The castle was deathly quiet, surrounded by scattered patches of cooling magma from Sakazuki's earlier rampage. It wasn't deserted; in fact, aside from Imu, there were many people present, clearly the elite guard of this sanctuary.
However, perhaps because they were under Imu's orders, no conflict broke out when Diarmuid and his group arrived. A man who appeared to be the captain of the guard was waiting at the castle gates.
As Diarmuid's group approached, the man spoke with icy indifference: "Please follow me."
There was no hesitation. They had come this far; it was time to finally meet Imu and have a "talk." To be honest, not only Diarmuid, but even Sengoku and the others were consumed by curiosity regarding Imu's identity. After the previous broadcast, everyone wanted to see what this "true polymath" of eight hundred years actually looked like.
The castle wasn't as large as expected, standing only three stories high. Soon, Diarmuid and the others were led to the third floor. The entire level was a single, open hall with no partitioned rooms. Emerging from the spiral staircase, they found themselves in a vast, airy space with a throne at the far end.
But the throne was empty. Instead, a figure stood by a window, her back to the group, gazing out at the distant horizon.
This was the second time Diarmuid had seen Imu. Even from just a silhouette, he was absolutely certain it was her. That aura was unmistakable and unique.
Unlike the encounter in the Empty Throne room, where she had been wrapped in a strange, long robe that obscured her form, she was dressed differently now. She wore a white athletic tank top, form-fitting leggings that looked highly elastic, and a pair of sneakers.
There was none of the expected palatial grandeur; instead, she looked casual, almost as if she were at home. The tight athletic wear perfectly traced her lithe figure—lean where it should be, and elegantly curved where it counted. Even from behind, she gave off an impression of near-physical perfection.
Hearing the commotion behind her, Imu rested a hand on the windowsill and turned her body slightly to look at them, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Her hands were remarkably beautiful—pale, slender, and almost translucent. There were no rings, no nail polish, no decorations at all, yet they radiated an inherent sense of nobility. It was as if these hands had never known a single wound or a moment of unsightly toil since the day they entered the world.
Her slender fingers tapped twice on the sill, the light sound drawing Diarmuid's gaze up to her face.
He had seen this face briefly in the darkened throne room, but the environment had been dim and distant then. Moreover, Diarmuid hadn't dared to stare too closely, as an intense gaze can alert a master of Haki. Now, there was no need for such restraint.
Diarmuid studied her features intently. She was stunning. Sometimes distance can hide flaws, but at a range of only a few paces, everything was laid bare. Yet, Imu was a beauty without blind spots; her "stats" in the looks department were easily on par with Boa Hancock, the "World's Most Beautiful Woman."
Her skin was flawless, framed by long, pale-gold hair. Her features were exquisite, her proportions perfect, and her aura peerless. Even in basic gym clothes, the woman standing there was nothing short of a "transcendent beauty."
"Am I pleasing to the eye?" Imu suddenly asked, the smile remaining on her face.
Diarmuid, Sengoku, Sakazuki, Borsalino, and Kuzan all replied in unison: "Yes."
The moment the words left their mouths, Gion and Tsuru shot them looks filled with murderous intent, targeting Diarmuid and Sengoku in particular.
"Hahahaha..." Imu watched this scene and burst into laughter. It was a wild, uninhibited laugh, yet it didn't feel coarse in the slightest. It was a strange, captivating contrast.
"Beauty is one of the ultimate pursuits of a woman. Even I am not above such vanity. So, thank you for the compliment, heroes of the Navy," Imu said cheerfully.
"You... you are the legendary Imu, correct? The true ruler of Mariejois and the World Government?" Sengoku cut straight to the point.
"Indeed," Imu admitted calmly. Then, she countered smoothly: "Do you have a problem with that?"
Sengoku: "???"
Of course I have a problem with that! I fought my way all the way here, didn't I?
But her tone was so matter-of-fact, so inherently superior, that her natural-born authority and kingly pressure were fully on display. Even though she was only addressing Sengoku, that simple question left the Fleet Admiral momentarily speechless and stifled.
However, Sengoku was a titan of the Navy, a man who commanded millions. Imu's presence only suppressed him for a heartbeat before he snapped out of it, breaking free from the state of awe.
