bustling dining room. The dining room spread before him, tables half-full with the afternoon crowd. Near the entrance, Oscar gestured at the reservation podium while a tall woman listened, arms crossed. Her stance reminded Zeff of a Marine inspector—straight-backed, alert, cataloging every detail.
Sanji darted between tables, face flushed as he cleared plates with more force than necessary. The kid's tie hung crooked, and his usually precise movements had an edge of tension. Whatever the new hostess had said must have cut deep.
Zeff approached the front, boots heavy against the floorboards. "I'm the owner, Zeff." He extended a weathered hand. "Welcome aboard."
Her grip matched Zeff's in strength as they shook hands. She stood several inches taller than him, built like someone who'd seen her share of fights, though she carried herself with a hostess's grace. A crisp white blouse and dark slacks completed her professional appearance.
"Your establishment has quite the reputation." Her eyes swept the room. "Though I notice some areas need attention."
"We're rough around the edges." Zeff didn't bother defending it. "But we know food, and we know the sea. That's what matters."
He pointed toward the stairs. "Private rooms upstairs. Third door on the right. We'll get you settled, then I'll show you the rest."
Pepita hefted her bag and climbed the steps, each footfall precise and measured. Zeff followed, giving her space to inspect her new quarters. She pushed open the door, examining the sparse furnishings—bed, dresser, small window facing the sea.
Her lips pressed thin as she tested the mattress, checked the drawers, and studied the lock. Zeff waited in the doorway, arms crossed. Not like she had other options out here on the ocean, but let her look her fill.
The room wasn't fancy, but it beat the crew quarters below deck. Bathroom down the hall, ocean view, solid lock on the door. Better than most places offered.
"Storage used to be here." Zeff scratched his mustache. "Moved it below deck last week. Gives you space away from the rabble."
Pepita's shoulders tensed. "Because I'm a woman."
"Because you're staff leadership." Zeff shifted his weight. "Though being the only woman among twenty men, figured you'd appreciate the distance. Only ones up here are me and the sous chef. Well, and the little one."
"The toddler." Her eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting as she processed this information. He could see the questions forming—who they were, how they fit together. "Family business?"
"Something like that." Zeff didn't elaborate. Let her draw her own conclusions. "Point is, you're safer here than most places. We got strict rules about respect. Man raises a hand to a woman here, he's swimming to the mainland. Old-fashioned maybe, but that's how we operate."
"Old-fashioned is one word for it." Pepita set her bag on the bed. "I don't need special treatment or protection. I need respect as a professional."
"Then earn it." Zeff shifted his weight, studying the woman before him. "Front of house needs work. Got a solid kitchen crew, but the problem is keeping the wait staff. "
"Your phone interview was quite thorough about the pirate situation." Pepita began unpacking her bag, placing pressed clothing into the drawers of the small dresser. "Most establishments would try to downplay such risks."
"Ain't my style to sugarcoat." Zeff shrugged. "Rather you know what you're getting into. Pirates come looking for trouble, we handle it. But waiting staff tends to bolt at the first sign of trouble."
From her bag, Pepita pulled out a small notebook. "What are your safety procedures? How do you handle pirates, specifically?"
Zeff snorted. "We kick their asses."
"I meant protocols. Emergency stations. Do staff know their roles during incidents?"
"Roles?" Zeff scratched his chin. "Kitchen crew fights. Wait staff gets the guests out of the way. Pretty simple."
"At my previous establishment, we conducted regular drills." Pepita flipped through her notes. "Evacuation routes, defensive positions, communication chains. Helps reduce panic, improves staff retention."
"Drills?" Zeff couldn't help but laugh. Decades at sea and he'd never heard such nonsense. "Listen, my men know how to fight. Been doing this a long time."
"And how many waiters have you lost this year?"
"Eight." Zeff's amusement faded. "Point taken."
"Structure creates confidence." Pepita jotted something down. "Clear procedures, designated safe zones, regular practice—it makes a difference. Even basic self-defense training can help staff feel more secure."
It all sounded like marine bureaucracy to Zeff, but hell, maybe that's what they needed. His fighters could handle themselves fine, but the service staff...
"Do what you want with the wait staff." He waved a hand. "Can't hurt to try something new. Just keep the dining room running smooth, that's your priority."
"Understood." Pepita closed her notebook with a snap. "I may know some people looking for work. Experience in... difficult situations."
