And so, three months passed. One day, Shin once again lifted a bowl of fish soup cooked by Dracule Mihawk.
The bowl holding the fish soup had been provided by the emerald-green leaf beneath them, and the pot used to simmer it was also made from the leaf. As a result, the entire leaf had shrunk by a full quarter.
Yet what astonished Dracule Mihawk was that, even after losing so much of its volume and becoming irregularly shaped, the leaf still floated steadily upon the sea without the slightest instability.
In fact, over the past three months, he had wondered about this more than once. This leaf was steadier than any ship he had ever seen. Neither wind and waves, surging tides, nor even large fish could inflict any damage upon it.
The entire leaf always moved in accordance with a certain rhythm, keeping pace with the rhythm of the sea itself.
As for why they were making fish soup, that was not difficult to guess. With Shin's picky tastes, he naturally would not be satisfied with roasted fish as the only way to eat it, even though Dracule Mihawk had already devised countless variations of roasted fish during this time.
Speaking of which, Shin was deeply satisfied with Dracule Mihawk's improvement in cooking. Facts proved that any good swordsman, as long as he took something seriously, could certainly become a good cook.
Everything in the world feared earnestness, and when it came to focus, few could compare to those wholly devoted to the sword. Dracule Mihawk was naturally among the best of them. Thus, after three months of dedication, his cooking had finally reached mastery.
"Mm, not bad." After taking a sip of the fish soup, Shin offered rare praise. This was also the first time he had