Gordon shrugged as if the gesture were irrelevant, and a laugh, full of defiance, escaped his lips while his eyes remained locked on the man in front of him.

  “You know that doesn’t work on my kind,” he said, a provocative smile curling his lips. He stepped closer, leaving the barrel of the gun nearly touching his forehead. “No angel could be harmed by a toy like that.”

  The officer didn’t flinch and pulled the trigger. The shot didn’t even cross the short distance. A dense, radiant layer of feathers enveloped Gordon’s body, shielding him completely.

  The sound of the gunshot was muffled, and the bullet ricocheted harmlessly, clattering among the scattered papers on one of the desks. In a swift motion, Gordon raised his arm and delivered a devastating punch to the officer.

  The impact reverberated through the hal l— a sharp, resounding crack louder than the echo of the gunshot. The officer’s body was flung backward, crashing through the saloon-style doors and vanishing into the hallway.

  The newsroom fell into absolute silence, the journalists staring, stunned, from Gordon to the empty space where the officer had stood moments before. No one dared utter a word. Ignoring the shock etched on his staff’s faces, Gordon merely shrugged and allowed a faint smile to surface.

  “Don’t worry — it’s just a little... editorial disagreement,” he remarked nonchalantly. His body returned to its usual form, but his wings remained open and imposing. He sighed with a hint of impatience when he noticed the staff still frozen in disbelief at the scene.

  “You heard me!” he roared, spreading his wings even wider. “We write the stories that make the world turn. I decide what gets published. Even if we occasionally take the Maritime Empire’s money, never forget: this is my newsroom!”

  The journalists returned to their desks, the sound of pens scratching against paper and fingers tapping on keys gradually filling the room once more. Below deck, the presses rumbled to life, preparing for the next edition.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Gordon turned and walked to his desk. The chair groaned under his weight as he sat down, his wings relaxing slightly against his back.

  “Someone, toss that body outside,” Gordon ordered, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “And bring me a strong coffee. I’m starting to get a headache.”

  His gaze drifted to a photograph pinned to the bulletin board beside his desk. The image showed Luna standing next to the lifeless body of Captain Johny, sprawled on the ground.

  “Keep an eye on that girl,” he said, drumming his fingers on the desk. “We’re going to publish everything she does. A face like that, with the strength she’s shown... She’s going to shake the world. She might even outshine her father. Send the kids to follow her every move. I want it all — every conversation, every step.”

  Gordon chuckled, the deep, rough sound echoing through the newsroom. With a sharp gesture, he pulled another photograph from the chaotic pile on his desk. The image captured Luna commanding the Lady Diana at the exact moment her magic sliced through the sails of the Madame Sofie.

  He studied the photo for a few seconds, and a slow smile spread across his lips. That girl was exactly what he’d been searching for: a new figure to symbolize a new era.

  The moment was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of an assistant.

  Panting, the young man clutched a piece of paper in his trembling hands and extended it toward Gordon, nearly faltering as he moved.

  “Sir, a message just came in,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “The artificers called. They’ve finished the transmitters.”

  Gordon’s eyes narrowed, and a sly smile curled his lips. Calmly, he straightened his suit and gathered the disordered papers on his desk, as though organizing the pieces of a game whose outcome he already knew.

  “This is how things work for those who play fair,” he murmured, letting out a low chuckle, his deep voice tinged with a strange satisfaction. “Get in touch with them. I want those devices exclusively for us.”

  He paused, his gaze fixed on a distant point. In his mind, ideas began to take shape: impactful headlines, images that would define an era. Soon, the Herald of the Seas would be much more than a simple printed newspaper. His vision was finally coming to life. The artificers deserved a good reward for this, he thought.

  Meanwhile, the massive vessel of the Herald of the Seas was already pulling away from the coast. Its white sails billowed in the wind, ready for yet another journey. Above, seagulls circled, waiting for Gordon’s signal: the raising of the pirate flag, heralding an explosive edition destined to shake the five oceans of the world.