The moment the lights returned, a heavy silence filled the room.
Crocodile sat at the head of the table, one leg crossed over the other, a cigar resting between his fingers and his golden hook gleaming under the light. His presence alone pressed down on everyone present.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Then Bon Clay's eyes widened dramatically.
"No way… You're…"
"Crocodile," the man said calmly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "One of the Seven Warlords of the Sea… and the leader of Baroque Works. You may address me as Mr. 0."
The reaction was immediate.
Mr. 3 nearly dropped the wax figure in his hand. Mr. 5 and Mr. 9 straightened in their seats, clearly shaken. Even Miss Doublefinger's earlier dazed expression sharpened with shock. Only Daz Bones remained relatively composed.
At the far end of the table, Vivi's blood ran cold.
Crocodile… is Mr. 0?
The man she had been investigating, the Warlord whose name carried weight across the seas, had been sitting at the center of the organization the entire time. Her fingers tightened under the table as she forced her expression to stay neutral.
Crocodile took another slow drag from his cigar, clearly enjoying the effect his revelation had on the room. There was a smug satisfaction in the way he leaned back, golden eyes sweeping across their faces.
"Until now, most of you only knew me as a name on a Den Den Mushi," he continued. "That ends today. From this moment on, you will understand the true scale of what we are building here."
He spoke with the arrogance of a man who had already won. Yet beneath that composed exterior, irritation simmered.
Robin, that bitch, started the meeting without me… and why the hell is she smiling?
Crocodile's jaw tightened for a brief moment before he forced it to relax. He would deal with her later.
He placed his cigar down and opened his mouth to begin explaining the details of Project Utopia—
When something warm and soft wrapped around his balls inside his pants.
A delicate hand had materialized without warning, fingers closing tightly around his still-sensitive balls and squeezed hard.
Caught completely unprepared, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his entire body. After the brutal night before, he was still sensitive. His Logia body reacted on pure instinct.
In an instant, he scattered into the sand. The chair emptied as his form dispersed across the floor, the golden hook clattering down with him.
Few seconds later, the sand pulled itself back together.
Crocodile was seated once more with cold sweat visible on his face, breathing just a fraction heavier than before. His eyes locked onto Robin with intensity.
Robin simply rested her chin on the back of her hand and smiled at him, the picture of innocence.
"Is something wrong, Boss?"
Mr. 2 glanced between them, sensing the sudden change. Everyone felt it now, the unspoken tension stretching between the two of them. The other agents exchanged subtle glances. Something had clearly happened between their boss and Miss All Sunday.
Then, slowly, Crocodile exhaled a thin stream of smoke and leaned back in his chair.
"…Miss All Sunday will brief you on the next phase of Project Utopia," he said flatly.
His eyes never left hers.
And for the first time, the rest of Baroque Works began to realize that the balance of power inside the organization was no longer as clear as it once was.
Robin had leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. The neckline of her purple dress dipped lower with the movement, offering a generous view of her soft cleavage.
Whatever fear or respect Crocodile's presence commanded suddenly found itself competing with something far more distracting.
Several agents felt their focus slip away from the ugly warlord and settle entirely on the woman sitting across from him — a woman who looked less like an assassin and more like a goddess who had decided to grace them with her beauty.
"As Mr. 0 mentioned," Robin began, her voice calm and elegant, "we will now discuss the next phase of Project Utopia."
"For years, Baroque Works has operated in the shadows of Alabasta. Fueling the rebellion. Weakening the kingdom from within. Every action was carefully chosen to create the conditions necessary for us to seize both the country… and the ancient weapon buried beneath it."
She continued for several minutes, clearly explaining their past operations and the logic behind them.
"Until now," Robin said, "we had no choice but to take the long route, as we lacked a decisive weakness within the royal family — something that could force the kingdom's hand without dragging us into a prolonged conflict."
Her blue eyes slowly shifted and settled on Vivi.
A soft smile touched Robin's lips.
"But the situation has changed," she said lightly. "Hasn't it… Princess Vivi? Or would you prefer I continue calling you Miss Wednesday?"
The room froze.
Vivi's face went pale.
Every agent turned toward her at once. Shock rippled through the table like a physical force. Bon Clay's mouth fell open. Mr. 3's wax figure melted between his fingers. Even Miss Doublefinger stared in open disbelief.
Vivi's heart slammed against her ribs. The cover she had carefully maintained for so long had been stripped away in a single sentence. Her vision swam for a moment as the weight of exposure crashed down on her.
Before she could speak or even attempt to move, the air around her shifted.
Sand erupted from the floor.
In an instant, it coiled around her body like a coffin, wrapping tightly around her arms, torso, and legs, locking her firmly against the chair.
Crocodile's golden eyes gleamed from the head of the table. A smile formed beneath his cigar.
"Well now…" he murmured. "This meeting just became far more interesting."