"Speaking of the Heavenly Tribute reform," added Warcury, "the fleet we sent to retrieve administrative and financial specialists from around the world should be returning soon. Once they're back, we'll assign them to the newly established departments."
"As for the Tribute's restructuring... oh right, that's the responsibility of the Heavenly Tribute Collection and Management Committee," Warcury muttered, taking a few seconds to recall the name.
Due to Imu's reform blueprint, the Council of Internal Affairs had recently established a large number of new departments—but almost none of them had staff yet. Everyone was just waiting.
"Hey, at least your Council is about to get people soon. You've got nothing to worry about. My Judicial Chamber's restructuring, on the other hand... I've no clue where to find anyone," said Saint Jaygarcia Saturn with a troubled look.
"Legal personnel are highly specialized. And that new Public Security Department also needs a huge number of people. While the blueprint does mention that some naval officers from the Four Blues can be reassigned to us, it's the leadership roles that are the real issue!"
"And you're still complaining?" Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro scoffed. "According to the plan, most of the naval branches in the Four Blues are going to be converted into police stations under your command. You should be counting your blessings."
Imu's intentions were crystal clear: from now on, the Navy would handle maritime matters, while investigations and arrests of criminals on the islands would fall under the jurisdiction of the Public Security Department within the Judicial Chamber.
Of course, if a criminal escaped to sea, the Public Security Department wasn't allowed to interfere recklessly—they could only cooperate with the Navy and exchange intelligence.
It was yet another clear step in balancing and limiting the Navy's future sphere of influence.
...
Impel Down, Eternal Hell.
"Haaah—"
"That bastard finally shut up. My ears were about to explode!"
Shiki raised his hands, shackled in Seastone cuffs, and angrily rubbed his ears beneath his thick golden hair. These past days, Bullet had been ranting and shouting almost nonstop. No matter how loudly the other inmates cursed at him, he'd only quiet down once he fell asleep.
Of course, it didn't help that those worthless jailers did absolutely nothing about it.
Honestly, if the prison gates were ever opened, Bullet would probably be the first to get beaten to death by everyone working together.
Just as the entire level was enjoying this rare moment of silence, Magellan silently appeared outside Bullet's cell.
"Get out. Someone wants to see you."
His voice wasn't loud, but Bullet—who looked like he'd been sleeping—snapped his eyes open instantly, an uncontrollable joy flashing across his face. He quickly rolled over and jumped to his feet.
"They're finally here!"
At the same time, outside the cell, Magellan pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock, opening the Seastone gate. But their movements didn't go unnoticed by the neighboring inmate—Crocodile.
"Magellan! Why does he get to leave?" Crocodile growled, storming up to the bars and gritting his teeth.
"None of your business. Go back to sleep."
Without changing expression, Magellan watched as Bullet stepped out of his cell. After locking it back up, he escorted the grinning man away.
"Tell me! Why?! Whatever he can do for you, I, Crocodile, can do too!!"
His roar, dripping with envy, jealousy, and frustration, only drew arrogant laughter and mockery from Bullet.
"Kahahaha! And what the hell can you do in your current state, huh? Be a good boy and sit tight in there~~~"
"Damn it!"
Crocodile clenched his fists in rage, his bloodshot eyes glued to Bullet's receding figure as his mind raced to figure out what value Bullet could possibly offer the World Government.
"Don't tell me... just shouting and yelling is enough to get you out of here?"
Meanwhile, Bullet followed Magellan once more, riding the massive lift back up to the surface level of the prison above the sea.
Even though it was already late at night, the place was still brightly lit and echoing with screams.
One by one, newly arrived inmates awaiting "baptism" lined up in fear, inching closer to the massive boiling cauldron at the far end.
But none of that mattered to Bullet anymore.
By now, he'd already shed his prison uniform and changed back into the clothes he'd worn when he was brought in. In high spirits, he strode confidently out through the gates of Impel Down.
There, Magellan handed him over to a man dressed entirely in white—a white mask, a white suit, and a white overcoat.
The instant Bullet sensed the man's presence, his pupils contracted sharply. Every fiber of his being screamed of danger. His sixth sense flared in full alarm.
