Chapter 62 – The Five Elders' Council
"The Nasdaq Family? In recent years, they've been stirring up quite a commotion—enough to help the Navy push into the New World."
"It doesn't matter. That man called Ross, his strength is respectable, but at most he'll just stay holed up in the East Blue playing merchant."
"Heh. That fellow Sakazuki shows clear potential to become an Admiral. And don't forget those people he's planted throughout the Navy's middle ranks—sooner or later, the Marines will slip from our grasp. Aren't you worried?"
"What is there to be worried about? None of them can make waves big enough to matter. What we want is a calm sea…and to capture that Devil Fruit. Everything else is trivial."
"Very well. Then let's put it to a vote—the final determination regarding the Nasdaq Family."
In the opulent hall, five old men sat on deep sofas, four folders placed neatly on the table before them.
These were the Five Elders—the Gorosei. Their titles alone carried the weight of gods in the eyes of the world. The entire ocean seemed blanketed by the silent pressure of their will.
They were indifferent to almost everything. Only memories sealed away in the ancient past could stir their deadened nerves, prompting those withered hands to reach out and pluck at the strings of fate.
As Topman Warcury's voice resounded, the god of "Justice" who presently oversaw legal affairs began the process. Four proposals that could decide the Nasdaq Family's destiny lay waiting:
"First proposal—does the Nasdaq Family constitute a threat?"
"Agree. Their reach has grown too long."
"Disagree. They still hold tremendous value to exploit."
"Disagree. They've achieved nothing noteworthy in terms of combat power."
"Disagree."
"Agree. The Navy must never have a second fallback option."
"Three votes against, two in favor—the proposal is rejected. The Nasdaq Family is deemed non-threatening. Re-evaluate in ten years."
The first document ignited in black flames, its ashes drifting through the air before some unseen force whisked them away.
Picking up the second folder, Warcury continued:
"Second proposal—should we infiltrate the Nasdaq Family?"
"Agree. Every faction must be monitored."
"Agree. Intelligence is paramount."
"Agree. The will of Joy Boy is most likely to emerge in places like that. They must be watched."
"Agree."
"Agree. We must always guard against the birth—and the choosing—of that Devil Fruit."
"Five votes in favor. Proposal passed. CP9 will assume this mission, with CP1 through CP8 required to allocate personnel to support them. If necessary, brainwashing of potential heirs is authorized."
Unlike the first, the second proposal was spared incineration and instead rested alongside its siblings, as if mocking the ashes of the failed draft.
The third file was lifted. The vote proceeded:
"Third proposal—should we extend an invitation to become a World Government affiliate and grant a seat at the Reverie?"
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Granting affiliate status was inconsequential in itself, but offering a seat at the World Conference was a different matter—worthy of careful deliberation.
Why?
Because Ross was a walking natural disaster. His mastery of the Cloud-Cloud Fruit had long since reached awakening—and perhaps even deep awakening. If his physical stamina advanced further, he could ascend to stand among the most powerful beings on the sea.
After all, no matter how overwhelming one's destructive power, without the endurance to sustain it beyond a certain threshold, it couldn't truly threaten the mightiest foes. Those with superior physique could withstand not one but several volleys of overwhelming attacks—until the attacker was spent and exhausted.
Among top-tier combatants, the ultimate contests were always wars of stamina, trump-card techniques, and—above all—unyielding will.
And yet…how many men like that existed in the world? Even among the Celestial Dragons themselves, such figures were rarer than phoenix feathers.
Furthermore, when it comes to those among them most adept at wide-scale destruction, there's likely only one in five who fits that bill.
So if someone like Ross—essentially a walking nuclear warhead—were to personally attend the Reverie, the entirety of Mary Geoise would have to go into lockdown.
This was one of the reasons the first proposal had received two votes in favor and three against. They knew all about Ross—he was the type of man who, once he decided to escape, was almost impossible to stop.
It was best that both sides avoid conflict. That outcome benefited everyone.
"Reject. The threat level is too high. Let's just keep observing for now."
"Approve. Someone like Ross, with a family, isn't likely to act recklessly. It's a flaw we all share."
"Approve. The eldest son of the Nasdaq Family has outstanding economic talent. I have high hopes for him. The 'God of Research' fruit has already reappeared, and inflation is starting to rise again. In the coming years, financial burdens will increase."
"Approve."
"Approve. Just treat them with policies similar to how we handle the Navy. As another loyal dog, the Nasdaq Family might actually prove suitable."
"Four votes in favor, one against. Proposal passed. A conciliatory policy will be adopted for now. In ten years, a decision will be made—whether to absorb, abandon, or destroy them."
Thus, the third proposal avoided destruction.
Then came the final document. Compared to its predecessors, it contained far fewer words—evidence that the matter was relatively trivial:
"Proposal Four:
Precondition: The Nasdaq Family has passed the affiliate invitation proposal.
Proposal: Should they pay the Heavenly Tribute? And if so, how much?"
"Reject."
"Approve."
"Reject."
"Approve."
"Approve."
"Three votes in favor, two against. Proposal passed. Now, let's decide on the tribute amount—any thoughts?"
"Deduct it from the Navy's military budget and have the Nasdaq Family cover that gap. Ross would likely prefer that outcome."
"Agreed."
"Same here."
They all understood one thing—if Ross were forced to pay the Heavenly Tribute, he would likely refuse the status of an affiliated nation entirely.
And the World Government couldn't afford to brand him a criminal outright—not without pushing him to desperation. It was better to appease him and maintain peace.
As for how to reduce the Navy's budget? Simple. The Navy had already become a fully obedient dog. Any random excuse would suffice.
That way, both sides saved face—and got what they wanted. Only then could real negotiations begin.
Thus, the Five Elders' council concluded. One command after another was issued, then executed and enforced.
---
Days later, a formal invitation from the World Government arrived on Cloud Island and was presented to Ross.
Clad in black, the masked CP0 agent handed him the file. Ross calmly picked it up and read through the document.
He was being invited to become one of the World Government's 50 affiliate nations, eligible to participate in the Reverie once every four years. He could decline or send a representative—personal attendance was not required.
More importantly, the Heavenly Tribute was waived.
This was essentially a golden apple falling from the sky—an offer no kingdom could possibly refuse.
Ross had to admit, the deal was extremely tempting.
But he hadn't survived this long by being naive. He knew full well what such generous terms would cost him.
If his guess was right, the Navy's military budget would soon be cut—or allowed to slowly rise with inflation—and Cloud Island would inevitably fall under surveillance. Of course, with his "Vision Clouds" and unique Observation Haki, such efforts wouldn't pose a real threat to him. Just an annoyance.
"I…"
Ross spoke at last, his tone flat, neither joyful nor resentful.
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