In the meeting room in Mary Geoise, the air was thick with the smell of old books that filled the towering bookshelves, and the solemn tick-tock of an antique wall clock pointed to nine o'clock at night. The five Gorosei, their faces etched with the lines of time and weariness, did not stop for a single moment from reading the reports that lay before them.
In front of them, a Cipher Pol agent stood stiffly, his body groaning in silent protest at five hours of standing without a break. The dim candlelight flickered, unable to banish the deep shadows of fatigue that clung to every corner of the room.
Saint Marcus Mars, a deep crease of concentration between his brows, massaged his forehead.
He took a large glass that was almost the size of his head and drank from it. It was coffee, not served in a delicate teacup, but in a beer glass that was almost the size of his head. And the coffee in his glass was not the first one; it was the umpteenth time he had refilled it.
The ashtray on the table, overflowing with cigarette butts, had also been emptied repeatedly, leaving a dozen empty cigarette boxes strewn across the mahogany surface.
Saint Marcus Mars cast a weary glance around the dimly lit chamber, where the other Gorosei sat gathered around the heavy mahogany table. Some were still absorbed in their reports, eyes scanning pages with a tired intensity, the deep lines etched on their faces mirroring the exhaustion Markus felt pressing upon his own shoulders.
He cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate in the oppressive silence. "Ahem."
Every head slowly turned toward him, the murmur of whispered thoughts fading into stillness.
Marcus took a steadying breath before speaking, his voice measured and thoughtful. "After careful analysis, isn't this phenomenon in Alabasta just a Devil Fruit awakening?" He paused, seeking the weight of his words among the others.
Saint Topman Wacury, reclining slightly, reached into his coat and produced a silver box of cigarettes.
He selected one, flicking it between his fingers before lighting it with practiced ease. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled a slow plume of smoke and nodded. "It certainly appears that way," he said, his voice thick with contemplation. "Judging by Robin's condition, this power has exacted a severe toll on her body."
"Yes, it's truly unfortunate," lamented Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, his gaze distant as he played a cigarette between his fingers. "With such a power harnessed, we could have revolutionized food production, feeding countless more. The agricultural potential alone is staggering."
"Can we stop talking about trivial things like this!" Suddenly, the atmosphere became tense as Saint Ethanbaron V Nusjuro slammed the sword he held onto the floor with a resonant clang. The sharp sound reverberated through the room, drawing every eye to him. Markus's brow furrowed deeply at the outburst, sensing the brewing storm beneath the composed exterior.
Ethanbaron took back the file he had placed on the table, a file filled with the latest information about Guts, and threw it angrily towards Markus, making the papers fly.
"How long will you turn a blind eye to this!" Ethanbaron's annoyed voice echoed through the room. "We can no longer deny that another like us has appeared!" he continued without lowering his voice. "Isn't it obvious that Guts, who doesn't age and can't die, means that blood like ours flows in his body!"
"ENOUGH, ETHAN!" Markus cut in, waving his hand to dismiss the CP agent. The agent bowed politely before leaving the room.
"I'm sick of your excessive paranoia, Ethan! Haven't we agreed that we will discuss it again after Imu-sama wakes up from their slumber?"
"Paranoia?" Ethanbaron sneered. "Isn't the fact clear? I wouldn't even be surprised if Guts's last name is Nerona!"
"How dare you, Ethanbaron!" Markus Mars rose from his seat in a fit of emotion.
"I agree with Ethan," Saint Jaygarcia Saturn declared firmly, adjusting his glasses with a deliberate wipe. "We have to think about what kind of treatment we should give Guts."
Topman Wacury arched a cynical eyebrow, his voice dripping with skepticism. "What kind of treatment, Saturn? Pray, enlighten us."
Saturn's eyes narrowed, a sharp glint of resolve shining through as he met Wacury's gaze. "Well… how about isolating him again, just like before?"
"Heh… isolation?" Topman sneered, a mocking curl tugging at his lips. "After the agreement we made with Guts? Are you really after his armor and sword, Saturn?"
Saturn's temper flared, a vein pulsating visibly on his forehead. "Yes! I won't deny it!" he snapped. "Wouldn't our armaments be far superior if we uncovered the secrets behind Guts's armor and sword? Are you accusing me of acting out of greed, Topman?"
