Chapter 29

The Clockwork Rose sat poised at the edge of the White Sea, its balloon inflated and Jet Dials humming. But before Kurumi gave the order to drop, she held up a hand.

"Hold the drop," she ordered.

Perona, who was already holding her nose for the plunge, blinked. "What? Why? Are we forgetting something? I packed the tea set!"

"We have a sniper," Kurumi pointed to Laki, who was polishing her rifle. "We have a scout," she pointed to Perona. "And I am the captain."

She picked up a piece of dried Sky Shark meat from a crate, chewed it, and grimaced. It was tough as leather and tasted like salt and despair.

"But we do not have a cook," Kurumi declared, tossing the meat overboard. "My fruit burns calories at a rate that requires thousands of units per battle. If I rely on this garbage, I will starve to death halfway through a fight with Big Mom."

Laki shrugged. "Shandians eat for fuel. As long as it keeps you moving, it’s good."

"That is a warrior's mindset, not a Queen's," Kurumi corrected. "I need a chef who understands nutrition, efficiency, and flavor. Someone who can turn a Sea King into a stat-boosting banquet."

"So, who?" Perona asked. "Conis? She only makes pumpkin juice."

"No," Kurumi smiled, her clock eye ticking. "We are going to make a pit stop. Directly below us, in the Blue Sea, is the impenetrable Marine fortress, G-8. Navarone."

"A Marine base?!" Perona shrieked. "You want to recruit a Marine?!"

"Not a Marine," Kurumi corrected. "A rival. According to my intel, a certain flamboyant chef from the East Blue chased the Straw Hats into the Grand Line, only to get arrested for 'illegal cooking' near a government facility. She’s currently peeling potatoes in the G-8 brig."

Kurumi grabbed the wheel.

"Carmen. The Master of Flamenco Cooking."

The Fortress Navarone

The descent was chaotic. The Octopus Balloon caught the updrafts, and the Clockwork Rose drifted down through the clouds like a feather—until Kurumi cut the balloon and engaged the Jet Dials to plummet straight into the internal lake of the G-8 fortress.

It was night. The fortress was asleep, save for the searchlights.

"Stealth mode," Kurumi whispered. "Perona, create a Ghost Network to jam their surveillance snails. Laki, disable the watchtower snipers—silently."

"On it," Laki leveled her rifle. Pfft. Pfft. Two sleep-darts, crafted from Skypiean herbs, took out the guards instantly.

The ship glided into a hidden cove used for waste disposal.

The Kitchens

Kurumi infiltrated the base alone, wearing her old Marine Commander coat (which she had kept, naturally). She walked through the corridors with the confidence of an officer who belonged there.

She followed the smell. Not of prison food, but of something rich—spices, garlic, and searing heat.

She kicked open the doors to the main galley.

Inside, a woman with bright red hair tied up in a dramatic bun was aggressively chopping onions. She wore a flamenco-style dress under a stained apron. Marines were cowering in the corner.

"Call this a soffritto?!" the woman yelled, throwing a pan. "It has no soul! It has no passion! Sanji would laugh at this garbage!"

"Carmen," Kurumi spoke from the doorway.

The woman spun around, holding a chef's knife like a saber. "Who are you? Another critic? I told the Vice Admiral, I don't cook 'gruel'!"

"I am Commander Kurumi," Kurumi walked in, her heels clicking. She picked up a stray carrot, took a bite, and nodded. "Fresh. But wasted here."

"Wasted?" Carmen scoffed, flipping her hair. "I am the greatest chef in the East Blue! I came to the Grand Line to defeat that love-cook Sanji in a rematch! But these Marines arrested me for 'unauthorized docking'!"

"I can get you out," Kurumi said, leaning against a prep table.

Carmen paused. "And the price?"

"You cook for me," Kurumi said, her red eye glowing. "I have a metabolism that defies physics. I need meals that grant regeneration, stamina, and speed. I need a chef who can cook a dragon if I kill one."

She stepped closer.

"And I can take you to the New World. To the All Blue… or at least, to the place where Sanji is heading."

Carmen’s eyes lit up. The mention of Sanji—her rival—ignited her competitive spirit.

"The New World…" Carmen grinned, twirling her knife. "Dangerous ingredients? Exotic spices?"

"Deadly," Kurumi promised. "And no one will tell you to make gruel."

Carmen untied her apron and threw it at a trembling Marine recruit.

"I quit!" she announced. She grabbed a massive frying pan from the rack and strapped it to her back. "Let's go, Marine Girl. But I warn you—my cooking is spicy. Can you handle the heat?"

"I lived in a magma pit," Kurumi smirked. "Try me."

The Escape

The alarm blared as they ran back to the ship. Vice Admiral Jonathan was sharp; he had noticed the intrusion.

"Intruders in Sector 4! The prisoner Carmen is escaping!"

"Go! Go! Go!" Laki shouted from the deck of the Clockwork Rose.

Kurumi and Carmen leaped onto the ship as the Jet Dials flared to life.

"Buh-bye, boys!" Carmen blew a kiss to the pursuing Marines, throwing a handful of flour bombs that exploded into a blinding white cloud. "Next time, season your bullets!"

The ship shot out of the G-8 gates, riding the current into the open sea.

"Welcome aboard," Kurumi said, watching the fortress shrink behind them. "Carmen, meet Perona and Laki. Don't feed the ghost too much sugar."

Carmen looked at the strange crew—a goth ghost, a tribal sniper, and a time-manipulating captain.

"What a circus," Carmen laughed, clapping her hands. "I love it! Alright! First meal on the Clockwork Rose! Who wants Paella?!"

"ME!" Perona and Kurumi shouted in unison.

Crew Member Acquired: Carmen (The Flamenco Chef).

Role: Battle Cook / Nutritionist.

Kurumi looked at the horizon. The crew was forming. A Sniper. A Scout. A Cook.

"Now," she whispered, pointing the ship toward the Red Line. "To the New World."