Dressrosa, New World
The room was quiet now — still and dim, bathed in the soft, golden glow of evening light filtering through lace-draped windows. The scent of medicinal herbs mingled with clean linen, barely masking the faint, acrid tang of iron and sickness that always lingered after one of her episodes.
Little Lami lay curled in the center of the massive bed, her tiny frame dwarfed by silken pillows and thick comforters. Her breathing was steady now — soft, almost imperceptible — as the sedative took effect. A faint line of sweat still clung to her forehead, and her small fists twitched in sleep, the echo of pain not yet fully gone.
Issho stood nearby, his tall form casting a long shadow over the room. Though his eyes could not see, his brow was furrowed deeply, and his voice, when it came, was low and heavy with concern.
"What do you think…?" he asked, his blind gaze fixed unwaveringly on the girl.
"Is there any way to slow it down — until we can get our hands on a more permanent solution to the ailment…?"
A beat of silence passed before it was broken by a thoughtful hum.
Across the room, perched on a high stool beside a tray of instruments and readings, sat Einstein — a small boy in appearance, but whose eyes gleamed with impossible intellect. Behind that youthful face was the mind of Vegapunk, the greatest genius the world had ever known, now reborn in a form the world could barely comprehend.
He clicked his tongue softly as he examined the latest bloodwork, his expression grave.
"Amber Lead Syndrome…" he murmured. "A disease born not of infection, but of exploitation… It roots itself in the body's very genome — twists it from within. I've studied it before, but never in a case this advanced. The metal corrupts their DNA, destabilizing their cellular regeneration. No matter how strong their will, the body breaks down piece by piece."
He glanced at the slumbering Lami, his sharp eyes briefly softening.
"It's a miracle she's alive at all. If not for the regular treatments from the Heal-Heal Fruit… she wouldn't have lasted the year."
Beside the bed stood Trafalgar Law, shoulders tense, face unreadable. But his silence spoke volumes. His fingers gripped his right elbow, white-knuckled — the quiet tremors in his arms betraying the pain he fought so hard to mask. He hadn't cried out earlier, not even flinched, but the same agony that nearly tore Lami apart lived inside him too.
"You're in pain," came a gentle voice.
Law didn't turn.
Mansherry, the little Tontatta princess, fluttered up onto the bedside table, her tiny arms glowing faintly in the light as she peered at him. Her eyes were kind, but unwavering.
"Come here. Sit," she gestured to the chair beside her. "Let me help."
Law didn't move at first. He stood like stone, jaw tight, breath shallow. Even now — after all this time, after being brought into the heart of the Donquixote Family—part of him still felt like a stranger here.
But he knew there was no defying the little dwarf princess, for she was the favorite of the young master of the Donquixote family. If kindness didn't work, she would quickly turn to authority to make Law submit, and this wasn't the first time Little Law had been treated by Mansherry.
They'd taken him and his family in when they had no one after the tragedy in Fleevance. And even now with their parents no more. They fed him. Shielded Lami. And now they were pouring priceless resources into trying to save them both.
And he hated it.
Not the kindness—but his inability to repay it. His immature pride warred with his guilt. Every healing touch felt like a debt he could never repay. Every act of compassion scraped against the jagged remnants of the boy who had grown up in the shadow of death.
He moved, at last, reluctantly sitting in the chair. His gaze never left Lami.
"I didn't ask for this," he muttered.
Mansherry looked at him with a pout, her tiny hands already beginning to glow as she placed them near his wrist. "No one asks for pain," she said softly. "But you're not alone in it anymore, Law."
He stiffened as the warmth of her healing aura flowed into him. It didn't erase the pain entirely — it never did — but it dulled the edges, softened the fire in his bones. He exhaled shakily.
Issho listened in silence, head bowed slightly, as if offering a silent thanks to the dwarf princess for her kindness, because never once had the little dwarf complained or neglected anyone in need of a healing hand. Next to Shyarly, Ishho felt it was probably Mansherry who worked the most for the Donquixote family.
