The scent of warm, home-cooked food now floated freely through the building. Before long, voices echoed from outside the crane platform.
"…That smell… Is that food?"
A middle-aged man appeared at the edge of the structure, his eyes widening as he saw Sanji's cooking.
"They smell really delicious," said another man behind him, mouth practically watering.
"I… I'm hungry…" someone else muttered, stepping forward.
Soon, more and more people emerged from the shadows. Men, women, and even a few children—all drawn by the rare aroma of real, fresh food. Within minutes, the area around the crane was filled with residents of Rust Belt Island, their clothes ragged, eyes sunken, and expressions filled with desperate hope.
Zino narrowed his eyes. He could see it in their gaze—hunger, yes, but also something else. Caution. Desperation. Suspicion. These people had been left to rot by the world, and now they were looking at him like he was some sort of miracle… or prey.
The mother, sensing the swelling crowd, instinctively pulled her daughter close. She and Sabi's sister quickly finished their food, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.
Zino stepped forward and raised his voice, addressing the crowd calmly.
"Are you all hungry?"
A wave of murmured agreement rolled through the group. A few heads nodded. One brave soul near the front said, "Yes."
"Alright," Zino said. "Line up."
There was a pause, the group exchanging wary glances. Slowly, hesitantly, the people began forming a line, uncertain if this was a trick. A few in the back whispered among themselves.
"There's too many of us… They can't possibly feed all of us."
"This is a pirate ship, not a relief camp."
"They'll run out of food before my turn."
Zino overheard them, and he smirked to himself. For a normal ship, sure, feeding even a dozen people would be a struggle. But he wasn't normal. He and his crew had just ransacked Enies Lobby. The supplies meant to feed thousands of marines were now sitting in his System Storage.
Without fanfare, Zino reached into thin air—and like magic, a neatly packed container of rations appeared. He handed it to the first man in line, who stared in disbelief.
"You… where did this come from?"
"Next," Zino said simply.
The man snapped out of it and stepped aside. "Th-Thank you!" he said, bowing before moving to the side.
An old man stepped up next. Zino handed him a similar pack. The man blinked, eyes moist, then gave a quiet nod of gratitude.
Then came a woman in her thirties. "Please… I have a husband and son at home. Can I get extra?"
Zino nodded without hesitation and handed her two more packs. "Take care of them."
More people followed. One after another, Zino continued conjuring food from his storage, distributing it with quiet efficiency. The line grew longer as word spread across the settlement.
But just as the line was finally beginning to calm down—
"Stop right there!"
A sharp voice rang out.
The crowd turned as a group of uniformed men stormed toward them—armed, armored, and clearly not friendly. Their matching military suits bore no Government insignia, but their weapons were real enough.
Zino's eyes narrowed as the man stepped forward, rifle raised with open hostility.
"Who gave you permission to hand out food in our sector?" the man demanded, his voice sharp, carried by authority and arrogance.
Zino stood his ground, hands relaxed at his sides. "Permission is irrelevant when people are starving," he replied coolly, his tone calm and even—yet firm enough to slice through the tension thick in the air.
The man's scowl deepened. He marched up to one of the crates Zino had placed down and, with a loud *thud*, kicked it over. Cans spilled across the metal floor, rolling in all directions. Several hungry onlookers flinched, their expressions turning from hope to fear.
"Irrelevant?" the man snarled. He was thick-necked, broad-shouldered, with a weathered face marked by old scars and cruelty. "This is my sector. My island. My rules. You think you can just show up with your pirate charity and trample over what I've built?!"
From the shadows, Sabi recoiled at the sight of the man. His small hands gripped his mother and sister tightly, and he pulled them back behind a rusted pipe, eyes filled with alarm. He knew this man—and feared him.
Zino's expression didn't change. His voice remained composed. "Who are you?"
"Griggs," the man said proudly, pounding his chest with one fist. "Leader of Rust Belt Island. Everything here runs because of me."
Zino observed him in silence for a moment, then replied coldly, "You built a system based on starvation and fear, Griggs. That's not leadership. That's tyranny."
Griggs's eyes lit with fury. He lifted a hand in signal, and instantly, the soldiers around him raised their rifles—pointed at Zino, Sanji, Kaya, and even the terrified citizens nearby.
"This isn't a damn soup kitchen," Griggs barked. "This is a controlled survival zone. A system. We ration, we trade, and we obey the order I set. You just stomped in and started throwing it all away. That's not generosity—that's sabotage!"
The people around them tensed. Some of them began backing away, worried that a shootout was about to erupt. Others stood frozen, not sure which side to trust. Their hunger was now being weighed against their fear.
Griggs glared down his barrel. "My rules say you hand over your food and leave this island immediately. Or we take everything by force."
Zino met his gaze unflinchingly. "Sanji," he said, exhaling slowly, "these people are annoying."
Sanji, who had remained calmly at Zino's side the entire time, gave a brief nod, cracking his knuckles. "Yeah… I figured this would happen."
Griggs blinked, confused by their lack of concern.
Before he could bark another order, a blur shot through the space between them.
Sanji was already gone from Zino's side—and suddenly among the armed soldiers.
"Party Table Kick Course!"
With fluid, brutal precision, Sanji's legs spun like a tornado, delivering a relentless storm of powerful kicks. Boots cracked against jaws, helmets, and ribs. Soldiers flew backwards in every direction, their weapons clattering uselessly against the ground. Not a single shot was fired.
Sanji's final kick sent Griggs crashing into a heap of twisted pipes, his body crumpling against the rusted metal with a dull clang. The rest of his armed lackeys were mid-air or sprawled across the platform, groaning and clutching bruised limbs, utterly disoriented.