"Of course. Your actions completely contradict the principles of Mariejois and the legal standing of the World Government. You are deceiving the entire world."
"Oh? Is that so?" Imu remained indifferent, as if the topic bored her. She gave a flat, dismissive response: "Perhaps."
Sengoku: "???"
That's it? You're not even going to argue? How am I supposed to follow up on that?
"Imu, we in the Navy cannot accept such a state of affairs, so—" Sengoku started again.
But Imu wasn't even looking at him anymore. Her eyes were fixed on Diarmuid, scanning him up and down, observing him with minute detail. She occasionally nodded to herself, a rare glint of delight in her eyes, the look of a collector who had found a particularly interesting specimen.
This "evaluative" gaze made Diarmuid feel deeply uncomfortable. Seeing Sengoku rambling about grand principles while Imu ignored him, Diarmuid couldn't take it anymore and spoke up in a heavy voice: "Imu, words are usele—"
"Imulia... I abandoned my family name long ago. Imulia is my name. You may call me Imulia," Imu interrupted, speaking directly to Diarmuid.
Diarmuid: "???"
Everyone else: "???"
The room was filled with faces of utter bewilderment.
"Im... Imulia?" Sengoku repeated tentatively.
Imu's brow instantly furrowed, a look of genuine disgust crossing her face as she looked at Sengoku. "I did not give you permission to address me that way. Know your place, Marine."
Sengoku: "???"
Are you serious with this double standard right now?! Diarmuid can call you Imulia, but I have to call you Imu? I'm the one actually in charge of the Navy! Just because Diarmuid is handsome, you're playing favorites? I was the heartthrob of the Navy in my youth, okay?! Zero taste!
The atmosphere became excruciatingly awkward. Sakazuki, Kuzan, and Borsalino, who were just about to speak, shut their mouths tightly. Kuzan even subconsciously rubbed his nose. Gion and Tsuru also seemed to feel the cringe.
Seeing this, Diarmuid had to brace himself to break the silence. "Imu, about—"
"Imulia..." Imu looked at him, her eyes smiling as she whispered the name.
Diarmuid hesitated for a long moment before finally saying, with a bit of a guilty conscience: "Imulia?"
"Very good," she said, satisfied.
At that moment, Diarmuid realized something. Every single person there, himself, the hot-tempered Sakazuki, the wise Tsuru, the proud Gion, and the veteran Sengoku, had their "presence" completely suppressed by this one woman. The rhythm of the conversation was entirely hers. It was a subtle, almost indescribable feeling, but once he noticed it, it felt incredible. These were some of the most powerful people on the planet; normally, it should be impossible for one person to overshadow them all so effortlessly. Yet Imu had done it, not through force, but like a silent, rising tide.
"Only you are special, Rodriguez Diarmuid," Imu said softly.
Diarmuid was confused. Special?
But before he could ask, she continued: "You carry the elemental scent of space-time, engraved into the depths of your soul. Do you know how long I have been searching for someone like you? You are far more perfect than that clever little girl, Amatsuki Toki."
The scent of space-time? Amatsuki Toki?
It took a second, but Diarmuid remembered. Kozuki Oden's wife was Amatsuki Toki, a woman from eight hundred years ago who used the Time-Time Fruit to leap forward to this era. As Imu said, she would indeed have a "space-time" scent.
As for himself... well, he was a transmigrator from another world. Having a space-time aura made sense. But how could she sense it? Was it the power of Uranus, or Imu herself?
This eight-hundred-year-old monster... Diarmuid felt a deep sense of dread. Is my identity as a transmigrator about to be exposed?
"Only you are special, Diarmuid. For centuries, I have sought someone like you. I have encountered users of the Time-Time Fruit, the Op-Op Fruit, even the Door-Door Fruit, powers that can touch the fabric of space and time. But even they could not compare to the scent of space-time you radiate. Do you know how happy I was when I sensed you in the Empty Throne hall? Hahaha... You are the chosen one. So, be proud, Diarmuid."
Imu's tone suddenly became somewhat manic, but even in her slight crazed state, her beauty and regal bearing remained untouched.