The Polar Tang's galley was usually a no-fly zone, reserved for Ikkaku's questionable stir-fries and Bepo's rice ball experiments. But today, Jean Bart—former slave, current gentle giant—had unearthed a yellowed recipe titled "Bart Family Special Stew (Do Not Ask)" and declared it his culinary magnum opus.
"It's an heirloom," he grunted, stirring a bubbling cauldron of dubious broth. Floating within: unidentifiable meat cubes labeled "Mystery Meat: ???", neon-orange tubers from the freezer's "Do Not Eat" drawer, and a whole lemon (unpeeled).
Marya leaned against the doorway, nose wrinkled. "Smells like… regret and low tide."
Law peered over his newspaper. "If it kills us, I'm haunting you."
The crew gathered warily. Jean Bart ladled the stew with pride, his tattooed arms flexing as he presented each bowl like a sacred offering.
Shachi poked his portion. "Why's it glowing?"
"Flavor," Jean Bart said solemnly.
Bepo sniffed, his ears twitching. "It… winks at me?"
Law, ever the martyr, took the first bite. His eye twitched. "…Edible."
Reluctantly, the crew dug in.
Ten minutes later, the Lobsterpocalypse struck, and chaos reigned.
Shachi clutched his head, screaming at a lobster wearing a tiny top hat and monocle. "STOP JUDGING ME!"
The lobster (real? hallucinated?) clicked its claws. "You owe me five berries, sir."
Penguin karate-chopped a squadron of floating radishes. "THEY'RE TRYING TO STEAL MY SHOES!"
Bepo sobbed in a corner, cradling a mirror. "I'M JUST A BEAR! A REGULAR BEAR!"
Marya, meanwhile, faced her own nemesis: a hallucination of Mihawk in a frilly apron and chef's hat, wielding a ladle like Yoru.
"Pathetic," Ladle-Hawk sneered. "You can't even dice onions."
"I'll show you diced!" Marya shouted, leaping onto the table and parrying his "strike" with a soup spoon.
Law, the only semi-lucid one (he'd only taken one bite), ducked a flying bread roll. "Jean Bart. What was in that stew?"
The giant blinked, munching calmly on a glow-in-the-dark carrot. "Love?"
"We need kelp-weed," Law barked, wrestling a seaweed-wrapped Shachi into a diving suit. "Grows on coral 200 meters down. Now."
Marya, still dueling Ladle-Hawk, lunged for the airlock. "I'LL GET IT! JUST GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD!"
The dive was… unconventional.
Shachi sobbed into his helmet radio. "THE LOBSTERS ARE TAKING OVER THE ECONOMY!"
Penguin, convinced the kelp was alive, tried to reason with it. "WE COME IN PEACE!"
Marya, hallucinating Mihawk treading water in his apron, slashed through coral with a harpoon. "Your bisque is WEAK!" she roared.
Law, guiding them via sonar, muttered, "Never letting Jean Bart near a ladle again."
Back aboard, Law force-fed the crew kelp-weed smoothies. The hallucinations faded, replaced by pounding headaches and existential dread.
Jean Bart surveyed the carnage—overturned tables, spoon-sword nicks in the ceiling, Bepo still sniffling about his bear-hood. "…Maybe the recipe needs work."
Marya flopped onto the floor, Ladle-Hawk finally vanquished. "You think?"
Law pinned a sign to the galley door: "JEAN BART: KITCHEN ACCESS REVOKED."
Shachi, pale but functional, raised a trembling cup of water. "To Bart's Stew: the only thing scarier than the Void Century."
Even Jean Bart chuckled.
Days later, Bepo found the leftover stew in the freezer. It pulsed menacingly.
"Um… Captain? Should we—"
Law yeeted it into the ocean. A nearby seagull took one peck and started tap-dancing.
Marya grinned. "Bart's legacy lives on."
Glint, the starfish, claimed the empty pot as a hat.
*****
The Polar Tang's training room was a cramped, windowless box lined with dented punching bags and a suspicious stain shaped like Shachi's face. Marya twirled Eternal Eclipse lazily, the blade's void energy casting jagged shadows on the walls. Law leaned against a water cooler, scalpel glinting between his fingers, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Friendly spar," Marya said, grinning. "No Devil Fruit powers. No curses. Just… skill."
