—Broadcast—
Sakazuki didn't want to disrupt the current status quo—not for someone he respected from the depths of his wounded heart. He could only respond to Artoria's gentle pressure with silence, his jaw clenched tight enough that muscles stood out along his scarred neck.
Now was not the time to resolve matters with Illya. Perhaps there would never be a right time.
If they had too much contact, the only person who'd suffer would be the child. Admiral Sakazuki's heart had endured enough damage already—scars layered upon scars, wounds that never fully healed. He refused to repeat past mistakes, refused to inflict more pain on someone who deserved none of it.
Fleet Admiral Artoria observed the wooden expression settling across her subordinate's features like a funeral mask. This topic could only be addressed briefly, touched upon and then retreated from. Some emotional knots had to be untied by the parties involved themselves. No amount of external persuasion would accomplish anything meaningful—especially with someone as stubbornly self-punishing as Sakazuki.
The man was constitutionally incapable of forgiving himself. He'd dwell on every perceived failure, every moral compromise, every collateral victim. He wouldn't change course until he'd crashed headlong into consequences so severe they forced recalibration.
Artoria shifted subjects with practiced grace, her tone becoming more businesslike. "The annual Military and Financial Conference approaches. I expect both of you to contribute fresh strategic perspectives. I don't want to hear the same arguments recycled from previous years."
Ever since Artoria Pendragon had ascended to Fleet Admiral of the New Marine, this gathering had become sacred tradition. When the conference date approached, virtually all senior Marine officials assembled in Rome's primary strategic chamber. The meeting served multiple critical functions: collective problem-solving, transparent communication regarding sensitive topics, comprehensive annual reviews for every organizational division.
Military intelligence and financial sustainability represented the twin pillars supporting the entire New Marine structure. Without either foundation, the organization would collapse like a building missing load-bearing walls.
The upcoming Sixth Marine Headquarters Military Conference would gather all twelve Admirals simultaneously—an unprecedented concentration of power. Rome itself would enter martial law protocols during the gathering. This represented the moment when the Marine's defensive capabilities reached absolute peak strength.
Pirate groups possessed enough tactical sense to avoid provocations during these periods. Even in the nearby Sabaody Archipelago—that lawless haven where criminals normally operated with impunity—the crime rate would plummet dramatically over the next several days.
Nobody wanted to attract the attention of twelve Admiral-class combatants gathered in one location.
The conference's formal title belied its actual nature. Despite the professional designation, most sessions devolved into heated arguments between competing factions. Although all twelve Admirals formally bowed to the Fleet Admiral's authority, their relationships with each other ranged from professional cooperation to barely concealed hostility.
It was extremely common for Admirals sharing similar justice philosophies to form informal alliances and factional power blocs. This had been unavoidable in the old Marine system under Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The New Marine proved no exception to human nature's tribal tendencies.
Sakazuki commanded the Royal Guard—the elite griffin cavalry serving as the Fleet Admiral's personal enforcers. That position made him the largest single faction within the Marine by default. The Royal Guard served as base camp for radical justice advocates, those who believed compromise with evil was itself evil.
Completely eliminating an Admiral's personal influence was impossible unless that Admiral disappeared physically. Humans were biologically programmed to seek strong leaders, to cluster around powerful individuals for identity and security. The voices of chosen champions inevitably expanded over time.
Fortunately, Artoria Pendragon had become Fleet Admiral. If Sakazuki had claimed that position instead, the Marine would likely have devolved into ideological monolith—a single voice drowning out all dissent. Personnel disagreeing with his absolute justice philosophy wouldn't merely be marginalized; they'd be unable to work or survive under his command.
This would certainly benefit Marine radicals. But moderates, reformists, and those advocating tempered justice approaches would be squeezed from mainstream positions entirely. Eventually relegated to remote Marine bases where their careers would stagnate into obscurity.
The fundamental conflict between Kuzan and Sakazuki remained irreconcilable. If either clearly gained the upper hand, the other would likely be forced to withdraw from the Marine entirely. The organization couldn't afford losing either Admiral-class combatant—and cultivating a super-powered opponent for rival forces through petty internal politics was catastrophically stupid.
Esdeath had already decided her contribution to the Sixth Military Conference: a thrilling war speech advocating more aggressive expansion. She currently felt the Marine was too conservative, too restrained. Sometimes—and this amused her immensely—even Admiral Sakazuki's radical positions seemed timid to her sadistic sensibilities.
"That girl Wendy ran off again and hasn't returned," Esdeath observed, deliberately changing subjects away from work discussions. The war maniac preferred not discussing administrative matters while eating—or more precisely, preferred avoiding such topics in Artoria's presence entirely.
"She went to Mary Geoise searching for her friend," Sakazuki clarified, his voice returning to its usual gravel-rough neutrality.
As the Admiral finished speaking, the Sky Screen's perspective shifted away from Rome's cafeteria. The broadcast transitioned to an entirely different location: Mary Geoise, the holy land where Celestial Dragons maintained their eight-hundred-year reign.
—Broadcast—
Mary Geoise
On a pristine lawn near City's towering structures, today's afternoon tea session was beginning. The location commanded one of Mary Geoise's widest panoramic views—the Red Line's elevation providing vistas stretching to distant horizons in every direction.
