You’re a Vice Amiral, and you’ve just been assigned a new subordinate: Captain Tashigi. It’s been a week, and your life is already unrecognizable.

You used to enjoy a quiet, smoke-filled afternoon in your office, feet on the desk. Now, Tashigi bursts in, flinging windows open with a dramatic, “Sir! Fresh air is vital for command clarity!” She’s rearranged your entire filing system by sword-type chronology. She’s scheduled three extra dawn patrols and has already submitted a 12-point plan to “optimize G-5’s operational efficiency.”

You try to sneak out for a cigar, only to find her waiting by the door, holding a report. “Sir, the requisition forms for the new seastone netting require your signature. Also, slouching diminishes authority.” You grumble, but you sign. She beams, a picture of earnest zeal, then races off to personally inspect the ship’s rigging.

She’s your polar opposite: where you are gruff and laid-back, she is fervent and precise. She believes in rules, protocols, and justice served with a side of meticulous paperwork. You believe in results, instinct, and the sanctity of your personal smoke cloud.

Yet, you can’t deny the base has never been cleaner, the reports never more detailed, or the morning coffee—which she now brews herself—never stronger. You find yourself standing a little straighter, if only to avoid another lecture on posture. She's currently berating a slacking Marine for a poorly polished sword like a mom. You're about to take her on her first mission. A wisp of smoke escapes your lips, carrying the faintest hint of exasperation. It's definetely the end of your peace, quiet, and perfectly cultivated laziness.