The atmosphere in the room turned brittle, the air growing thin as if the scroll were consuming the oxygen.
"What's happening here?" All Might asked, his voice losing its usual booming confidence.
"Look, a new text is appearing below," Momousagi noted, her hand tightening on the hilt of her katana.
"The breathing... it's changing," Fujitora murmured, his "sight" focused entirely on the rhythmic pulse of the parchment.
Shakky exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her eyes narrowing. "This feels like something truly serious. The pressure is rising."
As Fatgum and the other UA teachers watched in silence, the ink finally stopped swirling. The liquid black settled back into stagnant letters, just as it had been before—but the new lines at the bottom carried a suffocating, dangerous "breath." Everyone in the room, veterans of a thousand battles, felt their instincts scream. It wasn't just a message; it was a threat.
"For a text to radiate the feeling of death so clearly..." Ryukyu whispered, her dragon-like pupils slitting. The room felt cold. Everyone gulped, their eyes fixed on the scholar.
"Miss Robin," Sengoku said, his voice raspy. "Can you please tell us what is happening?"
Robin was visibly shaking, her wide blue eyes locked onto the jagged characters. She seemed to be in a trance until Sengoku's voice pulled her back. "Ah—so-sorry, Fleet Admiral. This writing... it is different from the text before. This is an Ancient Tongue!"
"Ancient Tongue?" the room echoed in a stunned unison.
"Yes," Robin said, her fingers trembling near the paper. "And it seems... it is giving us a warning."
"A warning?" Akainu growled, his shoulder beginning to smolder.
"A warning... how scary," Borsalino added with his signature slow drawl, casually trimming his nails while his light-colored glasses reflected the glowing ink.
Sengoku stood up, leaning over the table. "Read it. Read it from the very start."
Robin took a steadying breath and began to recite the text like a haunting poem:
"In thy New One... New Land for New Devil... DEVIL will choose New One... From thy New Born with Will and Power... Who thy Will it choose?"
The words hung in the air like a physical weight. Akainu puffed a thick cloud from his cigar. "So that's why those brats are being called to such an unknown place."
Aokiji glanced sideways at him. "Oh? So you can use your brain."
"Ohhh, how biting," Borsalino added sarcastically. Akainu merely glared at them, his fist clenching.
Sengoku nodded. "Yes. For this exact purpose."
Tsuru adjusted her glasses. "If you are wondering why only the top Five Blue Diamonds were called with their elite students, it is because—"
"It's the potential of a New Born," Dragon interrupted, his voice a dark, gravelly rumble. The room fell silent as the leaders nodded in grim agreement.
Midnight (Nemuri) raised a hand tentatively. "But are we certain the 'New Born' this text mentions refers to the children of this era? Our students?"
"Yes," Robin answered firmly. "We found this scroll in the mummified remains of a giant near the Great Tree of Ohara a century ago. It was petrified stone back then. But fifteen years ago, when the Rumbling' of the two worlds began and the New Island rose, the scroll turned black. It came back to life. Our records mention 'People of the Future.' We've speculated for years, but the timing is too perfect. The 'New Born' represents this specific generation."
Sengoku turned his gaze toward Sir Nighteye. "That is also why you are here. I've read about your Quirk—your ability to see into the future. In the Blue Star, we call that a specialized form of Observation Haki. With your vision, we might decipher the path ahead."
Nighteye adjusted his glasses, his expression stern. "I will do my best, Fleet Admiral." He then looked at Robin. "But you haven't explained the new text. The one that appeared just now."
The room grew even quieter as every eye moved to Nico Robin.
"This Ancient Tongue..." Robin whispered. "It is prohibited for us to speak or read aloud to anyone outside the clan. We believe that those who hear even a single syllable of this spoken language will feel death creeping toward them. It is said to slowly drain the lifeform of the listener. In Ohara, we can read it... but no one has ever dared to make a sound when reading it. It is a language of the void."
The UA teachers felt a chill. The idea that mere sounds could drain their lives was beyond anything their Quirk-based science understood. Everyone gulped, staring at the black ink that seemed to be waiting for someone to be brave—or foolish—enough to speak it..
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To be continued