Morning on Warmwave Island should've been the perfect time to laze about, sunlight wrapped in rising steam from the hot springs, the kind of peace that made you want to sleep until noon.
But today, the first rays of dawn hadn't even fully touched the bay before they were shattered by a sharp, earsplitting boom.
Three pirate ships were blasting at each other offshore, the spray from exploding shells reaching all the way to the beach, splattering across the linen cloth on Renzo's lounge chair.
"...Tsk."
Renzo opened his eyes, his half-lidded gaze filled with pure annoyance.
His Absolute Domain of Sloth was still passively active, so all those stray cannonballs simply became "too lazy to fly fast," slowing down and dropping harmlessly into the sea.
But the pirates' shouting and the crash of ships colliding it was like a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing straight into his skull.
This was already the thirtieth group of pirates this week.
At first, it was just a few small boats, the kind Renzo could deal with while half-asleep using [Sloth's Declaration].
But the raids had gotten bigger. Just yesterday, a medium-sized ship flying a "Blood Skull" flag charged in with swords waving and pirates yelling, "Grab the hot spring! Grab the cook!"
They all ended up trapped on the beach, snoring in a heap as "human cushions." But in the chaos, Sanji's newly cultivated hot spring moss was trampled to mush, and even the clay jars holding soft-boiled spring eggs were smashed, yolks spilling everywhere in sticky orange streaks.
"Those bastards!"
Sanji's furious roar came from the kitchen area.
He was crouched down, carefully picking up the few bits of moss that hadn't been crushed, his golden hair practically standing on end.
"I raised this batch in hot spring water for seven days! It was supposed to be for the cream soup!"
Renzo propped himself up and glanced toward the sea.
Two more pirate ships were already closing in on the bay, their tattered sails painted with crooked skulls, clearly drawn here by rumors of "enhanced hot springs."
He rubbed his aching temples.
Warmwave Island used to be quiet. Now it had basically turned into a tourist spot for East Blue pirates; if a few didn't show up each day, they'd feel like they were missing out on treasure.
"We're leaving."
Renzo's calm voice cut through the sound of waves, freezing both Sanji and Potts mid-motion.
Sanji straightened up, still holding a half-sandy piece of moss. "What did you say?"
"Heading back to headquarters."
Renzo stood, his robe brushing aside broken eggshells. "It's too noisy here. Can't sleep, can't eat in peace."
Potts' eyes lit up. He immediately dropped the bucket in his hands.
"Really, sir? Finally! I've been wanting to go back for days! The pirates keep coming, I have to dodge cannonballs just to pack up!"
Sanji didn't agree right away. He stared at the remaining Blue Mist Fruit and hot spring moss by the stove, fingers absently tracing the handle of his chef's knife.
The ingredients here were rare, yes, but the constant pirate attacks had ruined his cooking rhythm. More importantly, he could tell Renzo was genuinely fed up.
"Fine," Sanji said at last, carefully placing the moss into a box before smirking.
"But if I'm going back with you, I have one condition."
Renzo raised an eyebrow. "Name it."
"The Marine Headquarters mess hall needs to give me a proper kitchen."
Sanji lifted the basket of ingredients with pride. "At least a temperature-controlled fridge, an iron skillet from the South Blue, and no one touches my spice rack."
He'd already heard from Potts that while HQ's kitchen had plenty of equipment, the head chef liked "mass production cooking", the kind that treated ingredients like rations.
If he had to deal with that, he'd rather stay here and fight pirates every day.
"No problem," Renzo said instantly. He remembered Sengoku mentioning that "special talents" could be assigned exclusive facilities.
"Your cooking deserves it. And HQ's got South Blue butter and Sky Island spices, you'll have more to work with."
Sanji's eyes lit up; his anger vanished in a heartbeat. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's move!"
Potts rushed off to pack their things.
He'd already organized Renzo's lounge chair and Sanji's cooking tools, so all that was left was to box up the ingredients and the remaining spring eggs.
Renzo walked down to the shore and looked out at the approaching pirate ships, frowning slightly.
He didn't feel like wasting time hypnotizing each one again. Taking a step back, he slowly raised a hand toward the sea.
[Sloth's Declaration: Wide Area].
No thunder, no shockwaves, just a wave of invisible lethargy washing across the ocean.
The pirates froze mid-shout, their arms dropping as dull confusion glazed their eyes.
The helmsman slumped against the wheel and fell asleep; the ship spun lazily, drifting away from the island.
Even the waves seemed to "get lazy," flattening out into a mirror-like calm, as if joining Renzo's crusade against noise.
"All done."
Renzo brushed sand from his robe and headed toward the LC-02.
Sanji was already on board, inspecting his frying pans. "Nice move. Saved us the trouble."
"What else?"
Renzo reclined onto his chair as Potts handed him a freshly picked volcanic orange from the island. "Talking to them is too much effort."
The LC-02's engine rumbled to life, slicing through the water as they set course for Navy Headquarters.
Warmwave Island shrank into the horizon until it disappeared.
The sea breeze carried a faint sulfur scent. In the kitchen, Sanji was busy juicing Blue Mist Fruit for dessert prep.
Renzo glanced lazily toward the horizon. "HQ's desserts are decent. Big Mom's nut cookies are good... but you'll make better."
Sanji peeked out from the kitchen, a confident grin tugging at his lips. "Don't worry. Give me the right kitchen, and my molten chocolate cake will make you swallow your tongue."
He held an egg to the light, checking its freshness. "But let me make one thing clear, if anyone tries to boss me around while I'm cooking, I don't care what rank they are."
"No one would dare."
Renzo closed his eyes again, the sunlight warm enough to lull him. "Just make good food. I'll handle the rest."
Potts glanced back from the helm, his commanding officer was already asleep again, a faint smile on his face.
Sanji hummed a quiet tune as his knife danced across fruit, filling the air with a light, sweet aroma.
Leaving Warmwave Island felt a little bittersweet, but knowing they wouldn't have to dodge cannonballs anymore, and could finally eat Sanji's food in peace, made Potts' heart feel light.
He adjusted the rudder. The LC-02 surged ahead across the tranquil sea, leaving behind a shimmering golden trail in the sunlit waves.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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