The restaurant was way too classy for Bartolomeo the Cannibal.

Gold trim on the walls. Soft music. Candles. Actual napkins—cloth ones. The kind you weren’t supposed to wipe grease on.

Bartolomeo slouched in his chair, boots propped up on the table despite the waiter’s twitching eye.

“Tch. I’m tellin’ you, Straw Hat,” Bartolomeo said, picking his teeth with a toothpick, “this better be worth my time. I skipped watchin’ executions for this.”

Luffy sat across from him, beaming, elbows on the table, chin in his hands.

“It’s gonna be great!” Luffy said cheerfully. “Ace promised!”

Ace leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, hat tilted low, grin sharp and knowing.

“Relax, Barto,” Ace said. “You’ll like her.”

Bartolomeo froze.

“…Her?”

Luffy blinked. “Oh yeah! Did we not tell you?”

Bartolomeo slowly lowered his feet off the table. The toothpick snapped between his fingers.

“You didn’t say shit about a ‘her.’” He leaned forward, grin turning feral. “The hell is this? Some kinda prank?”

Ace chuckled. “Surprise date.”

The word date echoed.

Bartolomeo stared at them like they’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“A—A DATE?!” He shot up out of his chair, palms slamming the table. “Oi! I ain’t got time for romance crap! I came here ‘cause you said food was involved!”

“There is food,” Luffy said helpfully. “Lots of it.”

Bartolomeo growled, face flushing red. “That ain’t the point! I don’t even know this person!”

Ace shrugged. “You will.”

Bartolomeo jabbed a finger at Ace. “And why the hell is she late, huh?! If someone’s gonna waste my time, I oughta know who to yell at!”

Ace checked the clock on the wall. “She’s not wasting it. She’s just running behind.”

That only made Bartolomeo angrier.

“Tch. Typical,” he scoffed, dropping back into his chair. “If this is some kinda setup to make me look stupid, I swear I’ll barrier-crush this whole place.”

The waiter whimpered from across the room.

Luffy leaned closer, whispering loudly. “I think she’s nervous.”

Bartolomeo scoffed. “She should be.”

Still… he adjusted his coat.

Just a little.

Ace watched him with clear amusement. “You’re pacing with your foot.”

Bartolomeo snarled. “Shut up!”

The front door hadn’t opened yet.

And Bartolomeo the Cannibal—terror of the coliseum, loudmouth menace, shameless menace to society—sat there scowling at an empty chair across from him, annoyed, impatient…

…and weirdly, begrudgingly curious.