131. International Organization Reconstruction Conference (2)
The Protector's shocking speech was shocking enough in its own right, but the Orleans Saintess's irresponsible declaration that followed was so explosive it threatened to torpedo the international organization they'd just managed to establish.
One could make excuses for the Protector's speech—claiming it got rough due to humanitarian appeals or hatred for monsters—but the Saintess's subsequent remarks could only be interpreted as her declaring she'd use the new organization however she damn well pleased.
Naturally, the American side erupted in outrage when these unscripted proposals kept popping up outside the pre-negotiated agenda. They flatly refused to accept them.
They must've already twisted a few arms before we even got here.
As President Arthur traded heated barbs with the Protector and the Saintess, Bahamut scanned the conference hall, slowly gauging the mood among the assembled representatives.
In his view, the room's atmosphere split into three camps.
The first were those like President Arthur, seething with fury at the duo's outrageous behavior and rallying behind America's lead in opposition. With the U.S. taking the vanguard against their overreach, Arthur's arguments found echoes; other reps piled on, trying to counter the Saintess's sophistries with straight talk.
"Goddamn bitch! She won't listen to reason! Sure, the Atlantic sphere matters, but the Pacific does too. We can't dispatch troops just for your Atlantic playground!"
"No, no—not at all. Reclaiming Paris could be humanity's hope, its beacon. Why reject that?"
"No—the only ones who gain here are you! We're in Asia, damn it!"
"And that's a problem how?"
No matter how they hammered home the principles or pointed out it had nothing to do with them, the Saintess's twisted logic slid right off. She twisted it further, trying to win over Arthur and the opposition.
Arthur was getting dragged along in her pace, visibly tiring, but he kept rebutting her nonsense for his country's sake.
Watching the spectacle, Bahamut pitied them even as he thought, Good thing our international clout is still weak.
The Protector and Saintess had fixated on America as their main target—a stroke of luck that kept the Balhut Cult out of the crossfire. They probably figured swaying the U.S. would drag everyone else along, and sure enough, they dismissed other nations' protests with a casual "What's the problem?"
But even America wouldn't be dumb enough to chase her sophistries over their own interests—it just pissed them off more.
The second group is neutral.
If the first camp was America and its allies pushing back, the second kept silent—mostly reps from Northern Europe, close to Eastern or Western Europe.
They seemed quietly hopeful for trickle-down benefits if Paris fell, not openly backing the Saintess but refusing to side with America either. Some even looked eager to fan the flames, hoping the two sides exhausted each other.
And the last are her collaborators. Those who stand to gain big from a liberated Paris are all in the Saintess's pocket.
The final camp was her outright allies. The Protector, who'd pledged support first, and most Western European reps backed her play. They knew Paris's fall would profit them most—and what a "liberated" France might do next.
"What a clusterfuck."
It was a total shitshow. No one gave a damn about the international organization's ideals; they'd all come chasing narrow self-interest.
Of course, if you scrutinized that, Bahamut and the Balhut Cult were here for their own gains too—and he saw nothing wrong with it. What else do you call someone working for their nation's benefit but a patriot?
Still, they knew where to draw the line, at least.
But lines must be drawn. Bahamut shared the organization's ideals enough to show up personally despite the shady hosts.
Yet what they got was the Orleans Saintess demanding the organization's muscle for her Paris grab—and the Protector cheering her on. Both were prestige-hungry as hell, but couldn't they respect basic boundaries?
"We can't accept this! Force it through, and we'll shut this reconstruction conference down!"
"Surely America won't abandon such a momentous gathering first? Does that make you humanity's enemy?"
Worn down by her nonsense, America proposed scrapping the conference altogether. The Saintess pounced, flipping it: America as humanity's foe?
Arthur's face hardened, as if he'd never dreamed she'd go there. He shot back instantly.
"No. We're not humanity's enemy. But if you're only chasing your own gains, why should we play along?"
"Us, selfish? What are you saying? Paris is Europe's heart—humanity's heart. Reclaiming it isn't gain; it's a milestone for humanity's advance!"
"That's just code for your gain! We don't need your Paris stunt—we've got the power and means to push forward ourselves! All we lack is legitimacy to survive. This organization is that legitimacy! And you're the one wrecking it!"
Arthur dismantled her logic point by point, pinning the sabotage on her.
"Sabotage? What do you mean? What's wrong with this at all?"
"She won't listen to a damn word!"