Law raised an eyebrow. "You're going to lose."
"Bet your hat on it?"
"Bet your sword."
The crew, sensing impending chaos, crowded into the hallway. Shachi and Penguin set up a betting pool on a whiteboard labeled "WHO DIES FIRST (FIGHT EDITION)."
Round 1: Chaos Unleashed
Marya struck first, her blade humming as it grazed Law's shoulder. He sidestepped, scalpel flicking out to slice a button off her coat.
"Room."
"CHEATER!" Marya yelped as Law teleported behind her, smacking the flat of his blade against her back.
"You said no Devil Fruit powers," Law smirked. "Didn't say no teleporting."
Bepo covered his eyes. "This is not friendly…"
Round 2: Submarine Smash
Marya lunged, Eternal Eclipse gouging a trench in the floor. Law retaliated by swapping her sword with a fire extinguisher.
"Low blow, Surgeon!"
"Strategy," Law corrected, ducking as she hurled the extinguisher. It hit a pressure valve, releasing a jet of steam that melted Shachi's betting whiteboard.
"MY LIFE SAVINGS!" Shachi wailed, scrambling for soggy Beri notes.
Penguin shrugged. "Invest in a waterproof pen next time."
Marya's next strike went wide, slicing through a pipe labeled "EMERGENCY BALLAST: DO NOT TOUCH."
A klaxon blared.
"CRITICAL FLOODING. ABANDON DIGNITY. REPEAT: ABANDON DIGNITY."
Seawater erupted from the ceiling, drenching the room in seconds. Law and Marya froze mid-clash, ankle-deep and dripping.
Shachi peered in, snapping photos with a waterproof Den Den Mushí. "Ten-to-one odds the Captain drowns first!"
"Traitor!" Law snarled, lunging for the door—only to slip on a floating punching bag.
Marya seized her chance, tackling him into the rising water. "Yield!"
"Never!" Law teleported them both to the ceiling, where they dangled like soggy bats.
The betting pool intensifies as Penguin floats past on a life raft made of gym mats. "Place your bets! Will they kiss or kill each other first?!"
Bepo paddled in circles on a kickboard. "I just want the flooding to stop!"
Jean Bart arrived with a welding torch and a sigh. "Stand. Back."
After an hour of bailing, welding, and Shachi "accidentally" lobbing a squid at Law's head, the training room was declared a disaster zone. Marya and Law sat in the hallway, soaked and sulking.
"Rematch tomorrow?" Marya said, wringing water from her hair.
Law eyed the submerged room. "Only if we spar on land."
"Deal."
Shachi slid them a towel. "Winner buys drinks?"
They glared in unison.
"...Or not."
The crew spent the night mopping. Glint the starfish claimed the flooded room as its "spa," blowing bubbles at Jean Bart's welding.
And somewhere, Mihawk sneezed.
*****
The Polar Tang's navigation room was usually a haven of semi-controlled chaos. Today, it was a warzone. The Den Den Mushi responsible for steering the submarine—a particularly sassy specimen with a shell polished to a militant shine—had unionized. Its demands were scrawled on tiny protest signs taped to the control panel:
"NO MORE DISCO MUSIC"
"8-HOUR WORKDAY OR WE SHELL OUT"
"STOP TOUCHING MY BUTTONS"
Law stared at the mutinous mollusk. "Explain."
The lead Den Den Mushi pulsed indignantly. "You exploit us. No benefits. No respect. And the disco… the disco haunts us."
Marya snorted. "They've got a point. Remember when Shachi made them play 'Stayin' Alive' for six hours straight?"
Shachi raised his hands. "IT WAS A PHASE!"
The snails' rebellion escalated swiftly. They rerouted the Tang directly into the Kaleidoscope Coral Reef, a labyrinth of neon-pink spires that glowed like radioactive candy. The sub shuddered to a halt, propeller tangled in gelatinous seaweed.
"NAVIGATIONAL ERROR. PLEASE RESPECT OUR RIGHT TO STRIKE."
Law gripped Kikoku like he might duel the control panel. "Fix. This. Now."
The Den Den Mushi blinked lazily. "Make us."
Marya, ever the diplomat, dumped a bucket of freshly harvested kelp onto the console. "Peace offering. Extra slimy, just how you like it."