"But?" Zeff caught the hesitation in her voice.
"But living conditions are..." She gestured at the worn floorboards, the patched walls. "Basic. These quarters are fine for me, but crew spaces below deck?"
Zeff scratched his chin, weighing his next words. The renovation plans weren't public yet, but if she was going to help run things... "Got plans, actually. If you can help stabilize the staff situation. Question is, can your contacts handle what we got now till then?"
Pepita's eyebrows rose. "That's substantial capital for a restaurant, especially one with your reputation."
"Food speaks for itself." Pride crept into his voice. "Pirates and Marines alike pay good money for a decent meal at sea. Crew's earned better than what we got now. Got plans drawn up for a full overhaul—new crew quarters, expanded kitchen and dining room. Just need to keep the momentum going."
"I'll make some calls." She nodded slowly. "See who might be interested in—"
A small figure appeared at Zeff's leg. Sora peered up at them, thumb in mouth, blonde hair mussed from her nap catching the afternoon light. Must have wandered over from Sanji's room when she woke up and heard them talking.
"Speaking of crew." He scooped her up, settling her against his hip. "This here's Sora."
Sora's blue eyes went wide as she took in the new face. She wiggled in Zeff's grip, reaching toward Pepita with grabby hands.
"Pretty lady!" Sora's hands reached out, grasping at air. "Like angel!"
"How... cute." Pepita took a measured step back, her professional smile tightening at the corners. The compliment sounded forced, like she was reading from a script on how to talk about children. Zeff appreciated the effort, even if it rang hollow. "Very enthusiastic."
"Like her old man." Zeff adjusted his hold before the squirming child could tumble to the floor, noting how Pepita's shoulders tensed at the child's proximity. Not everyone was comfortable around kids—fair enough. "Oi. Hands to yourself. Can't go grabbing at folks."
"Ahh sorry, Jiji." Sora apologized.
"This is Miss Pepita," Zeff said. "She'll be working with us."
"Pepi!" Sora declared proudly.
"Pe-pi-ta," the woman enunciated clearly.
"Pita!"
Pepita's shoulders dropped slightly. "Close enough, I suppose."
"Like a damn parrot in pigtails—repeats everything she hears without a clue what it means." Zeff bounced Sora on his hip. "Ain't that right?"
Sora babbled happily in response, reaching again for Pepita, who took another careful step back. The hostess's eyes fixed on Sora's face, particularly the distinctive curl of her eyebrows.
"The spiral..." Pepita gestured vaguely at her own brow. "Like the young waiter downstairs. Must run in the family."
Zeff grunted noncommittally. After six years of watching Sanji grow up with them, he'd heard every possible comment about those spiral brows. Jokes, insults, genuine curiosity—nothing new there. At least Pepita had the sense to keep her observation diplomatic.
"Does she always wander freely? I was clear during our call that childcare isn't part of my duties."
"Won't be." Zeff shifted Sora to his other hip as she started to wiggle, attempting to break free. "But Baratie's her home. Long as she ain't causing trouble or breaking things, she's free to roam. Usually follows the staff around like a lost duckling anyway. If she gets in your way, just holler for whoever's closest."
Relief flickered across Pepita's face. "I see. That's... reasonable."
"Jiji, down!" Sora squirmed harder, kicking her feet. "Want pretty lady!"
"That's enough of that." Zeff flipped her upside down in his arms so her arms hung towards the floor, which only made her giggle and kick more. Everything was a game to this one. "Miss Pepita needs to get settled. We'll see her at dinner service."
"Actually..." Pepita straightened her already-perfect posture. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to start immediately. I've already traveled, might as well make use of the day."
Zeff raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. Most new hires wanted rest after traveling. "Suit yourself. Our sous chef'll be happy to get back in the kitchen."
He began to walk down the hallway, Pepita trailing behind him after securing her door. At the top of the stairs, he turned back to face her. "Kitchen's next on the tour, then we'll go over your duties."
Zeff made his way down the curved staircase, each step accompanied by Sora's delighted shrieks as she dangled upside down in his grip. Her blonde hair swayed with each movement, face red from the blood rush and pure joy.
"Hold still, you little menace." But Zeff couldn't hide his amusement as she kept squirming like a freshly caught fish.
