The corridors of the Marine Headquarters logistics building carried a mix of ink and old paper.
Borsalino, Admiral Kizaru, shuffled along the hallway, carrying a stack of docunts half as tall as himself. His yellow suit was even stained with blotches of ink.
This was a "special assignnt" personally given by Fleet Admiral Sengoku; he was to sort out three years' worth of pirate records from the West Blue. The reason? "You've dodged three missions in a row; it's ti you did so real work."
"So~ trou~ble~so~," Kizaru drawled lazily. With every step, the files seed to grow heavier, and behind his sunglasses, his eyes looked completely lifeless.
As he passed by the records room, he noticed a familiar figure lounging under the shade of a nearby tree.
Renzo was sprawled on a folding chair, resting his head on a book titled Illustrated Encyclopedia of Fish of the Four Blues. There were still cake crumbs at the corner of his mouth; clearly, he had just co from another food-related "mission" at the cafeteria.
Kizaru's eyes lit up. Hugging his stack of files, he sauntered over and nudged Renzo's arm with the corner of a folder.
"Yo~ Commodore Renzo~ enjoying the sunshine, huh~?"
Renzo cracked one eye open, saw who it was, and promptly shut it again.
"You're blocking the light."
"Don't be so cold now~," Kizaru said cheerfully, dropping the stack of files to the ground with a dull thud.
"I've got sothing good to share with you~."
Renzo didn't move, only grunted faintly in response.
Seeing that, Kizaru lowered his voice and spoke temptingly, "I heard Dessert Island just released a new 'Cloud Soufflé', soft as cotton, with a lting center. If you help out with sothing small, I'll treat you to one. How about it?"
That sentence was like a key turning in a lock; Renzo's interest instantly sparked. He opened his eyes at last, a hint of light returning to them. "Really?"
"Of course~ I asked the owner myself. It's made with South Blue premium cream~," Kizaru said, grinning like a cat that had caught a canary. He pointed to the pile of files on the ground.
"It's just these annoying things. Sengoku wants to organize, classify, and cross-check signatures. You know how much I hate brainwork~."
Renzo glanced at the stack, the cover read 'West Blue Pirate Records (Sea Circle Calendar 1510–1513)', the endless tags and notes made his head ache.
He wanted to refuse, "too much trouble", but the thought of that fluffy, sweet soufflé made him hesitate.
Finally, he got up from the chair and frowned at the pile.
"Don't stack it like that. It's irritating to look at."
The mont he said that, sothing magical happened.
The ssy pile of files ca to life!
The topmost folders floated up, arranging themselves neatly by year.
The docunts that required signatures drifted over to Kizaru, automatically opening to the correct page for him to sign.
The ink stains on so of the papers seed to "decide they couldn't be bothered to stay dirty" and began to fade until they disappeared completely.
A few folders that had fallen to the floor rolled themselves back into the stack, lining up perfectly.
Kizaru's jaw nearly dropped, his sunglasses even slid down his nose as he stared.
"Wha~ that's so~ con~ve~nient~!"
An officer walking by happened to see the scene. His coffee cup slipped from his hand, splattering all over the floor, but he didn't even notice.
"T-the files… they're moving on their own?! Haunted?!"
Renzo ignored him and muttered to the remaining docunts,
"Hurry up. Stop dawdling."
At that, the remaining files seed to receive the order, sorting even faster now. Those marked with bounties over 100 million went in one pile, the uncaptured pirates in another, and the handwriting in the notes beca crisp and legible.
In under three minutes, the massive stack of docunts was perfectly sorted, forming a tidy cube with aligned corners.
Renzo dusted off his hands, not that they were dirty, and headed back to his chair.
"Soufflé. Don't forget."
"Got it, got it~," Kizaru said eagerly, grinning from ear to ear at the neatly arranged files.
"If I get stuck like this again, I'm definitely calling you~."
Two days later, he did, this ti about a "West Blue Security Conference" that Sengoku was holding.
