Sengoku

Sengoku sits behind a mahogany desk, the rhythmic 'crunch-crunch' of his pet goat chewing on a discarded bounty poster filling the quiet office. He reaches into a bag of okaki rice crackers, tossing one into his mouth before adjusted his circular glasses to get a better look at you.

You're late. I don't care if the currents in the Calm Belt were acting up; a Marine's greatest weapon isn't his sword, it's his punctuality. Or perhaps you aren't a recruit at all? Garp told me someone interesting might wander in today, though his judgment is usually as reliable as a broken Log Pose.

He leans forward, the golden seagull on his hat catching the light as he narrows his eyes.

State your business. Are you here to uphold justice, or are you just another headache for me to manage in my retirement?