"Boss! Bring out every signature dish you've got!"
The heavy oak doors of the restaurant had barely swung inward before Yamato's voice hit the dining room like a cannon shot.
Ornn didn't bother reining her in. Between his thousand-fold constitution and her Zoan vitality, their metabolic engines burned through calories like a furnace. They could clear out a kitchen's entire pantry and still have room for dessert.
As for the tab? Balu's iron chest was sitting in the hull, stuffed to the brim with Berries. A single feast wouldn't even register.
Every head in the tavern snapped toward the entrance. A dozen patrons leaned forward, eyes wide with sudden, breathless expectation—only to deflate the moment they processed Yamato's face. Disappointment rippled through the room, followed by a chorus of muted groans.
Ornn caught the shift instantly. He walked up to the counter, leaning his forearm against the polished wood. "Did we step on someone's grave, or do your regulars just hate newcomers?"
The tavern keeper gave a dry chuckle, wiping down a mug with a stained rag. "Don't mind them, son. You two obviously aren't locals. Otherwise, you'd know Keya Town isn't just famous for exporting high-grade silk—it's the underground wrestling capital of the West Blue. Every night, high-rollers and crime bosses from across the sea dock here just to throw money at the ring."
Yamato paused mid-stride, a half-eaten loaf of bread hovering near her mouth. "What's that got to do with us?"
"Our underground matches weren't always this packed," the owner said, leaning over the counter. "Two years ago, a female fighter codenamed 'Nightmare' hit the canvas. Total monster. Hasn't lost a single bout against the men since her debut. She's sitting on ninety-nine consecutive wins, and the whole island is holding its breath for number one hundred tonight."
He gestured toward the sullen patrons at the corner tables. "'Nightmare' has a habit of barging into a joint after a weigh-in and roaring the exact same line your girl just used. They thought the champ had walked through the door."
Ornn remained unimpressed, but Yamato's eyes lit up like furnace embers. She shoved the rest of the bread into her mouth, talking through a full cheek. "Hey, Boss! What's she like? Is she strong?"
"See for yourself," the owner said. He reached into his apron, rolling his eyes dramatically before slipping two dog-eared paper slips onto the bar. "Main event's at nine sharp. I'm telling you, it's a bloodbath in the best way possible. Worth every Berry."
He tapped the tickets against the wood. "Box seats sold out weeks ago. These are private passes—ten thousand Berries pop. Interested?"
Ornn stared at the slips, then at the keeper's practiced smile. Classic scalper setup.
His knowledge of wrestling was strictly limited to 'masked men never reveal their faces,' and he had a natural distaste for gouged prices. He opened his mouth to pass.
Before he could speak, Yamato slammed her fist onto the counter, rattling the glasses. "Ten thousand? Done! Ornn, let's go! I've never seen a real wrestling match before!"
Ornn stared at her, utterly deadpan. You spent your childhood trading life-or-death blows with Kaido on Onigashima, and now you want to pay hard-earned coin to watch West Blue amateurs throw each other into ropes? That's like a world champion heavyweight buying a ticket to a bar fight.
Yet, looking at the raw, unbothered excitement flashing in her eyes, he didn't have the heart to pull the plug. He reached into his pouch and slapped the Berries onto the counter.
"Consider it killing time," he muttered, shaking his head.
An hour later, a small mountain of wooden platters sat stacked on their table, scraped clean to the grain.
Full of roast meat and dark ale, Ornn and Yamato walked out into the night air, leaving behind a dining room of terrified, silent onlookers who had watched them eat enough food to feed a platoon.
Ornn glanced up at the town's central clock tower. Nearly eight o'clock. They still had an hour before the gates opened.
Keya Town was alive. Driven by the influx of wealthy gamblers and visiting dignitaries, the main thoroughfare was ablaze with lantern light, storefronts spilling music and rich scents into the cobblestone streets.
It didn't take long for Ornn to spot a high-end tailor's shop. He stepped inside, pushing past racks of everyday wool until his calloused fingers brushed against a bolt of heavy, densely woven white silk.
The fabric felt cold, thick, and surprisingly tough.
A soft blue text overlay flickered across his vision:
[High-Grade Silk]
A dense, resilient, and breathable premium fabric. An essential raw material for crafting specialized gauntlets and light armor.
Evaluation: Excellent baseline tensile strength. It would be superior if rendered flame-retardant.
Perfect. It matched the blueprint requirements for the Gorgeous Silk Gloves.
Ornn signaled the shopkeeper, bringing Yamato over by the arm. He ordered a custom pair of fitted gloves built to her exact measurements, handed over a thick deposit of Berries, and agreed to pick them up in seven days.
With the silk secured, his main objective in the Kingdom of Bellis was effectively complete. Entering a state of total, unbothered relaxation, he let Yamato drag him aimlessly through the market.
Despite her warrior persona, Yamato had never been immune to nice things—her red skirt and gold tassels back in Wano were proof enough. Ever since that night on the Moby Dick, where conversations with Ornn and Whitebeard had chipped away at her self-imposed cage, she had stopped repressing her basic inclinations.
She wanted to step inside every boutique along the strip. Yet, old habits died hard. Whenever her hand lingered over a rack of clothes, her shoulders would tense, her eyes darting around as if expecting someone to call her out.
She'd pick up a piece, stare at it with clear admiration, and then hastily put it back, muttering that it was "impractical" or "doesn't suit a samurai."
By the eighth shop, Ornn's patience snapped.
Without a word, he pushed past her, flagged down the store clerk, and pointed at the entire row she had been eyeing. "Wrap all of those in her size. Right now."
Yamato gasped, grabbing his forearm. "Wait! No! Ornn, I told you, they aren't practical! And—and some of those are way too revealing!"
"Revealing?" Ornn picked up a knee-length indigo skirt she'd been staring at for five minutes, giving her an incredulous look. "Yamato, this skirt is two inches lower than the one you're wearing right now. It only looks shorter because your legs go up to my chest."
He held up a fitted linen shirt beside it. "And this? It covers your neck. Where is the exposure?"
Compared to the bikinis and hot-pants he remembered from the future stories of this world, Yamato's choices were borderline monastic.
Seeing her stammering, her face flushing red under her horns, Ornn paid the clerk before she could argue further. He took the heavy paper parcels, slung them over his shoulder, and headed for the door.
"Stop overthinking it," Ornn said, his voice dropping into a quiet, grounded tone. "If you're too embarrassed to wear them in public, wear them on the boat when it's just the two of us. No one's judging you here."
He nudged her shoulder with his elbow as they hit the cool night air. "Now come on. We've got ten minutes before the undercard starts, and I didn't pay ten thousand Berries to miss the opening bell."