Holy Land, Mary Geoise.
Inside the Room of Authority, the lighting was dim.
Five elderly yet imposing figures sat in a circle, silent like ancient statues.
The air was heavy enough to suffocate an ordinary king.
Only the flame of the eternal lamp in the center flickered faintly.
The silence was broken by the blond elder who rested a hand on his katana.
"The Marines' report has arrived."
His voice was calm, yet it pierced straight into the heart.
"Sakazuki's reaction was as intense as expected."
"As expected," said the long-bearded elder wearing a hat, his tone full of age and gravity.
"An excessively blazing flame can never tolerate anything it considers 'useless'. But he must learn tolerance."
"Balance is the foundation upon which the world survives," said the bald elder, eyes closed.
"Sakazuki's version of 'justice' is too sharp. A blade without a sheath, swing it long enough, and it will wound more than just the enemy."
"That is why we need a sheath."
The walrus-moustached elder spoke, his gaze sweeping across the other four.
"A sheath soft enough, tough enough, and even… sufficiently empty."
They were discussing a position capable of shaking the world, the rank of Marine Admiral, yet their tone was like they were deciding where to place a gardening tool.
"Renzo…"
The blond elder spoke the name, a trace of scrutiny in his voice.
"His power is unusual. But more unusual is his lack of desire. A man with no interest in authority, status, or factions is like a void. Any force attempting to recruit or control him will simply be swallowed and dissolved."
"He will not become Sakazuki's enemy, nor anyone's ally. He will remain where he is and become the perfect 'anchor', a coordinate that defines stillness."
"When the Marine ship threatens to capsize from too much force in any direction, we need such a heavy, immovable anchor to steady it."
The bald elder opened his eyes.
Behind the cloudy surface shimmered an intelligence that saw through all things.
"His strength is not our primary concern. We value his nature, his absence of desire, and his ability to make all 'trouble' naturally subside. For cleansing the intensifying factional struggles within the Marines, he is the ideal candidate."
"Sakazuki must understand that what the Marines need is not an axe that splits everything apart, but a net that catches all fish. And Renzo is the most inconspicuous, yet most crucial, knot on that net."
The flame in the chamber trembled, stretching the shadows of the five elders into long shapes.
This conversation, one that would influence the balance of the world, ended in silent agreement.
They were promoting Renzo not because of his battle achievements, but because they needed an outlier like him to rebalance the Marine scales.
Marine Headquarters, Fleet Admiral's office.
Sengoku rubbed his throbbing temples.
The countless documents piled before him reeked of smoke and ink.
Sakazuki's series of radical purges after the Paramount War had left behind endless messes.
Complaints from member nations.
Reports on internal Marine faction disputes.
Massive reconstruction budget requests.
All of it crushed down on him.
He had just finished the routine call with the Five Elders.
That seemingly absurd "Admiral appointment" still weighed heavily on his chest.
At first, he thought the Five Elders merely valued Renzo's strange, overwhelming power.
But now he sensed something deeper.
"Balance…"
Sengoku whispered the word, his gaze becoming complicated.
Those old monsters who had lived for who-knows-how-long, never cared about minor losses or gains.
Their concern was always the stability of the world.
Sakazuki's Absolute Justice burned too hot, scorching the Marines from within, to the point where internal fracture was becoming a real danger.
And Renzo was like a block of ice forced into the furnace, one that would never melt.
He wouldn't actively cool anything.
But his mere existence would prevent the surrounding temperature from rising without limit.
"To use one uncontrollable monster to restrain another that's on the verge of losing control…"
Sengoku murmured, staring out the window at the Marine flag billowing in the wind.
A deep fatigue washed over him.
This move was far too risky.
In a certain corner of the New World, on the Red Force, flagship of the Red-Haired Pirates,
a feast was underway.
A News Coo landed on the rail.
Yasopp took the paper and handed it quickly to his captain.
Shanks accepted it, eyes falling on the slightly blurry photo of a man with a lazy posture, and the bold headline:
{"New Marine Admiral Appointed!"}
His smile paused.
Then returned, deeper, more amused, tinged with the delight of someone watching a chaotic play unfold.
"Beckman," he said to his first mate, looks like those old fossils in the Marines finally decided to shake things up."
Dressrosa, King's Plateau.
Doflamingo lounged on a sofa, swirling a glass of wine as Trebol reported.
"Fufufufufufufu…"
His trademark laugh burst out, his whole body trembling.
"A slacker becomes an Admiral? Has the Marine run out of people? Or has Sengoku finally gone senile?"
But soon, the laughter stopped.
Behind his sunglasses, his eyes sharpened.
"No… this is actually an interesting variable. An Admiral who doesn't follow rules and acts purely on preference… Fufufu… This sea never lacks variables."
Revolutionary Army Headquarters.
Cold winds swept past steel fortifications.
Monkey D. Dragon stood before the massive world map, face as stern as ever.
A fresh newspaper was placed on the desk behind him.
He gave the headline only a brief glance before issuing an order in a voice calm yet absolute:
"Investigate every detail about this 'parachuted' Admiral. From his birth to this moment, leave nothing out."
"Yes, Chief Dragon!"
"An appointment this unreasonable," Dragon said as his gaze drifted back to the map, as if piercing through it to the deepest secrets of Mary Geoise…
"…must be hiding the World Government's true ambitions."
The storms of the world…
The games of the high table…
The secret tides of every great power…
None of it had anything to do with the sunlit, tranquil kitchen of Marine Headquarters.
Renzo stood before his nine-layer pudding, jelly, and cream "tower," completely absorbed.
The chaos outside was perfectly blocked by the thick windows and the Domain of Absolute Sloth.
Here, only the sweet scent of cream and sacred tranquility existed.
He had studied the "Pudding Tower" for ten minutes, like a meticulous architect evaluating every stress point and structural flaw.
Finally, he found it.
The perfect angle.
The ideal impact point for the most beautiful, most dramatic collapse.
He held his silver spoon, took a breath, and with delicate precision…
Scooped a bit of caramel pudding from the lowest layer.
Click.
A tiny sound of structural imbalance.
Then the magnificent tower, deprived of its critical support, began to tilt…
Slowly…
Elegantly…
And collapsed in a glorious cascade of layers!
Puddings and creams of various colors blended and flowed, forming a vibrant, abstract painting full of deconstructed beauty.
Renzo looked at the spectacle he had created, and then destroyed, and finally revealed a pure, content smile.
He scooped a mixture of strawberry jelly and vanilla cream, the "ruins" ,and tasted it.
"Mm... perfect."
This… was his simple happiness.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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