They felt endless humiliation and unwillingness, yet they were powerless to change any of it.
Judge tore off his cape, revealing a back covered in scars.
Those scars were proof of his lifelong pursuit of creating the "strongest war machine," but now, they seemed almost laughable.
Every movement he made, every look in his eyes, carried deep helplessness and sorrow.
He pointed toward Ron's image on the screen, his voice low and powerful.
"That man… is reshaping the rules of this world."
His words were filled with awe and fear.
Ron had already become an existence that could not be defeated.
Reiju stood quietly nearby, her Poison Pink butterfly wings trembling softly.
She looked at her father's hunched back, and an indescribable emotion rose in her heart.
Suddenly, she understood something.
She understood her father's helplessness and his choice. She also understood the cruelty and reality of this world.
Three hours later, Reiju stood on the deck of Germa's most advanced submarine.
Behind her were core chips containing the data of the clone soldiers.
Her eyes were firm and decisive, as though she had already prepared herself for everything.
"Lady Reiju, do you truly not need any guards?" the old butler asked worriedly.
He knew Reiju was independent and strong, but the current situation still filled him with unease.
Reiju removed the helmet of her raid suit and let the sea breeze mess up her pink hair.
She smiled and shook her head.
"Showing weakness now… is the strongest form of diplomacy."
Her words were filled with wisdom and composure.
She had already seen through the truth of it all.
She gently touched the invitation from the Eternal Divine Kingdom at her neck.
The gilded red-star emblem on it glowed faintly beneath the moonlight.
She knew she had made the right choice.
And she would also shoulder the responsibility and mission that came with it.
...
On the Grand Line, within the Eternal Divine Kingdom.
At that moment, the afterglow of dusk was like the work of a master painter, spilling the brilliant yet faintly weathered colors of the setting sun across the vast floor-to-ceiling windows.
Through that enormous glass, the light seemed to come alive, cutting the spacious hall into countless fragments of brightness and shadow with precise force.
It looked like an abstract painting filled with tension.
Douglas Bullet's tall, powerful figure sat deep within the interwoven shadows, like a towering mountain.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the tabletop.
That crisp, steady sound was like the ticking of a countdown clock.
In the silence of that nearly lifeless space, it sounded especially sharp.
Each tap seemed to strike directly against the heart, making one's nerves tighten despite themselves.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The monotonous yet penetrating sound echoed again and again.
At the same time, the holographic projection screen looked like a window into another world, displaying a constantly shifting stream of real-time footage like a thrilling grand play.
There was Germa's white fleet, sailing magnificently across the Calm Belt's mirror-still waters.
One warship after another moved like silver beasts, carrying overwhelming momentum.
Their bows, sharp as bayonets, cut resolutely through the sea, leaving behind straight, deep wakes as though announcing their arrival and determination to the entire world.
The surging spray glittered gold beneath the setting sun, forming a sharp contrast against the white hulls and creating a magnificent, shocking scene.
Then the image shifted to a bustling port somewhere in the New World.
There, a pirate crew that had once been arrogant and tyrannical was slowly lowering the flag that represented their former glory and madness.
Their movements were solemn, almost as if they were carrying out a sacred ritual.
After that, they carefully replaced it with the emblem of the Eternal Divine Kingdom.
The badge gleamed mysteriously beneath the sun, symbolizing a new allegiance and faith.
The people around them watched in silence, their eyes filled with complicated emotions—awe, anticipation, and a trace of unease.
Far away in the North Blue, inside a heavily guarded military base, a group of clone soldiers were carrying out an important task in orderly fashion.
They were destroying World Government symbols in batches.
Their expressions were focused, their movements swift and practiced.
Those emblems, which had once represented authority and rule, were removed one after another, smashed apart, and reduced to rubble in their hands.
That act seemed like a challenge to the old order, a sign that a new era was about to arrive.
"Heh…"
That soft laugh seemed to come from the depths of hell, carrying endless mockery and disdain.
Bullet suddenly clenched his steel-hard fingers.
Under his terrifying grip, the delicate wineglass could no longer withstand the pressure.
With a sharp crack, it burst apart in his palm.
The crimson wine inside spilled out like an uncontrolled flood, mixing with the razor-sharp glass shards as it seeped slowly between his fingers.
The tiny fragments of glass glittered coldly beneath the light, each piece like a hidden blade.
The sharp shards pierced mercilessly into his skin, yet shockingly, not even the slightest trace of pain appeared on his face.
He did not so much as furrow his brow.
After all, this body had been tempered through countless trials and brutal training. It had long since grown used to pain.
Endless brushes with death and cruel discipline had forged both his will and his flesh into something abnormally tough.
How could such a minor wound move him in the slightest?
"A bunch of spineless small fry."
Bullet's voice was low and hoarse, like muffled thunder rolling through the room.
His eyes burned like flames as he stared at the fawning faces on the screen.
Those people had once been untouchable figures in their own territories, calling wind and rain as they pleased.
Yet now, one by one, they were like puppets stripped of dignity, bending low with flattering smiles and eagerly catering to someone else's will.
Their cowardice and hypocrisy were magnified endlessly in Bullet's eyes.
But just as his heart filled with contempt, he casually glanced at the side screen.
In an instant, his pupils contracted sharply, as if he had been struck by lightning.
At the summit of Onigashima, violent wind swept across everything, throwing the air into chaos.
The gray sky seemed covered by a vast black curtain, pressing down so heavily that it was hard to breathe.
In that atmosphere, Ron stood tall and straight, raising a cup of fine wine high as he stood steadily at the edge of the steep cliff.
His gaze was firm and deep, as though it could pierce through endless darkness and look straight to the end of the world.
On both sides of him stood two famous overlords of the sea, each showing their own overwhelming presence.
Bullet stared at the image for a long time before muttering under his breath.
"There's probably no hope of beating these monsters in this lifetime."