The temperature inside the Historical Archives was exceptionally low—practically a refrigerated vault. Dim lighting shrouded the space in an eerie gloom, evoking a chilling, oppressive atmosphere.
Fortunately, Imu felt none of this discomfort.
These historical Poneglyphs had stirred memories of Joy Boy, delaying his departure. The recent days spent playing tennis had gone a long way in relieving the psychological pressure, so his mood remained relatively light.
If it had been the previous 'Imu', he would have been convinced Joy Boy was long dead, no longer capable of causing trouble for him or the World Government.
But he was different. He knew full well—there was a very good chance Joy Boy hadn't truly died.
Imu slowly walked into another chamber. This one preserved some of the most significant remnants of the past—like the enormous straw hat resting within the frozen chamber before him.
It was the same straw hat Joy Boy once wore upon his head.
"Embedding your will in Nika—no, the Rubber-Rubber Fruit—and using the reincarnation mechanism of Devil Fruits to achieve a different form of immortality… Quite the move, big guy."
Imu chuckled quietly as he recalled events from centuries ago. His former self likely would've been furious.
Devil Fruits, once consumed, would parasitize the user. Upon the user's death, the fruit would dissolve into a stream of information, return to nature, and seek out a compatible fruit to reincarnate in. Somewhere in that process, there had to be an element of intelligence or consciousness—something future scientists like Vegapunk had already uncovered and even learned to harness in the original timeline.
This was especially evident with Zoan-type Devil Fruits. These fruits naturally harbored something akin to a beast's soul. So for Joy Boy, as the awakened user of the Rubber-Rubber Fruit, it would've been entirely possible to store or even transplant his consciousness into it.
Souls did exist in this world—of that, there was no doubt.
But not everyone had the ability to bind their soul to a Devil Fruit.
So, combining a will-bearing Haki, a powerful enough soul, and an awakened Devil Fruit ability—these three elements were likely indispensable.
"Whoever eats the Rubber-Rubber Fruit ends up acquiring the Lunarian race's unique traits—rubbery insulator-like elasticity, the ability to ignite flames—and becomes the host of that Joy Boy bastard. When the user awakens, so does he."
"The former me may not have understood all this, but he did know the Rubber-Rubber Fruit was Joy Boy's ability. So when it was found again in the future, he ordered CP9, led by Who's-Who, to bring it back—only for it to be snatched away by Shanks."
Imu stood silently for a long time, eyes locked on the enormous straw hat in the ice chamber, deep in thought. These matters were crucial.
He was contemplating what should be done about Shanks.
Considering that Figarland sent Shamrock to find him and he rejected him, Shanks' value to the World Government decreased significantly. He was just another offshoot of the Celestial Dragons living in exile.
"This brat Shanks needs to be brought back. Since he's a Celestial Dragon, then under the house arrest order I issued, he's definitely required to return!"
As for killing him? That was out of the question. The privileges and status of the Celestial Dragons had to be upheld. A Celestial Dragon could only die of natural causes—never be killed by another. The only exception was if the person doing the killing was himself.
A Celestial Dragon's life taken by the King of the Celestial Dragons? That was perfectly justified. That was Imu's stance.
"I remember Shanks is just fifteen this year and definitely still in the East Blue. That makes things easier. Oh right—have CP1 nab that Buggy kid too while they're at it!"
Imu suddenly thought of the Buggy Bombs, which would become terrifyingly powerful in the future. In his view, Buggy should keep focusing on that path. Maybe someday, he could even form a team with the future Cutty Flam.
Ten minutes later, Imu contacted Ju Peter through a Den-Den Mushi and issued a long series of instructions. Because there were so many, the other end could only nod repeatedly while listening.
"Oh, and from now on—CIPHER POL is to abolish that rule about locking up agents just for failing a mission. Instead, penalties and demotions should be applied on a case-by-case basis."
Imu believed that cases like Who's-Who must be prevented at all costs. Who knew how many talents had been lost because of such inflexible rules?
Besides, it took a massive amount of time and resources to train a capable CP agent. As long as they weren't defecting maliciously, there was no reason to drive them to ruin.
"Uh, yes, yes, understood! You can count on me! We'll definitely make that change!" Ju Peter dared not ask anything, even though his mind was now filled with question marks.
"Arabasta's Poneglyph, Shanks in the East Blue, Buggy…" After the call ended and he placed the receiver back on the hook, Ju Peter was left stunned.