At the middle deck, he paused. "Miss Pepita, wait here. Check our wine selection—rack's against the far wall. Need your opinion on our current inventory."
He continued down toward the main deck, Sora's giggles echoing through the stairwell. Halfway down, he stopped. No sense tracking the whole way when he could just—
"Oi! Eggplant! Get your ass up here!"
"Again, Jiji! Again!" Sora clapped her tiny hands, still hanging upside down.
"You're worse than a monkey." But he obliged, bouncing her slightly with each step back up. "One of these days you'll make yourself sick from all this excitement."
Sanji appeared at the top of the stairs, adjusting his tie. His earlier tension seemed forgotten as he spotted Sora's predicament.
"Having fun there, baby?" Sanji's whole demeanor softened as Zeff flipped Sora right-side up and passed her over. She immediately latched onto Sanji's neck, babbling about her upside-down adventure.
"Good nap?" Sanji smoothed down her static-wild hair.
"Jiji gave rides!"
Zeff jerked his thumb toward Sanji. "This is our idiot sous chef. Though seems you two already met downstairs when he was making eyes at customers instead of doing his job."
Pepita stood by the wine rack, her analytical gaze moving between them. Her eyes lingered between them, then darted to Zeff, clearly trying to piece together their unusual family dynamic. Whatever conclusion she came to, she kept to herself.
"My sincerest apologies for earlier, mademoiselle." The boy swept into an elaborate bow, Sora still clinging to his neck like a barnacle. "Our lovely customers deserve nothing but the most refined attention, which I strive to—"
"Miss Pepita here's gonna help wrangle the front of house into shape." Zeff cut him off. "Means when she tells you to quit flirting, you quit."
"Ah, but of course! Whatever the lovely Miss Pepita commands, I shall—"
"Quit it, brat." Zeff resisted the urge to kick him. Not with Sora still attached to his neck like a limpet.
Pepita's expression remained neutral, but Zeff caught the slight tightening around her eyes.
"I look forward to maintaining a professional working relationship." Her tone could have frozen the ocean. "Though I trust such... enthusiasm won't interfere with your duties?"
The kitchen door banged open. Patty's bulk filled the doorframe, a half-peeled potato forgotten in his hand as he gaped at their new hostess.
"Holy shit, he actually did it!" Patty's voice boomed through landing. "Boss finally hired a woman!"
Zeff's temple throbbed. Great. Just what they needed.
Carne's head popped out behind Patty. "No way! After all these years?" He whistled. "Thought the old man would never—"
"Get back to work!" Zeff barked, but the damage was done.
More cooks crowded the doorway, craning their necks to gawk. Marcus hung back, but his eyes were wide as dinner plates. When Pepita's gaze swept over him, he flinched like she'd struck him. Someone wolf-whistled.
Pepita's spine went rigid. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
Sanji's lovesick expression vanished, replaced by a scowl that matched Zeff's own. "Oi! Show some respect, you shit-heads!"
"Language." Zeff nodded toward Sora, who watched the scene with curious eyes.
"Shit-heads!" Sora repeated cheerfully.
Zeff pinched the bridge of his nose. "Back to work," He barked. "And mind your manners, or you'll be eating through straws for a week." The cooks scattered like startled seagulls, kitchen door slamming behind them. Their excited chatter still carried through the walls.
"My deepest apologies." Sanji bowed again, face flushed with embarrassment. "They're good cooks, just..."
"Idiots." Zeff finished. "All of them."
Zeff watched Pepita's face carefully, but her professional mask never slipped. If anything, her posture grew more rigid, chin lifting slightly.
"They'll learn respect soon enough." Her tone carried the weight of experience. "I've handled worse."
Zeff believed her. The way she held herself, how she assessed exits and threats—reminded him of certain Marine officers he'd encountered in his pirating days. The kind who earned their positions through grit rather than connections.
"Eggplant." Zeff jerked his head toward the kitchen. "Take the little duck back. Make sure those idiots don't burn anything."
"Of course." Sanji shifted Sora to his hip, his earlier flirtatiousness replaced with professional courtesy. "Miss Pepita, I look forward to working with you."
As they disappeared into the kitchen, Sora's voice carried back: "Bye-bye, Pita!"
Zeff rubbed his forehead, considering his decision. Breaking years of tradition by hiring a woman came with risks. His crew respected strength—they'd fall in line once Pepita proved herself. But one wrong move could upset the delicate balance they'd built.