The snails hesitated, eyestalks twitching. "…Bribery?"
"Call it… hazard pay," Marya said, tossing in a glittery seashell from Glint's hoard.
The lead snail nibbled a kelp strand. "Counteroffer: No disco. Double seaweed rations. And…" It paused dramatically. "…a nap room."
Law's eye twitched. "A nap room?"
"Union rules."
While Marya haggled, the crew scrambled to dislodge the sub. Shachi and Penguin donned snorkels and dove out the airlock, armed with spatulas and sheer desperation.
"IT'S LIKE DIGGING JELLO OUT OF A WALLET!" Shachi yelled, hacking at the coral.
Penguin surfaced, spitting out a bioluminescent fish. "This is the worst vacation ever!"
Bepo manned the sonar, tears in his eyes. "Captain, there's a whale judging us…"
Jean Bart solved the problem by punching the reef. The coral shattered, raining prismatic shards onto the deck.
"Subtle," Law deadpanned.
The Den Den Mushi, now thoroughly bribed, resumed navigation—but not before reprogramming Law's title in the system from "Captain" to "Tyrannical Sea Cucumber."
"COURSE CORRECTED. ENJOY YOUR AUTOCRACY."
Law glared at the screen. "I'm buying a parrot."
Marya grinned. "Parrots unionize too, y'know."
The snails, now lounging in a hammock made of seaweed (the new "nap room"), emitted a chorus of smug bloops.
Days later, the crew discovered the snails had added a new line to the Tang's log:
"DAY 12: STILL UNDERPAID. STILL FABULOUS. P.S. – SHACHI SMELLS."
Shachi squawked. "I DO NOT!"
Glint the starfish perched on the lead snail's shell, trading shiny screws for kelp. An alliance was born.
And somewhere, a parrot in Sabaody shuddered.
*****
The Polar Tang floated lazily under a cerulean sky, its crew sprawled across the deck in rare moments of peace. Bepo, ever vigilant, squinted at the horizon. "Um… Captain? There's something shiny in the water!"
Law didn't look up from his nap. "If it's another bomb, throw it at Shachi."
Penguin fished out the object with a net. "It's a… ukulele?" The instrument was waterlogged, barnacle-encrusted, and inexplicably glowing.
Shachi strummed a chord. "Toss it back. Probably cursed—"
TWANG!
The ukulele pulsed neon pink, and Penguin's eyes glazed over. He clutched the instrument, compelled to sing:
"Oh, Trafalgar Law, our captain so stern,
Your eyebrows could cut—let's all take a turn!"
Law's eye twitched. "Put. It. Down."
Penguin tried, but his fingers stuck to the strings. "I can't! It's making me—
Your brows arch like sabers, so sharp and so cold,
They'll slice through the Grand Line, or so I've been told!"
Shachi, ever the instigator, grabbed the ukulele. "My turn!"
"Law's hat's fluffy, his scowl's a dark storm—"
Law teleported behind him, yanking the ukulele away—only to freeze mid-snatch.
"...But deep down, he's cuddly, in non-creepy form?"
The crew erupted. Bepo clapped. "Aww! Captain is cuddly!"
Law's voice dropped to arctic levels. "Room. Scalpel."
Marya, mistaking the chaos for combat, unsheathed Eternal Eclipse. "Stand back! Black Crescendo!"
The void slash hit the ukulele, which screeched like a deflating accordion. The sea erupted, and a gargantuan sea-king surfaced—wearing a seaweed bowtie and holding a coral microphone.
"🎵 I'M THE KING OF THE DEEP, MY VOICE IS DIVINE…
BUT MY TUNE'S OFF-KEY, AND MY TIMING'S A CRIME! 🎵"
The crew clapped hands over their ears. "MAKE IT STOP!"
Jean Bart plugged the sub's vents with his gloves. "It's worse than Bart's stew!"
Law, driven to madness, seized the ukulele and belted:
"This song is a curse, this crew's a disgrace—
SOMEONE THROW THIS THING INTO OUTER SPACE!"
The sea-king clutched its heart (or where a heart might be). "🎵 YOU'VE WOUNDED MY SOUL, I'LL RETREAT TO THE SAND…
BUT FIRST, A HIGH NOTE! 🎵"
It screeched. Windows shattered. Glint the starfish hurled a wrench at its head.
