Those old bastards! Are you that desperate to bind me with something? Shackles, titles, and now marriage...
Saint Zenka sat in the water, silver hair damp against her shoulders, her eyes half-lidded in thought. She had not spoken for several minutes.
Then, almost to herself, she murmured:
"Crafty old foxes. I give you that."
Her gaze was far away. She could still see it—the image of Sommers, laughing on the floor. The sound was still in her ears when her Conqueror's Haki pulsed, a wave of silent pressure rolling from her like a storm. Sommers' body struck the wall with a resounding crack, his laughter turning to breathless bliss.
The maids froze. None dared speak.
Zenka's eyes closed again, the moment passing.
Her fist then broke the water's surface. The bath erupted into steam, curling thickly around her form. Rising in one fluid motion, droplets traced her frame as she stepped onto the heated stone.
"Prepare my clothes," she said, voice calm but edged with command.
At once, the maids scrambled, hastily fetching her black and crimson robes, careful not to make a mistake as they moved with precise urgency.
She advanced through the mist. Garling stood at the doorway—rigid, unflinching. Through the haze, he saw only her silhouette at first, tall and deliberate. Each step rang with quiet authority.
Her red eyes locked on his, unwavering. Garling held his ground, no sweat on his brow, though the weight in the air was undeniable.
She stopped a breath away. The space between them vibrated with pressure.
Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her hand. Soul Edge flew from her storage, its black-wrapped hilt slapping into her palm.
Her faint smile curved, sharp with promise. "Not bad. You stand well, Garling. Few do."
She turned slightly. "I will be back soon."
Garling's voice was low. "Where are you going?"
Zenka's eyes, still fixed forward, glinted in the steam. "To Pangea Castle. To see what those desperate fossils truly want."
The marble halls of Mary Geoise echoed with Zenka's footsteps as she strode swiftly through its grand corridors. Her silver hair, still damp from the bath, trailed like a shimmering banner. The red glow of her eyes burned fiercely beneath the shadows of the high arches.
So this is the great punishment, old man Saturn... Shackles, titles, marriage. Her thoughts raced as the weight of their scheme settled cold in her mind. They fear me. They want to bind me. Good. But damn, I hate their games!
The polished streets beyond the halls were alive with whispers, and as Zenka passed the mansions of the Celestial Dragons, several stepped forward. Their voices, though laced with praise, carried a sharp edge of calculation.
"Saint Zenka, your destruction of the Rocks pirate fleet has done great service to the World Government-eh," one declared, bowing stiffly. Another nodded solemnly, "The New World Pirates tremble beneath your might-eh. Your enemies should take heed-eh."
Zenka's reply was clipped, her eyes flicking past them like a blade slicing through thin ice. "Ants will stay as ants."
She pressed onward, her mind already weaving through strategies to outplay the Gorosei's next moves. Despite the accolades, an unyielding irritation gnawed at her—their desire to control her, to bind her with alliances and titles, chafed like iron against her spirit.
Her pace slowed as a sudden commotion caught her attention. Near a marble balcony, a towering slave, a Buccaneer named Clapp, pleaded desperately before a Celestial Dragon named Aurelien.
"Please! Please! I beg you! She didn't mean it! Forgive her!" Clapp's voice cracked with fear.
Aurelien sneered, voice dripping with contempt. "Forgive her? She spilt my favourite juice! Do you know how rare that is? Unforgivable-eh!"
He raised a jewelled pistol, aiming at the trembling woman beside Clapp. "I will not tolerate such insolence."
The sharp report of a gunshot echoed—but the bullet missed, embedding harmlessly into the stone pillar behind them.
"Huh, how did I miss-eh?" Aurelien said, confused about how his aim got that bad.
Zenka stepped forward, her presence slicing through the tension like a thunderclap.
"Wait," she commanded, voice calm but firm.
Her gaze settled on Maku, the slave woman, her eyes piercing through the charged air.
"Yes, you—slave woman. I've lost a few maids lately. Can you handle maid duties?" Zenka's tone held an unspoken challenge.
