Bartolomeo's attack loomed large in Phinks' vision. The mob boss's sharp fangs were bared in a triumphant, gap-toothed grin, believing the match was decided.
Little did he know… this was exactly what Phinks had been waiting for.
The defensive power of the Barrier-Barrier Fruit was indeed staggering—even a twenty-rotation "Ripper Cyclotron" hadn't shattered it. But Chrollo had already briefed them on the mechanics. Every ability has a condition, and every condition has a flaw.
CRASH—!
The barrier strike slammed into Phinks' face. He was thrown off his feet, blood spraying from a jagged cut on his forehead. However, because Bartolomeo had invested every possible point into "Defense," his offensive power was severely lacking. The blow was heavy, but it wasn't a knockout.
More importantly... to launch that "Barrier Crash," Bartolomeo had finally—for the first time in the fight—separated his crossed hands.
"There it is—!"
Phinks remembered Chrollo's words: Every ability has a weakness. Find it, and even a god can be brought to his knees.
"Your opening just appeared—!"
Phinks' head snapped back into alignment, his eyes flashing with a predatory, golden light. His left hand, which had been hidden behind his back, wasn't idle. While his right was winding up in plain sight, his left had been performing its own miniature rotations.
He stepped inside the gap. The gold-wrapped left fist roared upward in a savage, perfectly timed uppercut.
BOOM—!
The strike connected squarely with Bartolomeo's jaw. The golden aura erupted, sending the mob boss spiraling into the air. He spun like a broken top before hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Eyes rolled back, foam at the mouth—Bartolomeo was out cold.
"Heh... cough..." Phinks wiped the blood from his lips, a wild, confident smirk stretching across his face. "Hunt... successful."
He staggered over to the unconscious cannibal, looking down at him. "Next time, don't tell your enemy how your powers work. Oh, wait..."
"There won't be a next time."
As Uvogin and the others prepared to bag their prize, a slow, rhythmic clapping echoed from a dark corner of the ruins.
Clap... clap... clap...
"Who's there?!"
Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Feitan instantly shifted into a defensive perimeter around the exhausted Phinks. Despite their sharp senses, they hadn't felt this presence at all. How long had he been standing there?
A man stepped out from the shadows, lowering a dark green hood. He revealed a weathered, stern face marked by deep red tattoos on the left side.
"Who are you?" Nobunaga asked, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his broken blade.
"Relax," the man said, his voice as deep as a coming storm. "I am not your enemy. In fact... I believe you've been looking for me."
---
### The Church of the Beginning
Buru... buru... buru...
"Moshi moshi," Chrollo answered his phone.
"Boss, we've got the green-haired guy," Nobunaga reported. "But we have a situation." He looked at the man in the green cloak. "There's a strange man here who says he wants to see you."
"Oh?" Chrollo's eyes brightened. "I see. I'll be right there."
Chrollo followed the signal on his compass to a weathered, European-style cathedral. As he and toddler-Bonney arrived, a nun opened the heavy doors, nodding to them before ushering them inside. The entire Troupe was already there, scattered in the shadows of the pews.
Chrollo walked toward the altar, where he finally came face-to-face with the "World's Most Wanted Criminal"—Monkey D. Dragon.
Dragon stepped forward. He knelt slightly, gently patting Bonney's head. "How have you been these past two years, Bonney-chan?"
"Thanks to you, Lord Dragon, I've been okay!" Bonney chirped, leaning into the touch.
"I heard you joined a pirate crew," Dragon said, his gaze shifting to Chrollo. "If you're ever unhappy, tell me. I'll settle the score for you."
Bonney looked at Chrollo with a defiant spark, but after catching his cold, "I'll-cut-your-rations" glare, she immediately slumped her shoulders. "I... I'm fine."
Dragon let out a rare, low chuckle. "It seems our Bonney is being well taken care of." He stood up, his gaze turning sharp and analytical as he faced Chrollo. "A crew with a combined bounty of over a billion Berries appearing in the East Blue... you're quite capable. You must be the Leader, Chrollo Lucilfer."
"Correct. It is a pleasure," Chrollo replied with a polite, enigmatic smile.
"Tell me," Dragon said, crossing his arms. "Why go to such lengths to lure me out? What do you want?"
Chrollo noticed the slight dismissiveness in Dragon's tone—the look of a man who had seen everything. He decided to flip the script.
"Initially, I came to trade. But now?" Chrollo's smile widened. "I think I'd rather give you some advice on your 'Revolution.'"
"Advice?" Dragon's eyebrow twitched. "On revolution? That is a first."
Chrollo stepped closer, his voice dropping into a serious, academic tone. "Lord Dragon, you lead the Revolutionary Army to fight the tyranny of the World Government and the Celestial Dragons. A noble goal. But haven't you noticed? After years of effort, the world hasn't changed an inch. The Celestial Dragons still sit on their thrones, and 'Buster Calls' still erase nations like Ohara from the map."
Chrollo looked Dragon in the eye. "If you ask me... you haven't even figured out the foundation of a real revolution."
"The foundation?" Dragon repeated, his interest finally piqued. "Is it weapons?"
Chrollo shook his head.
"Ideology?"
Again, Chrollo shook his head. He straightened his coat, his expression one of absolute certainty.
"The foundation of a revolution... is the People."
Outside, a bolt of lightning illuminated the stained glass of the cathedral. Dragon froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. It was as if a fog he had been walking in for twenty years had suddenly cleared.
Chrollo watched him, a faint smirk playing on his lips. As a man who had grown up in a world of complex sociopolitical theories, he thought to himself:
No one knows revolution better than me.
---