The ukulele exploded into confetti.
The crew sat in blessed silence, ears ringing.
Law nursed a headache. "If anyone mentions 'cuddly' again, I'm dissolving the crew."
Penguin, still twitching rhythmically, muttered: "His brows may be sharp, but his heart's made of goo…"
Shachi tossed him overboard.
Glint claimed a ukulele string as a souvenir.
And somewhere, the sea-king sobbed into a kelp pillow.
*****
The Polar Tang's fridge was a barren wasteland—a tragedy Bepo discovered while searching for his secret stash of salmon jerky. Instead, he found a crumpled note tucked behind a moldy cabbage:
"BUY MILK."
Bepo's eyes widened. A code! A mission! He'd read enough spy novels to know this was no grocery list. This was espionage.
The Briefing (in the Broom Closet)
Bepo cornered Marya in the storage room, wearing sunglasses made from pipe cleaners and a "disguise" (a dish towel tied around his neck like a cape). "Agent Polar Bear reporting. Mission: Milk. Enemy: Marines. Danger level: Extreme."
Marya blinked. "Or… we could just dock at the next island?"
"TOO RISKY," Bepo whispered dramatically. "Intel says the Marines are onto us. We must infiltrate their supply ship… tonight."
Marya glanced at the note. "Bepo, this literally says 'buy milk' in Ikkaku's handwriting—"
"DECOY MESSAGE!" Bepo shoved a grappling hook into her hands. "You in, Agent Sword?"
Marya saluted. "YOLO."
The "Infiltration"
Under cover of darkness, Bepo and Marya paddled a rubber dinghy toward a shadowy vessel marked MARINE SUPPLY. Bepo's plan? Flawless:
Disable the guards (by offering them salmon jerky). Sneak into the cargo hold (by tripping over a crate labeled FRAGILE – EGGS). Secure the "intel" (milk).
"Enemy spotted!" Bepo hissed, ducking behind a barrel as a sailor yawned on deck.
Marya peered over. "He's… unloading ice cream."
"DISTRACTION!" Bepo lobbed a pebble. It plopped into the sea. The sailor shrugged and kept stacking pints of Rocky Road.
They "infiltrated" the cargo hold—a refrigerated paradise of dairy and desserts. Bepo gaped. "Milk… yogurt… cheese… It's a lactose labyrinth!"
Marya tossed him a carton. "Grab the goods and go!"
But Bepo froze, eyes locked on a towering pallet of ice cream. "Captain loves mint chip…"
"Bepo, NO—"
Too late. Bepo activated his "emergency extraction protocol" (a.k.a. shoving 50 gallons of ice cream into a net and dragging it to the dinghy).
The sailor finally noticed. "Uh… are you stealing our dessert?"
Marya brandished Eternal Eclipse. "Resistance is futile. Black Crescendo!"
The void slash missed the sailor but hit a crate of whipped cream cans. The ensuing foam explosion buried the man in a snowy mountain of fluff.
"MISSION COMPROMISED!" Bepo screamed, paddling frantically. "ABORT! ABORT!"
Marya clung to the ice cream net. "WHY DID WE TAKE THE WHOLE PALET?!"
Law awoke to the sound of Shachi screaming. "THEY'RE BACK! AND THEY BROUGHT… DIABETES?!"
Bepo and Marya stood triumphantly in the docking bay, the dinghy sagging under 50 gallons of ice cream. Bepo saluted. "Mission accomplished, Captain. The milk… was a trap. But we secured the real target."
Law stared. "Why is there a raccoon eating sprinkles in our sub?"
Marya shrugged. "Stowaway. He's got a sweet tooth."
The crew hosted an impromptu ice cream social. Shachi bet Penguin he couldn't eat a gallon in one sitting. (He lost. Spectacularly.) Jean Bart built a freezer fort. Glint claimed a pint of strawberry swirl as its throne.
Law facepalmed. "Never sending you two on a supply run again."
Bepo licked a mint chip mustache. "But Captain… the mission required sweets for morale!"
Marya tossed him a spoon. "Admit it. You love us."
Law sighed, stealing a bite of rocky road. "…Shut up."