At the doorway, Topman Warcury Saint stood still.
At the far end of the long table, Gern Reginald Sigmar remained seated, unmoving. He didn't rise—he merely lifted his gaze.
Beside him, Sengoku, now serving as Chief Inspector, offered nothing more than a faint nod. He even raised his teacup, leisurely blowing across the surface as if this were nothing more than an ordinary afternoon.
Warcury Saint drew in a slow breath.
Then he stepped forward.
He walked to the opposite side of the table—the seat clearly left for him. Not the elevated "seat of honor" he would once have occupied, but an ordinary guest chair.
He sat.
Back straight. Hands pressed firmly against the table.
"Gern. Sengoku."
His voice was deliberately measured, carefully softened, as if trying to construct an atmosphere of magnanimity—of forgiveness already granted.
"Regarding the previous… excessive actions taken by CP0 at G-10, as well as certain incidents involving the God's Knights… those were misunderstandings. Tragic outcomes caused by a lack of proper communication."
"The World Government, in its commitment to maintaining peace and stability across the seas, is willing to extend its utmost tolerance… and welcome the Navy back into the rightful order."
A slight pause.
His gaze swept across the two men before him.
"So long as the Navy resumes its duty of escorting the Heavenly Tribute… and guarantees the personal safety and dignity of the Celestial Dragons when they descend to the lower world…"
"All past grievances can be forgiven. The Five Elders, on behalf of the World Government, will not pursue any further accountability."
Another pause.
"Ultimately, the Navy and the World Government can still stand together… and continue to uphold the stability that has endured for eight hundred years."
"How about it?"
Silence.
Sengoku remained expressionless, quietly blowing on his tea.
And Gern… smiled.
"Heh. Not pursue accountability?"
Gern casually lifted a hand and patted Sengoku's shoulder, almost like pointing someone out in a mocking gesture.
"My former Fleet Admiral… did you not explain things clearly to them? Or are they just getting old—memory failing and all?"
He tilted his head slightly, looking at Warcury Saint as if observing some relic trapped in its own delusion.
"Because the situation right now should be…"
He leaned forward just a fraction.
"…that the Navy is holding the World Government accountable—for governance failure, exploitation of the people, and sheltering atrocities."
His voice sharpened.
"Do you understand that, Warcury Saint?"
"It's us holding you accountable."
A faint click of his tongue followed.
"As for the Heavenly Tribute…"
A sneer curled at his lips.
"That thing has a new name now."
"It's called the 'Special Security and Development Tax of Naval Territories.'"
"The rate is half of what you used to extort under different pretexts."
"The funds go toward infrastructure, civilian welfare, and naval defense."
"Transparent. Clear. Taken from the people, used for the people."
He raised a finger.
"Of course, I'll take a small cut myself. I am the Fleet Admiral, after all."
Then his gaze turned cold.
"But as for you… still thinking of asking for money?"
Gern leaned forward, smile widening.
"Sure. We can arrange something."
"Per head."
"For every Celestial Dragon family member—every last one of them—who comes down from Mary Geoise and properly registers under the Navy…"
"I'll approve a quarterly 'Basic Living Subsidy' for your family."
His tone turned almost playful.
"Listen carefully—one family, one quarter."
"And it's not 'tribute.' Not 'offering.' It's a subsidy. Got it?"
A pause.
Then, casually—
"After all, Celestial Dragons are quite useful."
"Dragging one out and cutting off a head works better than a hundred speeches."
"GERN—!!!"
Warcury Saint slammed his palm against the table and shot to his feet.
Veins bulged faintly at his temples. His mustache trembled.
"Outrageous! Even if the Navy has declared independence, the Celestial Dragons are the 'descendants of the creators'—their sacred status is inviolable!"
"That is the foundation of eight hundred years of order and peace! It is an absolute red line!"
"You must guarantee—at all times, in all seas, under all circumstances—their safety and freedom of movement!"
"That is the bottom line!"
"Oh? That serious, huh?"
Gern's mockery deepened. He even exaggeratedly dug at his ear.
"'Foundation'? 'Red line'? 'Bottom line'?"
Then—
He casually picked up the Den Den Mushi on the table.
Without hesitation, he dialed.
Speaker on.
"Click."
"This is the Judiciary Island central station."
Gern spoke calmly.
"This is Fleet Admiral Gern Reginald Sigmar. By authority of my position, I am issuing an immediate directive."
