Sold My Nation – The Confession -S.S.

In this world, there are many different types of silence.

There is the epistemic silence, the silence of a man who has no knowledge. There is the ineffable silence, the silence of a man who cannot speak. The language of man who knows so much, yet lack the words to tell. There is the ethical silence, the silence of a man who refuses to speak. To them, to use words would mean to deal damage. The only thing they can do is to restrain, to hold back.

None of these would describe the type of silence I felt that rainy afternoon. It is a type of silence I mulled over for nights, countless, sleepless nights.

This was a dialogical silence. A silence that is a response. It is the kind of silence that does not happen in the moment. It is a silence that is built up, one that happens way before. In a single pause, one can see another: their grief, their struggle, and their restraint. It is like a light shining through a foggy window. It is in that hesitation that one can discover what is already there. A silent understanding that you are caught and you must answer.

In simple terms, it is the silence of a man who has yet to tell you the truth. It is a man who knows that opening his mouth would cost him something that is unattainable, something he cannot afford to lose.

There is another silence that comes after the confession. It is the kind of silence that comes after a realization of a man who has said to much. It is from a man, who hands you something, so heavy, and watches you handle it. It is a kind of silence that has you wondering, does he regret anything at all?

The name of the mixture between a “amphibian and human” who introduced me to this silence is called Thaddeus. He is an Axolian, an ancient brewer, adventurer, and resident of Flower Capital, and by his own accord: eyed his nation and everything they had built and determined it belonged to him. He self-proclaims that “out of everyone here, I am the one with the most strength.” In his own eyes, he is the most formidable individual in Flower Capital, and perhaps even the in the whole world.

He is the same man who stole from his nation, all for golden carrots.

This is the story of a man and his spawners. One he agreed to tell, not asking for anything in return. When I placed a spawner directly at his feet, just to test and observe, he simply looked at me then it. And he left it there.

However, that is the near the end of this story. For the whole context, just as all stories begin, we must go to the start, to the silence.

I. Numbers

Before everything, before the regret, before the heinous confession, before everything about this story that will make your heart drop, there are numbers. Stats, of which are not small.

Twenty two spider spawners. Two cave spider spawners. One zombie spawner. All of which reside in the Flower Capital, apart of the nation of Wano. One night, a thief in the night struck. By day break, all spawners were gone.

Quietly, twenty five spawners, missing, all exchanged for gold. Gold for golden carrots. This all occured because the Freemason’s Shopping District charges a price that Flower Capital’s production could not meet. Thaddeus saw the prices, enraged he created a silent, deliberate plot to create a solution and calm his wild heart.

Golden Carrots.

Throughout my years as a reporter, I have written many things. But never would I have thought to utter these two words and feel a hole in my heart. They are not dramatic. Twenty five of Flower Capital’s spawners disappeared, not in a moment of crisis or a calculated treason against the crown, rather, they vanished for . . . groceries. The smallest, essential, devasting, miniscule, pebble in the ocean, fact of this story. Seems to silently wither away like a flower.

However, I will preserve this truth, as it is part of my duty as a writer, as a reporter to spread, what others hide.

I knew it was wrong. And even knew they would eventually find out due to the count they keep. And yet still decided to do so.

I implore you to read this again. Despite knowing all the risks, he sold them anyway. I would ask you to read it again, slowly carefully. Let these words chip at your heart.

II. Before the Answer

I asked him if there was ever any hesitation. If, at any point during these scheme, he thought twice about taking what was not his. I asked if any part of him, deep inside, told him to halt.

Think about what you are doing, think about the people who this belongs too.

What followed this question, was an unbearable silence. It was the silence needed to declare an evasive answer. No, instead it was the dialogical silence. The very one I described, eroding his mind in the very place we speak. He was searching for something he had long ago buried in the dark. He was contemplating if this was the time to bring this deep dark secret to light.

After an unbearable silence, “I did,” he replied. “Repeatedly.”

Not once, not twice. No, “repeatedly” was what he said. He sat in this chair, knowing all. He felt the wrongness, the shame, the name, and still chose to go through with it, to continue. This was not a spur of the moment thought, this was a decision. A calm, heartfelt, calculated decision. Saying this out in the open . . . this kind of response does not ask for anything. It simple stand there, waiting to be seen.

III. Open Confession

When people of the Flower Capital began to ask question, when levels did not give the same jingle in the air when consuming, questions rose higher. There was dissatisfaction, anger brewing. “Thaddeus” did not run like a coward. He did create another ploy to escape his fate. He did what most people would never do in his circumstances.

He opened the gates and spoke his heart shattering truth. All of it.

“I felt both guilty, and yet relieved,” is what he told me. “Obviously, it wasn’t fun being called out, but to be honest I was the one to make it public when people asked what I had done. It felt good to at least admit it and make amends for my dishonorable act.”

Dishonorable.

I did not offer a word to describe his actions. He, himself, spoke of his actions in such a way. He came to this conclusion alone. After the long, eternal silence, he handed me a single a word, the most faithful word he could describe his actions with.

