The Holy Land of Mariejoa was not designed to experience panic. It was built upon the bedrock of global authority, a monument to the permanence of the Celestial Dragons' dominion. Yet, in the immediate aftermath of Benjamin's silent, impossible sabotage, the capital of the world became a scene of chaotic, inexplicable meltdown.
The initial reports reaching the higher echelons of the World Government were nonsensical, contradicting the very laws of the Grand Line.
The first alarms were triggered by the flooding. Deep within the Red Line, in the communications trenches that ran beneath the palaces, toxic brine suddenly burst through fused pipes, flowing upward against gravity and drowning thousands of kilometers of sensitive wiring. Engineers reported that the pumps were working, but the water flow had somehow been reversed, resulting in simultaneous pressure failure and widespread contamination.
Next came the systems collapse. Lights flickered with impossible randomness; internal Den Den Mushi lines sputtered, transmitting static and nonsensical high-pitched squeals. The advanced security systems, meant to protect the Celestial Dragons from external threats, had not been attacked; they had simply devolved. It was not a break-in; it was a physical seizure of the infrastructure's very purpose.
But the most terrifying discovery was in the prisons. Slave overseers, in the midst of the chaos, reported that the Seastone collars were failing. Not all at once, but in erratic, localized clusters. The suppression energy, the signature weakness of Devil Fruit users, was simply not there. The collars were inert metal bands, their effectiveness spontaneously neutered, providing the exact, narrow window of opportunity Fisher Tiger desperately needed.
The moment the first slaves broke their shackles and began to scream their rebellion, the World Government realized they were facing something far worse than an invasion. They were facing an anomaly.
The Gorosei's Ultimatum
Fleet Admiral Sengoku the Buddha was arguably the most powerful logistical mind in the world, yet he faced the Gorosei—the five elders who governed the world—with the sickening realization that he had no enemy to report.
He stood in the chamber, the air thick with political rage and incense, presenting the impossible facts.
"The attack was impossible, sirs. Our initial analysis shows no Devil Fruit signature, no bomb residue, and no known technology capable of this. The destruction of the defense batteries was caused by internal molecular decay—they simply tore themselves apart upon firing. The water flow defied physics. It was… a systemic revolt of the architecture itself."
One of the Gorosei, the bald man with the large mustache, slammed his cane against the marble floor. "Silence, Sengoku! You speak of ghosts and fairy tales. Mariejoa is the Holy Land, the fortress of the world! You permitted a slave—a fish—to lead a horde of scum through our capital, and you attempt to distract us with talk of 'revolting architecture'?"
The long-haired elder spoke, his tone dangerously low. "We do not deal in anomalies, Fleet Admiral. We deal in culprits. This chaos provided the perfect cover for the single most politically damaging event in our history. The Celestial Dragons are exposed, their authority questioned, and you present us with an empty hand and a physics lecture."
The Gorosei didn't want an explanation of how the attack happened; they wanted a target for their wrath. They issued a single, terrifying directive: absolute silence. No mention of the systemic failure. The world would believe that Fisher Tiger was a brilliant tactical genius who somehow breached the defenses alone. The truth—that the Holy Land was crippled by an unseen, untraceable force—was too dangerous to admit. It suggested vulnerability that could not be fought with armies.
The Investigation's Dead End
The most immediate priority was the investigation into the source of the attack, conducted under the highest secrecy by a division of Cipher Pol and a team of Vegapunk's specialized research unit.
The findings were a devastating dead end. Every sensor sweep, every data log, every piece of damaged equipment confirmed the initial, impossible analysis. The effects were instantaneous and localized. There was no bomb timer, no pressure release, no single point of origin. It was as if a localized reality warp had been briefly applied, then removed without leaving any trace of residual energy.
One of Vegapunk's top researchers, operating through a scrambled Den Den Mushi line, whispered a forbidden term: "Chronal Disturbance." The patterns of molecular shearing were consistent with non-linear manipulation of elemental bonds—a feat that should not be possible outside of theoretical physics. The only logical conclusion was that the assailant possessed power beyond any known Devil Fruit or technological breakthrough. They could not be captured because they could not be understood.
This conclusion led to a terrible, paralyzing fear among the Gorosei: they were not fighting an army; they were fighting a concept.
Paranoia and the Seed of Doubt
The immediate response was ruthless political purges. Dozens of Marine intelligence officers and high-ranking security personnel were rounded up, interrogated by Cipher Pol, and declared scapegoats for a massive internal conspiracy. The narrative was simple: a massive Revolutionary Army mole ring, disguised as loyal servants, had executed a precise internal sabotage. This narrative was a lie, but it was necessary to maintain the illusion of control.
However, in the deepest, most secure chambers, a chilling suspicion began to form.
The Gorosei reviewed all recent unusual events, searching for any anomaly. The records of Vice Admiral Kizaru and his brief deployment to the East Blue were brought forth. The incident report mentioned the execution of a child—Benjamin Dumars Martinez—who was completely vaporized by the Pika Pika no Mi, leaving only ash.
Kizaru, brought in for silent questioning, admitted the child had been reduced to fundamental particles. Yet, the question hung in the air: If the child was vaporized, why was his name recorded as the victim of a high-level Celestial Dragon incident? Why the specific detail of the impossible, perfect erasure?
The long-haired Gorosei stared at the report, then at the analysis detailing the impossible physics of the Mariejoa attack.
"An attack without an attacker," he mused, his voice barely audible. "A systemic failure without a bomb. And a child erased without a trace, only to have the world's most secure fortress crippled by something untraceable days later."
The implication was terrifying: what if the child wasn't erased? What if the light had simply freed the atoms, and what reformed was not human, but a ghost of impossible power?
The suspicion was too wild, too unsettling, to speak aloud. But it became the secret, silent directive of the World Government: forget the mole hunt. Forget the revolutionaries. Find the anomaly. Find the Chronos-Child. And if he existed, the fate of the entire world structure would depend on erasing him completely this time.