Einstein hopped down from his stool and adjusted his spectacles, already scribbling notes into a parchment-thin data tablet.
"For now, we can hold the symptoms at bay. Her progress has been slowed significantly thanks to the Heal-Heal Fruit… but it's a temporary measure. She needs the Ope Ope no Mi."
Law's fists clenched.
"Then I'll find it." His voice was cold steel. "I'll tear apart the seas if I have to."
Mansherry looked up, still healing him, her voice quieter now.
"You don't have to do it alone. Master Doffy has already promised you to help and find the devil fruit, right? So he will surely find it for you… You, in the meantime, simply have to make sure you get your hands on all the possible medical knowledge that you can."
Law didn't answer. But in the silence, his hand twitched — and then slowly, hesitantly, reached out to rest gently on Lami's small one. She didn't stir. But her fingers curled faintly around his.
The ornate double doors to the bedchamber creaked open with a soft groan, letting in the dim golden hue of the hallway torches. The rhythmic sound of polished shoes against marble filled the silence — deliberate, unhurried.
Donquixote Doflamingo, clad in a tailored crimson suit, stepped into the room like a monarch surveying his court. The gleam of gold at his cuffs, the swirling feathers of his coat, and those signature tinted shades — all symbols of the power he wielded. But behind the façade, his eyes settled on the small figure lying on the bed, her chest rising and falling faintly beneath the silken covers.
For a fleeting second — just a heartbeat — his expression softened. That usual cruel curve of his mouth faded as his gaze lingered on Lami, the frail little girl who'd wormed her way into even his ironclad heart.
Trailing behind him was Senor Pink, stoic and silent as always, pausing just inside the door. His sunglasses obscured his eyes, but even he showed a genuine gesture of concern toward the sleeping girl.
Doffy's eyes shifted next to the boy seated beside her — Law, his jaw tight and his knuckles white from the pain he tried to hide. Mansherry was still at work, the faint glow of her powers lighting up the side of the boy's face.
Then, Doflamingo looked to the other corner of the room.
Einstein, the childlike vessel of Vegapunk's fragmented genius, was calmly giving instructions to Scarlett, King Riku's daughter, who was now a part of the Donquixote family and also the one in charge of the palace's affairs and its head caretaker. Scarlett noted down every single instruction that was passed and the resources that Einstein might need and left the room to prepare the next phase of treatment.
Even now, Doflamingo found it surreal — that this little boy with wild hair and a too-large lab coat housed the mind that had the power to change the course of history. But Dressrosa was a land of contradictions, and he had long since embraced the bizarre.
"How is she doing?" Doffy asked softly, his voice stripped of its usual theatrical venom.
Issho, standing near the bedside, gave a slow nod. "Better. For now. The pain has subsided." A breath of relief — unspoken, but shared between them. Then, from the far side of the room, a voice broke the silence.
"Master Doffy…"
Law's voice. Low, steady. Yet brimming with resolve. The boy stood, not trembling, but firm.
"I would like to begin studying medicine under the mentor the young master has chosen for me."
Doflamingo's gaze locked onto Law. He didn't speak—didn't blink—just watched. The words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Law had made his decision.
The child of Flevance, the boy burdened by poison and loss, had chosen his path—one that led through fire and blood. He knew what was at stake. The Ope Ope no Mi was no ordinary Devil Fruit. It was a key—a forbidden tool, capable of both salvation and damnation. And a trump card meant for the Donquixote family.
But it wasn't just about the fruit. It was about Lami. Doflamingo had told him what it meant. What he'd be risking. What he'd become. And yet, Law had still chosen. Doffy's expression grew unreadable.
"Are you absolutely sure about this?" he asked, voice low but laced with gravity.
Law turned his eyes to the bed. Lami lay still, her face pale, a ghost of a smile on her lips even in sleep. Then, slowly, he turned back to Doflamingo and nodded.
"Yes."
Doflamingo smiled—not the wild, wicked grin he wore in battle—but something thinner. Sharper. Almost proud.
"Then follow me."
He turned on his heel. "Issho—you're coming too. I don't want you breathing down my neck later, acting like this wasn't the kid's choice."
Issho frowned softly under his breath and moved to follow.
"Señor," Doffy said, glancing over his shoulder. "Stay here. The other children are waiting outside—worried sick. Let them know the little one's alright. Keep them calm."
Senor gave a silent salute and stepped aside, disappearing back into the corridor as Doflamingo led the way into the palace depths, Law and Issho at his heels.
Soon, the three of them found themselves on the balcony of Doflamingo's personal study, high atop the palace plateau, overlooking the endless stretch of the sea. The view was nothing short of breathtaking — a masterpiece painted in hues of blue and gold. Yet, even the gentle sea breeze, fragrant with the salt and florals of Dressrosa's gardens, couldn't ease the tension coiled tightly in the air.
Seated across from one of the most feared Emperors of the Sea — Donquixote Doflamingo, the Heavenly Demon — was a boy, barely nine years old, with eyes older than most men. Trafalgar D. Law, a child forged in the fires of grief and cruelty, who had endured what most wouldn't survive.
It wasn't Doflamingo who spoke first — but Issho, the guardian of Dressrosa, his face calm but shadowed with deep concern.
"So… Law, are you sure about this?" he asked, his blind gaze fixed gently on the boy. The wind tugged at his coat, but he stood as still as a mountain.
"You know there are others — older, stronger, loyal to the Donquixote Family. People who have seen what the world has to offer and are willing to take your place," he continued, hoping — perhaps praying — that the child might reconsider.
Doflamingo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, the sun glinting off his signature shades. His tone was calm, even respectful — but carried an unmistakable edge.
"He's right, you know. If we were to find the Devil Fruit and you consumed it… yes, you could save your sister."
A pause.
"But it would also mean your life would no longer be your own. You'd become something more — and something less. And I can't entrust the most coveted fruit in existence to someone I don't trust with absolute certainty."
Law's gaze didn't flinch.
"I've told you before," Doflamingo continued, "the true reason we seek the Ope Ope no Mi is for its ultimate technique — one said to grant immortality. But it comes at a price."
His voice dropped like a guillotine.
"The life of the user."
There was silence. The breeze passed over them again, but Law's small form stood unmoving — like a blade planted in stone. Doflamingo studied him, expression unreadable behind his glasses.
"Are you still willing, Law? Even knowing that?"
Law raised his head. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of steel.
"You've told me I'm talented. That I might be the one to awaken the fruit's true potential. I believe that too. And how can I expect someone to risk their lives for my sister's sake when I myself am not ready to do so…?"
He looked down at his hands — small, but already calloused from training, from survival.
"And as long as my sister is treated with the same care and kindness she receives now… I will not hesitate. If my life is the price for her future — for this family's future — then I'll pay it."
There was no fear in his tone. No hesitation. Only cold, unshakable resolve — the kind that made even men like Doflamingo pause.
Issho felt his chest tighten. How could someone so young carry such weight? How could a child — a child — be forced into this corner by a world so rotten?
His thoughts returned to Flevance, to the horror that unfolded there. A sin committed by kings and forgotten by time, the echoes of which still lingered in the bones of this boy.
"Doffy…" Issho began, quietly.
But Doflamingo raised a hand, silencing him. His gaze never left Law.
"Issho, you see a child."
His voice was steady — almost reverent.
"But I see someone ready to stake everything for the one person he loves. Someone who doesn't flinch under pressure. Let's not belittle his resolve. If this is the path he's chosen, then so be it."
Issho said nothing. Because he knew — no amount of pleading would turn Law from this decision now. Law took a step forward.
