G-5, duty room.
Potts held the receiver of the Den Den Mushi, cold sweat sliding down his temples.
He felt like he wasn't holding a communication device, but a bomb that could explode at any second.
He had just relayed Admiral Renzo's exact words, directly to the Warlord of the Sea on the other end.
"I'm busy."
"No time."
The other end of the line fell into deathly silence.
So silent that Potts could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.
He could easily imagine the expression on that man's face, twisted, furious, murderous.
After a full thirty seconds, the Den Den Mushi finally made a sound, a bizarre, forced, signature laugh squeezed out through gritted teeth.
"Fuf… fufufu… fufufufufufu…"
There was no arrogance left in that laughter, no usual wickedness.
Only a fury so repressed it was about to warp into madness.
"I… understand." Doflamingo's voice came out one word at a time.
"Tell Admiral Renzo… the fault was mine."
"I will bring enough 'sincerity' and pay him a visit… in person."
Click.
The call ended.
Potts let out a long breath, feeling as if he had just been pulled out of deep water. His whole body was drenched in sweat.
He wiped his forehead, glanced toward the beach where a man had already lain back down and dozed off again, and felt nothing but awe.
To make Donquixote Doflamingo, the Heavenly Yaksha, the man who commanded the underworld of the New World, swallow such humiliation, not dare to show the slightest anger, and even promise to personally bring "sincerity"…
In this entire world, probably only their own Admiral could make that happen.
....
Meanwhile, Dressrosa.
BANG!!!
Doflamingo smashed the Den Den Mushi to pieces, the shell shattering across the floor!
The entire palace trembled under the uncontrollable surge of his Conqueror's Haki. Cracks spread outward from his throne like spiderwebs.
"RENZO!!!"
His roar, suppressed to the limit, carried endless humiliation and killing intent.
The other party didn't even bother to say a single line to him.
A contempt so pure, so absolute, it stabbed deeper than any insult.
"Y–Young Master!"
Trebol, Pica, Diamante, and the other executives knelt on one knee, suffocated by the terrifying pressure radiating from their enraged leader.
Doflamingo panted violently, the eyes under his shades bloodshot.
He wanted, truly wanted, to gather the entire Donquixote Family, sail straight to G-5, and use Birdcage to slice that lazy bastard and the entire base into scraps.
But…
He couldn't.
The newspaper photo of Big Mom's humiliated face floated before his eyes.
Reason poured over him like ice water.
Charging in meant certain death.
Doflamingo sank back onto his throne, trembling from rage.
He closed his eyes, and saw Monet.
The woman who always followed quietly behind him, willing to give her life for him, for their family.
His family.
No matter what, he had to save her from that monster's grasp!
After a long silence, he opened his eyes.
The blood-red intensity faded, replaced by that cold, calculating depth belonging to Joker, king of the underworld, master manipulator.
"Fufufu…"
His smile returned, this time self-mocking, sinister.
"He doesn't think my 'sincerity' is enough?"
"Then fine…"
"I'll give him a 'sincerity' he cannot possibly refuse."
He spread his arms like an actor stepping onto a stage, voice filled with a manic yet commanding force.
"Trebol! Go to the SMILE factory. Bring me the thirty highest-quality artificial Devil Fruits in our stock!"
"Diamante! Go to my vault. Bring the Mythical Zoan fruit I traded from the World Government ten years ago!"
"Pica! Prepare our fastest ship!"
"Sugar! You stay in Dressrosa."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across his kneeling executives.
"Did you hear me clearly?"
"Yes, Young Master!"
Doflamingo's grin grew wider, bordering on madness.
"Fufufufufufu!!"
"Renzo… you damn lazy bastard!"
"You like money? You like rare treasures?"
"Fine! I'll show you what the 'Heavenly Yaksha's sincerity' looks like!"
"I want to see if you still have the face to keep holding my 'family' after receiving a gift even the Yonko would drool over!"
He would buy Monet back, with overwhelming wealth and priceless treasures.
Humiliating?
Of course.
But for family, he would endure that shame.
...
Potts was about to retreat quietly when a figure stopped him.
Monet.
She had been nearby preparing a fresh iced juice for Renzo, and had heard the entire conversation.
"Potts," her voice trembled ever so slightly, golden eyes rippling with emotion, "the person on the phone just now… was it truly the Young Master?"
"Young Master…?"
Potts blinked, then realized she meant Doflamingo.
He nodded.
"Yes. It was the Warlord Doflamingo himself. He said… he'll come to G-5 to redeem you."
"To… redeem me…"
Monet repeated the words, her whole body shaking.
A tidal wave of emotion swept through her, joy, relief, and unwavering loyalty that exploded beyond control.
The Young Master hadn't forgotten her.
Her family hadn't abandoned her.
Even when facing a man who made Big Mom swallow her pride, Doflamingo still insisted on coming to save her.
In that moment, the comfort of her peaceful days in G-5 was erased completely.
She had only one purpose in life, to serve the Young Master and the Donquixote Family.
She steadied herself, blinking away the tears forming at the edges of her eyes.
Holding the tray of juice, she walked toward Renzo's beach chair with shaky steps.
Looking at the man wearing sunglasses, seemingly indifferent to the world, Monet gathered every bit of courage she possessed.
Her voice trembled with longing and pleading.
"Admiral… Renzo."
"If… if the Young Master really comes… will you let me go back?"
The sea breeze blew.
Waves crashed softly.
Renzo didn't answer immediately.
He slowly removed his sunglasses and looked at her, calm, unreadable.
Of course he didn't want to let her go.
Let her return?
What a joke.
Since Monet arrived, his paperwork was organized, his tea arrived on time, his room temperature was kept perfect for sleeping.
Where was he supposed to find another secretary like that?
He put his shades back on leisurely and spoke in that lazy, emotionless drawl of his:
"Hmm…"
"I'll think about it."
"Depends on how much 'sincerity' he brings."
The ambiguous line tugged at Monet's heart like a thin thread.
Not rejecting her outright… but holding all the power in his hands.
She froze in place, gripping the tray so tightly her fingers turned white, hope and fear churning wildly in her chest.
All she could do was pray.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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