In the Marine Headquarters cafeteria, an unspoken war was fought every day in the dessert section.
The limited-edition desserts, especially those that the head chef made on a whim, were always the most sought-after spoils of battle.
Renzo had recently developed a deep interest in one of these: a dessert called Moonlight Mousse.
It was a pale lavender mousse with a light, airy texture, carrying the gentle fragrance of lavender and honeyed sweetness. A touch of edible silver foil shimmered on top, like moonlight on a calm night.
Most importantly, it melted the moment it touched the tongue, requiring almost no chewing at all.
Perfectly aligned with Renzo's two culinary standards: maximum flavor, minimum effort.
However, due to the dessert's complexity, only twenty servings were made each day.
This posed a serious problem for Renzo's lifestyle.
By the time he woke naturally from his afternoon nap and strolled lazily to the cafeteria, all he'd find was an empty display case and the faintest trace of sweetness lingering in the air.
After missing it several times, even Renzo's perpetually lazy soul began to harbor a faint grudge.
"…Gone again…" he murmured one afternoon, staring blankly at the little sign reading Moonlight Mousse – Sold Out.
A rare wave of low pressure radiated from him, thicker than usual.
Several officers nearby, who had just finished eating, suddenly felt a heavy fatigue settle over them and muttered, "Eh… forget it, I'll come back tomorrow," before sluggishly walking away.
Just then, Renzo's gaze drifted, purely by chance, toward the quietest corner of the cafeteria.
And froze.
Ain was sitting at their usual table by the window, the spot they had silently claimed as theirs, quietly sipping tea.
And across from her, on the table, sat an untouched, glistening Moonlight Mousse.
Renzo's brain, for once, began working at an unusually high speed burning through nearly all his non-eating energy reserves for the day:
'Ain.'
'Our table.'
'A Moonlight Mousse.'
'She… doesn't really like sweet things, does she?'
He shuffled over, his pace faster than usual, by perhaps 0.01 seconds.
Stopping before the table, his eyes moved between the mousse and Ain.
He didn't sit down right away; his expression showed a rare mixture of hesitation and quiet longing.
Ain lifted her gaze to him. Her face betrayed no surprise.
She simply looked at him with calm eyes, then at the mousse, and performed a small, graceful gesture.
She extended one slender finger and gently pushed the glass cup of mousse across the table, sliding it neatly to Renzo's usual spot.
Then she retracted her hand, lowered her eyes, and returned to the tactical notes open before her, as though she'd merely brushed aside a fallen leaf.
The entire exchange took place without a single word, or even a glance that required explanation.
Renzo stood there, blinking twice in slow realization.
A wave of warm, wordless understanding, an effortless convenience, washed over him like a soft tide.
He understood.
Completely.
No refusal, no thanks (hat would require forming sentences, troublesome, he simply sat down quietly, and perhaps a bit eagerly.
The silver spoon, guided by invisible lazy telekinesis, trembled slightly as it scooped a generous bite and floated to his lips.
The mousse dissolved instantly, flooding his taste buds with bliss.
More importantly, the entire process, acquiring and enjoying this masterpiece, had been effortless. No struggle, no social effort, no noise.
He ate with deep concentration and even deeper satisfaction.
Ain continued reading, occasionally sipping her tea, as if Renzo and the mousse didn't exist at all.
Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing both in a soft golden haze.
One ate in peace; the other read in silence.
Between them stretched the perfect measure of stillness, a quiet, balanced harmony.
From that day forward, an unspoken rule was born.
If Ain arrived at the cafeteria first and didn't see Renzo anywhere, she would calmly walk to the dessert counter.
If Moonlight Mousse, or any limited dessert Renzo clearly enjoyed, was still available, she'd take an extra serving.
She would sit at their usual table and place the spare dessert across from her.
When Renzo eventually arrived, one look was enough to understand everything.
He would sit, eat, and enjoy. Effortlessly. No confirmation, no conversation required.
On rare days when Renzo arrived first usually because he'd dreamed of food so vividly that it motivated him to get up early, he would occupy their usual corner and lazily glance toward the entrance.
When he spotted Ain, he'd tap his fingers twice on the table or pull out the chair across from him, his highest-effort signal of invitation.
Ain would notice, understand, and sit down.
Sometimes she fetched her own food; other times, Renzo used his 'telekinesis' called Potts, to fetch her fruit or tea he vaguely remembered she liked those.
They became each other's "quiet anchor" and "dessert insurance" amid the cafeteria chaos.
Their minimalist, wordless coordination perfectly suited both of their personalities, those who valued calm above all and despised needless effort.
Renzo gained a steady, hassle-free dessert supply.
Ain gained a peaceful dining spot completely free of noise and with Renzo's aura, even flies slowed down mid-flight.
It was a perfect win-win.
But to the rest of Marine Headquarters, this quiet partnership was nothing short of a spectacle.
"Look! The 'Sloth God' and the 'Blue Crow' are sitting together again!"
"Did Ain-chan bring him dessert again?"
"Did they talk? No? I watched for ten minutes, nothing!"
"Do they communicate with brainwaves or something?"
"Incredible… that Captain Renzo can actually sit with Zephyr-sensei's star pupil…"
"But seriously, why does she bring him food? What are they to each other?"
From ordinary marines to vice admirals, countless people quietly observed the odd pair, speculating, whispering, and never daring to interrupt.
Partly out of respect for Ain's strength and background… but mostly out of fear of Renzo's strange aura.
No one wanted to suddenly get drowsy mid-meal and faceplant into their soup.
Only Kuzan, who once happened to witness the scene, watched for a long while with a hand on his chin. Then he chuckled lazily and muttered, "Eh… makes sense. Efficient."
And so, the Marine Headquarters' most peculiar bond, a friendship or perhaps a mutually beneficial alliance built upon silence and dessert, was quietly, naturally, and firmly formed.
It required no vows, no promises.
Only the purest understanding, of each other's utter intolerance for "trouble," and their shared devotion to "peace and quiet."
To Renzo, Ain was perhaps the least troublesome and most reliable "premium resource provider" he'd met since arriving in this world.
To Ain, Renzo was likely the only colleague she could sit beside for hours without feeling a shred of social pressure or noise disturbance.
Their peculiar alliance was like the sunlight that always bathed their favorite corner,
quiet, warm, and indispensable.