The atmosphere in the Dove Room grew heavy as the leaders took their seats. Sengoku, his voice raspy and weighted with the gravity of his office, gestured to the table. "Please," he commanded, "take a seat."
All Might sat to the left, followed by a line of UA's finest: Sir Nighteye, Fatgum, Ryukyu, Midnight, Aizawa, and Present Mic. On the other side, Zephyr took his place beside Tsuru, while Shakky and Gloriosa sat in the opposite back, their eyes silently
observing every flicker of movement in the room. Fujitora tapped his cane and sat beside Momousagi, who was positioned next to the elder Kuja.
The heavy silence was broken by the sound of scuffling feet as Garp dragged Dragon into the room like a lost child, with Ivankov following closely behind, winking at the confused UA teachers. Once the shuffling stopped and everyone had settled, Sengoku looked around.
"Hopefully, your trip was safe," he said. A chorus of nods rippled through the room. Behind him, like three pillars of inevitable force, sat Akainu, Aokiji, and Kizaru.
"I will now explain the details we have gathered about this island," Sengoku began. He reached into his coat and pulled out a long, blood-red scroll. He unfurled it across the table's surface, the material appearing more like preserved skin than paper. "This contains the core of our topic."
"What is this writing?" All Might asked, leaning in.
Dragon narrowed his eyes, his voice a low hum. "I've seen these markings somewhere before..."
"Hmm... we also have these writings in our clan," Shakky interjected, puffing a thick cloud of smoke from her cigarette. She glanced at Gloriosa. "Now that you mention it, wasn't this at the temple?"
"Yes," Gloriosa whispered, her eyes fixed on the black ink. "The Forbidden Archive."
Ryukyu frowned, looking at the jagged, swirling characters. "Do you have a translator? We need to know what is happening here. I can feel it... the writing... it's breathing."
"Yes, you are right," Fujitora murmured, his blind eyes "staring" at the parchment. "I can feel the pulse of the ink."
Momousagi leaned forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. As she focused, her eyes widened. "It really is breathing... what kind of text is this?"
Every person in the room began to narrow their eyes, the air vibrating with the rhythmic, ghostly heartbeat coming from the scroll. The "Heroes" of UA felt a cold sweat break out; this wasn't just information—it was a living relic.
"Hina," Sengoku called out. "Call Nico Robin to translate this for us."
Aokiji perked up, a rare look of surprise crossing his lazy features. "Nico Robin? You actually brought an Ohara scholar out from their secluded sanctuary? That's rare."
Sengoku's expression remained grim. "Yes. And the one who brought this scroll here did so at the direct request of Ohara."
The room exploded into a stunned silence. Even the stoic Aizawa looked shaken. Ohara was a name whispered in legends—a place of forbidden
knowledge that had shut its doors to the world centuries ago to protect the truth of the past. To receive a request from them was unheard of.
"I know," Sengoku said, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "Everything will fall into place once you know what is written here. The world is about to change, and these ancient words are the only map we have left."
The door groaned open, and a hush fell over the room as Nico Robin stepped inside. She was a vision of poise, wearing a white kimono adorned with delicate floral patterns. Her long, black hair was swept up into an elegant bun, leaving her neck bare and her piercing blue eyes free to scan the room.
"Oh, Nico Robin. Thank you for coming on such short notice," Sengoku said, his voice regaining its composure.
Robin bowed slightly, her expression serene. "There is no need to worry, Fleet Admiral. It is my mission to complete this. It was a request from my clan, and I am here to help you translate the text."
Sengoku let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. "Such a relief."
"Well, to tell you the truth," Robin continued, her eyes shifting to the red scroll, "I ask for your approval to be a part of this expedition you are undertaking."
Sengoku's eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open slightly. Before he could find his words, a lazy, cold voice cut through the air.
"Alalala, Nico-chan... that request of yours is a little too risky for your safety," Aokiji said, leaning back with a half-smirk. "If something were to happen to you, your clan might attack us by tomorrow morning."
Robin simply offered a calm, knowing smile. "It's okay, Admiral. I've asked permission from my mother, and she has approved. Along the way, I will provide real-time translation for the mission."
Sengoku let out a short, surprised laugh. "Hahaha! Really? That is a brilliant idea. Don't worry, Nico Robin, I'll send Aokiji along as your personal protector."
"Thank you, Fleet Admiral," she replied.
"Then," Sengoku gestured to the table, "can you please translate these words?"
"Of course. With pleasure."
Robin walked gracefully toward the long black scroll she had delivered to the Marines. She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches above the "breathing" text. But before she could even open her mouth, the ink began to churn.
The characters didn't just move; they liquefied. The black markings swirled like a whirlpool of oil, the rhythmic breathing of the parchment speeding up into a frantic, panting pulse.
"What—what's happening?" Tsuru whispered, her hand tightening on her coffee cup.
Every veteran in the room stood up, chairs scraping loudly against the stone floor. The UA teachers watched in horror as the ancient text literally rewrote itself before their eyes. The ink settled, and the "breathing" stopped abruptly. The scroll returned to a normal, static state, but the message had changed.
At the very end of the black scroll, a set of entirely new characters had appeared. They looked like jagged lightning bolts, glowing with a faint, ghostly luminescence. Everyone stared at the new text with total confusion—except for Nico Robin.
Her face, usually a mask of calm, went deathly pale. Her blue eyes widened as she read the new line that had just been birthed by the scroll.
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To be continued