"Stop pointing fingers, come on, maintain your dignity," sighed Shepherd Ju Peter, who had canceled his opera night for this Sunday night meeting.
"Guts's movements of approaching the Poneglyphs one by one are indeed suspicious, but the fact that he doesn't say anything about it indicates that he knows about the secrets of the world but chooses to remain silent?" Peter extinguished his cigarette and lit a new one, inhaling it with a deep sense of weariness. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Sit back down please, Marcus, come on, let's talk about this with cool heads," said Peter, sliding his cigarette box toward Marcus, who took a cigarette to smoke and calm down.
"Maybe we can have a direct meeting with Guts? What do you all think?" Peter said, trying to build a constructive discussion.
"I agree," said Saturn, nodding his head, although his eyes were still looking at Topman with annoyance.
"Of course," said Topman, indifferently.
"We shouldn't have destroyed Ohara." The atmosphere that had started to calm down was reignited by Ethanbaron.
Immediately, Peter's fist hit Ethan's face, who was sitting next to him, which he immediately blocked with his sword sheath, but it made his body fly to the bookshelf and destroy it.
Peter's hand choked Ethan, and Ethan's sword that came out of its sheath was placed on Peter's neck.
"You went too far, Ethan, have you forgotten? It was because of your excessive paranoia that Marcus ordered the destruction of Ohara," with a look of disappointment, Peter continued, "You are the one who made Marcus kill his friend, Clover, with his own hands."
Realizing the blunder he had made, Ethan pulled his sword and put it back in its sheath. "Sorry, Marcus, I went too far."
Peter released his chokehold on Ethan and returned to where his chair had been. But, seeing that both his chair and Ethan's were now nothing more than splinters, he sighed. He then walked over to a cabinet, grabbed a bottle of wine, and sat on a nearby sofa, his massive body sinking into the soft cushions.
"We should end this meeting tonight and cool our heads," Peter said, taking a long swig from the bottle. He regretted coming to this meeting. He should have just gone to the opera; his favorite diva was performing tonight. He sighed, a sound of profound weariness, feeling that the older they got, the more childish they became.
Peter's weariness was a stark contrast to Buggy's fear, who was far away from Mary Geoise.
Buggy's ship had just come down from Twin Peak and arrived in a silent, foggy sea that narrowed visibility.
Buggy gulped.
If not for his sharp instincts, Buggy would be reluctant to return to the Grand Line. Within a week, many of Buggy's crewmates died in a horrifying condition while he was still on Orange Island. Buggy tried to investigate the strangeness until he received news about what happened to the Arlong Pirates, which made him decide to flee, feeling his safety was threatened.
Buggy's face, which was already covered in white makeup, turned even whiter as the sound of the waves grew louder. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs. They were going to pass through the territory of the most horrifying serial killer in the Grand Line, Guts, the Devil Swordsman.
He prayed to Davy Jones, hoping that Guts was already asleep and would not notice their presence. Suddenly, a small child's laughter was heard faintly, carried on the wind.
"Dreshi...shi...shi...shi"
The entire Buggy crew screamed in fear, "GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Buggy, his first mate Cabaji, Mohji, and Mohji's pet white lion, Richie, all hug each other, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
"Dreshi...shi...shi...shi"
The sound of laughter was heard again, making their bodies tremble even more.
"What is that sound, Captain Buggy?" Cabaji asked while gulping. And out of fear, Richie the white lion even meowed.
"Please not Guts, please not Guts, oh Davy Jones, please let that sound be just the sound of a sea animal!" Buggy prayed with all his very being.
The sound of the water intensified, growing louder as giant tentacles began to appear and bind their ship, their massive suckers clenching onto the hull with a sickening hiss.
Slowly, the head of a giant shark emerged from the surface of the water, its size so immense that it dwarfed their vessel. And on top of its head, stood Guts, with a sword that was now burning in his hand. On Guts's shoulder, a small child about six years old, was laughing.
"Stop it, kid, you're making them pass out," Guts said, his voice flat, as he looked at Buggy's ship, where all the crew members who were standing on the deck had passed out with foam in their mouths.