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The streets were overflowing, packed with food stalls offering delicacies from around the world. The tantalizing aromas made Arthur's mouth water.
Short on cash—he "borrowed" so money from a couple of well-dressed passersby before diving into the culinary delights.
Two hours later, having sampled almost every stall on the street, Arthur, rubbing his full belly, was contemplating seconds when a voice bood across the island, broadcast through the network of Transponder Snails.
"Welco, Pirates, Bounty Hunters, rchants, and Citizens, to Gourt Paradise—Pucci!"
"The Triennial Chef's Tournant is about to begin! The event will be held in the central plaza!"
"This year, we have 16 contestants, all top-tier Chefs from our island—Let's give them a warm welco…"
The announcer's enthusiastic voice, amplified by the Transponder Snails, filled the air, hyping up the crowd, even stirring Arthur's interest, despite his culinary ignorance. It was as if the announcer was describing Chefs capable of creating legendary, glowing dishes.
"It's starting…" Arthur looked up from his plate of half-eaten delicacies and rejoined the flow of people heading towards the plaza—Electromagnetism subtly pushing aside those who got too close.
Arthur constantly practiced his Electromagnetism, using it for everyday tasks whenever possible. Mastery ca with practice, not overnight.
He had reached a peak with his lightning manipulation, but Electromagnetism—that was a power with limitless potential.
It demanded his full attention.
——
The central plaza was packed—a sea of faces.
Arthur estimated the crowd at tens of thousands, with more still arriving.
The atmosphere crackled with anticipation. All eyes were fixed on the plaza.
"Quite the spectacle," Arthur murmured, a nostalgic smile touching his lips as he made his way to the front, mories of similar events from his past life surfacing.
In the center of the plaza—16 cooking stations were set up, each equipped with pots, pans, utensils, and a dazzling array of ingredients from around the world: deep-sea fish, mountain ga, exotic birds, vegetables, spices—everything a Chef could desire, neatly arranged and ready to be transford into culinary masterpieces.
16 Chefs, n and won of all shapes and sizes, filed onto the stage, each wearing a white Chef's coat and toque. The oldest had snow-white hair but boundless energy. The youngest was a girl, barely fifteen.
On the raised platform, a mustachioed man in a suit held a Transponder Snail, his voice booming across the plaza.
"Welco, everyone! Now, let's welco our Esteed Judges!"
Four figures, looking like Average food critics, took their seats on the platform, their expressions serious and discerning—as if a Chef's greatest honor was to receive their praise.
The announcer gestured dramatically as fireworks exploded above, the crowd roaring its approval.
A few minutes later, amidst the cheers…
"Now, I declare the Gourt Paradise Chef's Tournant officially…"
Before he could finish, Arthur leaped forward, interrupting him. "Hold it!"
His voice, louder than the amplified Transponder Snail, silenced the murmuring crowd.
All eyes turned towards him.
Arthur stepped into the spotlight—the Electromagnetic distortion around his face dissipating, revealing his features.
He grinned, walking towards the judges. "I don't think this guy is qualified to be a judge. I'll take his place."
Arthur grabbed one of the startled judges, lifting him from his seat and tossing him aside.
"What are you doing?"
"Guards! Where are the guards? Seize this Hooligan!"
The remaining judges, their dignity offended, yelled at the announcer, their composure gone.
The commotion drew the attention of the 16 Chefs, who looked up from their preparations.
"This…could it be…?" The announcer, a seasoned professional, recognized Arthur, but wisely refrained from saying his na aloud.
"It's 'Thunder God' Seabury D. Arthur! The 500 Million Belly Pirate!"
"The Villain who stole the Heavenly Tribute?"
"That's him…"
The announcer's silence didn't stop the whispers. The crowd erupted, people scrambling back, fear etched on their faces.
Even the indignant judges fell silent, their faces flushed.
In this era, a 500 Million Belly bounty signified a dangerous outlaw.
The World Governnt's propaganda had painted such Pirates as ruthless criminals, guilty of heinous cris—and they weren't entirely wrong. Anyone associated with Arthur risked the World Governnt's wrath.
"Don't worry, I'm just here to play judge, not cause trouble. Announcer, let's get started." Arthur grinned, patting his chest reassuringly.
He settled into the vacated judge's seat, crossing his legs, his hands clasped on his knee, a picture of casual confidence.
"....."
The announcer, montarily flustered, quickly recovered. "Let us welco Mr. Arthur! Now, I declare the Gourt Paradise Chef's Tournant officially—begin!"
Boom!
The 16 Chefs, their passion ignited, turned their attention back to their ingredients, their movents a blur of culinary skill, their knife work a srizing dance.
Arthur watched, impressed, his gaze lingering on the youngest contestant—the fifteen-year-old girl. Beautiful won were always more captivating than n.
"Our first contestant—is from the three-Michelin-star restaurant, the seventy-year-old Michelin Clermont!"
"This veteran Chef has participated in ten tournants, spanning thirty years, always falling short of the championship. Let's wish him luck!"
"..."
—
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"And our final contestant, the youngest Chef in this year's competition—Jessica!"
The announcer's voice dripped with enthusiasm, as if Jessica had so extraordinary background. His excitent was infectious, rippling through the crowd.
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