The Baratie hadn't been the same since that damned brat Sanji sailed off with those troublemaking pirates.
Zeff scowled as he polished a chipped plate behind the counter, the familiar clatter of the kitchen sounding emptier than before.
The boy's sharp tongue, faster hands, and stubborn pride had once filled every corner of this floating restaurant. Now, there was a hole where Sanji's voice used to be — not just in the staff roster, but somewhere deeper. Somewhere Zeff hated admitting even existed.
Still, business was business. The seas didn't stop moving just because a fool-hearted cook decided to chase his dreams.
On the bright side, at least the other hole, the literal one, left by that stretchy fool Luffy had finally been patched up. Took three days, two carpenters, and more swearing than Zeff thought humanly possible. But the wall was whole again. For now.
Zeff was just about to relax with a well-earned smoke when—
CRASH!!
From the same damn spot that had been repaired, an explosion of wood, saltwater mist, and utter chaos erupted.
Right in the center of it all, posed with both arms thrown high in the air in dramatic, sparkling jazz hands, stood a dripping figure.
A young girl, wearing a weird blue hat and fancy blue and white clothes, grinning like a maniac, beamed like she'd just landed the winning act in a circus show.
"TA-DAAAAA!" she cried triumphantly.
Zeff stared at her.
Then at the newly-made hole.
Then at the very intact door just three feet to her right.
He slowly, very slowly, brought a hand to his forehead and dragged it down his face.
"…Another one," he muttered, voice low and dangerously calm. "Just what I needed."
---
Lyra struck her landing pose proudly, hands still frozen mid-jazz hands.
In her mind, triumphant music blared — the soundtrack to an entrance only someone of her immense talent could pull off.
(• You could have used the perfectly good door. •)
The Great Sage's dry tone buzzed in her ear like an overworked, underpaid assistant manager.
"I could have," Lyra whispered conspiratorially, glancing at the perfectly intact, perfectly boring door, "but where's the flair in that?"
She turned slowly, surveying the wreckage she'd caused with the eye of a proud artist admiring her masterpiece.
Splintered wood, gaping hole, seawater pooling on the fancy restaurant floor.
It was beautiful.
And, as her gaze traveled up the shattered wall, she spotted it — the faint outline where a patch job had been just recently finished.
The exact same spot where Luffy, the original chaos master, had left his own mark on the Baratie.
A wide, mischievous grin spread across her face.
"Legacy achieved," she whispered reverently.
(•You realize the staff is either about to kick you out or throw knives at you, correct? •)
Lyra tossed her hair back dramatically. "Pfft. Details."
Across the room, a horrified cook screamed as water poured into the kitchen. Someone else slipped with a clatter of plates.
At the center of it all, Zeff just stared at her, dead-eyed, like a man contemplating every poor decision that had led him to this moment.
They locked eyes.
Ten full seconds of soul-crushing silence passed before Zeff finally broke it.
"100,000 beli."
Lyra blinked. "What?"
Zeff repeated, with all the warmth of a winter storm, "100,000 beli."
Time froze.
Great Sage money quickly he looks really pissed and although I'm immortal and got that whole don't need to eat thing going on , I wanna try food made by Sanji's teacher I don't want to make him angry..
(•Lyra, you don't even have currency, remember? •)
Panic gripped her heart. Zeff's glare was intensifying with every passing second, and she could feel the man growing more dangerous just by existing.
Frantically, Lyra stood up andpatted herself down unfortunately she found nothing so she gave Zeff her best weapon:
The Puppy Dog Eyes.
"Is it possible to... maybe... write an IOU?" she squeaked.
Zeff sighed heavily, muttering under his breath, "Why is it that everyone who busts a hole in my roof is broke..."
He took one glance at her, turned sharply, and stalked into a nearby closet. A second later, he tossed a frilly black-and-white outfit at her face.
Lyra caught it, stared in growing horror.
"A—A maid outfit?! Pervert! You're just like Sanji!" she shouted accusingly.
For the first time, Zeff twitched.
He whirled around, looming over her like a storm cloud. "DON'T compare me to that damn perverted idiot—!" His voice cracked ever so slightly with fatherly fury.
Then, realizing himself, he coughed harshly, face snapping back into his usual scowl.
"That's your work uniform, missy," he growled, ruthlessly burying any trace of emotion. "You don't think some cutesy IOU is gonna cover that hole, do you?"
---
Ten minutes — and one emotional breakdown — later:
Lyra stood in the cramped little staff bathroom, staring blankly at her reflection.
The maid uniform clung to her with criminal precision — frilly apron, puffed sleeves, insultingly short skirt. A stupid little hat perched on her head like the cherry atop this tragic sundae.
Slowly, mechanically, she raised a hand and pressed her fingertips to the mirror, confirming that yes, the pitiful creature staring back was in fact her.
A long, suffering sigh escaped her lips.
"I have officially lost... the last shred of dignity I ever had as a former man," she croaked.
(•On the bright side, you look adorable. •)
The Great Sage's voice practically oozed smugness.
Lyra scowled at her reflection, tilting her head slightly.
...Damn it.
She did look ridiculously cute.
The skirt flounced when she moved, the apron cinched her waist just right, and her hair framed her face in annoyingly perfect curls.
She looked like a living doll — if the doll had been slapped by fate and was clinging to its last shreds of pride.
"I hate that you're right," she muttered darkly.
(•I told you to use the door. •)
"...Semantics."
Steeling herself, she struck a dramatic pose in the mirror, hand on hip, finger pointed at her reflection.
"If I must suffer," she declared grandly, "then I will suffer fabulously."
With a determined nod, she spun on her heel and then tripped immediately on the frilly hem and faceplanted directly into the sink with a loud CLONK.
She collapsed to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs, muffled cursing, and freshly wounded pride.
Thus began Lyra's first (and possibly last) day working at the Baratie.