The conference chamber of Marineford was suffocating.

Not because of heat—though magma veins faintly glowed beneath the stone floor—but because Fleet Admiral Sakazuki stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.

The Seven Warlords of the Sea were seated before him.

Or lounging, more accurately.

Dracule Mihawk leaned back in his chair, black blade resting casually against the wall beside him, golden eyes half-lidded with bored patience. Boa Hancock sat with her chin lifted high, utterly uninterested in anyone who wasn’t herself. Crocodile smirked faintly, cigar smoke curling lazily upward as if daring someone to complain. Kuma stood unmoving, silent as a gravestone. Doflamingo reclined like this was a theater performance put on just for him, fingers steepled, grin sharp and knowing.

And one seat—

Empty.

Sakazuki’s knuckles cracked as magma seeped subtly along his forearms.

“…….”

The Marines lining the walls stood rigid, sweat beading at their temples.

Five minutes late.

Then ten.

Each second stretched thinner than a fuse.

Finally—

BOOM.

Sakazuki’s fist slammed into the table, molten cracks spiderwebbing across the reinforced stone. The room shuddered.

“Explain to me,” he growled, voice low and volcanic, “why I am being made to wait.”

No one answered.

Doflamingo chuckled first.

“Fufufufu… now now, Fleet Admiral,” he drawled, head tilting. “You invited pirates. What did you expect? Punctuality?”

Sakazuki’s glare snapped toward him like a loaded gun. “You will keep your mouth shut unless you want to test how replaceable you are.”

The grin on Doflamingo’s face only widened.

Mihawk’s eyes flicked briefly toward the empty chair.

“Tch,” Crocodile muttered. “If they’re late to this, they better be worth the trouble.”

Boa Hancock scoffed, turning her face away. “Hmph. Whoever they are, they’re already beneath us for daring to waste my time.”

The air suddenly shifted.

A Marine rushed in, breathless, saluting so fast his arm trembled. “F-Fleet Admiral Sakazuki, sir—!”

Sakazuki didn’t turn. “Speak.”

“They’ve arrived.”

Silence.

The magma glow dimmed—but only slightly.

“…They?” Doflamingo echoed, amused.

The doors at the far end of the chamber creaked open.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the stone.

Unhurried. Unapologetic.

Every Warlord’s attention snapped forward.

Sakazuki finally straightened, molten eyes burning as he turned toward the entrance.

“You are late,” he said, each word dripping with restrained violence. “By my authority as Fleet Admiral, you are already testing my patience.”

The temperature spiked.