The moment LC-02 docked at Marine Headquarters, before the gangway was even fully secured, two adjutants in white uniforms hurriedly came aboard.
Their faces carried that odd mix of respect and anxiety, the kind that said, Our superior told us to bring him over fast before he runs away again.
They were Sengoku's men, sent specifically to "invite" Renzo. The Fleet Admiral knew that if they were even a minute late, this particular officer would find some excuse to escape to the cafeteria.
"Commodore Renzo, sir, the Fleet Admiral is waiting for you in his office. He instructed us to bring you immediately upon arrival."
As soon as the adjutant on the left finished speaking, Renzo slowly sat up from his deck chair, still holding half a moss-cookie Sanji had baked aboard the ship. He took an unhurried bite, crumbs falling onto his bathrobe.
"Let me finish this bite first."
He chewed lazily, not even bothering to brush off the crumbs. Potts quickly offered a napkin, but Renzo waved him away. "Where's Sanji?"
"Mr. Sanji has already been taken to the mess hall," the right adjutant replied quickly. "The Fleet Admiral personally instructed that Mr. Sanji be given his own ingredient storage and direct access to the head chef. He also made sure that the 'South Blue Special Butter' and 'Sky Island Spices' you requested were fully stocked."
Only then did Renzo nod in satisfaction. 'At least that talk with Sengoku on the way back wasn't for nothing.'
As he followed the adjutants toward the main headquarters building, the Marines they passed instinctively saluted. Their eyes were filled with curiosity; everyone had heard about the "Sleeping Commodore" who had just captured pirates worth hundreds of millions in bounties on Warmwave Island.
But looking at him now, unkempt hair, lazy gait, half-awake expression, it was hard to reconcile that image with the rumors.
Sengoku's office sat on the top floor of the main building.
The moment Renzo pushed the door open, the rich scent of coffee filled the air. Sengoku sat behind his massive desk, brows furrowed tightly enough to crush a fly. Two neatly stacked documents were in his hands, and beside them lay a wrinkled newspaper, its headline practically screamed from the page:
{"Shocking! Marine Commodore Goes Fishing on a Deserted Island With a Chef, Pirates Line Up to Surrender!"} Byline: Morgans
"You're finally here!"
Sengoku slammed the documents onto the table, the impact making the coffee cup tremble. "Explain yourself, Renzo! You stayed on Warmwave Island for three whole months! Why didn't you submit your reports on time?"
"And another thing, you took a civilian, Sanji, to the island and even brought him back with you! Do you realize that's against Marine regulations?"
Renzo sat down on the sofa farthest from the desk, half-closed his eyes, and leaned back like this entire lecture was background noise.
"The island had too many pirates, too noisy. I set the den den mushi to 'don't bother me mode.'"
"As for Sanji, he's a cook. He makes food. That's not against the rules, right?"
"Not against the-?!" Sengoku snatched up the newspaper and jabbed a finger at the picture.
It showed Renzo lounging by a hot spring while Sanji grilled fish nearby. In the background, several pirates lay sprawled unconscious on the ground. The caption read: {"Marine Commodore Obsessed With Vacation; Pirates Turn Themselves In."}
"Morgans spread this story across the entire sea! The pirates of the New World are laughing at us, calling the Marines a daycare for slackers! Do you know what that does to our image?"
Renzo glanced at the photo he only said, "Let them laugh. It's not like they can beat me anyway."
Sengoku's grip on his coffee cup tightened so much it almost cracked. He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down.
Arguing logic with Renzo was pointless; the man's brain operated on a single axis: Is this troublesome or not?
"Enough. I won't waste more breath lecturing you."
He changed tone, sliding one of the documents across the table. Decorated in gold on the cover were four words: "Marine Promotion Order."
"In recognition of your achievements in defeating 'Iron Spine' Garon and 'Silver Blade' Lia on Warmwave Island, the high command has unanimously decided to promote you to Rear Admiral."
"What?"
Renzo's eyes snapped open. For once, he sat upright, flipping through the document, until he reached the section describing the responsibilities: commanding a fleet, submitting three strategic reports a month, attending high-level meetings.
His face immediately went slack.
"I refuse. Rear Admirals have to do too much. I'll stay a Commodore."
As a Commodore, he could still nap in the library. But a Rear Admiral? That meant meetings, paperwork, logistics, pure torture.
"You think this is negotiable?"
Sengoku pulled out another document, this one stamped with both the Navy Headquarters and World Government seals.
"This is the official council decision, a mandatory promotion. If you refuse, you'll be reassigned to the New World front lines. Akainu is short on a deputy, and he specifically mentioned your name, saying you 'lack combat motivation.' He's very eager to 'train' you personally."
"The New World front lines?"
Renzo's voice immediately softened.
He remembered well what that meant: endless battles, cannon fire day and night, no sleep, no peace, barely time to eat.
Compared to that, the "troubles" of being a Rear Admiral suddenly felt manageable.
At least in headquarters, he could still sneak to the cafeteria and freeload off Sanji's cooking, maybe even dump paperwork on Kizaru.
He stared at the double seal on the decree, imagined Akainu's furious face, then quietly stuffed the promotion order into his pocket.
"…Fine. Rear Admiral, it is. But I'm not managing any fleet, I'm not writing reports, and I'll, uh,' try my best' to attend meetings."
Sengoku's temple twitched violently. But what could he do? He couldn't actually send this guy to the front lines; Renzo would just nap through artillery fire and make things worse.
"Fine. You're dismissed," Sengoku said, waving him off, tone filled with helpless resignation.
"Sanji's arrangements are settled. And do me a favor, stop hanging around the mess hall all day. Familiarize yourself with your new duties for once."
Renzo stood up and quickly made for the door, noticeably faster than when he came in.
He needed to find Kizaru. If he could get the man to handle some of the Rear Admiral workload, maybe this wouldn't be such a nightmare.
Just as he stepped into the corridor, he nearly bumped into Kizaru himself, casually fanning himself with a paper fan. The admiral had clearly been waiting.
"Oooh~ Rear Admiral Renzo, fresh from the Fleet Admiral's office, I assume? Judging by your face, you got scolded pretty good, hmm~?"
"Don't tease me," Renzo grumbled. "Sengoku wants me to handle fleets and reports. You're helping me, or next time, you're not invited to the Warmwave hot springs."
Kizaru immediately straightened, dropping his joking tone and whispering conspiratorially, "Don't worry, leave it to me. I'll handle the reports, find a competent deputy for your fleet, you'll just need to show your face occasionally."
Renzo finally exhaled in relief. In his mind, a plan was already forming: the next time Sengoku came looking for trouble, he'd drag Kizaru in with him.
Having a fellow slacker for an ally really did make life easier.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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