Pangea Castle.
In the massive conference room sat a circular table large enough to accommodate over a hundred and fifty people. By now, the royal families of the various member nations were mostly seated, with a few stragglers still making their way inside. Beside the royalty, Queen Stussy, Director-General of CP0, sat at the table accompanied by several subordinates.
On the Marine side, Fleet Admiral Sengoku was seated with Diarmuid, Sakazuki, Borsalino, and Chief of Staff Tsuru. Even Garp, that old rogue, had taken a seat. The meeting had yet to begin, as the Gorosei had not yet arrived, and the attendance wasn't quite complete.
Though Diarmuid was sitting in his designated spot, his eyes were constantly drifting toward the entrance. Sengoku was the same; while he chatted with those around him, he occasionally stole a glance at the door.
After about ten minutes, Kong, the Commander-in-Chief of the World Government's armed forces, stepped into the room. His entrance drew many eyes. After all, this man nominally controlled the military might of every member nation on earth. As the supreme military head and a former Fleet Admiral, he was no figurehead, unlike the previous Commander-in-Chief who had come from the CP ranks. He held immense power and naturally commanded attention.
The moment Kong entered, he gave a micro-nod toward Diarmuid and the other Marine generals. It was so subtle it was almost imperceptible, a signal that something had moved. Then, with a smile, Kong greeted the crowd and made his way to his seat, laughing and chatting with several kings along the way as if they were old friends.
Diarmuid received the signal loud and clear. Previously, Kong had been handling the tasks the Marines couldn't easily perform, specifically, monitoring the movements of the Gorosei in secret.
Originally, Kong was supposed to arrive with the Gorosei to maintain appearances. However, they had brushed him off mid-transit, claiming they needed to retrieve something and telling him to go ahead. Kong immediately realized something was afoot and rushed to the meeting room to tip off the Marines.
Without a second's hesitation, Diarmuid stood up. He turned naturally to Borsalino beside him and said, "Move aside, let me out for a second."
Borsalino played along perfectly. "Where are you going? The meeting's about to start."
"I'm a coward," Diarmuid said without a hint of shame. "I've never been to a meeting this big. I'm a little nervous. I need to hit the head."
His movement caught the attention of those nearby, but hearing his excuse, no one gave it a second thought. Borsalino stepped out to let him pass, and Diarmuid walked boldly out of the conference room.
As soon as he was out of sight, Diarmuid accelerated, racing toward the hall of the Empty Throne at high speed. Geographically, the conference room was closer to the hall than the Gorosei's quarters were; he should arrive first.
What Diarmuid didn't notice was that among the guards brought by the various kings, one man had been silently tracking his movements. Seeing Diarmuid leave right before the start of the session and head toward the Empty Throne instead of the restrooms, Dragon, who had overheard snippets of their plan earlier, knew his suspicions were confirmed.
Dragon slipped away from the crowd, his body dissolving into a light breeze as he vanished. A man of shadows and wind, Dragon was naturally faster than Diarmuid. Knowing the destination, he didn't follow Diarmuid's tracks but headed straight for the Empty Throne.
When Dragon reached the hall, all was silent. Not a soul was in sight. The hall was magnificent, with a long staircase leading to a high platform. At the very top sat a throne that radiated pure authority. Surrounding the throne were various weapons—blades, spears, and swords.
Though a stranger to this place, Dragon knew the significance of those weapons. They belonged to the twenty kings who founded the World Government. They were likely all masterwork blades, no inferior to named swords, planted there to symbolize the protection of the throne, a throne that no single person was allowed to occupy.
The Empty Throne symbolized the egalitarianism of the World Government and the member nation system: that all nations were equal under a fair mechanism. Though reality was far from fair, even Dragon had to admit that the Empty Throne was one of the few meaningful, respectable symbols in Mariejois. It represented the "best" of what their system claimed to be.
He scanned the hall but found nothing out of the ordinary. "Could that guy Diarmuid have spotted me and led me here on a wild goose chase? Surely he isn't that sly?" Dragon muttered, rubbing his chin. This place seemed normal.
Just as he wondered if he'd been played, he sensed something. His body turned into a gust of wind and disappeared into the rafters. Looking closely, one might see a tiny whirlwind spinning silently on a massive ceiling beam—no sound, no movement, and certainly no sign of Dragon.
