Warm sunlight streamed through the clean glass window, lazily falling upon Stelle's face, the air filled with the unique aroma of Starflower Fried Rice.

This time, she was simulating a middle-aged man in a remote star system.

Sitting opposite him was a sleek, softly gleaming automatron—his legal and emotional wife, with whom he had been married for many years, sharing a life of mutual devotion. Now, they were sharing a single plate of golden fried rice.

Suddenly, a single starflower fell from the fried rice, drifting gently to the floor.

Stelle naturally leaned down slightly, reaching with a mechanical pincer to pick it up.

But then, his wife asked a question that was jarringly out of place with the cozy atmosphere: "Do you hate those you are powerless to love?"

Stelle's movement paused slightly, then he looked up: "We are 'machines.' Where would we find love in our hearts?"

"Alright," his wife said. "There are still clothes in the washing machine. Remember to take them out to dry."

Stelle did as he was told, but just as he stood up and walked towards the washing machine—a sudden, intense, and untimely pain erupted in his chest!

He instinctively looked down...

That incredibly familiar hand was piercing through his chest, clutching something tightly. That hand, which had once gently intertwined with his, now precisely tore through his flesh, unhesitatingly... crushing the beating heart within to smithereens.

Turning his head, his wife's face was still familiar, but the metal-gleaming countenance held an expression he couldn't comprehend: indifferent, rigid...

There was no pain, only a sense of powerlessness flooding his limbs.

He was dead.

"See, Stelle, this is the outcome."

Herta walked to Stelle's side and gently poked his gradually cooling, inelastic cheek with her finger: "The Equation doesn't choose its targets. Even machines that have long established connections with organic life will join the Emperor's War under the calculations of the Anti-Organic Equation. And such tragedies are unfolding all across the universe."

One Piece.

An urgent intelligence report, marked with the highest crisis level, was delivered into the hands of Figarland Garling, Commander-in-Chief of the God's Knights and one of the Five Elders.

"Seraphim collectively going berserk... indiscriminate attacks, suspected to be out of control due to the influence of the Anti-Organic Equation..."

"Absurd..." Garling snorted coldly, his fingertips exerting a slight pressure, and the intelligence instantly crumbled into dust. "The Seraphim are Vegapunk's most perfect biological weapons. Only authority chips determine their control. I've already given them orders. How could they be affected by those strange equations in Celestial Screen?"

But the intelligence couldn't be lying, so he stood up, adjusted his suit jacket, and decided to go see for himself.

However, the closer he got to Mary Geoise, the more choking the air became. Gunsmoke mixed with the salty tang of the sea, and the smell of blood... Garling's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

When he truly stepped into the Marineford Plaza, the scene before him made him freeze.

The sight before him, rather than a battlefield, was more akin to a brutal massacre. Broken walls smoldered with black smoke, the ground ploughed with crisscrossing ravines by high-temperature lasers. Underneath the fragments of white buildings that once represented justice, lay pieces of equally white Marine uniforms... only most of that white was now soaked in blood.

S-Hawk... his hand had transformed into a steel blade, swiftly moving through the fleeing Marine soldiers, leaving wails of misery in its wake. And apart from the Seraphim, other Pacifista were also indiscriminately firing laser beams, killing everyone within their line of sight.

"How unsightly..." Garling gritted his teeth. He stepped over the wreckage, his gaze fixed on those few Seraphim.

He stopped, chin slightly raised, and spoke in his most accustomed commanding posture.

"The farce ends now," he said, his voice steady yet undeniable, carrying a natural authority. "I command you, stop imme—"

Before he could utter the word "—diately," a beam of light shot towards him. Garling swiftly dodged it, the laser fortunately only grazing the corner of his coat, leaving a scorched mark.

Veins instantly bulged on his forehead, and he roared: "Are you insane?! I command you to stop! Stop—!!"

However, there was no response... only countless emotionless eyes, piercing through the swirling smoke, precisely focused on Garling.

No awe, no obedience, and not even... hostility.

In the eyes of all the Seraphim, there was only one simple, purer thing—identification, lock-on, destruction.

"I'm very curious, if the Emperor's War affected the entire universe, then how did humanity survive until now?" The injury on his chest transformed into discrete data, gradually healing, and Stelle slowly climbed up.

From her perspective, if there weren't powers at the level of an Aeon or an Emanator involved, no one would be able to stop Rupert the Emperor. In fact, from the Company's perspective... they probably didn't even know Rupert had awakened, and likely weren't even aware of the 'method' to end this war.

"Hmm, that brings us to another one of our geniuses."

"Who?"

"I'll keep you in suspense. You'll find out soon enough," Herta chuckled softly.

...

In the darkness, a sudden, abrupt gunshot rang out!

Stelle's body trembled violently, as if the bullet had grazed her temple. She rubbed her eyes, finding herself in a massive library.

She wasn't sitting in a reading area, but rather on a narrow, circular corridor on the second floor, leaning against the railing. With just a slight lean, she could see the scene on the first floor.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Below, in what should have been an absolutely silent library, gunshots like popping beans echoed one after another. Simultaneously, screams and shouts erupted from the crowd, and the entire library descended into chaos as everyone fled upstairs!

"The Galactic Library—Ishmael." Herta walked to Stelle's side and leaned on the railing with her, looking down. A team composed of inorganic life forms had stormed into the library, indiscriminately firing and killing anyone they saw.

"Herta, where is that genius you mentioned?" Stelle looked around. The place was filled with people trying to escape.

"You'll meet her soon. Alright, let's prepare to escape first."

She ascended the stairs, and on the winding steps, she saw the faint traces left by the mysterious. These mottled marks converged into a sentence: "One companion will die for you, and you will be killed by another."

Then, Stelle bumped into the chaotic crowd on the stairs—before falling unconscious, a candy-colored gauze dress flashed before her eyes.