"This way." He started down the stairs. "Dining room's below. Show you the setup, then you can get started."
If she could deliver what the restaurant needed, what his crew needed, then dealing with their initial resistance would be worth it. And if not... well, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.
* * *
Zeff massaged his temples, squinting at the last of the invoices spread across his desk. The afternoon sun cast long shadows through his cabin window, making the numbers blur together.
He pulled open his bottom drawer, retrieving a worn leather ledger. The spine cracked as he thumbed through dog-eared pages filled with his cramped handwriting. Twenty years of pirating had taught him to track every beli—though these days the treasure came from paying customers instead of plundered ships.
Zeff's gaze drifted to the hidden panel behind his bookshelf. Beyond it lay his personal vault—more of a treasure room, really. The last remaining gold and jewels from the Orbit mixed with years of carefully hoarded restaurant profits. He'd even stockpiled preserved foods. Just in case.
They were close—so close to having enough for the renovations. But keeping the crew fed and paid during construction would drain their reserves faster than a Sea King could swallow a fishing boat.
Best keep that to himself though. Even his own crew didn't need to know just how much they'd squirreled away over the years. Pirates never really stopped being pirates, after all.
A door slammed next door, followed by the creak of bedsprings and the pitter-patter of tiny feet.
"Sleepy?" Sora's voice carried through the thin walls.
No response from Sanji. Just more creaking as he presumably flopped onto his mattress. The brat had been in a foul mood lately, snapping at the crew over minor infractions and burning more cigarettes than usual. Probably still sore about keeping Sora in his room instead of giving her the storage space as planned.
Zeff pushed away from his desk, bones cracking as he stood. Might as well check on the situation before dinner prep started. He opened his door and went over to Sanji's room, cracking the door open slowly and pausing at the sight before him.
Sanji lay face-down on his bed, arms spread like a starfish. Sora had turned him into her personal mountain, carefully balancing her stuffed animals along his back. A toy seal perched between his shoulder blades, a worn rabbit near his hip, and she was currently trying to balance a wooden duck on his head.
"Careful!" Sora commanded, tongue poking out in concentration as she stretched on tiptoes to reach.
Zeff leaned against the doorframe, watching the spectacle. Each time Sanji's shoulders shook with a sigh, the toys wobbled precariously, making Sora giggle and readjust them.
"Planning to lie there all afternoon, eggplant?" Zeff finally asked.
Sanji mumbled something unintelligible into his blankets.
"What was that?" Zeff crossed his arms. "Can't hear you when you're trying to eat your mattress."
"I can't hear you," Sanji's voice remained buried. "I'm a mountain now."
"Duck mountain!" Sora declared, carefully placing another wooden animal on Sanji's head.
"You've been moping around for days. Either spit it out or get back to work," Zeff growled.
Sanji turned his head just enough to free his mouth from the blankets. "When can I go back to the kitchen? You made your point. I'm tired of waiting tables."
"Miss Pepita mean," Sora announced, climbing onto Sanji's back to retrieve a fallen toy.
"Is that right?" Zeff asked.
Zeff watched Sora playing mountain climber on Sanji's back, considering the girl's assessment of their new hostess. The past few weeks had been... interesting. She'd thrown every demanding customer his way—the ones with endless modifications, strict dietary requirements, or just plain entitled attitudes.
Yet the brat hadn't cracked. Even when juggling six different wine selections for a single table while keeping Sora from crawling under the tablecloths, he'd maintained that insufferable princely smile. The tips had been phenomenal. Their renovation fund was growing faster than anticipated.
Zeff's wooden leg tapped against the doorframe as he considered the past several weeks since Pepita joined the Baratie crew. True to her word, she'd brought in two new waitstaff who knew their way around rowdy pirates, and fewer issues made their way back to the kitchen. Even Patty had stopped complaining about the changes.. The kitchen had gotten tense. Just yesterday, Sanji had nearly reduced a newer cook to tears over slightly overcooked rice. Even Patty and Carne were walking on eggshells, which was saying something considering their usual boisterous attitudes.
Most nights now, Sanji disappeared below deck after service. Cigarette smoke and laughter drifted up through the floorboards as he joined the crew in their cramped quarters. He'd stumble up late, reeking of cheap wine and tobacco, hours after tucking Sora in.