Debate requires engaging the other side. But if she ignored him and clung to her script, what was the point?
"Is this debate? It's like talking to a brick wall!"
Arguing with the Saintess was pointless. She had zero interest in Arthur's points, so his rebuttals and principles went nowhere.
"Then let's vote on it. Isn't that democracy?"
"Son of a—!"
Seizing Arthur's fatigue, the Protector flashed a disarming smile and proposed a vote. Arthur cursed, sensing the trap.
"Fine. A vote. Let's vote. Looks like you've already rigged it behind closed doors anyway!"
They planned this from the start. Backroom deals for a majority.
It was a mess, but international politics rarely ended smoothly—nothing unusual there. Still, flaunting their secret horse-trading so brazenly crossed a line.
"Twenty-four nations. Fourteen yes, eight no, two abstentions. Motion passes."
The vote cleared over fifty percent.
"Vote's done? Then we're out. America washes its hands of this."
No wonder America's pissed. Is that even fair? Western Europe—or all Europe—eating it up solo.
The blatant Euro-centric carve-up soured faces across America and Asia. Now they'd have to pick sides in a fight they never wanted.
They won't actually join up, though. Distance makes a perfect excuse—no one's forcing them. And neither are we.
Bahamut had zero intention of intervening either. No prior commitments, and distance as cover.
Now I get what Steven meant by European supremacists.
Too late, he grasped Steven and Anna's warnings.
The silver lining for the Balhut Cult? "They're ignoring us completely."
They hadn't even registered the Cult as players—or assumed them mere American lackeys who'd follow if the U.S. did. Either way, the Protector and Saintess's arrogance left Bahamut dumbfounded.
"Figures they'd see us as America's tag-along. I figured they'd pay less attention, but this?"
"Rude."
"Can't really complain, though. Distance helps. They might even think a spat won't hurt."
Physical separation aside, they could view the Cult as a convenient bogeyman to rally prestige against. Asia-Europe distances made it plausible—and terrifying.
Feels like dealing with North Korea all over again.
The familiar stench from Korea's backyard gave Bahamut a lunch-outing vibe.
"Frustrating that it's true."
Good news amid the mess: "You folks from Korea?"
"And you are?"
"Japanese rep from Fukuoka City. Takashima Shiro."
The Japanese rep, sidelined by the duo's antics, approached the Balhut Cult for alliance. Now representing all Japan, Fukuoka's envoy made first contact with Yu-na and Bahamut.
Young. Too young for politics?
Politicians were usually middle-aged or elderly, weathered by time. This guy looked fresh into his thirties.
"Balhut Cult leader, Priestess Choi Yu-na?"
The youthful man confidently offered a handshake to Yu-na, who eyed his hand.
"Yes, Choi Yu-na. You know your stuff."
"Of course. Neighboring country's news."
She smiled and shook, and Shiro—self-introduced—confirmed he kept tabs as a neighbor.
"Plus, A-yeon's with you, right?"
"You knew."
Jin A-yeon's ties made sense; knowing she sheltered with the Cult explained his friendliness.
"Impossible not to. I coveted her talents too. Kept tabs on her whereabouts."
He must've regretted her departure. City liberator and hero—she slipped away with her Korean crew, leaving him miffed.
"Here to gripe?"
"No. We've long eyed the Balhut Cult. You reclaimed cities before us."
He drew the line—not here to reminisce. As Japan's rep—for Fukuoka's gains—he extended a hand.
"Mind if we join your ventures?"
"What do we get?"
"Fukuoka's ports. Trade. Cooperation."
He pitched mutual benefits.
They've scouted what we want. Can't let our guard down.
A tempting offer for the Cult's diplomatic diversification. Bahamut saw calculated prep—thorough research on their needs.
"We're both reclaiming nations from one to ten, aren't we?"
"Fair point."
His pitch resonated Asian-wide: shared post-apoc struggles, unlike the Protector and Saintess's shockers. Serious, listenable stuff.
"Shelve old grudges for now. Focus on surviving the end times."
"We know, but our country's history with yours—"
"Yes, that issue. I can't apologize enough to fix it... but as I said, let's shelve it. Talk later. Maybe this apocalypse gives us a fresh start."
He even proposed tabling historical beef—not erasing, just prioritizing survival. Reasonable.
And his final pitch...
"That last bit's tough, huh."
"Haha, yeah."
Bahamut flagged it as traumatic for Koreans. The rep smiled wryly, conceding it was a bridge too far.