Maku nodded through tears, "Yes, my lady... I will do whatever you ask."
Clapp exhaled sharply, relief flooding his face. "Thank you. Thank you, my lady."
Aurelien laughed, cold and cruel. "Don't fool yourself-eh. Few remain sane after time in Zenka's service. You think she'll be happy? A slave, she will break her-eh."
Without another word, he mounted his bizarre slave steed—a gaunt, broken man, twisted and scarred like a living nightmare—and prepared to depart.
"Father! There you are! Kill that slave already—! Huh... Zenkyaaaa?! Father... Father... Can... can I marry her then-eh?" A young man's voice rang out, visibly excited and flushed.
Zenka didn't even glance at him. A moment later, the man collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth.
"Maybe illness... or he must have been really nervous," Zenka said lightly, walking away.
Aurelien's jaw clenched as his son collapsed in a heap. For a moment, the Celestial Dragon seemed frozen in disbelief, torn between outrage and humiliation. He glanced at Zenka's retreating back, words failing him, a mixture of fear and anger burning behind his eyes. But he said nothing.
Not here. Not to her.
Instead, he gave a sharp tug on his slave steed's reins, his face twisting into a cold mask as he rode away in silence, the humiliation settling deep in his chest.
Zenka turned her gaze toward the horizon, the weight of the coming storm settling upon her shoulders.
Zenka moved swiftly through the shadowed halls of Pangea Castle, followed at a cautious distance by armoured guards. Their whispered pleas for her to reconsider fell on deaf ears—she was determined, focused. Though they could not stop her, their presence was unseen by most, and she slipped near the heart of power unnoticed.
Approaching the grand door of the Gorosei chamber, Zenka's hands pushed against its heavy frame. To her surprise, the room was empty.
Those old... she muttered, frustration rising. Playing hide and seek now?
Her protest caught in her throat as a familiar figure stepped forward—Saint Jaygarcia Saturn himself, silent and imposing.
"Stay quiet. Follow me," he ordered.
Zenka sighed, amusement flickering behind her red eyes. What game are they playing now?
They entered the throne room where the rest of the Gorosei awaited:
Saint Marcus Mars
Saint Topman Warcury
Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro
Saint Shepherd Ju Peter
Before Zenka could speak, a sharp command rang out from all of the elders: "QUIET!"
A figure ascended the stairs—the enigmatic Imu, seated upon the Void Throne.
The Gorosei shifted uneasily—Warcury's brows drew together, Saturn's fingers tightened on his cane, and even Nusjuro's smirk faded. The tension thickened like smoke in the air.
Zenka's initial indifference was swiftly replaced by a calculated, faint shock.
"Thou shalt become the new Supreme Commander of the God Knights..." Imu's proclamation stunned all, especially the Gorosei.
"Imu-sama! Zenka has hardly fulfilled her duties as Consul..." Saint Saturn interjected, disbelief etched across his face.
Imu's voice cut through cold and certain: "Mu knows."
Zenka played the part of the shocked one well, her eyes flickering with hidden cunning.
"Still, she clearly fakes her surprise at seeing me. Wherefore thou knowest of me?" Imu demanded.
"Yes, someone already told me," she said aloud, causing Saturn to stiffen.
But Zenka's lips curled into a sly smile as she added, "Saint Figarland Garling and Saint Shepherd Sommers told me."
The revelation hit the Gorosei hard—the secret of Imu's identity among the God Knights was never meant to be spoken. Through this, Zenka hoped to shift the balance of power, possibly breaking the marriage scheme designed to bind her.
Mars's knuckles whitened. On Warcury's forehead formed two big drops of sweat, forming the "O" symbol of astonishment with his birthmark. Saturn's gaze flickered briefly to Nusjuro.
"Mu shall forgive them," Imu declared.
Saint Saturn exhaled slowly, his mind racing. Stupid girl, he thought. This might have played to your favour... but the truth is, it was Imu's will that shackled you in the first place.