Dressrosa.
The Land of Love, Passion, and Toys.
It was the domain of the Heavenly Yaksha, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. To the Underworld, he was the broker known as Joker. To the history books, he was Donquixote Doflamingo—a man who, five years ago, had transitioned from a pirate with a 340-million-Berry bounty into the legitimate King of Dressrosa.
The news had shattered the expectations of many. [Who would have thought,] the pundits mused, [that the man chased across the seas like a rabbit by Vice-Admiral Tsuru would simply stroll into Marine Headquarters and walk out with a Shichibukai title?]
One could only wonder what the legendary Tsuru had felt when she was forced to abandon her hunt for the Donquixote Family.
Regardless, in those five years, Joker had ascended from a displaced North Blue pirate to a titan of the New World. He held a dual identity: a sanctioned official of the World Government and the shadow ruler of the black market.
Looking at his rise, one had to admit Doflamingo was a man of immense vision and ruthlessness. Compared to the erratic, "head-ticking" Emperors like Big Mom or Kaido, he possessed a far more calculated, regal bearing. His only weakness was his personal martial ceiling; in the New World, the land where "Might is Right" remained the only absolute truth, a lack of overwhelming force was a dangerous variable.
The Royal Plateau.
This was the seat of power in Dressrosa.
By the edge of an open-air swimming pool, a man sat upon a decadent sofa. He wore signature sunglasses, a flamboyant pink feather coat, and cropped magenta trousers ending in pointed shoes. He swirled a glass of red wine, his face split by a wild, predatory grin. This was Donquixote Doflamingo.
"Doffy! Hey, Doffy!"
A man leaning on a staff topped with a club-shaped ornament approached. He was draped in a cloak that resembled a thick duvet, wore small round shades, and a perpetual string of mucus dangled from his nose.
"About Umit... should we really just leave him be? Ne, Doffy? Ne?"
This was Trebol, one of the four Supreme Officers of the Donquixote Family, leader of the Club Army, and user of the Paramecia-type Mucus-Mucus Fruit.
"Leave him," Doflamingo replied, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "The old fox has no good intentions. He's trying to use me as a shield to block a stray bullet, but he underestimates me... Fuffuffuffu!"
Doflamingo's sharp gaze pierced through his shades, staring at the blazing sun overhead.
"Of course, if he's willing to pay a high enough price, I wouldn't mind helping him test the mettle of this newly famous Black Prince."
Trebol blinked, looking slightly dazed by the contradiction. "So... ne? Do we help or not?"
"Not for now, Trebol. Just keep an eye on Sugar and the Underground Factory. As for Umit... Pica, you go. Don't interfere, just watch him. Use the snail if anything changes."
Doflamingo didn't bother explaining the nuances to Trebol. There was no point. Trebol was the Supreme Officer in name, but in practice, he was Sugar's personal bodyguard. He lacked the mental faculty for high-level political maneuvering.
"Leave it to me, Young Master."
A high-pitched, squeaky voice vibrated through the stone floor.
The modern young women attending the pool side had to bite their lips and clench their muscles to avoid burst out laughing. They didn't dare let so much as a shoulder shiver; to be caught mocking Pica's voice was to find a quick death a luxury.
Satisfied that no one had laughed, Pica—merged with the stone—melted away from the Royal Plateau, heading toward Lovers' Lane to find Umit and his entourage.
[Umit, that old bastard,] Doflamingo thought, his grin tightening.
Despite his casual tone, he was infuriated. Umit had brought a massive mess right to his front door without so much as a courtesy call. By arriving with a small army of subordinates, he had left Doflamingo with two choices: a bloody internal war between Underworld giants, or swallowing his pride and playing the host.
The former was out of the question. Umit had brought ten pirates with hundred-million-plus bounties. Doflamingo wasn't certain he could win a total war against him without suffering catastrophic losses that would leave him vulnerable to other vultures.
For now, he would endure. But Doflamingo was not a man who suffered fools lightly. Only a monster like Kaido could make him swallow his pride entirely.
Bulu-bulu-bulu!
A servant brought over a ringing Transponder Snail.
"Doffy."
The voice on the other end was steady and intimate.
"Vergo. Do you have the results?"
"I have. The Marines... no, the World Government provided the dossier. Doffy, the connection between the Echemondo Kingdom and the World Government is deeper than we projected. The moment I began the inquiry, the Soccachio clan on the Red Line sent over Soccachio Elus's data directly."
"The Soccachio family? Interesting. To have that much influence within the World Government... that only makes them a more valuable partner. Vergo, is your position secure? Did the inquiry alert the Marine higher-ups?"
"It's fine. As the Base Commander of G-5 in the New World, gathering intelligence on local powers is my duty. I even received a commendation for my 'diligence' recently. As for the Admirals... they are occupied. Garp is still in the East Blue, and Tsuru hasn't left HQ in nearly a year."