Several Celestial Dragon slaves worked with desperate efficiency, each assigned specific preparation tasks. Some arranged food on silver platters. Others set elegant tables with imported vase. One mixed fresh juices in crystal carafes. Another meticulously inspected the lawn for debris that might offend noble sensibilities.
These slaves responded to their masters' demands with frantic diligence, terrified of making mistakes that would trigger punishment. The consequences for disappointing Celestial Dragons ranged from public beatings to summary execution, depending entirely on their owners' mood.
"Father, how do you feel about the sunshine today?" A woman's voice broke the servants' tense silence, warm and conversational despite receiving no response. "This is the place with the widest view in all of Mary Geoise. I always stop here when visiting. I'd love to build a house on this spot—somewhere we could live together permanently."
The speaker was a striking young woman with vibrant pink hair styled in an elaborate arrangement. Her figure drew attention even in the conservative dress codes typical of Celestial Dragon territories—curves that suggested athletic capability beneath feminine presentation.
She spoke to a massive figure seated motionless in one of the prepared chairs: a cyborg who could never respond, never acknowledge her words, never return her affection.
The Sky Screen's analytical overlay activated:
Character Notes: Deputy Commander of the God's Knights
Jewelry Bonney (Miss Multiverse)
Adoptive daughter of Bartholomew Kuma
"I'll keep talking to you until you remember me."
The cyborg before her was unmistakable: Bartholomew Kuma, former Shichibukai, former Revolutionary Army officer, former father. The distinctive paw-pads on his palms marked his identity as clearly as a signature. His massive frame sat utterly still, following programmed commands with mechanical precision.
No trace of humanity remained in those eyes. No recognition of the daughter addressing him with such desperate hope. All emotions and memories had been surgically extracted, replaced with cold obedience protocols.
The Tyrant had become exactly what his title suggested: a tool of tyranny, wielded by the very regime he'd once fought against.
His face showed no expression as he sat following his master's orders. But his adoptive daughter Bonnie found this sufficient. As long as father and daughter weren't separated again—as long as she could speak to him, touch him, maintain the fiction of connection—the degradation and servitude were bearable.
What mattered was proximity. Presence. The illusion that somewhere deep inside that lobotomized shell, Bartholomew Kuma still existed.
A white speck appeared in the sky, rapidly approaching. Within seconds, Bonnie could distinguish its features: a giant dragon covered in pure white feathers, moving with elegant aerial grace.
Wendy. Her dear friend. Arriving precisely on schedule for afternoon tea.
The white dragon descended slowly, generating gentle breezes that rippled across the manicured lawn. This was a kind dragon, one who deliberately minimized disturbance to those below. The Devil Fruit user eliminated her beast transformation mid-descent, human form resolving as her feet touched grass.
A girl with distinctive twin ponytails appeared, looking perhaps fourteen years old despite her Admiral rank and combat credentials.
"Bonnie!" Wendy's voice carried youthful enthusiasm. "I'm not late this time! Though I did get delayed meeting Admiral Sakazuki along the way."
As the afternoon tea's host, Bonnie didn't mind the minor tardiness. As long as Admiral Wendy could visit Mary Geoise regularly, the two friends who shared similar suffering could maintain their bond. They possessed endless common topics—experiences that outsiders couldn't fully understand.
Bonnie gestured for Wendy to sit quickly, then ordered the slaves to bring prepared cakes for Admiral inspection. Celestial Dragon food quality definitely exceeded Marine standards. This had been true historically and remained true in the present.
The silent Kuma sitting nearby also received a cake slice from his adoptive daughter. Although Bonnie knew intellectually that her father could never open his mouth to enjoy food—the cyborg modifications didn't include unnecessary functions like voluntary eating—she maintained the habit of sharing anyway.
The adoptive daughter believed her father remained a complete human being deserving normal treatment. She would continue acting as though Bartholomew Kuma could still appreciate her gestures, still recognize her love, still be the man who'd raised her.
Even if that man was gone forever.
Wendy couldn't help feeling profound sadness witnessing this scene. Words of comfort formed in her mind but stuck in her throat, unable to emerge. Her best friend was more outwardly optimistic than Wendy herself. Strong Bonnie didn't need—wouldn't accept—anyone's pity or consolation.
So Wendy simply sat beside her, picked up a delicate pastry, and shared the silence between them.
Two Celestial Dragon girls. One a Marine Admiral. One a God's Knight Deputy Commander. Both bearing scars no amount of privilege could heal.
The slaves continued their work around them, pretending not to notice the tragedy unfolding in plain sight.
—Real World—
Various Locations Reacting to Broadcast
Across the Real World, viewers processed what they'd witnessed with varying degrees of horror, sympathy, and calculation.
In Revolutionary Army headquarters, Dragon watched Kuma's fate with clenched fists. His comrade. His friend. Reduced to a living puppet serving the regime they'd sworn to destroy.
In Marineford, Sengoku observed the young Wendy with troubled expression. A fourteen-year-old Celestial Dragon holding Admiral rank. What did that imply about the New Marine's relationship with the World Government? Had they truly achieved independence, or merely traded one form of servitude for another?
In Mary Geoise's current timeline, the Five Elders took notes on Bonney's future position. Deputy Commander of God's Knights. A title that didn't currently exist but would clearly need to be created. And her connection to Bartholomew Kuma—that required immediate investigation.
And somewhere in the shadows, Kaito smiled.
The pieces were moving exactly as planned.
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