The walls of Pangaea Castle hummed faintly with stillness. Deep within, behind polished doors and layers of denial, the Gorosei convened.
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn sat at the head, fingers laced and eyes unreadable. Beside him, Saint Topman Warcury reviewed scrolls of old territorial claims, his expression set in stone. Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro twirled a sealed letter opener in one calloused hand, feigning boredom. Saint Marcus Mars tapped his knuckles lightly on the table in intervals, always in fives—out of habit or code, no one knew. And Saint Shepherd Ju Peter simply watched, his gaze half-lidded, his lips moving silently in prayer or calculation.
Mikaels stood before them, spine locked, hands behind his back. The room's light felt colder than usual.
"She captured Byrnndi World in under a minute," he reported. "No Soul Edge. Target remains intact."
"And the other casualties?" asked one elder, fingers steepled. "Unharmed. She avoided unnecessary destruction."
"Then she's ready," said Saint Jaygarcia Saturn.
Another elder asked. "Ready for what? For Roger? For Redfield? or that damned Rocks?"
Saturn replied. "She is a deterrent."
The room fell into silence. "Where do we send her?" one finally asked.
"Hachinosu." Zenka arrived at the Holy Land under quiet summons. The doves scattered at her approach.
The guards lowered their eyes. Her cloak whispered against the polished stone as she was escorted into the Council Hall.
She stopped before the Five. Her gaze swept the room—not deferent, not hostile, simply calculating.
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn spoke first, voice like parchment. "You are to deploy to the New World."
Zenka arched an eyebrow. "Another pirate?"
"You're going to Hachinosu. We want you to disrupt the Rocks Pirates' control." Zenka gave a soft, mirthless scoff.
"Another pirate. How shocking. You'd think by now the Marines would have learned to aim before declaring victory."
She let that hang, then added, quieter and sharper: "If Kong had any less spine, he'd fold himself into a report and file it wrong."
Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro smirked. "Fleet Admiral Kong does what he can."
"And that's the problem," Zenka replied flatly.
She didn't blink. "Which one do you want dead?"
"Anyone. Or all. We want a message."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped forward, her voice soft but firm:
"I want access to the 005 stockpile."
The silence fractured. "No," said Saint Jaygarcia Saturn without pause.
"They'd be effective."
"They're uncontrollable," another snapped.
"We're sending a scalpel, not a bomb," grumbled Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro.
Zenka's eyes narrowed. "Then don't ask me to clean your mess with a damp cloth."
"The answer is no," added Saint Topman Warcury, voice like iron.
She paused. Then smiled faintly. "Very well. I'll use what you give me. But don't expect precision."
Inwardly, the thought had already formed. If they wouldn't grant her access to the 005 stockpile, she'd take it. Quietly. Eventually. They could monitor her blade, her movements, even her dreams—but they couldn't stop her forever. Not once the map was memorized.
Later.....
Before sailing, she made a brief stop—Sabaody Archipelago. Officially, it was for supplies. Unofficially, it was to purchase a gift.
The celebration of Saint Homing's son—the newborn Rosinante—had drawn attention among the inner families. A symbolic gesture was expected. And Zenka, despite her disdain for social games, understood symbols.
She walked through Grove 1 in silence, scanning vendors, antique houses, and auction fronts—not for weapons or slaves, but something unusual. Rare. Beautiful. A thing that could not be mimicked. She walked through Grove 1 without speaking. A Saint tried to wave. She didn't stop. The crowd cleared like insects before rain.
From behind a vendor stall, a merchant peeked out. He knew her name. Everyone did. Not from headlines. From whispers. He clutched his rosary tighter. He had seen Celestial Dragons ride slaves through this grove like ponies. But this woman—this Saint—was different. She didn't flaunt cruelty. She didn't need to.
Cipher Pol agents watched from the trees. One wrote quietly in his notebook:
"Saint Zenka. Not deployed. Unleashed." Another agent nearby whispered into a black snail transceiver, coded and secure.
"She asked for the 005 stockpile," he said. A pause. Static. "Request was denied. But she's memorized the armory access tier."
"…Double personnel around Site Delta. No alerts. Just eyes."