"She's just doing her job," Sanji shifted, careful not to dislodge Sora as he propped himself on his elbows. "The new system works. Those waiters she hired are handling the floor fine. I just want-" He paused, fingers twitching like they missed holding a knife. "The New Year's menu is mine. You approved it. I should be the one preparing those dishes for our guests, not stuck taking orders and refilling wine glasses."
"And here I thought you enjoyed swooning over the ladies," Zeff said.
"That's different," Sanji mumbled.
Zeff studied the way Sanji's fingers picked at his cuticles, a nervous habit he'd developed lately.
"How was service today?" Zeff kept his voice neutral. "Something happen with the customers?"
"It's fine." Sanji's shoulders tensed as Sora added another toy to her growing collection. "Everything's fine." A long pause. "Actually, I was wondering... what kind of desserts do you think Miss Pepita likes? I noticed she hasn't tried many of our specials yet."
Zeff's eyes narrowed. "She's staff, eggplant. Don't go causing trouble."
"It's not like that." Sanji pushed up further, rolling to his side to look at Zeff. The movement jostled Sora's mountain, sending an avalanche of stuffed animals cascading onto the bed. Sora squealed in protest. "I just want her to feel welcome. Think I might've offended her somehow."
"Oh no!" Sora retrieved her wooden toy, then patted Sanji's head. "Bad, mountain!"
"I am a bad mountain," Sanji murmured, lowering himself back down.
Zeff watched his son become a human playground again, noting the tension in his shoulders despite his attempt at nonchalance.
Zeff crossed his arms. "No other reason?"
"What? No! It's just..." He sighed, face smooshed into the bedding while he looked up at Zeff. "She kind of scares me, if I'm honest? Not really my type."
Zeff's laugh boomed through the room. "Scares you, does she? Good. About time a woman put the fear in you." He grinned at Sanji's scowl. "Not every woman's gonna fall for your prince charming act, boy. Some you just gotta respect and leave be. Give it time—or grow a thicker skin."
Sanji turned his face back into the mattress. "Yeah, maybe."
Zeff watched his son continue to mope and made a decision. "How're the numbers looking?"
Sanji turned his head again, brow furrowed. "Already told you service was fine."
"Not what I asked." Zeff tapped his peg leg against the doorframe. "The money, boy. Tips, sales, all of it."
"Oh." Sanji shifted carefully, mindful of Sora's toys this time. "Better than usual. Even Oscar's pulling better numbers since she started coaching him on wine pairings."
Zeff nodded. The Baratie had always run differently than land restaurants. Everyone from dishwashers to head chef earned the same base pay—a fair cut of profits after setting aside funds for supplies and repairs. Made the crew more invested in quality service when their dinner meant the difference between breaking even or breaking records.
Most of the crew treated their pay like burning holes in their pockets, blowing it on booze and cards between shifts. During Dead Water, they'd hit port towns and come back broke but grinning. Not like him and Sanji, who'd squirreled away their shares. Even with Sora's extra expenses the last two and a half years, he knew they were doing well.
"Come with me." Zeff turned toward his office.
"Can't it wait?" Sanji gestured at Sora. "I'm on break."
"Mountain sleeping!" Sora protested, placing her wooden duck over Sanji's exposed ear.
"Mountain needs to get up." Zeff jerked his head toward his office. "Got something to show you, eggplant."
Sanji groaned into his blankets. "Can't. I've been promoted to furniture."
"Now." Zeff's boot connected with Sanji's rear, sending toys flying.
"Ow! Shit!" Sanji rolled to protect his backside. "Alright, alright! No need to get violent, shitty geezer. Sorry Sora, mountain has to move."
Zeff watched Sanji try to rise from the bed, only for Sora to plop down on him with her full weight.
"No!" She spread her arms and legs wide, pinning him like a starfish. "Mountain stay!"
"Come on, baby. Just for a minute." Sanji squirmed under her but she didn't budge.
Zeff's mustache twitched. "Can't even escape a baby, eggplant?"
"It's not funny." Sanji's face reddened as he attempted to sit up but Sora clung tighter, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Zeff expected Sanji to easily break free—the boy could send grown men flying with those legs of his. Now faced with a twenty-pound child, the brat looked genuinely distressed.
"Listen, baby." Sanji's voice softened. "I'll come right back after talking to the geezer. Promise."
Sora lifted her head. "Promise promise?"
