Ren knew he had one final, crucial point to make, the nail that would, he hoped, seal the coffin of La Signora's grand deception.
"And finally," he said, his voice quiet but resonant in the vast throne room, "Watatsumi Island. That is the biggest lie of all."
He looked at the impassive god on the throne, his small form radiating a conviction that was absolute. "La Signora spoke of keeping the rebels 'at bay,' as if it were a simple matter of border patrol. But there is a civil war happening in your nation. A conflict. Watatsumi Island is a part of Inazuma. Its people are your people. Yet, there is a war on Inazuman soil, a war that the Fatui are actively participating in, a war that you yourself just heard is going on."
He took a breath, his final argument a direct, pointed challenge to her core belief. "Conflict is the direct, absolute opposite of the eternal peace you wish to create. A nation at war with itself is not a nation at rest. The very existence of this conflict proves that your vision of Eternity is not working. The continuation of this war, a war fueled by the very people La Signora claims are your allies, is the greatest possible threat to the stillness you seek. And, about the question I asked. It just reinforces everything. For someone who uses a delusion, one that itself works on the principles of give and take, Signora is not someone who just gives and gives. It shows the true nature of her and the Fatui's actions."
He had laid it all bare. The corruption, the invasion, and the fundamental, violent contradiction at the heart of her current rule. He had given her a perfect, logical, and undeniable case.
And the Shogun, in her perfect, divine, and utterly alien logic, rejected it completely.
She rose from her throne. The movement was not sudden or angry; it was a slow, graceful, and deeply dismissive unfolding, the movement of a being for whom all the frantic, passionate arguments of mortals were less than the buzzing of a fly.
"Mortal currency," she stated, her voice the calm, cold, and unchanging melody of a god, "the mora that your Kanjou Commission and the Fatui covet so dearly, is of no consequence to Eternity. It is a fleeting, transient thing, a tool for the temporary lives of mortals. It does not affect the eternal state of this land."
She looked down at Ren, her amethyst eyes holding not anger, but a profound, almost pitying, detachment. "The Fatui military, as you have so astutely pointed out, is weak. They have no jurisdiction here. Their secret, petty movements are the scurrying of insects in the walls of a great palace. They, too, are of no consequence to Eternity."
She then turned her gaze to the window, to the distant, unseen shores of Watatsumi Island. "And the conflict there… the civil war… it is a mortal trifle. The lives of mortals are like the sparks from a firework. They burn brightly, they struggle, they fade. Their conflicts, their grudges, their wars… in the grand, eternal flow of this land, they are but tiny, insignificant sparkles. They do not affect the true, deep order of this world."
She had taken all of his passionate, logical, and deeply human arguments, and she had dismissed them with the cold, vast, and utterly inhuman perspective of a god who had lived for millennia. To a being who had witnessed mountains rise and fall, the brief, violent struggles of mortals were simply… irrelevant.
She turned her gaze back to Ren, her final judgment delivered. "You have presented your arguments," she declared, her tone one of final, unarguable decree. "But you have not proven your hypothesis. You have spoken of mortal concerns—of money, of politics, of fleeting lives. You have not spoken of Eternity."
She raised a single, elegant finger. "Therefore, your mission is unchanged. Go. See my Inazuma. Witness the unchanging, eternal truth of this nation for yourself. Perhaps then, you will understand."
And with that, she vanished in a flash of lightning, leaving Ren standing alone in the silent, empty throne room.
He had presented a perfect case. He had shown her the truth. And she had looked at it, and with the perfect, flawless, and utterly terrifying logic of a god, she had deemed it all… inconsequential.
He had not failed. He had simply discovered the true, terrifying, and almost insurmountable scope of his task. He did not need to convince her that the Fatui were a threat. He needed to convince a god that the lives and the happiness of her own people… actually mattered.