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Chapter 178 - Go tell the Admiral of the Navy and see if he believes you or me

"If I say no," Judge said slowly, his voice low but unshaken,

"then the consequences are death… or imprisonment in Impel Down."

"Is that so?" Rosen's eyes narrowed, the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of his lips.

"Admiral," Judge muttered, testing the word again as if still not fully convinced by the presence before him.

Vice Admiral Rosen leaned forward, his hands folded loosely on the table. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of Den Den Mushi's breathing.

Across from him, Vinsmoke Judge—proud monarch, scientist, and failed schemer—found himself shifting under Rosen's gaze. The memory of being driven into the dirt by Douglas Bullet not long ago still weighed heavily on his chest. For a man who prided himself on invincibility, humiliation was a wound that never closed.

Rosen's silence pressed against him like a wall. Finally, the Vice Admiral spoke

"Do you have a reason to say no?" His voice was deep, edged with something that made the air itself feel heavier.

Judge flinched but held his ground. "As a pirate," he said coldly, "you can only manage small things. At best, transform a handful of children, build a few battle suits. A pathetic trickle of influence. That is the sum of a pirate's legacy."

Rosen spread his palm open, almost gently, as if offering a gift. "Even if you do as you dream," he continued,

"And Germa rises to the status of a World Government member state—so what? You'll spend your nights weighed down by Heavenly Tribute, counting coin after coin, and none of it will be yours to spend freely."

"What will you pour into science then, Judge? How much of that gold will reach your research bench?"

The words landed like hammer blows. Rosen's tone was not mocking—it was worse. It was reason, undeniable and merciless.

"Here with me," Rosen said, voice tightening with authority, "your talents can be fully realized."

Something in the air shifted.

Judge's pupils narrowed, his heartbeat quickening. Rosen's voice carried weight, like steel hidden beneath velvet. It carried conviction, a strange resonance that seemed to bypass logic and go straight to the marrow.

Against his own instincts, Judge felt it—a flicker of recognition, a whisper to follow.

It was absurd. Impossible. And yet…

Judge clenched his fist against the table. "Admiral," he said harshly, "since you know Germa so well, since you understand science so clearly—then you should also know that science burns money."

Rosen's eyes did not blink.

"Vegapunk's genius is not just his own," Judge continued, his tone rising as though reminding himself as much as Rosen.

"It is the endless offers of the World Government, the raw supplies, the manufactured obedience that fueled him. Without that, even five hundred years of foresight only scribbles meaningless diagrams. Empty dreams on parchment."

For a moment, Rosen said nothing. But in his silence, there was no doubt—he knew. He knew too well.

After awakening his own wisdom from another life, Rosen had learned this lesson before any man in the Grand Line: science was a bonfire that devoured coins. Vegapunk's brilliance? Each invention cost as much as a fleet.

A Pacifista alone devoured wealth equal to a warship's construction, even after the designs matured. And higher still—the Seraphim. Clone science, artificial Devil Fruits, bloodline factor grafting—their cost was beyond measure. With all the World Government's resources, Vegapunk had birthed only seven, each a monument of impossible expense.

"Since you know all this," Judge pressed, a trace of mockery returning to his tone, "then forgive me, Admiral, but I must be frank. Do you have money?"

He leaned forward, eyes flashing. "You may command the Marines of the North Sea, yes. Your military authority is real."

"But what of your coffers? The funds given to you by Navy Headquarters are barely enough to keep your scattered branches breathing. How will you fund me?"

The name Vegapunk hung in the air like a shadow. For Judge, it was salt in a wound. For Rosen, it was merely a stepping stone.

Rosen didn't bother with words. He reached across the table, lifted a small remote, and pressed the button without ceremony.

The projection Den Den Mushi whirred to life. Its eye snapped open, projecting a sudden flare of light onto the far wall.

The image came slowly into focus.

A sealed chamber. And within—

Mountains. Gleaming peaks of Berry stacked higher than men, filling the room like a glittering sea of paper.