Through the Den Den Mushi, his voice spread—instantly relayed across Judiciary Island, and through the newly established naval communication network, broadcasting to every island and warship under Marine control.
"Directive as follows: Effective immediately, the 'Celestial Dragon Special Immunity Act' issued by the World Government is hereby abolished, along with all derivative privileges, customs, and unwritten rules."
"The identity of 'World Nobles'—Celestial Dragons—is nullified within all Marine-controlled territories."
"Across all seas, islands, and bases, they shall hold no legal privileges whatsoever."
"From this moment forward, all crimes committed under the pretense of 'Celestial Dragon status'—including but not limited to murder, assault, plunder, enslavement, and disruption of public order—shall be subject to full judicial investigation and prosecution by the Navy."
"End of directive."
"Click."
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Gern leaned back in his chair, hands clasped, looking at Warcury Saint.
"Foundation?"
He spoke lightly.
"That's it?"
"You… you—!"
Warcury Saint pointed at him, hand trembling violently. His voice shook, unable to form complete sentences.
All the elegant words he had spoken—reduced to nothing.
Because the reality was simple:
If a Celestial Dragon came down… they would be killed.
And none of them would be innocent.
"Gern Reginald Sigmar!!!"
Warcury Saint finally roared, voice sharp and cracking.
"Are you declaring full-scale war against the World Government?! Have you forgotten the authority of that one? You've already witnessed it through Saint Nasujuro, haven't you?!"
He invoked Imu—his final threat.
"Ha."
Gern let out a short, cold laugh and raised a hand, cutting him off.
Then he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice so only Warcury Saint could hear.
"Don't try to scare me with that thing."
His lips curled into something almost cruel.
"If it could act… or thought acting would work…"
"…you wouldn't be sitting here right now, talking nonsense."
Then he stood.
He walked past the table and stopped before the massive world map mounted on the wall—marked with the territories of old and new powers.
Turning his back to it, he faced Warcury Saint and Lucci.
"Listen carefully."
"I'll only say this once."
"This is the World Government's last choice."
His finger rose—pointing at the map.
"The Red Line—you can keep living there for now."
"But Red Port's operations, along with all vertical transit routes and access channels connecting the upper and lower worlds…"
"From this moment onward—belong to the Navy."
"All civilian ships, personnel, and goods traveling to or from the Red Line must apply in advance and undergo full inspection and registration under Marine authority."
"Violators will be treated as invaders."
"We reserve the right to sink them on sight."
His finger moved.
"Four Seas. The first half of the Grand Line. And every region in the New World under Marine control—whether by treaty or force…"
"All of it falls under absolute Marine jurisdiction."
"The World Government's administrative, judicial, and taxation rights in these regions have been nullified since the declaration of independence."
"Any unauthorized World Government activity will be treated as espionage."
"Punishable by immediate execution."
Finally—
His finger tapped lightly against the symbol of Mary Geoise.
"Out of consideration for your… eight hundred years of 'management,' I'll leave you one path to survive."
He turned, smiling coldly.
"Isn't the Holy Land fond of keeping slaves to display its 'nobility'?"
"Fine."
"Slaves taken from pirates, criminals, or other factions—I won't interfere for now."
A pause.
Then—
His eyes sharpened, turning razor cold.
"But…"
"All civilians—kidnapped, trafficked, enslaved—recorded in Marine intelligence, shared databases, or civilian reports…"
"No matter where they came from."
"No matter where they're held."
"In Mary Geoise… or anywhere else."
He raised one finger.
"You have one month."
"Release them all."
"Unconditionally."
"Unharmed."
Silence.
Gern returned to his seat, looking down at Warcury Saint.
"This… is my mercy."
"Accept it, and follow it—you may continue to exist on the Red Line… surviving under the Navy's 'basic living guarantees.'"
He sat fully.
Hands clasped.
And then—
The air trembled.
A low, oppressive hum filled the room.
Lights shook. Fine cracks crept across the walls.
A suffocating wave of Conqueror's Haki surged outward.
"Refuse…"
"Or try to deceive me…"
His voice dropped.
"I'll do exactly what you said."
"I won't care about order."
"Pirates. Chaos. Anything."
"And you won't care about losses."
Then—
His gaze locked onto Warcury Saint.
"Full-scale war between the Navy and the World Government."
A beat.
"You tell me…"
Gern's smile sharpened.
"Do you think I dare?"