The air around Marine Headquarters carried a tension unlike any other day.
Even the most lackadaisical errand boys found their pace unconsciously quickening.
The LC-02 had long been docked at the officers' exclusive pier, yet its owner, Rear Admiral Renzo, spent most of his time slumped lazily in his private kitchen, a converted warehouse.
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling warmly across his body, and combined with the rich aroma of Sanji's simmering cream soup, it created the perfect conditions for what Renzo considered an ideal afternoon nap.
Sanji, fully focused on seasoning the soup, occasionally glanced at Renzo's relaxed figure, a faint, amused smile tugging at his lips.
For Sanji, having a kitchen entirely under his control within Headquarters, stocked with the finest ingredients from all four seas, was already a great satisfaction.
Nearby, Potts carefully handled a batch of rare mushrooms flown in by air. Under Renzo's "picky supervision" and Sanji's strict teaching, his cooking skills had improved at a startling rate.
This peaceful atmosphere was broken by a familiar, leisurely set of footsteps, light, casual, and just a bit smug.
Borsalino, the Yellow Monkey, strolled in with his trademark folding fan swaying lazily in his hand.
"Yo~ Rear Admiral Renzo, you sure know how to enjoy yourself."
He sniffed the air, eyes immediately locking onto the bubbling pot of soup.
"Sanji-san's cooking… just the smell is enough to make a man forget all his worries~"
Renzo didn't even bother to open his eyes. "Mmm… soup's almost ready. Get yourself a bowl."
Borsalino took that as an invitation, grabbing a bowl and a ladle with practiced ease. Then, in his slow drawl, he added, "Thing is, Headquarters just got itself into a big~ problem."
"Marshall D. Teach, Blackbeard, captured Fire Fist Ace and handed him over to us. Right now, he is locked up in the deepest cell beneath Headquarters."
The air in the kitchen froze for a moment.
Sanji's stirring hand stopped. Potts instinctively covered his mouth.
Renzo finally opened his eyes, yawning. "So? What's it got to do with me? Don't tell me Sengoku wants me to go visit?" He sounded more irritated by the disturbance than concerned, like someone annoyed by a fly buzzing in his nap zone.
"Who knows~" Borsalino slurped his soup with delight, eyes half-closed. "Whitebeard definitely won't take this lying down. Things may look calm now, but the undercurrents are nasty."
"The Fleet Admiral thinks we need extra precautions before the execution, to prevent any uninvited guests from pulling off something unexpected. Maybe… a particularly reliable warden."
He twirled his spoon meaningfully. "Like someone whose very presence makes all 'trouble' go conveniently… sluggish. The entrance to the underground prison sounds like a perfect posting, doesn't it?"
"Doesn't."
Renzo's reply was flat and immediate. "It's cold, damp, and nowhere near as comfortable as my kitchen. Bad lighting, terrible for resting. I'm not going."
Leaving his paradise of food and comfort just to sit around in some gloomy dungeon? No deal. The cost-benefit ratio was atrocious.
"What a shame~"
Borsalino shrugged and ladled another bowl of soup, still speaking lazily. "I thought you'd care about things like 'ensuring the smooth execution so the Headquarters can return to peace quickly, avoiding long-term lockdowns that might disrupt food supply chains.'"
He blew lightly on his soup. "After all, during extended alert status, logistics prioritize rations, not delicacies. Those special and rare ingredients you love so much might face… delays. Or cancellations~"
Renzo's movements froze.
He squinted at Borsalino for two seconds, then glanced at the ingredients laid out across the counter, each one a symbol of his comfortable life.
Sanji frowned, clearly reaching the same realization. A tense Headquarters meant chaos for supply lines.
After a short silence, Renzo sighed, seemingly weighing the levels of inconvenience in his mind, and slowly stood up.
"Potts," he said, "go to my office and grab the thickest wool blanket and that soft pillow. Sanji, pour some soup into the best thermos."
Potts scurried off and returned with the requested items. Sanji handed over a heavy, steaming thermos.
Renzo looked like a man heading off on a picnic, not a guard assignment.
"Doesn't matter where I sit, really," he muttered, tone calm but resolute, the voice of someone who had found the least bothersome solution. "At least no one will bother my naps down there. Beats worrying about running out of good food."
Borsalino chuckled, turning to Sanji. "See? Rear Admiral Renzo always makes the most efficient decisions~ Sanji-san, that soup's great, mind if I have a bit more?"
"Nope," Sanji snapped, snatching the bowl away. "The rest's for the Rear Admiral's night shift! Can't have him getting bored and sneaking back early!"
Deep beneath Marine Headquarters, at the end of a heavily guarded corridor, lay the special cell holding Ace.
The air was cold, the walls thick with seastone, and rows of elite marines stood at attention, eyes forward, weapons steady.
Yet amid this atmosphere of strict discipline, there was one very out-of-place sight.
In a small sheltered corner not far from the cell door, Rear Admiral Renzo sat comfortably wrapped in his thick blanket, back to the wall, soft pillow beneath him.
He sipped occasionally from his thermos of Sanji's soup, made with a touch of hot spring moss, wearing an expression of serene laziness, as if fully embracing the situation.
The officer in charge of the guard team tried several times to approach and report, but every time he came within a few meters, an inexplicable wave of drowsiness hit him. His thoughts dulled, speech slowed, and he'd end up staggering away, shaking his head as if waking from a dream.
Renzo didn't even need to activate his ability; his Domain of Absolute Sloth was passively suppressing all potential "troublesome interactions."
The guards remained at their posts, but the whole corridor fell into an eerie, sleepy silence.
Inside the cell, Ace sat bound hand and foot in seastone chains, head lowered.
He could feel the unnatural quiet outside, the thick, sticky stillness in the air.
Lifting his head slightly, he looked toward the door, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
Renzo took one last sip from his thermos, set it down, and snuggled deeper into his blanket.
"Let's just keep it peaceful until this is over…" he murmured, eyes drifting shut. "Otherwise… I'll make you all too lazy to move…"
His words faded into the cold underground air, a strange balance between a troublesome prisoner inside and an even lazier warden outside.
The dangerous balance held, for now.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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