Life in the G-5 branch began to take on a… never-before-seen sense of order.
In the early morning, there were no longer drunken marines howling like ghosts in the hallways.
Instead, the air was filled with waves of tempting aroma, freshly toasted bread drifting out from the newly declared exclusive kitchen.
Anyone who tried to make noise before 8 a.m. quickly discovered that their body mysteriously turned weak. They couldn't even lift a bottle of booze.
By afternoon, the training grounds were completely empty. Most marines simply followed the example of their new Admiral and found a shaded corner to engage in "tactical exercise."
At first, a few stubborn instructors tried to organize drills.
But the slogans they shouted were weak, the soldiers ran slower than pedestrians, and in the end even the instructors yawned and declared:
"Alright… everyone rest."
At night, the base became eerily quiet.
The once all-night gambling dens and taverns were now deserted.
Because Renzo had decreed.
Anyone wandering around after 9 p.m. would have their meat portions cut in half the next morning.
For the meat-loving, roughneck G-5 marines, this was practically worse than being thrown into the brig.
"Is this even G-5 anymore? It feels like we're living in a retirement home!"
Tibeard gnawed on a vegetable stick, grumbling to his men.
It had already been three days since his meat rations were suspended due to his "overly loud voice." When he saw Sanji walking by with a tray of roasted meat, his eyes nearly turned green.
"Boss, maybe we should… just endure it?" One of his subordinates whispered, "Yesterday, Buck from Squad Two tried sneaking a drink at night. He got punished to move sleeping marines all night long. His legs are still shaking today."
Tibeard shuddered at the thought.
Renzo's punishments were pure mental torture.
He didn't beat them.
He didn't yell.
He simply stripped away the things they treasured most,meat, booze, and precious sleep.
Soon, the G-5 marines realized a cruel truth:
If they wanted to live comfortably here, the only way was to obey the lazy Admiral's outrageous "Three Dont's."
Don't disturb him.
Don't starve him.
Don't bother him.
And all of these changes came from a man who spent most of his time sprawled across a velvet couch, barely leaving his office.
Renzo's "reform plan" for G-5 was progressing smoothly.
He had Potts draft a detailed "G-5 Base Schedule and Reward/Penalty Ordinance," with its core centered around quietness and food.
Marines who followed the schedule and completed patrols on time could earn Sanji's Special Dessert Vouchers.
Those who performed exceptionally,like capturing high-bounty criminals,might even receive the ultimate reward: a top-tier dish cooked personally by Sanji, granted by Renzo himself.
On the other hand, anyone who caused trouble faced punishments.
At first, everyone scoffed at such rules.
But when the first lucky marine who intercepted a smuggling ship got to eat pan-seared Sea King with cloudberry sauce, and burst into tears from happiness in the cafeteria…
Everyone else's eyes went red with jealousy as the man yelled.
"This taste…is heaven."
From that day onward, patrol enthusiasm in G-5 soared to unprecedented heights.
They no longer sailed out for so-called justice, but for the food that could purify their souls.
Renzo was very satisfied.
With minimal cost (Sanji's cooking), he had achieved maximal efficiency (a peaceful base and high mission completion rates).
It fit perfectly with his philosophy of Sloth Economics.
That afternoon, Renzo was lying on his velvet sofa, enjoying a rare moment of absolute silence.
Sanji was in the kitchen developing new dishes.
Potts was in the next room handling paperwork.
The entire base was in "nap mode."
Suddenly, a Den-Den Mushi rang out
Purupuru puru
Renzo frowned without opening his eyes and muttered, "Potts. Answer it."
Potts rushed in and picked up the snail.
"This is the office of Admiral Haiiroyō."
A panicked voice came through the line:
"This is Vice Admiral Onigumo! Our fleet has been ambushed on the New World route by Charlotte Daifuku, Minister of Beans under Big Mom! Requesting immediate assistance! Coordinates are-"
Potts' expressions changed instantly.
He covered the snail and looked at Renzo in horror.
"Admiral! It's a distress call! They're being held by Big Mom's crew!"
Renzo rolled over, facing away from the snail, and mumbled:
"Tell him I'm napping. Busy. He can figure something out… or wait until I finish my nap."
"..."
If he relayed that word for word, Onigumo would die in anger.
Thinking fast, Potts told the snail:
"Vice Admiral Onigumo, rest assured! Admiral Haiiroyō has received your call! He is currently in… 'strategic meditation'… formulating the optimal response plan! Please hold out!"
After hanging up, Potts wiped cold sweat and turned to Renzo, who looked moments away from sleep.
"Admiral, this is a powerful officer under a Yonko. We really shouldn't ignore it!"
Renzo did not respond.
Potts ran in circles, panicking-
Until Sanji stepped out of the kitchen.
He wiped his hands and said, "Don't panic. That lazy bastard isn't stupid."
He leaned down next to Renzo's ear and whispered just loud enough for the two of them:
"Hey, slacker. I just got the updated ingredient transport routes. Daifuku's fleet is currently blocking the shipment route of the Rainbow Frosting ingredients."
Renzo's body froze… almost imperceptibly.
Sanji continued, "In other words, if we don't 'deal with' them, we won't be tasting desserts made from that miracle ingredient for at least half a year."
"And-" he paused, then delivered the killing blow, "I also heard Daifuku's ship carries Big Mom's personal stash of Life Chocolate, made with the world's finest cocoa beans."
The room was silent for several seconds.
Then Renzo slowly sat up.
He rubbed his eyes.
His perpetually sleepy gaze sharpened, revealing a faint, icy glint.
"Potts."
"Yes, Admiral!"
"Prepare the ship. Sanji, bring your best cookware."
Renzo stood up and stretched, his joints cracking softly.
"Tell Onigumo… support is on the way."
As he walked toward the door, the admiral's cloak draped lazily over his shoulders, the word Justice on the back gleamed faintly in the sunlight, and for once, it didn't look so out of place.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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