Then, as they tried to recover, a sudden gust of wind whipped through the air.
The rifles and makeshift weapons they still clung to were yanked from their hands in an instant—pulled as if by an invisible force.
Zino extended one hand, eyes calm, his fingers slightly curled as the weapons flew toward him like iron filings drawn to a magnet. With a casual swipe of his hand, the pile of confiscated firearms vanished into thin air, sucked into his system storage.
Gasps rippled through the air.
Even those who had seen strange powers before had never witnessed such casual control over both wind and matter.
Griggs, still wheezing from the blow Sanji had delivered, looked up just in time to see his entire arsenal disappear. His expression shifted from anger to dread.
"W-What kind of monster are you…?" he whispered hoarsely, eyes wide as he struggled to scoot away on his back.
Zino took a slow step forward. His eyes sharpened into something fierce, cold, and final. "The kind that doesn't tolerate bullies."
His words were calm—but the weight behind them was crushing. An invisible pressure radiated from him, his Conqueror's Haki bleeding into the space like a storm front. Griggs's limbs trembled. The metal beneath him groaned under the force, rivets creaking as the entire platform seemed to bow slightly beneath the pressure.
"Aaah…" Griggs whimpered. His earlier bravado had evaporated entirely. The aura that surrounded Zino was simply too much.
Around them, the remaining guards—those still conscious—dropped their knives with clatters and raised their hands shakily, visibly trembling. Fear rooted them in place. The idea of fighting back had completely vanished from their minds.
Zino didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Get out. Before I change my mind."
There was no hesitation. Griggs scrambled to his feet, stumbling over debris and discarded weapons as he fled. The others followed in a panicked rush, shoving past each other in their desperation to escape.
Sanji watched them go, frowning. "We're letting them go that easily?"
"They're not a real threat," Zino replied. "Just small-time tyrants. Hungry for power, but not brave enough to fight for it."
With the danger gone, the atmosphere slowly relaxed. The scavengers still watching from the sides now looked at Zino with awe—and a touch of fear—but also something deeper: respect.
He turned back to the line of waiting people and gestured. "Alright. Where were we?"
The line reformed, even more orderly than before. No one dared to cause trouble. They waited quietly, eyes full of gratitude and hunger, as Zino resumed handing out food from his seemingly endless supply.
Time passed. The crates filled with warm meals, canned goods, and clean water steadily dwindled—but Zino kept producing more. He was a one-man relief effort.
Eventually, the last person in line stepped forward. A thin, teenage boy with tired eyes took his share gratefully. Zino handed it over, then asked, "Is that everyone? Anyone else left who hasn't eaten?"
The boy paused, thinking. "There are still a few who couldn't make it here. Sick or too weak to walk."
Zino nodded. "Can you go get them?"
Before the boy could respond, a group of older men—who had already started opening their food—stood up.
"We'll go," one of them said. "We know where they are. We'll help bring them here."
Zino smiled faintly. "Good. Do that, and I'll have extra food waiting for each of you."
The men exchanged surprised glances—but then grinned and nodded, setting their meals aside without complaint. They took off quickly, moving with purpose.
Zino turned back toward the crates, his voice steady. "Let's keep feeding everyone. No one's going hungry on our watch."
Sanji gave a short nod, rolling up his sleeves. "Then I want to cook for these people. Properly. They deserve something warm."
"Alright," Zino replied. He stepped forward and raised a hand toward a clear area nearby.
A low rumble followed as the air condensed, and a wide, solid ice platform formed across the uneven ground. It spread smoothly, shimmering faintly in the polluted mist—large enough to accommodate fifty, maybe sixty people comfortably. The platform had a natural chill, but the surface was level and clean, far more stable than the corroded metal beneath it.
With a flick of his hand, Zino began pulling out supplies—sacks of vegetables, meats, spices, cooking oils—all fresh and well-stocked. He even summoned a full set of professional kitchen tools: burners, pots, pans, knives, and cutting boards. In seconds, an outdoor kitchen was ready.
Sanji didn't waste a second. He got to work immediately, slicing ingredients with practiced precision. The sound of sizzling oil soon filled the air, followed by the rich aroma of spices and meat cooking over flame.
The scavengers, still processing the events from earlier, watched in awe. The ice platform, the supplies appearing out of thin air, and now Sanji cooking like a master chef—it was like something out of a dream.
Not far from the kitchen setup, Kaya stepped forward. She summoned her Staff of Lyfjaberg, a radiant, crystalline staff that gleamed faintly in the gloom. Holding it upright, she called out gently, "Anyone who is sick or injured—please come forward. I'll heal you."
Her calm voice carried over the gathering, and people slowly turned toward her. The soft light from the staff illuminated her white coat and kind expression, giving her an almost angelic appearance.
A limping man with a makeshift crutch stepped forward hesitantly, revealing a swollen, badly bruised leg. Kaya didn't hesitate. She pointed the staff toward the wound, and a gentle blue glow poured from its tip.
The light settled over the man's leg—and before everyone's eyes, the bruising faded, the swelling reduced, and the skin healed cleanly. In mere seconds, the leg looked good as new. The man stared in disbelief.
"I… it doesn't hurt anymore…"
"Miracle…" someone whispered.
"She's… she's an angel," a woman murmured.
A quiet murmur of awe swept through the crowd as more people began approaching Kaya—some with wounds, others coughing or weakened by illness. Kaya welcomed each of them patiently, moving from one to the next, her staff glowing gently with each touch.