"He's all yours. I'm heading back."
Magellan finished speaking and handed the key to a nearby guard, instructing him to remove Bullet's handcuffs and shackles.
As soon as Bullet's wrists and ankles were freed, he noticed the green collar around his neck had also vanished. A faint smirk appeared on his face.
He pointed to the ground beneath his feet—empty and bare—and sneered mockingly.
"So? Don't you think it's time you gave my shadow back too?"
"When the time comes, you'll get it back."
Magellan didn't even glance at him as he turned and walked back into Impel Down, completely ignoring the darkening look on Bullet's face.
"Let's go. The master wants to see you."
The man in white reminded him with a calm voice.
"OK."
Bullet forced down the anger churning inside him and responded with a terrifying grin.
As he followed the man toward an official World Government vessel, he asked with a crooked smile, "You're one of the Government's hidden elites, aren't you? How many more of you are there?"
But the man in white gave no response at all.
Bullet frowned, displeased, and reluctantly shut his mouth.
Two hours later, Bullet arrived at the Holy Land—Mary Geoise—and strode confidently into Pangaea Castle.
He finally came to a stop in front of the grand doors of the Empty Throne Hall.
Along the way, he had thought about making a break for it.
Even without his shadow—unable to walk beneath sunlight—it was nighttime now.
But every time he made a move or even considered one, the white-clad man would unleash a murderous aura so intense it made Bullet abandon the thought instantly.
There was nothing he could do—he simply wasn't strong enough to fight back. And he had no intention of dying.
Because to him, anyone who dies is just weak.
And he was destined to become the strongest man in the world.
Besides, Bullet was also curious to meet the true strongest being in the world.
"Go in."
The man in white gave a short command, then turned and walked away without another word, quickly disappearing at the end of the corridor.
Bullet was left alone, silently studying the doors before him.
At last, his eyes hardened with resolve, and he pushed them open.
"Hm?"
The moment he entered, he was greeted by the sight of a three-tiered platform and a staircase draped in red carpet.
He didn't care that the doors shut automatically behind him.
His gaze moved upward, skipping the second tier.
Then he saw the third level—where twenty different weapons were embedded in the floor.
And finally, at the top, his eyes locked onto the golden-red throne, sharp as a spire.
"Oh, so that's the so-called Empty Throne—where no one is allowed to sit. A symbol of peace and equality, huh? Gotta admit… it's a damn fine seat."
Bullet grinned as he looked up at the Empty Throne, thinking to himself:
Maybe one day, when I possess the strongest power in the world… I'll come and take a seat.
[BOOM————]
"What the hell?!"
All of a sudden, he felt the air around him erupt into chaos—roiling, boiling, and crushing inward.
A force—an unbearable weight—smashed down on every muscle in his body.
Even his consciousness began to blur.
[THUD!]
Bullet collapsed hard to his knees, his head slamming down against the vivid red carpet.
"No… no… How could I kneel? How could I bow my head?!"
His face turned crimson as he clenched his jaw, eyes bulging as if they might burst. Madness twisted across his expression as he mustered every ounce of strength in his body, trying to push back the crushing air—trying to stand.
"Is this Conqueror's Haki? No… more like Armament Haki… No, this—this is pure Haki!"
"The intimidation of Conqueror's… the projection of Armament… the perception of Observation—all perfectly fused. No distinction between them. But how is that even possible?!"
Compared to Doflamingo, Bullet possessed far greater talent and instinct in combat and Haki.
Even though he was consumed by rage, somewhere in the back of his mind, he understood the true nature of this formless pressure.
And precisely because he understood it, he was even more shaken.
The three types of Haki could be used at the same time—but that was coordination, not fusion.
This wasn't just a blend. The quality and quantity of this Haki were beyond anything he had ever witnessed.
It exceeded every top-tier combatant he had encountered.
Even Roger. Even Garp.
Suddenly—
A voice echoed through the grand hall. Cold beyond compare, steeped in arrogance, carrying the absolute conviction that to look down on all living things was only natural. As if the entire world rested in the speaker's palm.
"If you can't even stand up… how will you ever raise a fist against me, Douglas Bullet?"