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The atmosphere within the grand hall of Water Seven's central spire chilled instantly. The air, previously filled with the lingering scent of sea lilies and the echoes of mermaid melodies, seemed to crystallize into needles of ice.
Through the Transponder Snail, Neptune felt a cold sweat break across his brow. The snail itself mimicked Auguro's expression—not one of explosive rage, but a terrifying, flat indifference. That single question—"Do you believe that my Holy Spirit Empire is incapable of protecting you?"—carried the weight of a collapsing mountain.
Neptune stuttered, his voice losing its jubilant edge. "No! No, Emperor Auguro, that is not what I meant at all! Your strength is undisputed! The Holy Spirit Empire has given us the courage to finally return to the surface. It is just... Queen Otohime's dream... the legitimacy of the World Council... we thought..."
Auguro, sitting on a throne of dark, polished mahogany, leaned back. He didn't interrupt. He let Neptune's frantic explanations fill the silence, listening as the King of the Sea scrambled to justify a move that was, at its core, a betrayal of political exclusivity.
In the Ryugu Palace on Fish-Man Island, the Left Minister was frantically whispering prompts to Neptune, gesturing for him to emphasize the "peaceful coexistence" angle.
"Emperor Auguro," Neptune continued, wiping his face with a massive silk handkerchief. "We see this as a way to bridge the gap! If Fish-Man Island is an Affiliated Nation, we can act as a voice for the Holy Spirit Empire within the World Government's own halls! We can advocate for your legitimacy! It's a win-win situation!"
Standing in the corner of the room, Prince Fukaboshi closed his eyes, his hands trembling with a mixture of shame and fury. A win-win? he thought bitterly. Father, you are offering the Emperor a bowl of poison and calling it soup.
Auguro finally spoke, his voice low and rhythmic. "Neptune, you are a king, yet you speak like a merchant trying to sell a cracked vase. Tell me, if a man pledges his life to a new master, but keeps the key to his old master's house in his pocket 'just in case,' what do we call that man?"
The Transponder Snail's eyes narrowed, looking directly at Neptune.
"We call him a liability," Auguro answered his own question.
While the tension thickened in Water Seven, the scene at Mary Geoise was far more celebratory. Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro unsheathed a few inches of his blade, the cold steel reflecting his grim smile.
"The invitation has been delivered," Nusjuro remarked. "Our intelligence suggests Neptune is currently 'consulting' with Auguro. The trap is sprung."
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn leaned on his cane, his eyes gleaming with ancient malice. "Auguro is a man of pride. If he refuses, he looks like a tyrant who keeps his subjects in a cage, proving our point that the Holy Spirit Empire is a rogue, oppressive regime. If he accepts, he allows our influence to fester right in the heart of his new territory. Either way, the seed of doubt is planted."
"The Fish-Men are desperate for validation," Saint Shepherd Jū Peter added, swirling a glass of dark wine. "They have spent centuries being hunted. The allure of 'legitimacy' offered by the 800-year-old establishment is a drug they cannot resist. Even if Auguro kills Neptune tomorrow, the message to the rest of the world is clear: even those closest to the Holy Spirit Empire seek the protection of the World Government."
This was the "Heavenly Tribute" of psychology. The Gorosei knew that power wasn't just about ships and cannons; it was about the perception of permanence. By offering Neptune a seat at the Reverie, they were reminding the world that the World Government defined what was "civilized."
Back in Water Seven, Auguro stood up and walked toward the wide balcony overlooking the bustling shipyards. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shadows over the city.
"Neptune," Auguro said, his voice now devoid of the earlier sharp edge, replaced by a terrifyingly calm clarity. "I do not care about the World Government's 'legitimacy.' To me, they are merely a decaying corpse clinging to a golden throne. But I do care about the spirit of my Empire."
He paused, letting the sounds of the city—the hammers of the shipwrights, the laughter of the citizens—drift through the receiver.
"The Holy Spirit Empire does not share its subjects. You speak of Queen Otohime's dream of the surface. I am the one currently moving your island to that surface. You speak of safety from hunters. My flag is the only thing that keeps the slavers from your gates. And yet, at the first sign of a 'gold-plated invitation' from the people who allowed your race to be enslaved for eight centuries, you tremble with excitement."
"Emperor... please understand..." Neptune's voice was breaking.
"I understand perfectly," Auguro interrupted. "You want the benefits of my protection while maintaining the 'prestige' of the old world. You want to sit at a table with the very people who consider your daughter a 'prize' and your people 'pests.'"
