The Marine Headquarters library was as quiet as ever.
Renzo sank deep into his personal armchair, like a beast in hibernation, enjoying the laziest hour of the afternoon.
A thick Atlas of Sea Fish lay open across his knees, but the pages hadn't been turned for a very long time.
His consciousness floated between wakefulness and sleep. The sounds of the world, pages turning, shouts from distant training grounds, even the cries of seagulls, were all filtered through his invisible Domain of Absolute Sloth, blending into a soft, formless white noise.
But then, a faint sound broke through that comfortable haze, subtle, unfamiliar, almost like a feather brushing his half-sleeping nerves.
Footsteps.
Light ones, but with a slight unsteady rhythm, lacking the composed tempo of routine.
Renzo slowly peeled open his eyelids by a fraction, his drowsy gaze falling upon a familiar figure across from him.
It was Ain.
She was sitting in her usual spot, back straight as always, a habit ingrained from years of training. Yet today, even that posture carried an unmistakable weariness.
Her short, Marine-blue hair seemed a little duller than usual. Her eyelids drooped slightly.
One hand absently pressed against her temple, and the tactical notes spread out before her hadn't been flipped for quite some time.
She hadn't even fetched her usual cup of tea, she simply sat there quietly, as if even standing up had become too exhausting.
Renzo's empty eyes lingered on her for a few seconds.
'Trouble.'
That was the first thought that surfaced in his mind.
A strong instinct to avoid involvement rose immediately: 'Don't notice. Don't ask. Just keep sleeping. Best to maintain the status quo, any change is a seed of trouble.'
He tried to close his eyes again, to block out the faint heaviness in the air.
But something felt off.
This silence wasn't peaceful, it was drained, the quiet of someone running far past their limits.
Like an overheated machine, still spinning without cooling.
'If she kept this up...'
A far more troublesome thought slowly bubbled to the surface.
'Would she stop coming here on schedule?'
'Would she be reassigned, to some noisy, chaotic front line?'
'Would this peaceful corner be broken?'
'Would someone new, someone louder, take her place?'
'Having to readjust… that would be such a pain.'
The more he imagined these future inconveniences, the more his head throbbed, worse than seventy-two hours of nonstop overtime.
Deep within his lazy soul, inertia clashed violently with his aversion to "future trouble."
The energy it took could've rivaled a psychic duel with Akainu himself.
After several minutes of this silent inner war, a rare conclusion emerged, fragile but firm:
'A little trouble now… might be worth it, if it prevents a lot more later.'
Thus, Renzo, the Marine Headquarters' famed Sloth God, made a decision that would've made Sengoku's jaw drop.
He moved.
Very slowly, very unwillingly, he peeled himself out of his beloved armchair, as though detaching his soul from its natural habitat.
The sheer magnitude of the effort made him exhale faintly, almost panting.
He stood still for a few seconds, getting used to this strange, energy-draining posture called "standing," before starting to shuffle forward, like a rusted robot, toward the library doors, at half his already slow pace.
Through the hall, toward the cafeteria.
A distance that normally felt impossibly far now seemed endless.
The cafeteria's noise hit him like a wave, making his brow twitch. He took a deep breath and forced himself to move faster still slower than an ordinary walk.
Reaching the drink counter, he opened his mouth, but the thought of forming words was already tiring.
So, he simply pointed at the steaming thermos of milk and gestured weakly for "one cup."
The cafeteria cook, long accustomed to this bizarre but well-connected officer, nodded in understanding.
She quickly filled a large cup with hot milk and, on a whim, added a small spoonful of honey, she figured the perpetually sleepy man could probably use a bit of sugar.
Renzo stared at the cup of steaming milk, hesitating.
Carrying it directly? Too troublesome. Too hot. And he'd have to keep it balanced the whole way…
His "save effort" instinct activated again.
The milk trembled slightly, as if wrapped by a lazy, invisible force, then slowly floated into the air, hovering beside him like a docile ghostly servant.
And so, a strange scene unfolded in the halls of Marine Headquarters.
Captain Renzo shuffled forward like a sleepwalker, with a cup of steaming, sweet-smelling milk floating behind him.
Everyone who saw the pair either yawned uncontrollably or instinctively stepped aside, as though drowsiness itself radiated from him.
At last, Renzo made it back to the library, to that same quiet corner.
Ain had fallen lightly asleep, still in the posture of rubbing her temples.
Renzo stopped before her desk.
He looked at the floating milk, then at the resting Ain, and began calculating the least effort way to set it down.
After a moment's thought, he decided on the optimal solution, gently guiding it down with his mind, letting the cup settle noiselessly beside her hand.
Once the "feat" was done, he collapsed back into his armchair, as if his life energy had been completely drained.
He sank deep, shut his eyes, and adjusted his breathing, pretending he'd never moved at all.
Moments later, Ain stirred, perhaps roused by the sweet scent of milk, or simply from a shallow sleep.
Her lashes fluttered open, and she immediately noticed the unexpected cup beside her hand.
She blinked, momentarily puzzled, then instinctively looked across the table.
Renzo was slumped in his chair, breathing evenly a flawless act, his expression saying I've been asleep for a thousand years, don't disturb me.
As if the milk had simply appeared by magic.
But in all of Marine Headquarters, there was only one person capable of this peculiar "delivery method", and he happened to be sitting right there.
Ain's gaze lingered between Renzo's "sleeping" profile and the steaming cup.
She quickly pieced everything together.
A faint but genuine warmth spread through her chest.
She didn't speak of it. She just reached out, gently wrapping her fingers around the cup.
The warmth spread through her palms; the honeyed scent rose softly, chasing away her exhaustion.
Then, in a voice so soft it barely disturbed the air, she said:
"Thank you."
Silence followed for a few seconds.
Then, just as Ain thought there'd be no reply, a drowsy, nearly inaudible mumble drifted from across the table.
"…Just happened to pass by…"
"…Next time… try not to be so noisy…"
His voice faded again, swallowed by the rhythm of fake sleep.
Ain's lips curved gently upward.
She said nothing more, just took a small sip of the warm, sweet milk.
It was very sweet. And very quiet.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing both of them in the same soft glow.
One continued "sleeping," the other quietly recharging her energy.
The air carried the faint scent of milk, and a wordless sense of understanding.
That fragile alliance of "mutual non-interference" and "shared distaste for trouble" was, in that moment, lightly gilded with something new, something called friendship.
For Renzo, this was probably the most effort he'd ever exerted in the name of "keeping peace."
And for Ain, that little act of might have been the most unique and precious show of care she'd ever received in the strict, demanding world of Marine Headquarters.