As I have said before, I have sat across many people who had done far, far, less and hailed themselves victims. I had yet to meet a man who refused to say anything but what he was, until today.

I admit sometimes I may let greed decide my choices. But for the most part I try to help, rather than harm."

He mentioned this before the topic of this interview, the spawners, came up. He described his values, what he abides by. He was a person who was trying, for a very, very long time to come to terms with who he was.

IV. Who are you in the dark?

After the confession, and humiliation of the public, was the labor. He had accomplished what he needed to do, to repair the damages. All done, privately. Yet he still did a little more.

He went back into the dungeons. Where he know each nook and cranny the best. Where he exceeds in showcasing his skills. He goes to a place where many people fear if they could ever return the same. He recovered every spawner, every, that he had taken. But he didn’t stop. Perhaps the guilt was weighing on his heart more than he intended, but he gathered more, beyond what he owed. Perhaps this was his way of truly repenting?

He reached into his own pockets, and paid New Thawner, a nation in which he sold his soul for, for unknowingly including them in his crime. They did not care, nor did they ask. Yet he paid them anyway,

There was no force, there was no requirement. The payment he made to New Thawner was never apart of the contract. Yet, this was his own contract. The one he made for himself, in the dark. When were was no audience, no performance, he chose to do more.

Would you be able to do the same?

"Both. It felt like a punishment as it was forced upon me to make things right. But it also felt like I was fixing my own mistake. Seeing as the extra spawners I collected on top of the list was my choice to collect. And mine alone."

Punishment and repent were on the same face. He claimed both.

V. Bleeding

The spawners have been returned, the compensation had been paid, the confession was said. By every means, this matter was resolved.

Yet,

“Even now I still feel bad about what I had done. Even though the issue had been resolved.”

Despite everything, even now, he carried the weight of his actions. It was a piece of gum stuck under a desk you accidently touch. This was the first time in Meraki, he told me, that he took the wrong decision. He chose the wrong path.

He did not stumble onto this road. He did not slide into it. He chose it. He left his own morals. left his own self, and chose the narrow road. Justice on paper, it feels, does not silence the inner rambles of the mind.

I asked what he would say to the Flower Capital, who now associate greedy, ungrateful, traitor, to his name.

"Two roads diverged in a wood. And I - I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference."

Sometimes, honesty carries no commentary.

He did not reach for understanding, nor a defense: “I cannot say much, seeing as their opinion would be accurate when you consider what I had done. All I can truly do would be to apologize.”

VI. Perhaps it is Unjust

There is a simple detail, I wish to shed to light.

The people who purchased the stolen spawners were not required to return them. They bought something, however it was attained, and kept it. They have, in their hands, the Flower Capital’s resources. As law may have it, they are not required to surrender a single one.

He, who bears the punishment, replaces what they kept while also paying them the troubles he had given to them.

There was no resentment in his voice, “I think it is fitting. They didn’t know it was stolen, and I had no way to return what they had paid.”

Fitting. I do not know if that is wisdom, or self-punishment. I suspect the two have become intertwined in his mind.

VII. Flower Capital’s Walls

No one in Flower Capital seems to be able to speak on this matter.

Thaddeus, self-proclaimed as the strongest in the world, knows all. Within the walls of Wano, he knows the count, he knows the gaps.

I asked him about security. “To be honest, weak.” And then he provides information in which he was uncomfortable to share, “Even if they ramp it up, it would be strong against others. But the problem is the fact that out of everyone here, I am the one with the most strength. I do not mean to sound egotistical, but it may be the unfortunate truth.”

Whether it is arrogance, or the truth, the most important fact is the most dangerous threat to Flower Capital lingers, not outside the borders, but inside. Training, brewing, adventuring, and Wano a home. However, it seems, that being at home, does not cause one to hold their deepest desires in check.

One day, I hope not soon, this article will be similar to dust. But I believe this sentence is what should be heard, by not just Flower Capital’s leadership, but every governing body in Meraki.

"One thing. They should know that even if they grow stronger, they shouldn't let it go to their head. I would know - it happened to me, and I barely made it out alive."

His final words to the world, a warning. This comes from someone who had already paid the price of ignoring it.

VII. Four Words

Perhaps this was a violation of my own principles, however, it was undoubtedly the right call. I led the Axolian to the woods alone after the interview. I activated my own spawners in front of him. The same spawners that led him down a steep dark road. And I told to react. Fast.

Tell me your first thoughts.

He look at the ground, where his feet laid above the ground. Then without a glance to me or the spawners he looked to the sky.

“Well, I already don’t plan to steal them. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

He started to speak more, but it was done. I had finished my experiment. I told to take one, as a gift. Whether is a mocking or friendly gesture, was only known in my heart.

He finally looked at me.

"I don't need it."

It was an “I shouldn’t,” or an “It wouldn’t feel right.” Not the words of a man who had been unwillingly led to an experiment. It was four simple words. No tone, final.

As I heard my banner flutter in the wind, I heard him leave.. Firmly, quietly, deciding they were done with this interview.

“Have a good day, Shay.”

And he left.