The exchange continued for another half hour before the line went dead.
Doflamingo looked at the phone number in his notebook, his smile fading into a look of deep contemplation. Umit hadn't given him "Face," so he saw no reason to return the favor. He decided to contact Soccachio Elus directly.
He didn't necessarily need to join forces with the young Prince—it remained to be seen if the boy could actually kill a fox as old as Umit—but selling intel to the Black Prince was a low-risk, high-reward play. If the Prince actually won, having a prior relationship would be a masterstroke.
His finger hovered over the dial.
On the Sea.
A warship flying the Golden Coffee Tree flag cut through the waves like a hot blade.
In the ship's central hall, Elus was scrutinizing a prisoner—Falugo, the Strangler Ghost. The man had been rotting in a cell since Dick captured him, and Elus had finally decided to bring him along for the trip to Dressrosa.
"A pirate with a 114-million-Berry bounty... you came to the New World from the South Blue?"
"Yes," Falugo said, kneeling firmly on the plush wool carpet, his head pressed low. "I was a child soldier in a war-torn country. When my faction was crushed, I was a stray dog until my Master found me. He taught me the Salier Strangulation Style. I promised him I'd make that style famous across the world."
"Please, Prince Elus! Give me a chance to live! I will do anything—be anything—just let me survive!"
[Another sob story,] Elus thought, the Hogyoku in his chest pulsing with a faint, bored rhythm. He had no interest in the man's past.
"Fine. Whatever. Dick, you caught him, so he's your responsibility. This man is now your subordinate."
"Huh? Your Highness, you're kidding, right?" Dick, who was currently playing cards with Dillen and Eschbach, cried out in protest. "Why me? Give him to Dillen or Eschbach! I can't stand handling grunt work!"
"You caught the prisoner; you manage the prisoner," Elus replied smoothly. "Besides, if you're so tired of chores, isn't it better to train an assistant to do them for you?"
"Uh... I guess that makes sense." Dick was instantly swayed by the logic. [If I train him well, I can dump all the paperwork on him.] "Falugo, from now on, you're with me."
Falugo looked up, stunned, staring at the blonde youth before him. "What... what kind of 'Blood Pact' or 'Loyalty Test' must I perform?"
"Blood Pact? What the hell is that?" Dick asked, blinking. As the most academically challenged of the four adjutants, his knowledge of such dramatic concepts was non-existent.
"Dick, it's your turn to play," Dillen interrupted, his cold, blade-like gaze making Falugo shiver. "We aren't pirates, and the Prince doesn't need heads to decorate his sofa. Just offer your loyalty... that is enough. Loyalty is the only value you have left. If you lose that, I hope I'm not the one tasked with disposing of you."
Falugo felt a chill that turned his bones to ice.
Bulu-bulu-bulu!
A Transponder Snail rang.
"Your Highness, it's Lord Worreck," Fran said, bringing the snail over.
"Grandfather?" Elus picked up the receiver.
Before he could offer a greeting, a booming, ear-shattering voice erupted from the snail.
"Yo! El! It's Grandpa!"
"Grandfather... please, save those greetings for Sal and Adela. I'm twenty, not a child," Elus sighed. He knew the complaint was futile.
"Hahaha!" The laughter was so loud Elus instinctively used a pinky to clear his ear. "El, when are you bringing those two to the Red Line? I haven't held Adela in two years! She's four now! If the World Government didn't have so many damn chores for me, I'd have quit already. Holding my granddaughter is better than this..."
A stream of doting complaints followed, mostly about missing the children's growth.
"Anyway, enough small talk. El, I have business."
"Business?" Elus rubbed a cold towel over his face, trying to wake up.
"Someone in the Marines is investigating you."
"Grandfather... that's hardly news," Elus said, unamused. "The Marines investigate everyone."
"It's Vergo, the 'Demon Bamboo' of G-5. You mentioned once he seemed like a bad lot, so I kept an eye out. His inquiry was private, not an official Marine HQ task. So, I decided to scare the brat. I sent your full dossier directly to him."
"..."
[Scare him?] Elus felt a headache forming. His grandfather had become increasingly "free-spirited" since abdicating—most evident by his marriage to a woman younger than Elus himself.
"Grandfather, you didn't give him everything, did you?"
"Just your photo, your number, and your height and weight from two years ago. By the way, have you grown? Bertha sent a photo and you look taller... wait, I'm off-topic. What I meant was: if you're going to Dressrosa, don't provoke Doflamingo. The brat is a former Celestial Dragon."
The old man's voice dropped to a whisper so low Elus had to strain to hear.
"Anyway, that's it. Be careful! Oh, do you want to say hello to your grandmother—"
Click.
Elus hung up with lightning speed. He was not yet ready to face the terrifying reality of speaking to a "grandmother" who was two years younger than him.
Bulu-bulu-bulu!
The snail rang again almost immediately.