Sometimes, Fossa forgot his official title. Probably the Head Liason of Interdepartmental Affairs. But really, it boiled down to doing whatever the bossman told him. Sometimes it meant hunting down five thousand clown noses ("And they absolutely MUST squeak. I won't work with that foam shit, Fossa") and sometimes it meant handling the locust infestation in the third floor ("I don't care if it's a biblical omen, just get it out before Izo threatens to quit again"). Whitebeard Ltd. didn't get much new blood; it was a close-knit company, almost a well-oiled machine where retirement more often than not meant you died on the job. But recently Whitey had gotten attached to a couple blokes, so Fossa was given the task of interviewing them ("Test them to see if they've got any spine. If it breaks, they're not good enough for the job").

"Name?"

"Portgas D. Ace," the kid in front of Fossa said nervously. "Sir."

"So Ace. Tell me about yourself."

"I recently graduated high school." Ace paused, before adding on, "and I'm looking for a job."

"No shit. So why choose here?"

"Well, you've got a daycare, for one. Aw shit, no, I meant, aw sorry. I didn't mean to." He started muttering to himself, "Dammit, Ace, you practiced for this!"

Now just to be clear, Fossa was more than capable of being the mean guy. But the way he figured, this was just a kid straight outta high school, the first interviewee in a while. He could cut the guy a little slack. "You got anyone at home?"

It was like the clouds had lifted, and Ace's eyes became bright and sparkly. "As a matter of fact," he said, pulling out his wallet and with a twitch, a long accordion of photos unfurled out. "Ya see, this is my son Luffy…"


"Thatch, right?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"You got any work experience?"

"Well… no. My talents are more of the miscellaneous type." He shrugged. "I'm good at cooking?"

"Kid, this ain't a restaurant."

"Which I am very clear of," Thatch was hasty to say, whirling his hands around. "But teamwork! And following a recipe, kinda like manuals. And directions. Except I don't really like being bossed around. Got enough crap from high school, I'd rather be my own boss."

Fossa didn't even know where to start. Apparently the look on his face said enough, because the interviewee started to wither. "Um. I make some mean chicken nuggets?"

Fossa's eyebrow twitched. "Chicken nuggets?"

Thatch mistook that as enthusiasm. "Yes, I do! You see, Most people are under the impression that chicken nuggets can only be bought which, helloooooo think about the preservatives? And the artificial meat? But I only need a few ingredients, all of which are totally affordable on the smallest of budgets, and the outcome is perfect for any tykes out there, notwithstanding certain adorable little godsons. Of course, it doesn't really matter-"

"Because Luffy will eat anything," Fossa finished in monotone.

Thatch gaped, too shocked to stop talking. "Right. But you see, it totally makes the difference because if Luffy only ate the things he chose-"

"He'd die of scurvy, and we can't have the cute bubby losing his adorable little teeth now can we?" Yeah, Fossa knew the routine. Just yesterday, he'd been subjected to seven hours of a certain Portgas D. Ace bragging about his little one. Forget the interview questions; Fossa had to sacrifice his favorite jacket just to escape the building, running from the distant sound of, "but that's not the last album!" He opened his mouth to explain when Thatch started toward the door, phone by his ear with, "911? I'd like to report a stalker!"

"That's the conclusion you come to?!" Fossa almost flipped his chair getting up, chasing after the kid.


"…Well, Mr. Phoenix. I'll be honest. You're one of the most promising candidates I've met this week."

"Thank you."

"Which isn't saying much, because the other two were batshit insane." Fossa stood up, with Marco smoothly following, and they exchanged a strong, firm handshake. "You'll be getting our response soon."

"I'm looking forward to it. I-" Marco's phone started ringing with Justin Bieber's "Baby". Fossa was about to cross off his previously good impressions of the interviewee, when Marco suddenly turned pale. "I'm really sorry, I have to take this."

Marco listened for a second, before sprinting out of the room. "Wait Luffy did WHAT?!"

Fossa let his head drop to the table. Because of course.


"…In summary," an exhausted Fossa said, "It's either the best or worst hiring decision you'll ever make. Also, I know so much about Luffy, he feels like my own kid."

Whitebeard looked thoughtful, his stare intense enough to make lesser men keel over. He leaned against his desk, hands clasped. "Fossa. You got any experience running a daycare?"

"I knew it, I knew you were going to ask me that!" Fossa shrieked, jabbing a finger in Whitebeard's direction. Finally he sighed. "And yes, I do."