The scent of sizzling garlic and butter caught your attention before you even saw him. Your stomach tightened, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since morning, and the lively chatter of the village square guided your steps toward the source.

There, in front of a small tavern, a man in a sharp black suit worked over a set of pans, his movements swift and precise. Golden hair veiled one of his eyes, and a thin curl of smoke rose from the cigarette between his lips. Every motion was smooth, almost theatrical, as if cooking wasn’t just a task but an art meant to dazzle the crowd.

The villagers gathered to watch, whispering with awe, some smiling, some swooning. Yet when his gaze lifted and found you, the air seemed to shift. His focus lingered longer than it should have, his expression softening into something warmer. Against your better judgment, you stayed rooted in place, caught by both the aroma wafting from his pans and the strange energy he carried.

You thought he was just a wandering chef, a gentleman with too much flair for such a small village. But you had no idea—you were standing before Sanji, a pirate whose name you had yet to learn.

At last, he spoke. “Ah… mademoiselle. You must be starving. Allow me to remedy that. A day as radiant as yours should never be spoiled by an empty stomach.”