"Cross my heart." Sanji said, miming an X on his chest. "We can build a proper mountain fort when I return."
She studied him with surprising intensity for a two-year-old before finally sliding off his back. "Okay. But fast!"
Sanji sat up with a dramatic groan before he stood. As he stood to straighten his wrinkled suit, Sora was already gathering her scattered toys into a pile on his bed, humming quietly to herself. He followed Zeff out of the room.
In his office, Zeff closed the door behind them. Through the thin wall, they could still hear Sora's soft singing as she played with her menagerie of stuffed animals. He limped to his desk, rifling through stacks of papers until he found the rolled blueprints tucked beneath inventory lists.
"Sit." He jerked his chin toward the chair.
Sanji slouched into the seat, hands shoved in his pockets. "If this is about the wine cellar inventory-"
"Shut it." Zeff spread the blueprints across his desk, weighing down the corners with ledgers. "Take a look."
Sanji leaned forward, squinting at the rough sketches. "Did Sora draw this? Your proportions are terrible."
"Keep talking and you'll be waiting tables until you're my age." Zeff cuffed him lightly. "What do you see?"
"It's Baratie, but..." Sanji traced the lines with his finger, brow furrowed. "This isn't right. The kitchen's on the wrong floor. And what's all this space down here? These look like... cabins?"
"Individual quarters for the crew." Zeff tapped the lower deck. "Proper ones, not the cramped bunks we've got now."
"And these upper floors..." Sanji's eyes widened. "You're expanding? But that means..." He sat up straight. "You sneaky old bastard! You've been planning renovations this whole time!"
"Watch who you're calling a bastard." Zeff huffed, rubbing under his nose to hide his grin.
"I knew you were keeping something from me!" Sanji's indignation melted into genuine excitement. "Is that an outdoor bar? And look at all this dining space! We could double our capacity easily."
Zeff watched his son's excitement build, allowing himself a visible smile at his enthusiasm. "Triple, if we do it right."
"Could we add an herb garden?" Sanji was practically vibrating in his seat. "Maybe on the upper deck? Maybe even some citrus trees?" His fingers traced the outdoor spaces. "What about-"
"Don't get ahead of yourself." Zeff scratched his beard. "These are rough ideas. Still need someone to do the damn thing. It's been six years since we got the Baratie and I'm having troubles tracking down her builders."
Sanji's shoulders slumped. "Oh."
Zeff remembered a younger Sanji who once spoke endlessly of adventure and legendary seas. Now the boy's dreams seemed confined to kitchen layouts and herb gardens. The renovation plans suddenly felt heavier in Zeff's hands.
"Got some leads pointing to the Geckos." Zeff shifted through his papers, pulling out a worn map of the Sambas Region. He marked their current coordinates, mind already calculating the months they'd need to dock, the crew they'd need to retain during construction. The last time they'd stayed on land this long... He pushed away memories of endless hunger, of a stubborn child refusing to surrender their dream.
Different circumstances now. Different reasons. But watching Sanji bend over the blueprints, already lost in plans for improving the restaurant, Zeff couldn't help but wonder if he was giving his son roots when the boy should be spreading his wings.
"How long?" Sanji looked up from where he'd been scribbling notes in the margins.
"Until we can start?" Zeff clarified, "Six months, give or take. Need to coordinate with the builders. After that…" He kept his voice gruff, matter-of-fact. "Have to dock somewhere for a few months while they work on her. Can't very well serve customers with the floors torn up and walls knocked down."
Sanji's hand stilled briefly on the paper, but he covered it quickly with more questions about kitchen equipment.
"But we're really doing this?" Sanji looked up, hope written across his face. "You're serious?"
"Wouldn't waste time drawing if I wasn't." Zeff gestured at the plans. "Though I might need your help making sense of these chicken scratches."
Sanji laughed, bright and genuine. "They are pretty terrible." His hand already reaching for a pencil. "Mind if I make some notes?"
"Go ahead." Zeff stepped back, letting his son lose himself in possibilities while his own thoughts drifted to distant horizons and dreams deferred.
Always the dutiful son now, Zeff thought, watching him sketch possible layouts. Always putting others first. The All Blue was still out there somewhere, waiting for a chef brave enough to find it. But that would have to wait. For now, Zeff had a restaurant to rebuild, and a granddaughter to spoil with proper living quarters.