In the shadow of the watchtower, Renzo was curled up on a piece of old canvas, his head resting on a sack stuffed with hay, sleeping soundly.
A wrinkled Marine coat was draped loosely over him, the hood tilted to one side, revealing a few strands of messy black hair.
The lunch box Sanji had brought sat beside him. The sweet scent of strawberry mochi still lingered in the air, yet it wasn't enough to wake him.
"Still sleeping?"
Sanji's tone carried its usual irritation, though he still gently nudged the lunch box closer, careful not to bump Renzo's arm.
"I just came from logistics. They're moving rations, compressed biscuits and all. Tomorrow we might not even have time to cook."
"Here, take this rice ball. It's tuna-filled. You can eat it cold."
Renzo slowly opened his eyes, bits of hay still clinging to his lashes.
He didn't get up. He simply reached over, unwrapped the rice ball, and took a big bite. The savory tuna and warm rice filled his mouth, making him squint in lazy satisfaction.
"Thanks."
"Thank yourself for not blowing up the kitchen."
Sanji leaned against the railing, gazing toward the harbor packed with Marine battleships, frowning slightly.
"War starts tomorrow. The mess hall's gonna be turned into a temporary medical bay. I've got to move all the food supplies to the cellar first."
"Mm." Renzo answered dully through a mouthful of rice. "Nobody's blowing up the kitchen."
His Domain of Absolute Sloth]already covered the area around the mess hall.
Any cannonball would be too lazy to fly straight, nothing was getting close.
Sanji was about to say something else when a commotion suddenly rose from below the tower.
Not the ordinary noise of soldiers, this was heavier, filled with pressure.
The Seven Warlords had arrived.
They both leaned over the railing. Below, a line of Marines cleared a path for a group of figures with distinctly different auras.
Dracule Mihawk walked calmly with the Black Blade on his back, eyes cold as ice.
Boa Hancock followed, her long dress sweeping the ground, every step making the nearby soldiers forget to breathe.
Jinbe came next, his gills opening and closing slowly, expression solemn.
And at the front, Doflamingo.
He wore a pink-and-white striped suit, sunglasses gleaming, fingers idly toying with silver strings. That trademark malicious smile curved his lips, like a venomous snake inspecting its prey.
"That bastard's here too?" Sanji muttered, voice suddenly cold.
He'd heard of Doflamingo's cruelty back in the East Blue, a man who treated human lives like trash. He couldn't stand him.
Renzo glanced lazily and yawned. "Warlord. He's just here to fill the headcount."
He was about to lie back down when Doflamingo's steps suddenly stopped, and his head turned precisely toward the watchtower.
"Well, well~ isn't that our little Sleeping General?"
Doflamingo's voice cut through the air, dripping with mockery.
He lifted his hand, thin, transparent threads unfurled from his fingertips, slithering up the wall like living things, heading straight for Renzo's ankle.
"The war's tomorrow, and you're still sunbathing up there? You're a disgrace to the Marines."
Sanji tensed instantly, hand flying to the kitchen knife at his waist.
He knew what those threads could do, if they reached Renzo, they'd slice through flesh like butter.
But Renzo didn't move.
Just as the strings were about to touch his pants, they suddenly lost all tension, their speed slowed to a crawl, then went limp and dropped to the ground with a dull plop.
"So noisy," Renzo muttered lazily, not even looking up.
He chewed another bite of rice ball. "Even strings get tired. Let them rest a bit."
It was the passive trigger of his [Sloth's Declaration], he hadn't even meant to counterattack.
He'd just found the fluttering threads annoying and made them too lazy to move.
Doflamingo's grin froze.
He twitched his fingers, trying to control the threads again, but they refused to respond, sticky and unresponsive, as if glued in place.
A familiar heaviness crept up his arm, a suffocating lethargy that made even forming a fist a chore.
"You bastard…" Doflamingo's voice darkened, a flash of killing intent glinting behind his shades.
He'd suffered under this man's ability before, back on Warm-Sun Island. He knew just how bizarre Renzo's powers were, but he hadn't expected even a casual probe to fail so miserably.
"What? You wanna fight?"
Renzo finally looked up, eyes dull and half-lidded, voice filled only with annoyance.
"If you fight here and wreck the tower, Sengoku's gonna yell at me again."
"If you're that desperate to cause trouble before the war, be my guest."
Doflamingo's fingers twitched.
He did want to teach this lazy Marine a lesson, but not here. Not with Mihawk and Hancock watching. Not when he couldn't even move his own strings.
"Fufufufu…" He chuckled, pulling his threads back.
"Fine, you win this round. But tomorrow… it might not be so easy."
"When Whitebeard shows up, let's see if your laziness can stop him."
"Not my problem."
Renzo turned away, lying down again. "Now get lost. You're blocking my sunlight."
Doflamingo's grin faded slightly. He didn't reply, just turned and followed the other Warlords toward the command tower.
As he passed the base of the watchtower, his eyes flicked briefly toward the fallen, lifeless threads. A faint trace of unease crossed his face.
Sanji exhaled deeply. "You seriously can't act normal for once? That guy was clearly picking a fight!"
"Would it help?" Renzo mumbled. "Fighting him wastes time and energy. Making him too annoyed to bother works better."
Sanji couldn't argue with that, even if he hated to admit it.
He sighed, picked up the empty lunch box. "I'm heading to the cellar. You better not sleep so hard you miss a possible prison raid."
"Yeah, yeah."
Renzo waved lazily. Moments later, soft, even breathing filled the air again, he'd fallen asleep.
…....
Down in the damp underground prison, Ace sat against the cold wall, the weight of seastone shackles biting into his wrists with every move.
He gazed through the narrow iron window toward the Marineford plaza, where the sound of hammers and timber echoed faintly, the execution platform taking shape.
There was no fear in his eyes.
He thought of his loudmouthed little brother.
Of Whitebeard.
Of Marco and the crew, laughing, fighting, drinking together aboard the Moby Dick.
"Pops…" Ace whispered softly, fingers brushing the rough seastone cuffs.
He knew Whitebeard would come. The man as stubborn and immovable as a mountain would never let his son be executed like this.
And Ace wouldn't just sit here waiting to be saved.
He'd fight till the very end, even if it meant being crushed to dust, to protect the pride of the Whitebeard Pirates.
Outside the window, the sky darkened. Lanterns flickered to life over the square like cold, distant stars.
Ace closed his eyes. Images of him, Sabo, and Luffy stealing oranges as kids flashed across his mind, and a faint smile touched his lips.
Tomorrow, whatever came, he was ready.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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