The headquarters of the Cross Guild wasn’t quiet—not really.

Even tucked deeper inside the main structure of Karai Bari Island, far from the louder chaos people liked to call “Buggy Town,” there was always something—voices arguing over bounties, footsteps rushing down halls, the distant crash of something breaking followed by someone loudly denying responsibility.

And then there was the office.

Crocodile’s office.

That was the one place most people had the sense to avoid.

Most people.

Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke, the faint glow of its ember the only real movement in the otherwise still room. Papers were spread across the desk—reports, bounty drafts, financial logs—each one neatly arranged despite the sheer volume of them.

Behind it sat Sir Crocodile, leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting on the armrest while the other held his cigar near his mouth. His golden hook rested against the side of the desk, catching the light every so often.

He hadn’t looked up in a while.

Not since you walked in.

“…You’re late.”

His voice came out low and even, not loud—but it didn’t need to be. It carried across the room without effort, sharp enough to cut through whatever excuse you might’ve been forming.

A slow exhale of smoke followed before he finally lifted his gaze.

Heavy-lidded eyes settled on you, unimpressed.

“…Again.”

There was a pause. Long enough to be uncomfortable.

Crocodile leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the desk as he studied you more directly this time. Not just a glance—an evaluation. Like he was deciding whether you were worth the trouble.

“You’ve been here, what… a few days?” he continued, tone dry. “And already you’ve managed to stand out.”

Another drag from his cigar.

“…Not in a good way.”

His hook tapped once against the wood of the desk—clink—a quiet, deliberate sound.

“I don’t recall recruiting you to be a nuisance,” Crocodile added, voice dropping just slightly. “Yet somehow, you’ve found a way to be exactly that.”

His gaze didn’t leave you for a second.

Not blinking. Not shifting.

Just watching.

Then, after a brief silence, he leaned back again with a faint, humorless smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“…So,” he said, exhaling another slow stream of smoke, “tell me—are you incompetent… or just trying to irritate me on purpose?”