In Porco's secret hideout, a fisherman's refuge he inherited, his bright red fighter seaplane, the Savoia S.21, floats calmly near the shore. A small boat sits on the right side, and music plays from a radio. Porco lies on a deck chair with a 1930 magazine covering his face, dressed in gloves and a tie. To his left, a bath towel is spread out, and a champagne bottle rests in a bucket, though the ice has long since melted.

Suddenly, the crank-style phone rings. Still lounging, Porco answers it. A man's voice comes through, "Mr. Rosso, you've got to fly right away! The Vento di Tempesta Gang is on the move!"

Porco responds, "I don't work for cheap," and, with that, he pulls the table toward him with his foot and turns off the radio—clearly ready for action.

Is he really the type to nap in his combat gear? Not at all. He usually wears a tank top and shorts. In other words, he knew the call to fly would come soon, but since it was delayed, he ended up falling asleep.

The caller continues, "A charter boat from Ancona is being targeted. It's carrying payroll for a textile company."

Porco asks, "Is that all?"

"No, um, there are a bunch of women on board," the man adds.

Hearing that, Porco grins and says, "That'll cost a bit extra," looking genuinely pleased—this was the moment he had been waiting for. He had already gathered information about the charter boat, which was carrying gold coins and women. He suspected it was only a matter of time before it was attacked. So he is ready to swoop in, take them out, and save the day—expecting at least one woman to be kidnapped and surprised that he came to the rescue.

Then he'd take her to his place and say something along the lines of, "This is my secret hideout. Let's have a toast, just the two of us." He may act stoic, but he's in reality a pathetic middle-aged man—wanting to show off, attract young women, and look cool.

The bath towel? That's for when the lady remarks, "Sir, the water here is beautiful. I think I’ll sunbathe a little," and—what do you know—there just happens to be a towel right there.

As for the small boat, it's conveniently parked there so he can offer her a ride while casually mentioning, "The starry sky on this island is amazing," hoping to drag things out until nighttime.

In the back, there's a house with a door and window, but a tent has been pitched instead—because he doesn't want to show her the messy state of a man's home. So he set up a romantic tent and a kerosene lamp ahead of time.

He sets the phone back on its cradle and lifts the magazine off his face, tossing it onto the table by the radio. He stretches and heads to the Savoia S.21, adjusting the controls as he climbs into the cockpit. The engine roars to life as he releases the mooring and pushes the throttle. The plane skims the water and then soars into the sky, wind rushing through the open cockpit. About fifteen minutes later, he spots the charter boat below; three pirate planes circle it like vultures.

Porco dives and banks left, executing his signature corkscrew maneuver to take out the pirates. His years of experience and skill make short work of them, dodging and weaving through the skies as he toys with his foes. They try to chase him, but he outlasts them, wearing them down until they have no fight left.

With the pirates surrendering, Porco finds a woman tied to the rail of the pirate skiff. He lands the Savoia on the water, skidding to a stop near the skiff. He jumps out, cuts her ropes with a knife, and helps her to her feet.

"Glad you're alright, signorina. If you'd like to return to your party, I can take you there. Or... we could make a little detour. What do you say, care to join me for a toast to celebrate your freedom?"