Standing five meters tall in a blue trial robe emblazoned with the World Government's symbol, the three-headed Judge Baskerville radiated a sense of grim authority. Most outsiders would never guess this "being" was actually three people crammed into a single ceremonial uniform.
Randoluff and Lieutenant Colonel Gobana stood side by side as Vivi and the rest of the troupe were herded like livestock by the soldiers of Enies Lobby toward the trial waiting room. The air was thick with tension. Vivi, cloaked and disguised, blended into the crowd under the guise of a spectator. Bello Betty stood nearby, her arms crossed, watching the scene with narrowed eyes.
Inside the courtroom, Judge Baskerville received a dossier with visible impatience, his middle head bearing the weight of experience with a long white beard and face marked with age spots. Without even reading through the contents fully, the leftmost head immediately barked, "Selling naval firearms, evidence conclusive—guilty!"
It took exactly twenty seconds from the moment the courtroom doors opened to the delivery of the verdict.
The entire courtroom, especially those who knew Randoluff's character, fell into stunned silence. Was this truly a court of law? No arguments, no witnesses, no defense? It was absurd.
Bello Betty gave a sharp, low chuckle that only those nearby could hear.
Just then, the right head of Baskerville interjected lazily, "No need to rush. I believe the matter requires further investigation. It should be—innocent."
Everyone collectively exhaled in relief. A flicker of hope lit the room. Innocent. Yes—he should be innocent.
Then, the central head—the elder—took a deep breath and solemnly declared: "The two voices shall be balanced. The final judgment is… death penalty!"
"Pfft!" Vivi, hidden within the crowd, spit juice in shock, accidentally spraying Karoo the duck in the face.
She had expected corruption, but not a mockery of justice this crude. No cross-examination. No questioning. Just an absurd consensus of insanity.
Everyone in the courtroom was left stunned.
"Death penalty? You haven't even asked a single question!" someone in the crowd muttered.
Randoluff's brows furrowed deeply while Lieutenant Colonel Gobana grinned sinisterly. His bribe had paid off, though the earlier mention of "innocence" had caught him by surprise.
"I object! I demand a proper defense!" Randoluff shouted, stepping forward.
"I object too!" The right head of Judge Baskerville protested. "This is completely arbitrary!"
"Arbitrary?" the left head countered, its tone righteous and enraged. "The inefficiency of our trials is exactly why so many criminals fester! Randoluff—just look at his face! Cunning! Gobana's a thug! These witnesses will grow to distrust the World Government after this, and retaliate! They should all be executed!"
That declaration caused murmurs to erupt among the onlookers. But to the soldiers and staff of Enies Lobby, it was business as usual—blank expressions, unaffected by the madness.
Vivi's sharp gaze swept the room. Witnesses weren't even being called. The accused wasn't truly being questioned. This wasn't a trial—it was theater, and not the good kind.
She turned toward Randoluff, whose once-straight back was now hunched in despair. This man—once upright and principled—was crumbling.
He has no trump card to turn this around, Vivi thought grimly. What do I do now?
Storming Enies Lobby? That was Luffy's job. She and Randoluff weren't that close—certainly not enough to risk everything. There had to be another way.
Her eyes darted toward the black-clad figures slouching in the jury seats.
Despite its name, the jury system of Enies Lobby had long been defunct. Instead of fair jurors, there were eleven brutish, muscular men armed with iron hammers, more enforcers than arbiters of law. Only three men in black suits sat at the jury bench now, napping or idling.
One stood out—pale green hair, disproportionately large head, zipper on his mouth, and stubby limbs. He gave off the air of someone with real influence.
Vivi found the troupe's treasurer—a young but clever man. Lowering her voice, she whispered urgently, "The only way to save Mr. Randoluff is to pay. Those three men in black… especially the one in the center. Pale green hair, zipper mouth. He's the key."
Her instructions were intentionally vague. The treasurer, though rattled by the oppressive aura of the courtroom, understood. He tried to approach the bench a few times, faltering each time.
Vivi didn't pressure him, only encouraged gently, "You can do it. Only you can help Mr. Randoluff. Here—my entire salary this month, 50,000 Berries. I'll give it all to you. We must save him."
Moved by her words, the others contributed what little they had—30,000 here, 20,000 there. They were poor, but desperate.
With sweat running down his brow, the treasurer steeled himself and entered the courtroom. Step by cautious step, he moved along the wall, inching toward the jury bench.
To his relief, no one stopped him. It was as though the system expected such behavior… or simply didn't care.
Ten minutes passed. Then news came—the death sentence had been suspended. Randoluff's case was now marked for retrial.
Vivi's jaw clenched. This just means… the bribe wasn't enough. She'd handed over at least 10 million Berries, and all she got in return was a delay?
So even the death sentence can be negotiated with a few grins and Berries? How utterly rotten!
The young treasurer returned, wiping his face. "He… he said he'd keep it quiet. But he wants 50 million Berries. That's the price."
Vivi fell silent. Everyone assumed she was a mountain girl with no money. Jaina, the tea farmer's granddaughter, certainly didn't seem wealthy. But even if she were willing to pay, could she match Gobana's corrupt riches?
They needed another plan.
As the troupe fell into silent despair, a new development occurred.
A warship docked at Enies Lobby.
From its deck, escorted by guards and shackled in Sea-Prism Stone cuffs, was none other than Bucky the Clown. His shoulders slumped in defeat like a frost-wilted vegetable.
Behind him, standing tall and unimpressed, was Crocodile.
The sand-user had finally had enough of Bucky's antics. Having caught and turned him in, he washed his hands of the matter.
"The clown's all yours," Crocodile grunted at the waiting agents. "Do what you want. Kill him or feed him to the bulls—I'm done with him."