"Shanks, a former member of Roger's Pirates crew, I remember Figarland would take care of it."
"But considering it's Lord Imu's order, then it's necessary to invite him back. Otherwise, he might become another Doflamingo, and that would be troublesome. But why bring back Buggy as well... and even send him to the Science Division for training?"
...
Meanwhile, back on the surface, since it was already late at night, Imu returned to his residence. Gion and Stussy, on the other hand, stayed in guest rooms vacated by the maids.
"I wonder if I should tell the Five Elders about the Dimensional Gate... While we've decided to begin researching the First World after this World Summit, giving them an early heads-up might be wise. The first batch of expedition members will take time to screen, after all."
Lying on a grand, gold-and-crimson double bed, Imu gazed at the cosmic star map hovering before him, deep in thought.
"I really need to think carefully about how to phrase it. How should I even explain this thing so that it sounds reasonable? This is... kinda tricky."
...
Though it was already deep into the night, with the bright moon hanging high and the sky full of stars, for some people, it was the perfect time to revel in joy.
Marineford—the headquarters of the world's largest military organization, the Navy—naturally lacked nothing in terms of electric lighting, which conveniently supported a lively nightlife on the island.
Men and women, some in uniform and others in casual clothes, were gathering from all directions along the streets, converging on a single location:
The Seagull Tavern!
This was the island's only tavern, and also the largest multi-level public tavern capable of hosting thousands at once. Whether active-duty marines or their families, everyone could come here to drink freely and feast to their heart's content.
At this very moment, within the vast tavern, the pounding of drums and the melodies of various stringed instruments filled the air, mingled with an infectious female singing voice that resonated freely in every corner of the space.
There were no flashy lights, nor were there scantily clad women with seductive smiles—only the warm glow of soft yellow lighting. And yet, this did nothing to dampen the energy in the room.
Around each solid wooden square table sat groups of cheerful drinkers, their ranks and positions momentarily forgotten. With arms slung around each other's shoulders and large mugs of golden ale raised high, they burst into laughter without restraint.
Family members working as bartenders wove swiftly between the tables and people, delivering drinks and platters of meat to each guest, occasionally cracking jokes and laughing along the way.
"Cheers!!!"
Up on the second floor, a group of people had pushed three wooden tables together. They raised their hefty beer mugs and clinked them together with a hearty clang before tilting their heads back and downing their drinks in one go, the liquid vanishing swiftly down their throats.
[Bang, bang, bang!]
One after another, the now-empty mugs were slammed heavily onto the table. Kuzan, his face lit up with laughter, looked across at Dragon and shouted, "Congratulations! That was a major accomplishment—you've been promoted to Vice Admiral!"
"Congratulations!"
"Another Vice Admiral among us, following Kuzan and the other two!"
"Hahaha! Come on, tell us how you took down that Slave King!"
Dragon rose to his feet and scanned his circle of friends with a smile.
"Teacher, thank you so much for coming. This one's for you."
Finally, Dragon's gaze fell upon the most honored elder among them—Zephyr. He picked up his beer and filled his cup to the brim, then downed it in one go once more.
"Hahahaha! You've got a real tolerance!" Zephyr beamed with pride as he laughed heartily. Not to be outdone, he raised the mug that Kuzan had just filled for him and emptied it as well.
"All right, that's enough beer for me. I want to try this Fish-Man Island brew and see what it tastes like. You lot carry on!"
"Come on, tell us about your trip to the South Blue! Just reading about it in the papers was enough to get my blood pumping! That Slave King must've been strong—I heard from Rear Admiral Ivan that you were pretty badly hurt?"
Kuzan urged Dragon to speak up, while the others nearby watched with great curiosity.
After all, today's afternoon edition of the newspaper had already been distributed across the world. The story of Dragon defeating the 'Slave King' and saving hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians was now common knowledge.
It had become the hottest topic that night in the Seagull Tavern. Even the neighboring tables of Marines had their ears perked up, openly turning to listen in.
"Alright then, I'll start from when I received the mission order," Dragon said calmly, showing no pride or boastfulness. "The process is a bit long, but I'll try to keep it brief."
As Dragon began to speak in a calm, deliberate tone, the music and singing from the first floor continued, yet everyone at Kuzan's table—and even the Marines and family members nearby—naturally quieted down. Even the sound of setting down a beer mug became noticeably softer, done with intentional restraint.
Even Zephyr, seasoned as he was, listened in silence.