"Mm…"
Monet's eyelashes trembled slightly as she slowly opened her eyes.
At first her gaze was unfocused, then it sharpened at once, alert and razor-cold.
The very first thing she saw was Renzo crouching in front of her… and behind him, that unmistakable Marine Admiral's cloak emblazoned with "Justice."
"Marine… 'Gray Sheep'!"
Monet's expression changed sharply.
Almost on pure instinct, her right hand instantly turned to snow, reshaping into a sharp spear that shot straight for Renzo's throat like lightning.
As one of Doflamingo's most loyal subordinates, surrender wasn't a concept that existed in her head.
Yet, just before the spear reached Renzo, barely ten centimeters away, it abruptly stopped.
It wasn't blocked.
Monet herself stopped.
Her eyes widened in horror.
Her arm… wouldn't move.
That intense, irresistible wave of sloth seized her right hand again.
Tink.
The ice spear crumbled instantly, reverting to her pale, delicate hand, falling limply at her side.
"You…" Monet stared at him, disbelief written all over her face.
'What kind of ability was this?'
'How could he control a specific part of my body?!'
Renzo rose to his feet and looked down at her.
His tone was not discussing, only informing her, lazy and flat:
"Starting today, you're being requisitioned."
"Re… requisitioned?" Monet froze.
"Mm." Renzo nodded and pointed to himself.
"I, Admiral Haiiroyo, need someone to pour tea, handle paperwork, and occasionally help with boredom. You seem perfect."
Monet's pupils shrank.
'What the?'
'This Marine Admiral was treating me like amaid?!'
Humiliation surged up like a tidal wave.
She shot to her feet, her beautiful face flushed bright red with fury.
"You're dreaming! I'm one of the Young Master's officers! I'd rather die than work for the Ma-"
Before she could finish, a huge yawn burst out of her uncontrollably.
"Ahh- uu…"
With that yawn, a crushing wave of exhaustion washed over her body.
Even her tongue felt lazy.
Speaking even one more word felt like too much work.
That fiery declaration from just moments ago felt like it had drained her life's entire supply of energy.
"You see?" Renzo shrugged.
"Your body is very honest."
A teasing smile tugged at his lips.
"It doesn't want to fight. It just wants to rest. And conveniently… my ability can let you 'rest' forever. Or-" he added lightly, "you can take on a much easier job. For example… making me a cup of black tea?"
Monet bit her lip hard, fighting with every fiber of strength left in her trembling body, just to stay standing.
And finally, she understood.
Against this man, her resistance, her willpower, even her life meant nothing.
He could make her sleep.
He could make her too lazy to move, too lazy to speak… too lazy to think.
If he wished, he could turn her into a living corpse, alive only in breath and heartbeat.
That overwhelming powerlessness, having even the right to resist stripped from her, filled her with unprecedented terror and suffocating frustration.
"I… I understand."
After a long while, she squeezed out the words through clenched teeth.
Each word felt like it cost her everything she had left.
"Good."
Renzo smiled, satisfied.
He knew very well for zealots like her, persuasion and speeches were worthless.
Only absolute, incomprehensible, irresistible power could convince them.
"Well then, Secretary Monet," Renzo said cheerfully.
"For your first task, go organize all the research data in Caesar's lab about SAD manufacturing and artificial Devil Fruits. Oh, also, make me a hot cocoa. Extra sweet. Thanks."
Without sparing a glance at Monet's face, now alternating between pale and flushed, he turned and walked deeper into the research facility.
Sanji gave this newly acquired secretary, perhaps the most miserable one in history a sympathetic look.
Left alone, Monet clenched her fists until her nails dug deep into her palms.
She looked at Renzo's lazy silhouette, and her dark green eyes flickered with humiliation, unwillingness, anger… and a faint hint of confusion she herself didn't notice.
'Young Master… what am I supposed to do?'
But the moment even a trace of rebellion flickered in her heart, that familiar, despair-inducing laziness crept back into her limbs like a shadow.
Her body stiffened… and her fists slowly loosened again.
'Forget it… I'll just… make the cocoa first.'
Thinking, after all, was tiring.
...
Out on the New World sea route, the wind was sweet, and the ocean was warm.
On the deck of the Endless Sheep, sunlight filtered through a specially designed dome, softened into a gentle, warm gold.
Even the sea breeze seemed to slow down, careful not to disturb the tranquil atmosphere.
Renzo lay at the center of this peace.
He was half-reclined atop his cloud coach, an absurdly soft creation handcrafted by Vegapunk, loosely draped in a thin blanket Sanji had sun-softened from premium cotton.
His eyes were half-closed in the perfect after-meal nap, a faint trace of cream still on his lip.
Beside him, a lovely figure was brewing black tea with flawless grace.
Monet, now requisitioned as the Admiral's secretary and tea attendant, had long accepted her fate.
She wore a fitted white dress, a delicate gold-rimmed pair of glasses perched on her nose, and her soft green hair swayed gently with her movements, adding a quiet, intellectual beauty to the lazy scenery.
She placed the freshly brewed Ceylon tea at precisely eighty-five degrees onto Renzo's floating side table, along with a small plate of still-warm madeleines fresh from Sanji's oven.
Her movements were silent, professional, perfectly understanding that her boss found noise offensive to his very soul.
"Mmm…"
Renzo released a satisfied hum.
He didn't even lift a hand, just tilted his head slightly, and Monet promptly brought the cup to his lips.
He took a sip.
The warmth and fragrance of the tea awakened his palate.
"The tea's acceptable," he commented lazily.
"But the cake… Sanji slacked off again, didn't he? The caramelization at the edge is deeper by 0.1 millimeters. It throws off the texture."
In the kitchen, Sanji, who was polishing his beloved knives, twitched violently, a cross-shaped vein popping on his temple.
But he said nothing.
He knew: Renzo might be lazy, but his palate was sharper than any machine on the world.
"Yes, Admiral Renzo."
Monet replied calmly, noting the complaint down mentally, ready to report it to Sanji later.
Meanwhile, Potts was quietly polishing Renzo's ever-present slippers, his face glowing with happiness.
The more comfortable the Admiral was, the more peaceful the world was, and the easier Potts' own workload became.
This was their routine on the return voyage.
Calm, serene, full of the scent of afternoon tea and the perfect level of laziness.
Until the tranquility swas hattered with the sudden, ringing of a Den Den Mushi.
purupuru puru!
The urgent, shrill ringing cut through everything.
Renzo's eyebrows instantly twisted into a deep knot.
Nothing irritated him more than unnecessary noise.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu