The toilet.
A sanctuary of civilization.
A refuge for the working class.
When King finally relieved both physical and mental pressure and stepped out of the stall, leaning weakly against the wall, he felt as if his soul had ascended.
If a bed appeared right now, he might transcend mortality on the spot.
"Commander King… the meeting is about to begin."
A naval officer stood waiting outside.
"…Mm."
King forced out a nasal syllable, eyes still unfocused.
"This way, please."
The officer led ahead, not daring to walk beside him.
King followed expressionlessly. Each step felt like walking on shattered glass.
That old bastard Garp…
Every bone in his body protested.
So tired.
Want to sleep.
Want to log off from life.
Naval Headquarters — Supreme Conference Room
When the heavy carved doors opened, every gaze snapped toward the entrance.
The air was thick with tension.
A vast obsidian round table reflected the cold light of the chandelier above.
On one side sat:
Fleet Admiral Sengoku
Chief Staff Officer Tsuru
Monkey D. Garp, shamelessly picking his nose while suppressing laughter
Opposite them sat three figures radiating distinct, dangerous presences:
A pink-feathered man grinning like a demon — Donquixote Doflamingo
A swordsman with a coffin-like stillness — Dracule Mihawk
A towering giant holding a Bible — Bartholomew Kuma
King's gaze swept across them sluggishly.
A gathering of strange costume enthusiasts?
"Commander King, your seat is here."
The escorting officer pointed to a chair behind the main table — directly opposite Sengoku.
A Vice Admiral… and a logistics officer… had no place at the main table.
King didn't care.
He only wanted support so he wouldn't collapse.
Under the scrutiny of the strongest figures present, he trudged forward and dropped into the chair.
Not sat.
Collapsed.
His body slid downward until he was half-reclined, half-lifeless.
Then he closed his eyes.
He looked ready for burial.
"Fufufufu…"
Doflamingo's sunglasses slipped slightly as his smile widened.
Arrogance.
To sit like this before Admirals and Warlords?
Absolute disregard.
Mihawk's pupils narrowed.
What he saw was not arrogance.
It was emptiness.
No tension.
No vigilance.
No hostility.
A still lake without ripples.
This calm was more unsettling than open hostility.
Sengoku's temple throbbed.
Garp finally burst out laughing, spraying senbei crumbs.
BOOM—!!!
The conference doors exploded inward.
Splinters scattered.
A breathtaking figure strode through the wrecked doorway.
The Pirate Empress.
Boa Hancock.
Her Kuja guards dropped to their knees in panic behind her.
"Hmph."
Her gaze swept the room.
Veteran Marines froze.
Some flushed red.
Others stared with heart-shaped eyes.
Several guards collapsed outright.
"What a filthy place," she said coldly.
"If I were not bored on Amazon Lily, I would never step here."
Her gaze passed over Doflamingo.
Paused briefly on Mihawk.
Dismissed both.
Then—
She froze.
Amid admiration, awe, and shock…
one man was not looking at her.
At the center of the room, the blond Marine slumped in his chair…
eyes closed.
Asleep?
Something inside Hancock snapped.
Her beauty was absolute.
It was law.
Kings, pirates, Marines — all succumbed.
This man ignored her.
Unforgivable.
"Hey, you."
Her voice turned glacial.
"That blond man. Why do you not show respect?"
Silence.
King did not respond.
Garp's training had drained him beyond exhaustion.
His brain had activated emergency noise reduction.
All sound was a distant hum.
"How dare you."
Hancock's eyes burned with fury.
"If your eyes cannot appreciate beauty…"
"Then you have no reason to exist."
She leaned back into her iconic stance.
Hands formed a heart.
Pink light gathered.
"Sweet Sweet Wind!"
A heart-shaped beam shot forward.
It struck King square in the chest.
Nothing happened.
The pink light scattered like mist in sunlight.
No petrification.
No stone spreading.
No resistance shockwave.
It simply… dissipated.
The room fell silent.
King stirred slightly.
Warm…?
So noisy…
Can't people sleep?
Garp… you old demon…
His eyelids opened a fraction.
Bloodshot eyes stared forward in confusion.
He saw a woman frozen in a strange pose.
What was she doing?
Muscle cramp?
Performance art?
His mind contained only exhaustion, pain, and sleep.
Desire?
What desire?
Could it be eaten?
Was it softer than a bed?
But to Hancock, the scene was catastrophic.
Her power worked by exploiting attraction, desire, and impure thoughts.
Even the strong were not immune if their hearts wavered.
Yet in that instant she felt nothing to seize.
No lust.
No admiration.
No emotional disturbance.
Only a void.
Those half-opened eyes held no rejection…
no recognition…
no response.
As if beauty itself held no meaning.
Her ability had not been repelled.
It had found nothing to affect.
Her power had simply… failed to find a target.
"Thump."
Hancock stepped backward.
Her heel struck stone with a sharp echo.
She clutched her chest, breathing unevenly.
"Impossible…"
"My beauty… my power…"
"…ignored?"