A week later, in the grand council chamber, Sean, an outsider, sat composed in the foremost seat...
Below him stood the recently released Prince T'Challa, the Queen Mother of Wakanda, Princess Shuri, and other members of the royal family.
Not long before, this young prince had inherited the throne of Wakanda by receiving the vibranium ring symbolizing royal authority from his father. Under the witness of High Priest Zuri and the tribal elders, he had rightfully ascended to the kingship in accordance with tradition.
Wakanda was composed of five tribes. The Panther Tribe, represented by gold, had been the nation's rulers for generations. The first Black Panther, Bashenga, had accidentally discovered the Heart-Shaped Herb under the revelation and guidance of the panther goddess Bast. With formidable martial prowess, he unified the five tribes, won their allegiance, and established the nation.
Next was the Border Tribe, marked by blue. These people lived along the borders year-round, joining the military upon adulthood. They were Wakanda's first line of defense, skilled in animal husbandry and raising war rhinos. In daily life, they disguised themselves as farmers and hunters, masking the nation's true nature from the outside world.
The remaining tribes were the River Tribe (green), the Mining Tribe (red), and the Jabari, who dwelled in the snowy mountains.
These five tribes formed the nation of Wakanda. Today, the council chamber was filled with the leaders of each tribe, including the hulking M'Baku of the Jabari, who sat with a complex expression...
Sean, the self-proclaimed 'pacifist' had personally ventured into the snowy mountains to visit the Jabari. He effortlessly bypassed their defenses and 'persuaded' M'Baku to attend this meeting.
"Mr. Cyphers," the Queen Mother spoke with dignified grace, unlike her principled son T'Challa, who lacked worldly understanding, "We thank you for your righteous actions in driving away the insatiable colonizers from Wakanda. To express our gratitude, we have prepared a small gift for you. Would one thousand tons of vibranium suffice to convey Wakanda's sincerity?"
The Queen Mother, well-versed in the ways of outsiders, understood their greed all too well. This young man, who claimed to be S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Supreme Consultant, lived across the ocean, yet had ruthlessly condemned America and forced the invaders to withdraw. It certainly wasn't due to any nonsense about pacifism.
Such lofty, embellished words could only fool naive children and shortsighted fools. Africa's long history of suffering had long proven that outsiders never came with good intentions.
In the Queen Mother's eyes, what Sean truly sought was the vibranium veins buried beneath their land. Since he had preserved Wakanda and ensured her son's safe return, it was only natural for the royal family to offer some compensation.
"Unnecessary." Sean waved his hand in refusal without hesitation.
He looked at the stunned Queen Mother, the visibly uncomfortable T'Challa, and the silent tribal elders, a faint smile playing on his lips, "I did not come here for wealth. Though Wakanda's vibranium is invaluable, there are things far more precious than it."
The expressions in the room shifted. Vibranium was the rarest metal in the world. It had extraordinary properties that made it incredibly versatile and effective.
This was precisely why vibranium's price remained astronomically high. Not just due to its scarcity, but also its unparalleled utility and efficiency.
Had it been anyone else, the noble elders would have scoffed. But this young man sitting above them had single-handedly forced NATO's withdrawal from Wakanda's capital with just a few words.
Such an unfathomable figure was not to be provoked lightly...
Ignoring the complicated emotions of the Wakandans, Sean looked down and continued speaking as if to himself, "More precious than vibranium is justice and righteousness. General Ross led an army to invade Wakanda, a nation isolated from the world. A powerful nation bullying a weaker one is an unjust act that deserves condemnation."
The expressions below grew even stranger. Only the newly crowned King T'Challa showed agreement. This prince, who was raised in privilege and coddled since childhood, had studied in Europe before returning to his homeland. He was, in many ways, still a fledgling who had never left the ivory tower.
Unlike the original timeline where Zemo's bombing at the United Nations killed his father, forcing T'Challa to hastily assume the throne and learn statecraft, this Black Panther remained untested by hardship. He was still green and inexperienced.
Much like Asgard's Thor, T'Challa had been taught by his father to aspire to be a benevolent monarch, to bring happiness to his people. But he knew nothing of the world's cruelty.
"General Ross has withdrawn from Wakanda. Days ago, the White House also called to express President Underwood's deepest regrets over the unfortunate fate of the old King T'Chaka." Sean's gaze swept across the room, cold and detached.
He had not traveled thousands of miles to this foreign land for some trivial gift from Wakanda. And America had not mobilized its war machine just to settle for a fraction of vibranium.
Yet, under the existential threat of annihilation, Wakanda's noble elders, the ruling class perched high above, had selectively ignored this harsh reality...
"Today, I am also here to bring up an old grievance... another act of injustice that demands fair judgment from all present."
An elderly African man draped in a patterned shawl instinctively looked up. This was Zuri, Wakanda's high priest, tasked with tending to the royal family's Heart-Shaped Herb and overseeing the succession. A figure of great reverence.
The heavy doors of the council chamber swung open. The mutant garrison stationed in Wakanda escorted a young African man inside.
He removed a ring from his neck and held it high, addressing the assembly: "My Wakandan name is N'Jadaka. Son of Prince N'Jobu."
The declaration sent shockwaves through the room. The tribal elders rose to their feet in disbelief. Guards took the ring to inspect it. It was confirmed that the ring was crafted with Wakanda's unique vibranium craftsmanship, and was identical to the royal heirloom...
"Twenty years ago, my father died in an Oakland apartment. His chest was marked by panther claws."
Erik Killmonger's eyes gleamed with cold hatred as he stared at T'Challa, resplendent in his royal robes. Everything the king possessed, he too should have had.
"The police labeled him a drug dealer, caught in an illegal deal that cost him his life. Even in death, they smeared him as an addict! My mother suffered imprisonment and died in her cell!"
Killmonger stood tall in the chamber, the flames of anger buried deep in his heart for years finally erupting.
After losing his parents, he had been sent to an orphanage in Oakland. He later escaped, becoming a street urchin drifting through the neighborhoods, eventually absorbed into a local gang. It wasn't until a major drug bust that the CIA took notice of him, recruiting him as a covert operative.
After helping dismantle Oakland's largest gang, Killmonger, who had become informant, enrolled at Annapolis University before transferring to MIT as an exchange student. With outstanding grades, he completed his education, transforming from a street thug into an elite.
To put it bluntly, setting aside his Wakandan heritage, this man's tumultuous life was a textbook rags-to-riches story. With a little polish to cater to America's political correctness, it could easily be turned into an Oscar-winning film.
"Today, I exercise my right as a royal descendant to challenge the esteemed king!"
Killmonger clenched his fists, his gaze sharp as a blade, piercing straight through the stunned T'Challa where he sat...