Creak...
The grand doors of the classical-style villa slowly opened.
A biting wind rushed out from behind the heavy bronze doors, slamming into Doflamingo and swallowing him in an instant, sending his pink feathered coat billowing behind him.
For a moment, the entire world seemed to stop.
It was as if something invisible in the air had just snapped.
Silence fell, sudden and absolute.
The four men of the Trebol group, who had just moments ago exuded menace, along with the hundreds of Donquixote Family members behind them—each gripping bloodstained blades—froze in place, holding their breath.
They stared blankly at the scene inside the villa's hall, throats tightening as they swallowed hard. Cold sweat began to bead on their foreheads.
The once chaotic world had fallen utterly silent.
Tick,
tick...
The sound of liquid dripping onto the floor echoed in the stillness, tightening every nerve in the room.
What they saw was—
In the vaulted dome hall, flames crackled in an ancient fireplace.
Light and shadow danced across the room, sketching its shape in flickers of brightness and gloom.
An aged, weathered oval conference table stood at the center. Intricately carved stained glass windows lined both walls, glowing dimly, while religious oil paintings adorned the ceiling overhead.
On the black wall above the fireplace, a body hung.
More precisely—a corpse.
His slicked-back hair was neat, and he wore a Mafia-style suit with a blood-red rose tucked into his breast pocket. His head drooped lifelessly.
A long, gleaming metal spear was driven deep into his chest, piercing through and nailing him to the wall.
Blood seeped from the wound, trailing down his suit, his pants, his shoes... and dripping onto the floor.
...That was the source of the ticking sound.
And in that instant, they recognized him.
Their mission's final target.
—Rodriguez Michael, head of the Rodriguez family, a crime boss who ruled over a third of the North Blue's illegal trade.
Now, he was dead.
Hung on the wall like some grim religious icon.
His lowered head, his hollow eyes, were locked directly on them.
The corners of his mouth were faintly raised—as if mocking them with a smile.
Trebol and the others shuddered, a chill crawling over their skin.
Their gazes stiffly shifted toward another spot in the hall.
...
In the flickering firelight of the dim hall, at the head seat of the roundtable, sat a man.
The flames could chase away the dark—but not from his face.
It remained hidden in the shadows, as if veiled by darkness itself.
So long as he didn't wish to be seen, no one could ever find him.
Trebol and the others could barely make out his silhouette.
A tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt, a somber black tie, and black military boots.
He sat with one leg crossed over the other, casually tapping the table with the hand holding his cigar. His sharp, unreadable gaze drifted lazily through the darkness toward them.
He was smiling.
They couldn't see his face clearly.
But all of them, in that moment, had the same thought—he was smiling.
"Right on time."
Daren's calm voice broke the silence.
As the firelight shifted, it finally lit up his face.
He was indeed smiling.
"Well done."
He cast a look of praise toward the young Doflamingo.
Doflamingo said nothing.
Not a word.
Trebol and the others clearly saw his fists clenching tighter, trembling as he held them firm.
They could only see his back, but they knew—without a doubt—the expression on their young master's face was anything but pleasant.
Then, the shrill ring of a Den Den Mushi suddenly echoed.
"Buru buru... buru buru..."
Daren reached into his coat and pulled out a military Den Den Mushi, connecting the call.
"This is Daren."
A low voice came through the line.
"Reporting to Base Commander Daren. As of five minutes ago, all operations have been completed."
"...All seventeen major underworld forces, including Snoke, Vincent, and the Rockefeller family, have been purged under the light of justice."
The entire Donquixote family gasped.
The entire North Blue underworld... crushed by the Marines!?
A wave of fear surged into their minds, draining the color from their faces.
The North Blue Marines had carried out a brutal purge of the underground world—and now the very man at the top of that command was standing before them, alongside the corpse of the Rodriguez family head...
Everyone shivered.
Could it be... the Donquixote family was next?
"Understood. Well done. I'm very pleased," Daren replied.
"Head back for now. I still have a bit of business to finish up here. I'll return shortly."
"Yes, Base Commander."
The call ended.
Daren tucked away the Den Den Mushi, took a slow drag from his cigar, and rose from the seat.
With that one simple movement, thousands of Donquixote family members instinctively stepped back in unison.
All but one.
Doflamingo remained where he stood, silent.
His trembling fists clenched even harder, barely containing something wild and violent inside.
Daren walked toward him, one step at a time.
Trebol and the others tensed, about to react, but a casual glance from the Marine Captain froze them cold. They didn't dare move.
The sound of Daren's boots scraping across the floor echoed through the hall as he finally came to stand before Doflamingo.
He looked down at the blond youth, whose jaw was clenched tight and expression unreadable.
With a faint smile, he said,
"This is my gift to you, Doflamingo."
His tone was gentle, like an elder doting on a beloved junior.
"From this moment on, the underworld of the North Blue... belongs to you."
He narrowed his eyes, smiled faintly, and extended his hand—waiting quietly for a response.
"Do you like it?"
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Trebol and the others stared at their young master's unmoving back, hearts racing, sweat pouring down.
Why submit...
Why... should I submit?
Then, in that moment—
Doflamingo's clenched fists stopped trembling.
He let them fall open.
Trebol and the others swore they heard a silent sigh.
Their eyes widened.
They saw—
Their once-proud young master slowly smile, take a step forward, gently take the Marine's hand, bow his head slightly, and kiss the back of it with solemn respect.
"Thank you, my godfather."
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / PinkSnake