"You? The most gentle, peace-loving man in the Marines?!"
The muscles in Perospero's face froze solid. The smile he had forced onto his lips stiffened into something grotesque, and inside his head a thousand raging beasts stampeded wildly.
Why would I think that?! Why the hell wouldn't I?!
Before the Summit War, which bastard was it who sent those two monsters—those so-called 'Calamities'—after Mama's Sweet Commanders like rabid dogs trying to tear them to pieces?!
The memory surged up unbidden, vivid and humiliating.
That arrogant man wrapped in crackling lightning—Enel. And the silent one, the tyrant with the terrifying power to repel anything—Bartholomew Kuma.
Charlotte Cracker's vast army of Biscuit Soldiers had been reduced to charred debris under torrents of divine lightning, entire battalions blackened and collapsing in waves. Cracker himself had been blasted again and again by heavenly thunder, nearly turned into a literal "Sweet Commander—charbroiled edition."
And the most insidious of them all had been "Tyrant" Kuma. He hadn't said a single word. Just one casual palm after another—Ursus Shock. Pressure cannons detonating with merciless precision. Smoothie's Shibo Shibo no Mi powers, which could wring out and amplify strength, had been battered into existential doubt before the completely unreasonable might of the Nikyu Nikyu no Mi.
If not for Perospero's quick thinking—his emergency call to bring back their village's sole hope, Charlotte Katakuri, from an overseas assignment—heh, the Three Sweet Commanders might have had to rename themselves the "Two-and-a-Half Sweet Commanders."
Even with Katakuri activating his future sight like a cheat code, and the three of them fighting with everything they had, they had only barely managed to grind the "Thunder God" and the "Tyrant" to a stalemate.
In the end, the enemy had simply departed in style—one flash of lightning, one instant displacement—waving as they vanished without a trace.
That battle had nearly ground the face of the Big Mom Pirates into the dirt.
Most importantly of all—they hadn't even dared to admit it publicly.
Because a certain "peace-loving" man had declared first: if they dared to acknowledge the clash and make a move, he would personally come and cripple Big Mom himself.
And now—
This culprit. This most hawkish figure among the Marines. The man who had personally ended two legendary pirates. "Heaven-Shaker" Gern Reginald Sigmar.
He sat there with an innocent expression and asked him why he thought this was a declaration of war.
Isn't that the very definition of rubbing it in my face?! Isn't it?!
Perospero felt his long tongue practically twist itself into a bow from fury. He wanted nothing more than to smother that infuriating face in hardened candy.
But no matter how violently his thoughts raged—
Reality remained.
The black blade capable of severing his head with ease—Yahāng—was still resting steadily against his neck.
Perospero inhaled deeply. With every ounce of his lifetime of acting skill and restraint, he shoved the erupting anger and complaints back into the pit of his stomach.
A smile more painful than crying crawled back onto his face. He licked his lips with his long tongue and forced his voice into as steady a tone as possible—though a faint tremor still betrayed him.
"Perorin… Lord Heaven-Shaker jests."
He paused, almost grinding his molars, and "praised" him word by word.
"Of… of course it's because of the… attentive 'care' you and your Calamities have shown our Totto Land before."
He bit down especially hard on the word care. The sarcasm nearly spilled over, yet he dared not let it become too obvious. The suppression alone nearly caused him internal injury.
Gern watched Perospero's expression—the classic "smiling outside, swearing inside" look—and suddenly slapped his thigh as if struck by revelation.
"Oh right! That did happen!"
"…."
Perospero stared at him.
That performance—Oh, I accidentally forgot I once sent people to beat up your strongest forces—almost made him choke on his own breath. His long tongue twisted involuntarily.
He finally understood.
Trying to circle around this man. Playing psychological chess. It was pure self-torture.
The other party didn't just refuse to play along—he was clearly enjoying watching him squirm.
This won't work. It can't continue like this.
Perospero made a painful decision.
His sharp gaze swept the surroundings. The earlier commotion and the invisible pressure radiating from Gern had long since driven off nearby residents and Homies. The candy-paved street lay eerily empty. No unnecessary witnesses remained.
Then—
Under Gern's gaze—
The eldest son of the Big Mom Pirates, the 700-million-Berry Candy Minister, did something even Gern did not anticipate.
Without hesitation.
Without a single extra word.
Thud.
Both knees struck the hardened candy ground in one clean, decisive motion.
The fluidity of the movement. The sheer humility of the posture. It was as though he were a completely different person from the calculating family strategist moments before.
"Lord Heaven-Shaker!"
Perospero looked up. The false smile had vanished entirely, replaced with an almost sincere expression of plea.
"Just now… there were people watching. I had to keep face. That was my mistake. I kneel to you."
His words spilled out rapidly, carrying a reckless, all-or-nothing bluntness.
"So please—stop toying with me! Tell me! All right?!
What exactly have you come to Totto Land for? Give me a straight answer! If you're going to kill me or flay me—well—just make it quick!"
This kneeling gesture genuinely caught Gern off guard.
He blinked, staring at the Perospero who had suddenly shrunk by half without warning.
Then—
His expression turned vivid, a strange mixture of surprise and impressed admiration.
"Holy hell! You're sharp, Perospero!!"
He pointed at him excitedly.
"You actually used a sudden kneel to cleverly dodge the blade at your neck! Made my sword lose its target in an instant!
High-level! Absolutely high-level! No wonder you're the strategist—this on-the-spot adaptability is insane!"
Perospero: "..."
Still kneeling.
Mouth slightly open.
Long tongue limp against the ground.
For a moment, he truly had no words.
Because he hadn't thought that far ahead at all. The pressure had simply been too much. He didn't want to keep being toyed with like a monkey. He just wanted clarity—whatever it might cost.
And now…
Who exactly was he supposed to argue with about this?!
Perospero looked at Gern's expression—the look of a man convinced he had already seen through every layer of his scheme.
For the first time in a long while—
He felt tired.
Utterly, profoundly tired.