Auguro's eyes flashed with a cold, sovereign light. "Go ahead, Neptune. Accept the invitation. Attend the Reverie. Sign their papers. Pay their Heavenly Tribute."
Neptune gasped, a surge of relief flooding his heart. "Truly? You agree? Oh, Emperor Auguro, your magnanimity is—"
"But," Auguro cut him off, his voice dropping an octave, "know this. The moment you sign that treaty, you are no longer a subordinate state of the Holy Spirit Empire. You will be a foreign entity. And the protection I provide to my people... does not extend to foreigners."
The silence that followed was deafening.
The Left Minister's confidence evaporated. The "perfect sense" he had preached moments ago now felt like a death sentence. To be an Affiliated Nation meant paying a staggering amount of wealth to the World Government—wealth Fish-Man Island didn't have—and in exchange, they received the "protection" of a Marine force that had historically failed them.
To lose Auguro's protection meant losing the only military force that the World Government actually feared.
Fukaboshi couldn't take it anymore. He lunged forward, grabbing the Transponder Snail from his father's shaking hands.
"Emperor Auguro! Please, forgive my father's shortsightedness!" Fukaboshi cried out, his voice echoing through the Ryugu Palace. "He is blinded by a ghost's wish! Fish-Man Island knows who its true benefactor is! We do not seek the World Government's recognition! We seek a future where we don't need their permission to exist!"
Neptune looked at his son, stunned. "Fukaboshi... what are you doing?"
"I am saving our race, Father!" Fukaboshi turned to Neptune, his eyes brimming with tears. "If we accept this, we are choosing a dying past over a living future. We are insulting the only man who looked at us and saw an Empire, not a collection of slaves!"
Auguro, on the other end, smiled thinly. He liked Fukaboshi. The prince had the one thing the King lacked: the ability to see the chessboard.
"Prince Fukaboshi," Auguro said calmly. "It seems the youth of the sea have better vision than the elders. Your father has one hour to make a choice. He can be a King of the Holy Spirit Empire, or he can be a Petitioner of the World Government. He cannot be both."
The line went dead.
The Ryugu Palace was silent. Neptune sat slumped in his throne, the ornate invitation from the World Government clutched in his hand. It was beautiful—heavy parchment, embossed with gold, smelling of expensive incense. It represented everything Otohime had died for.
But then he looked at the window. Outside, massive bubbles were working in tandem with the Holy Spirit Empire's specialized engineering corps. They were making the impossible possible. They were bringing his people home.
"Your Majesty," the Right Minister whispered, his voice trembling. "If we lose the Emperor's favor... the Marines won't protect us from the Tenryuubito. They serve the Tenryuubito."
The realization finally hit Neptune like a tidal wave. The World Government wasn't offering him a seat at the table; they were offering him a leash. They wanted "Poseidon," and they were using his wife's memory as the bait.
"I... I have been a fool," Neptune whispered.
He looked at the invitation. With a sudden, violent motion, he tore the parchment in half. Then again. And again.
"Left Minister!" Neptune roared, his old strength returning to his voice. "Prepare a response to Mary Geoise. Tell them... tell them Fish-Man Island is occupied. Tell them we have no interest in sitting at a table where the chairs are made from the bones of our ancestors!"
Fukaboshi exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding for years.
Auguro stood on his balcony, watching the first stars appear in the sky. Behind him, his adjutant approached.
"My Lord, a message from Fish-Man Island. King Neptune has formally rejected the World Government's offer. He has also sent a formal apology and a pledge of 'Eternal Fealty' to the Holy Spirit Empire, signed in his own blood."
Auguro didn't turn around. "And the invitation?"
"Torn and returned to the G-5 Marine base in a crate of fish guts, sir."
Auguro let out a short, sharp laugh. "Good. Neptune is soft, but he is not suicidal. He needed to be reminded that the world is changing. The era of playing both sides is over."
He looked toward the direction of the Red Line, where the lights of Mary Geoise twinkled like distant, mocking stars.
"The Five Elders thought they could use Fish-Man Island to create a rift," Auguro murmured. "Instead, they have forced Neptune to burn his bridges. They just handed me Fish-Man Island's absolute loyalty on a silver platter."
He turned back to his desk, his eyes settling on a map of the world.
"The World Government has made its move," Auguro said, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Now... it's my turn. Let's see how they react when the 'Sea King' doesn't show up to their little party, but instead appears at their doorstep with a fleet of a thousand warships."
The war for the new era had just moved from the shadows into the light.