The moment Dragon hid, Diarmuid stepped cautiously into the hall.
So it really is here... Dragon thought, feeling vindicated. He didn't know what the bastard was planning, but his presence confirmed Dragon was in the right place.
Diarmuid scouted the area and found it clear. He didn't bother checking the rafters; in his mind, only the Gorosei or Imu would show up. Why would they be hiding in the ceiling? Were they going to kowtow from the roof? This wasn't a secret brotherhood initiation.
"Good, I'm ahead of schedule," Diarmuid whispered to himself. He found a vantage point that would frame both the Empty Throne and the spot where the Gorosei would likely kneel.
Leaning against a stone pillar, Diarmuid's silhouette began to turn pitch black, the darkness "staining" the pillar. It looked as though the stone had opened a mouth and swallowed him whole. Then, the man-sized pool of darkness shrank into a single point, no larger than a coin. This tiny black dot rested perfectly in the eye of a mythical beast carved into the pillar.
It was a flawless concealment. Even Dragon, watching from the rafters, was stunned. When did that guy master such high-level stealth? If Dragon hadn't seen the process with his own eyes, he never would have sensed a person hiding there.
"He's hiding here... which means this isn't a secret deal," Dragon puzzled. "He's waiting for someone. Who? And what are they going to do?"
As Dragon pondered, a different door behind the throne opened. A figure walked in. At first glance, it looked almost comical—the figure's face was hidden, and they were draped in an incredibly long robe that trailed three to five meters behind them on the floor.
"Who is that?" Dragon was baffled. He had never heard of anyone like this in Mariejois.
The figure began to walk, step by step, up the stairs toward the Empty Throne.
"What are they doing?" Dragon's heart raced. Are they going to steal the blades protecting the throne?
Meanwhile, from within the darkness, Diarmuid watched with bated breath. Without a doubt, this was Imu! The figure's back was turned, and their face was obscured by the hood, but as they approached the throne, Diarmuid's excitement peaked. Come on, sit down. Finally...
Under Diarmuid's thrill and Dragon's confusion, Imu's pace was steady and deliberate. Without a hint of hesitation or taboo, the figure reached the Empty Throne and slowly sat down.
The long robes draped over the seat, and as Imu settled, a portion of an arm was revealed on the armrest. The skin was pale, slender, and looked remarkably delicate. Both Dragon and Diarmuid were struck with shock.
Because Imu was now seated, they were facing the direction of the observers. Both men saw Imu's face clearly.
Long pale-gold hair, a refined countenance that appeared to be in her twenties, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Imu was a woman!
She was poised and elegant, possessing an extraordinary aura. Simply sitting there, she radiated a true sense of imperial majesty, an aura of absolute rule that seemed to sweep over the four seas.
Yes, a "King's Aura."
Diarmuid had only seen this twice in his life. The first time was in Loguetown, when Roger walked toward the execution platform; that walk was saturated with an overbearing, kingly presence. Since then, Diarmuid had met countless heroes, top-tier powerhouses, and ambitious men, even Shiki, but none truly carried this specific "King's Aura."
It wasn't a matter of strength. In terms of raw power, Diarmuid felt he was nearly peerless. He suspected even this beautiful woman on the throne, this "Imu," couldn't beat him in a fight. But Diarmuid knew he didn't possess that aura. This was the feeling of someone who was born to be king, someone who naturally belonged on that seat. It was metaphysical.
Imu leaned back slightly, appearing somewhat languid. She raised her left hand to support her head and closed her eyes as if drifting into sleep. Her other hand rested on the armrest, fingers dangling gracefully. Diarmuid had seen many beauties—Hina, Gion, Stussy, and even Hancock, the "most beautiful woman in the world." Yet, for some reason, Imu's fingers seemed far more beautiful than any of theirs... like a quiet, elegant orchid.
As if to validate Diarmuid's thought, a butterfly fluttered down and landed gently on Imu's fingertip. It folded its wings and remained motionless, as if it had found a flower.
Neither Imu nor the butterfly moved. At this moment, the scene was like a masterpiece of art. The clash of imperial majesty and tranquil silence merged perfectly in the person of Imu.