Judge's breath caught.

Doll muttered something under his breath. Douglas Bullet only narrowed his eyes.

Rosen sat back, his hands clasped behind his back, letting the image burn into Judge's retinas.

"How much did he steal…?" Judge whispered before the thought even finished forming. Then he shook his head.

"No. Impossible. He hasn't been in his post long enough. Even if he printed coin every minute, he couldn't amass… this."

The number was beyond reckoning. Judge had only once seen wealth like this—in the moment he knelt to pay Heavenly Tribute to the World Government. Yet now…

Now a Marine Vice Admiral displayed it like a casual trinket.

Judge's throat went dry. His lips trembled as the words forced themselves out: "This… is this Heavenly Tribute?"

His gaze snapped back to Rosen, a dawning horror lighting his face. A Navy officer? Sitting here calmly after pillaging the Celestial Dragons' sacred tribute? The very lifeblood of the World Nobles? It was unthinkable. It was suicide.

"Is that enough?" Rosen asked, his tone unchanged, as if speaking of nothing more than provisions. "If not… I can show you another room. Another mountain just like this."

Judge's eyes widened.

His mind reeled.

"You—" His voice cracked, the veneer of composure fracturing. "The one who stole Germa's Heavenly Tribute… was it you?"

Of course it was. Who else? Rosen had not even denied it. He didn't need to.

Judge's instincts screamed. Rosen was drawing him into this conspiracy, forcing him to acknowledge the truth.

"If I say yes," Rosen murmured, smiling faintly, "what will you do about it?"

The calmness in his voice was a blade. Judge felt his fury rise. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell them? Doflamingo's deal—mine—two shipments of Heavenly Tribute vanished under your hand. Neither Marine Headquarters nor the World Government will forgive you. "

"You'll be stripped of your coat, hunted across the seas, disgraced!"

Rosen's chair creaked as he leaned back. His hand moved lazily, and a small Den Den Mushi slid across the table, stopping just before Judge's trembling hand.

"This line connects directly to the Admiral's office," Rosen said. His tone was casual, but his eyes glinted like drawn steel. "Go ahead. Call him. See who he believes—Vinsmoke Judge, pirate and failed monarch? Or me?"

The room was silent.

Judge's fingers curled around the Den Den Mushi. His hand shook. Then—

"Pirates," Rosen said flatly, dismissively, as though the word itself were filth.

That broke him.

"Hahahahahahaha!" Judge erupted, a laugh wild and jagged, echoing through the chamber. "If it weren't for you—I would already be the king of a recognized state!" His eyes glowed with resentment, his laughter edged with venom.

"You should say," Rosen corrected coldly, "the corpse of a king of a burned-out nation."

Judge's head snapped up. His lips curled in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

Rosen rolled a golden Den Den Mushi across his palm, its shell catching the light like a cruel star. He toyed with it as though it were no more than a rock.

"Taking your Heavenly Tribute was the gentlest option," Rosen said. "The only option. I could have done far worse."

The golden shell gleamed between his fingers. A memory drifted across Rosen's face—Borsalino's half-lidded eyes, his lazy drawl

When Marines go to sea, they must learn to protect themselves.

Rosen had taken that lesson to heart.

The Golden Den Den Mushi. The key to a Buster Call.

Judge's pupils shrank violently. Recognition struck him like a cannonball.

"Golden… Den Den Mushi…" His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

And then despair hit him. Cold, crushing despair.

The Demon-Slayer Order. The World Government's final sanction.

A tsunami of helplessness surged through Judge's body. His limbs felt leaden. His mind screamed. Here was a man who stood beyond pirates, beyond kings, beyond the grasp of even the World Government. A man who held in one hand both the authority of justice and the cruelty of annihilation.

Rosen. Vice Admiral of the Navy. Holder of the Buster call Order. Thief of Heavenly Tribute.

And Judge, for the first time in decades, understood what true powerlessness was.

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