A few months earlier, in a certain conference room somewhere in the Middle East.
Flicking the ash from his cigar, a middle-aged man in a strange hat with a thick, bristling beard coughed twice and clamped the cigar back between his teeth.
He gave one last look at the few hateful faces sitting opposite him, sighed, then finally picked up a pen and signed his name on the paper in front of him.
"The power of the anti-Titan cannon is unmatched. You Marleyan mutts only need to understand that much so you don't whine when it's time to pay up," the bearded man said. "What we're selling you now is just one model. If you want more, you'd better show some sincerity."
"What kind of sincerity?" the Marleyan officers asked. "If you've got something to say, say it straight."
"Land." The bearded man took the cigar from his mouth and arrogantly pointed the burning tip at the Marleyan officers across from him. "Don't play dumb. I don't care about the other countries, but the land that belongs to our country, Kurel—you're going to return every last bit of it. And… you'll hand over one Titan to us."
"That's impossible!" the Marleyan officer said firmly. "You should understand we can walk out of here right now. So make a reasonable demand."
"Then get out!"
"We can give you land!" one of the Marleyan officers almost shouted. "Fifty thousand square kilometers. No—one hundred thousand!"
"One hundred and fifty thousand."
The bearded man almost laughed in his face.
"Fifty thousand." The president of Marley's military said coldly, pushing the agreement in front of him across the table.
The bearded man leaned forward to take a look.
"A cease-fire agreement?"
"This is a declaration of war."
"What do you mean!!"
The bearded man shot to his feet, furious.
The president sat calmly, staring indifferently at the tabletop.
"We have tens of thousands of Titan soldiers. If we fail to take the Founding Titan back for the world this time, we'll drop those tens of thousands of Titans on the Middle East, twenty-four hours a day, without pause. Your cannon—heh—isn't worth shit."
Hearing this, the bearded man tensed up and, while no one was looking, quietly sat back down.
"Deal," he said with a sigh.
If the Middle Eastern alliance were truly united, backed by their bunkers, they wouldn't actually have to fear the Titans that much.
But the problem is that humans almost never stand firmly on the same front.
Even now, there were always countries looking to siphon off some private gain.
Like Hizuru.
"Now that's more like it." The president closed his notebook, which was stuffed with little pink pigs.
"A wise man submits to the times," he said, then, under the astonished gazes of everyone present, walked out of the conference room.
As soon as he stepped outside, he tossed the notebook covered in pink pig doodles straight into the trash.
Surrounded by reporters, he smiled and waved.
"May I ask what Marley's plans are from this point on?"
"There are rumors that the Tybur family is actually the true ruler of Marley—how do you respond to that?"
"Is the world really going to stand together in a united front against Paradis Island?"
The president didn't think too hard about any of these questions.
He proactively reached for the microphone.
The reporters were momentarily stunned.
Usually, whenever he faced the press, this man, who represented Marley's highest authority, would stretch both hands like he was playing an "accordion" and spew a bunch of nonsense answers that had nothing to do with the question at all—things like "Disinfectant is drinkable," "Marley is the freest country in the world," and other complete non sequiturs, before ending with the same line every time:
"Eldians are a virus upon this world."
Eldia.
Eldia.
Eldia.
Devils.
Devils.
Devils.
Some reporter had once counted it: this president said those two words several hundred times a day on average.
And every time, it was only after reporters forced an answer out of him.
But now, he'd actually taken—no, snatched—the microphone on his own initiative?
"Since everyone is so eager to know, I'll tell you," the president said confidently. "Marley's plan going forward is to concentrate all of our military might on Paradis Island. At the same time, I can also inform the other nations: if you try to take advantage of Marley's moment of crisis, rest assured—it'll be like throwing eggs at a boulder. Oh, and there's some intel I don't mind sharing either. Doesn't matter anyway, since we're all doomed soon enough."
"What do you mean by that?"
"A lot of people are saying the Tybur family actually controls Marley, but that's wrong. In reality, Marley controls the Tybur family. And, as the rumors say, the War Hammer Titan is lost, the Jaw Titan is lost, and the Armored Titan is also lost. Right now, Marley only holds two Titans and an army of ten thousand Titans."
"Please! What on earth happened?!"
"It's very simple. An Eldian—Roger Eikam—used underhanded means to steal three Titans: the Jaw, the Armored, and the War Hammer. In addition, it appears the Colossal is in his hands as well. Now, I want to ask all of you—what do you think will happen if someone like that gains the power of the Founding Titan?"
At those words, the reporters began chattering all at once, cameras flashing non-stop.
"That's far too dangerous!"
"Just like King Fritz back then!"
"But—wasn't Roger Eikam from your own Marleyan internment zone?!"
"Fuck you, Marley! You fucking bastards! You can't even wipe your ass clean and you want us to wipe it for you?!!"
"Damn Eldian shit pigs…"
"But he's right. It really is time for the world to stand together."
The scene grew more and more chaotic.
The president stretched lazily, then slipped away while everyone was distracted.
Someone was waiting for him outside—a powerfully built man in a bodyguard's uniform, with a tiny red bump in the middle of his forehead.
After they'd walked a fair distance from the door, the president peeled off the fake skin on his own brow, revealing the red bump underneath—identical to the one on the man waiting for him.
"How did I do?"
"Passable."
"Ahaha, I imagine Lord Dior will be pleased."
"You're not worthy to even say Lord Dior's name. You're nothing—you're not even fit to be a single hair on Lord Dior's body."
"You're absolutely right."
The president kept smiling.
"After today, the world should start paying attention to Roger. When that happens, Marley will have its excuse to launch an all-out offensive."
"We just need to draw out the Founding Titan. Once we've located the Founding's coordinate, Lord Dior can act personally. But Roger Eikam must be killed by my own hand."
"Ah, I really can't wait."
"Can't wait? What's it got to do with you? You're just a pathetic puppet, nothing more."
"I'm sorry, please don't be angry with me," the president apologized. "I've always admired you—especially your ability. Every time I see it, I get so excited."
"All right, enough. Save the bootlicking from now on."
The two of them walked straight over to the car. Then, as if their roles had suddenly switched back into place, the bodyguard once more became the bodyguard, and the president became the president.
"Please get in the car, Mr. President. I've prepared your favorite tea inside."
"Ah, thank you so much,
…
…
…
"My dear,
Porco."
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