As Michael arrived at the entrance to the Five Elders' office, his mind raced with possibilities. Why had he been summoned alone? He couldn't help but overthink the reasons—maybe it was because he'd been delaying his official graduation into the ranks of the God's Knights. He knew Imu wasn't exactly known for patience, and the Five Elders were his direct representatives, often bearing the brunt of his displeasure.
It could also be about his growing proficiency in canceling the immortality of the Celestials—something that might be seen as dangerous, or even threatening, if viewed from the wrong angle.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Michael stepped into the office.
Inside, he was immediately met with the piercing gazes of the Five Elders. Each wore a serious expression, their faces unreadable. Whatever they wanted to discuss with him, it was no trivial matter.
"Saint Michael, we've called you here today to address your repeated refusal to officially join the God's Knights," Saint Warcury said without delay, his voice firm and direct. "This continued hesitation has raised concerns among my colleagues. Some believe you are not taking your duties seriously."
"We all must do our duty to serve our one true king," Saint Nusjuro said with unwavering conviction. "The public may be blind to the truth, and some of the lesser nobles may not even know his name—but you know who we speak of. You must remember your duty to serve. The strength you possess, the luxuries you enjoy—they all come from him. It is only right that you repay him by serving with your entire life."
His words were heavy with zealotry, and Michael took note of it. There was no opponent more dangerous than one who followed their leader with blind, unshakable faith.
Then came the harsher truth.
"We, the Elders, are now giving you an ultimatum—something we would rather not do," said Saint Ju Peter, his tone colder than ice. "You have two choices: accept your duties and become an official member of the God's Knights, or be terminated."
The fact that it came from Saint Ju Peter—Michael's own grandfather—only emphasized the ruthless, self-centered nature of the Celestials. Their loyalty was not to blood, but to power.
"CHOOSE. NOW." All five Elders declared in unison, their voices thundering as they unleashed the full weight of their Conqueror's Haki upon Michael, attempting to crush his will through sheer presence.
Michael didn't flinch.
Instead, a wicked smile curled across his lips—and then he started to laugh.
He laughed in the face of the Five Elders.
As they pressed down on him with the full force of their Conqueror's Haki, Michael responded in kind, unleashing his own. The spiritual clash rattled the air in the room, but it was his laughter that shook them the most.
Saint Ju Peter's eyes narrowed, stunned. This was the first time he had ever heard Michael laugh—and the sound was hauntingly familiar. It echoed a memory buried deep in his mind.
Gol D. Roger.
The laugh that sparked a new era. The laugh that rang through the execution plaza the day the Pirate King died.
Ju Peter stiffened. That memory—Roger's smile, his final words, and that unforgettable laugh—it all returned to him with a chill.
The Elders were just about to react, to strike, to discipline the insolent descendant who dared mock them—when they suddenly stopped.
The pressure lifted.
Their expressions hardened, not with anger, but with something colder: calculation.
"Saint Michael of the Sheppard Family," Saint Jaygarcia Saturn spoke with chilling finality. "You are permitted to approach the Empty Throne. Proceed immediately."
Michael's grin faded slightly in surprise.
The other four Elders said nothing. They merely stared at him—expressions unreadable, but intense. A silent weight hung in the air.
Then, without another word, a cloaked figure appeared at Michael's side to escort him from the chamber. Michael didn't resist. He simply followed.
Once the doors closed behind him, the Elders sat in silence for a moment.
Then, finally, one of them broke it.
"What do you think Imu-sama wishes to discuss with the young Celestial?" Saint Topman Warcury asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.
"I only hope that Michael does not disrespect Imu-sama," Saint Nusjuro replied calmly. "It would be a shame to lose someone with that much talent. A strength like his—paired with his lineage—could one day make him a viable candidate to replace any one of us, should a grand war erupt in the future."
Despite the earlier confrontation, Nusjuro spoke with a hint of pragmatism. He had seen it before—great power often came with an oversized ego. It had happened with Michael's father, Saint Garling. It was bound to happen with Michael, too.
"We trust you raised him properly, Saint Ju Peter," said Saint Marcus Mars, his voice neutral but laced with quiet scrutiny.
"You need not worry," Ju Peter answered, unshaken. "I raised him to recognize when he stands before someone greater. With Imu-sama's power, Michael will bow the moment he sees him."
He said it with confidence, perhaps too much confidence, as though he had already seen the outcome in his mind.
But the room remained tense. Because deep down, they all knew one thing: Michael had never bowed to anyone.
Saint Ju Peter's confident words lingered in the air, but none of the other Elders immediately responded. The room was silent—each of them weighing the implications of what was about to unfold.
"Confidence is admirable, Ju Peter," Saint Saturn finally said, his voice low and measured, "but arrogance can be fatal. Especially when dealing with someone like Michael... or Imu-sama."
Ju Peter frowned slightly, but said nothing.
"Michael is a variable," Saint Topman continued. "He possesses Celestial lineage, yet carries himself like one of the pirates. That laugh... it wasn't just defiance. It was mockery. That cannot be ignored."
"We should consider the possibility," Saint Marcus Mars added, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of his chair, "that Michael may not bend. If he doesn't—do we still see him as an asset... or a threat?"
Saint Nusjuro sighed, folding his arms. "Every great weapon eventually points in a direction we did not expect. Even Garling had his... moments. But Michael is different. He learns fast. Too fast. And he sees through the pageantry of our world. If Imu-sama cannot break his will, I fear we may have created something we cannot fully control."
"You speak as though he's already lost to us," Ju Peter said coldly. "He's still a Celestial. My blood runs through him."
"Blood has never guaranteed loyalty," Saturn muttered. "You know this better than anyone."
The weight of that truth sat heavy between them.
For a moment, they were no longer world rulers or divine intermediaries—they were old men, wondering whether the prodigy they had helped shape was now standing at the edge of rebellion.
Saint Topman spoke again, his tone final.
"Let us not forget—we are not the ones who decide how this ends. Imu-sama will look into his soul and see his true nature. If Michael bows, he will be elevated higher than any Celestial before him. If he does not..." He paused. "Then he dies."
No one challenged the statement.
In the end, there was no room in their world for anything but absolute obedience.