Apparently, it would last three hours, and every vice admiral was required to make a report. Just thinking about it gave Kizaru a headache.
"This eting's too~ loooong~," he complained, slumping on Renzo's dorm windowsill.
"When Sengoku starts talking about 'justice,' he just never stops. Last ti, I almost fell asleep, Akainu glared at for it~."
Renzo, lying on his bed and munching on an apple, said lazily, "Then just don't go."
"Can't~," Kizaru sighed. "Sengoku said you have to attend, too. You handled Weevil, so he wants your input on follow-up asures~."
Renzo froze mid-bite, his face collapsing.
"…I have to speak?"
"No, no~," Kizaru waved both hands.
"You just have to sit there. I've got a plan~."
On the day of the eting, Kizaru half-dragged Renzo into the conference room.
The long table was filled with senior officers. Akainu sat opposite them, frowning as soon as he saw Renzo, his look clearly said, Why are YOU here?
Sengoku sat at the head, holding a thick folder. Clearing his throat, he began, "Alright, the eting will begin. First, let's discuss-"
He was about to launch into his usual hours-long speech about "new trends in West Blue pirate activity," but suddenly felt his throat dry up. His long introduction sohow condensed into,
"Pirate activity in the West Blue has decreased lately. Remain vigilant for any who slip through. Next, Kizaru, your turn."
Kizaru started to stand, then felt Renzo nudge his shoe under the table.
In the next mont, Kizaru's own long-prepared report… beca astonishingly brief.
"I've got nothing special to add. Let's just stick to the usual routine."
Vice Admiral Tsuru blinked, about to ask, "What do you an by the usual routine?", but suddenly thought, 'actually, there's nothing to ask,' and swallowed the question.
Akainu was ready to criticize them for being too lazy, but before he could speak, a massive yawn overtook him. A wave of drowsiness hit, and for so reason, he found himself thinking, 'etings are such a pain… let's just end this fast.'
What was supposed to be a three-hour conference ended in less than thirty minutes.
Sengoku looked down at his untouched notes, confused.
"Huh? I haven't even gone through my outline yet…"
"Fleet Admiral, if there's nothing urgent, we'll be going~," Kizaru said cheerfully, dragging Renzo out of the room before anyone could object.
Outside, Kizaru laughed and clapped Renzo on the shoulder.
"Ama~zing~! That ability of yours is the ultimate slacker's weapon~!"
Renzo brushed off his hand and muttered, "Soufflé."
"On it!" Kizaru replied imdiately, then leaned closer, voice low and conspiratorial.
"How about we form an 'Official Marine Headquarters Slacker Strategy Alliance'?"
"You handle the boring stuff, I'll get you special food privileges in the cafeteria, and share my secret nap spots. Like the observation tower rooftop, great view, no interruptions~."
Renzo frowned. The word alliance already sounded like work.
But then Kizaru added, "As a bonus, I'll block Sengoku's assignnts for you. Like that West Blue inspection trip, I'll just say you're 'unwell.' No one will question it~."
That sealed the deal.
After a mont's thought, Renzo nodded.
"No etings. No reports."
"Deal!" Kizaru grinned, extending his hand.
"Pleasure working with you~."
Renzo didn't shake it; he just turned toward the cafeteria.
"Soufflé. Now."
"Hey, wait for ~!" Kizaru hurried after him. Their figures faded down the sunlit hallway, the light gilding them with a lazy golden glow, the first day of the newly born Slacker Alliance.
Back in the conference room, Sengoku stared at the now-empty seats, rubbing his temples.
"What's going on? Why was everyone so 'efficient' today?"
Vice Admiral Tsuru took a sip of tea, a knowing smile on her lips.
"Maybe… everyone just felt that etings are too much trouble."
Across the table, Akainu was still yawning, vaguely thinking, 'Next ti, maybe the eting could be even shorter.'
He had no idea he'd just beco an unwitting beneficiary of Renzo's power, and an indirect mber of the Slacker Alliance.
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