When the Rock slowly docked at the Marine Headquarters port, Renzo was almost the first to step off the ship.
Not out of longing for the headquarters, but out of deep yearning for his soft bed and the unlimited cafeteria.
Vice Admiral Gummir watched his back, moving no faster than before, yet somehow even more impatient, and sighed helplessly before heading straight to the Fleet Admiral's office to make his report.
Just as Renzo shuffled to his dormitory door, Vice Admiral Tsuru appeared, as though she had precisely calculated his return time.
"Back already?" Her voice was as calm as ever.
"...Yeah..." Renzo mumbled weakly, his hand already on the doorknob.
"You did well on the mission," Tsuru said with a faint smile.
"The Fleet Admiral is very satisfied. As a reward, the 'Secret Menu' of the officers' dining hall is now permanently open to you, with unlimited servings. Here's the special authorization."
She handed him a card stamped with the Fleet Admiral's personal seal.
The lazy aura surrounding Renzo rippled ever so slightly.
His half-closed eyes, usually dull and lifeless, opened a fraction wider, focusing on the card.
"...Really?" His voice carried a trace of genuine emotion, faint, but real.
"Of course. That includes air-flown A5 Wagyu, deep-sea emperor crab legs, tropical fruit salads from the South Sea, and the special desserts made only when that famous chef from the East Blue visits…"
As Tsuru listed each dish, Renzo's eyes grew brighter and brighter.
By the time she mentioned "special desserts," his hand moved, by his standards, at lightning speed, to take the card and tuck it safely into his pocket, as though it were the key to paradise itself.
"...Thanks..." he muttered dryly, then turned, opened his door, and collapsed straight onto his bed.
He needed to recharge a little, before setting out to conquer those delicacies.
From that day on, the Marine Headquarters cafeteria gained a new, peculiar sight.
Sometimes, Renzo himself would wander in during off-hours, moving as if sleepwalking, head straight for the head chef, hand over his privilege card, and mutter his order in a barely audible voice:
"...Today... I want that... crab meat..."
Other times, his attendant Potts would nervously rush in, clutching a notebook full of Renzo's handwritten meal plans, then sprint back to the dorms with armfuls of takeout boxes like a man on a secret mission.
Renzo's taste buds experienced a paradise of flavor.
His visible happiness rose dramatically, his face even had some color again. Of course, his laziness increased proportionally.
Now, forget missions, even moving from his bed to the couch required an intense inner battle.
And as his stay at headquarters lengthened, with his movements limited as they were confined to a few places, his unconscious "Absolute Domain of Sloth" began to spread, like a drop of ink diffusing through clear water, subtly affecting his surroundings.
The corridor of Renzo's dormitory floor became the bane of clerks and officers alike.
Not because of any physical obstruction, but because stepping into it made one inexplicably... lose motivation.
Their steps slowed, urgent files didn't feel so urgent anymore, and thoughts like "Maybe I'll grab a coffee first" became irresistibly tempting.
Paperwork efficiency mysteriously dropped by an entire grade level.
Renzo occasionally very rarely went to the edge of the training grounds to sunbathe.
Over time, the soldiers began calling the area he frequented the "Fatigue Zone."
Training there somehow drained energy twice as fast, muscles ached more, spirits flagged sooner, and results were poor no matter how much effort was put in.
Instructors couldn't figure it out. They blamed "psychological effects".
Renzo also discovered the library was an excellent napping spot, quiet, undisturbed.
He always occupied the same secluded corner by the window.
As a result, that section became notoriously "sleep-inducing."
Most officers or cadets who went there ended up nodding off mid-reading, drooling on open pages.
The librarian even considered posting a "Beware of Drowsiness" sign.
Even the potted plants in the hallway weren't spared.
Those nearest Renzo's room drooped listlessly, their leaves hanging like they were "too lazy to photosynthesize," leaving the gardening staff baffled.
At first, these strange effects were just rumors and complaints, but soon, certain observant officers began taking note.
Particularly those from Akainu's faction, who prized discipline and efficiency, were infuriated.
One burly Rear Admiral from that group finally snapped during lunch one day, after watching Renzo lazily skip the line as people unconsciously stepped aside in his presence to claim a premium steak.
He marched up to Renzo, booming, "Captain Renzo! You spend all day doing nothing, enjoying privileges, disrupting others' work and training! Is this your idea of being a Marine?! Do you even deserve that uniform?!"
His voice drew every eye in the cafeteria.
Renzo, focused entirely on the sizzling steak on his plate, lifted his head with agonizing slowness. His brow creased slightly.
"...You're noisy..." Renzo muttered softly.
"...You're in the way... it's such a pain..."
He did nothing, just voiced his irritation.
But the next second, the Rear Admiral felt a crushing, overwhelming wave of exhaustion crash over him, stronger than after three sleepless days of training.
His speech cut off mid-sentence as an enormous yawn tore from his throat.
"Yaa-aaawn-"
Tears welled in his eyes. He tried to glare, to stay awake, but his eyelids felt welded shut.
"I... I..." he mumbled, swaying, reaching for the nearest table, but failed.
"...So... sleepy..."
Before anyone could react, the burly colonel, just moments ago full of righteous fury, began snoring on his feet.
Renzo paid no attention. Without so much as a glance, he carefully picked up his steak, lazily walked around the "obstacle," and sat in the quietest corner to enjoy his meal.
The cafeteria fell utterly silent.
Everyone was stunned by the surreal scene before them.
From that day forward, another rumor spread about the "Lazy God" Renzo: not only was he lazy himself, he could make others too lazy to even argue.
No one dared to confront him again.
The report soon reached Sengoku's desk.
Listening to his aide's account, staring out the window at a few drooping plants, and thinking about the slightly slower departmental output lately, Sengoku felt his temples begin to throb once more.