All five of them frowned, lost in a deep and unsettling silence.
They simply couldn't understand how an unremarkable nobody, a ghost, could suddenly appear and achieve such astonishing, world-altering feats in the field of science.
This not only shattered their long-held understanding of scientific research but also filled them with a profound and chilling uncertainty about the future.
Saint Nusjuro, slowly set down the gleaming longsword that was always by his side.
The blade lightly tapped against the polished table, producing a single, crisp sound that echoed in the vast chamber.
He picked up a still-steaming cup of coffee and took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the warm liquid slide down his throat, a sliver of familiar comfort in a world that had suddenly become unfamiliar.
"Such a bizarre phenomenon," he finally said, his voice a low rumble, "can only be explained by a Devil Fruit."
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, the Warrior God of Science and Defense, furrowed his brows, clearly dissatisfied with such a simple explanation.
"But the Encyclopedia of Devil Fruits contains no mention of any fruit with this kind of ability. Nothing even close."
"Then add it," Nusjuro replied coolly.
"Seconded," another Elder chimed in.
And just like that, with a few quiet words in the highest chamber of power, the decision was made.
They would file away the greatest and most inexplicable threat their world had ever known under the simple, unassuming label of "Devil Fruit."
But what the Five Elders would never guess, no matter how hard they racked their ancient knowledge, was that the truth was far stranger than they could ever imagine.
Ron wasn't a product of their world's miracles; he was a cheat, an anomaly from another world entirely.
*****
Marineford, the headquarters of the Navy.
At this moment, the island was bathed in a bustling yet orderly atmosphere of reconstruction.
The scorching sunlight pierced through the clouds, baking the devastated land and, incidentally, the hardworking Marines toiling under its relentless glare.
Many young Marines, panting heavily and stripped to the waist, sweated profusely as they moved back and forth through the ruins, clearing the debris of their once-great headquarters.
Every drop of sweat that rolled down their foreheads and splashed onto the ground sizzled as it hit the scorching stone slabs, evaporating instantly into steam.
Though their clothes were drenched, they paid it no mind, focusing solely on the monumental task at hand.
"Hey, you rookies over there!" a voice suddenly roared, shattering the brief tranquility.
A seasoned veteran, his face a roadmap of old battles, stood not far away, his sharp eyes scanning their every movement.
"Gather up the usable wood! Don't you dare waste a single resource!"
At the command, the rookies immediately sprang into action, carefully picking out the damaged but still serviceable timber and stacking it neatly.
"Move those construction materials to the northeast corner and sort them!" another officer shouted.
"We need to rebuild the headquarters as soon as possible! We can't let the world think we've been broken!"
"Today's training task is for each of you to move ten thousand bricks!" came another declaration.
"Anyone who falls short gets no lunch!"
This landed like a hammer blow, and the speed of everyone's movements visibly increased.
Despite the constant grumbling, most of the soldiers treated these arduous tasks as part of their daily training.
They were tempering their formidable physiques and their indomitable willpower, fueled by the fresh, bitter memory of their defeat.
They knew that only through such trials could they hope to remain composed in future battles and protect everything that mattered.
During a brief water break, the quiet conversations all revolved around the same topic.
"Just one burst of Haki from Red Hair, and I was out cold," one young soldier lamented, shame burning in his voice.
"How embarrassing."
"Yeah," another agreed, his voice low. "If we were stronger, maybe we could've lasted as long as the Vice Admirals… maybe we could have actually helped."
They all understood that continuous, grueling training was the only path to true strength.
"Dammit," the first soldier declared, slamming his canteen down.
"I'm moving twenty thousand bricks today!"
"What? You're doing twenty thousand? Then I'll do forty thousand!"
"I'll put in two hundred times more effort than all of you combined!"
Figures bustled across the base, a testament to the Marines' unbreakable spirit, working to rebuild not just their headquarters, but their pride.
In the temporary office area at the rear of the base, the atmosphere was just as tense and busy.
Freshly printed wanted posters were being rapidly produced and immediately posted on makeshift bulletin boards.
Dedicated staff handled encrypted communications, ensuring that all new bounty information was simultaneously relayed to every Marine branch across the four seas and the Grand Line.
Meanwhile, others hurriedly contacted major news outlets, demanding immediate, front-page coverage of this critical update.
Soon, Marines from all directions gathered around the newly posted bounties, their eyes scrutinizing every word.
"What?! Ron, the Vice Captain of the Whitebeard Pirates, has a bounty of four billion Belly?!"
"That's… that's on par with the Four Emperors!" someone nearby exclaimed.
"His bounty is the same as Red Hair Shanks! How is a vice-captain worth that much?!"
Suddenly, a shocked cry rose from the crowd.
A marine, his face pale and his finger trembling, pointed urgently at another poster on the wall.
His voice was frantic with a mixture of excitement and pure terror.
"Quick—look! Look at Whitebeard's bounty!"
Everyone immediately followed his pointing finger, their eyes landing on a number so long, so staggering, that it seemed to defy all logic.
For a moment, the entire crowd seemed to freeze, every pair of pupils contracting instantly.
Then came the waves of disbelieving gasps.
Someone began counting softly, his voice shaking.
"Ones… tens… hundreds… thousands… ten-thousands… hundred-thousands… millions… ten-millions… hundred-millions… billions… s-se… SEVEN BILLION!!!"
With each digit uttered, the air grew thicker with sheer, unadulterated shock.
"Whitebeard's bounty… has actually reached seven billion Belly!"
This declaration exploded like a bomb among the crowd, the implications washing over them.
"Wait a minute," another person chimed in, their tone dripping with a stunned incredulity that bordered on hysteria. "
If I remember correctly… the Pirate King, Gold Roger… his bounty was only five and a half billion, wasn't it?"
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