North Blue.
Rubeck Island.
The Den Den Mushi clicked softly, then went still.
Doflamingo leaned back into the leather sofa, his posture loose but far from relaxed. Beneath the gleam of his sunglasses, something darker stirred—a gleam of amusement twisted into menace. A crooked smile stretched across his face, unmoving, almost grotesque.
"What the hell just happened?!"
"Doffy?!"
"Why did you suddenly unleash your Conqueror's Haki?!"
Trebol and the other Executives stormed into the room, weapons drawn, eyes scanning every corner for danger. Only when they confirmed the room was empty did they lower their guards, exhaling in unison.
"Calm down," Doflamingo said, flicking a dismissive hand through the air as he lit a cigar. "There's nothing to worry about."
The Executives exchanged wary glances. There was something off. Their Young Master wasn't just calm—he was… buoyant.
"Uh... Doffy," Trebol ventured, eyeing him cautiously. "Did something happen?"
Doflamingo exhaled a plume of smoke, savoring the moment, then said suddenly:
"How's our business in the North Blue?"
Trebol paused, mentally ticking through recent reports. "Going smooth as silk, Boss. Thanks to Momonga's connections, our deal with Germa 66 is official. Our crews will soon be outfitted with some of their cutting-edge weaponry."
"Our gambling dens, loan operations, weapons trade, and entertainment networks have all surged—profits are up at least fifty percent across the board."
"Most importantly, the leaders and nobles of several North Blue nations have finally begun to treat us as legitimate partners. They've started formal trade with us."
Diamante, dressed as flamboyantly as ever, let out a smug laugh. "And the underworld's looking real cozy, too. Our ties with the likes of Deep-Sea Currents Umit and the other so-called Underworld Emperors? Tighter than ever. Just those deals alone are pulling in over two billion berry a month!"
Two billion a month. Twenty-four billion a year. In a world where currency had yet to be swallowed by inflation, it was a monstrous sum.
Twenty billion—a number that dwarfed the annual income of many smaller nations. With that kind of wealth, Doflamingo could easily outfit a fleet that rivaled mid-tier navies.
Of course, under their "mutually beneficial cooperation agreement" with the North Blue Fleet, half of those profits were discreetly funneled into government pockets through shadowy channels.
Even so, what remained—roughly ten billion—was more than enough to elevate a pirate crew into something else entirely.
Doflamingo listened in silence, letting the reports wash over him. Then he gave a slow, satisfied smile. "Seems our little empire's flourishing."
"Flourishing? We're living like damn royalty!" Pica cackled, his high-pitched voice almost gleeful.
"Exactly, Doffy!" Diamante snorted. "You should see how those nobles scramble the second they see our crest. Their pride vanishes—they start trembling like kittens caught in the rain!"
"We've finally made it!" Trebol cried, mucus swaying with every excited gesture. "This is the high life!"
Then Doflamingo spoke again—and in a single sentence, every proud grin froze.
"In that case," he said lightly, "it's time we left the North Blue."
Silence.
Trebol and the others stared at him in disbelief.
Leave?
After all they'd built? After everything they'd bled for?
They had clawed their way out of obscurity, fought through a hundred narrow escapes, and now stood atop an empire of wealth, fear, and recognition—and just as they reached the pinnacle, they were to walk away?
No one spoke. But the reluctance was thick in the air.
Doflamingo felt it, of course. He looked over them with a flat, unreadable expression.
"What's wrong?" he asked coolly.
That voice—quiet, measured—sent a chill down their spines.
Trebol finally found his voice. "Y-Young Master... we've only just begun consolidating control. Wouldn't it be a bit… hasty to abandon it all so soon?"
"Hasty?" Doflamingo let out a low chuckle, one without humor. "Not in the slightest." His gaze dropped. "If anything, he seemed impatient for me to leave sooner."
"He?" Pica's tone sharpened. "Who dares look down on you?! We'll make him pay!"
"Rogers Darren," Doflamingo said flatly.
The room fell into stunned silence. Even Pica's outrage withered mid-breath.
Doflamingo shook his head slowly, as if mildly disappointed. "I know how much you all cherish what we've built here."
"Yeah," someone murmured. "Compared to the hellholes we came from... this is paradise."
"But it's not permanent," Doflamingo said. "And you all know it."
No one argued.
Before Doflamingo, they'd been thugs, drifters, second-rate crooks living off scraps. They survived through lies, theft, and desperation.
But when they met him—when they felt the weight of his will—they knew they'd found something greater. Not just a leader. A king.
They followed him to escape the gutter. To seize a future. And now, when that future was within reach, it was slipping away again.
Still... they didn't blame him. Even now, they trusted him.
"We will leave the North Blue," Doflamingo said quietly. "We can indulge in comfort—but the sea doesn't wait. And this era? Even less."
He paused, then added, "Darren—no, my Godfather—just informed me. The government's drafting a new program... the Seven Warlords of the Sea. And I intend to become one."
He rose slowly, his towering figure casting a long shadow beneath the low light. His pink feather coat flared behind him like wings, caught in the unseen winds of his rising aura.
Power surged from him like a living thing—suffocating, undeniable. The weight of a predator at the top of the food chain.
"My family," Doflamingo said, his voice cold and resolute, "he has shown us the path forward. Now it's time to reclaim what's rightfully ours."
The Executives dropped to one knee in unison, their voices trembling but resolute.
"Yes, Young Master!"
And yet, as the words left their lips, an unspoken thought crept into each of their minds:
Doflamingo is becoming far too obedient to that Marine…
To be continued...