"So… Master Doffy," he said, "about my mentor?"
His eyes were sharp now. Focused. He knew the fruit wasn't enough. The Ope Ope no Mi, as powerful as it was, could only fulfill its true potential in the hands of someone who understood medicine — truly understood it.
And in this war-torn world, true doctors were rarer than kings. Most were frauds. Even fewer had formal education. Only a handful of places remained where medical knowledge still lived — the World Government's archives, Marine institutions, Drum Island, Saint Island… and once, the fallen nation of Flevance.
Doflamingo chuckled — a low, amused sound.
"Fufufufu… Impatient, aren't we, little one?"
He turned slightly, a sly smile on his face as he saw both Law and Issho watching him with growing anticipation.
"My brother has picked the ideal candidate for you. Someone who defies classification. A hidden behemoth — so far above this world's standards that even the World Government pretends she doesn't exist."
Issho's eyebrows twitched. Even he didn't know who Doflamingo was referring to.
"But don't get too excited," Doffy warned. "We've only opened the path. Whether she accepts you… that's entirely up to you and her."
He walked slowly to the edge of the balcony, his coat flaring behind him in the breeze, as if preparing to unveil a legend. Then he turned — and delivered the name like a thunderclap.
"You will travel to the first half of the Grand Line. To the snow-covered peaks of the Drum Kingdom. There, you will find her."
A pause. A beat.
"Her name… is Dr. Kureha."
Even Issho's face shifted at the name; he remembered that name from the archives of his old kingdom. Dr. Kureha. The Witch of Winter. The Ghost Surgeon. A doctor so brilliant and terrifying that even the World Government had more than once failed to recruit her.
"She's over 130 years old," Doflamingo said, a strange mix of respect and amusement in his tone. "Still walking. Still dissecting. Still experimenting. She's cured plagues, stitched together monsters, and once, it's rumored, resurrected a dead man whose soul was already in the netherworld mid-journey."
He smirked.
"She drinks like a pirate, fights like a beast, and treats the World Government like it's a drunken joke." Law's eyes were wide now — not with fear, but awe. A mentor like that… was exactly what he needed.
"We've kept her supplied over the years just out of friendship, expecting nothing in return until now—rare resources, forbidden texts, mythical herbs, wine from my personal collection, and even a few exotic corpses. But that just earns you a knock at her door."
Doflamingo's tone sharpened again. "Whether she opens it? That's on you. Understand, Law?"
Law's voice was firm, steady, resolute. "I understand."
"And while you're there…" Doflamingo's tone shifted — the mirth faded, replaced with iron resolve, "…under no circumstance are you to neglect your Haki training."
His voice cut through the sea breeze like a blade. He stepped forward, placing a hand on the balcony railing as his flamingo coat rippled behind him.
"No matter how proficient you become in medicine, never forget: in this world, it's strength — raw, undeniable strength — that decides who stands and who falls."
His eyes, hidden behind tinted lenses, locked onto Law's.
"You have the potential to master both the art of life… and the authority of death. Don't waste it."
Law nodded, but it was Issho who followed, his deep voice carrying the weight of experience and unspoken pain.
"Remember, Law — Dr. Kureha may be revered for her mastery of medicine…" he said slowly, folding his arms behind his back, "…but make no mistake. She is a monster in her own right."
He turned his blind gaze toward the boy.
"She has endured the storms of this treacherous world for over a century — not just surviving, but thriving. She stands strong, still in her prime. That should tell you everything."
Issho's voice grew heavier — that of a warrior passing down a sacred truth.
"Haki is not something you master in a year. It's forged over time — decades, lifetimes. The longer one trains, the deeper it becomes. With every scar, it grows sharper. Dr. Kureha's Haki, should she wield it, comes with a century of refinement."
He paused, then added gravely, "There is a reason… beyond medicine… why the World Government avoids forcing her hand. Why she walks free, unchallenged, while even scholars and warlords bow to political tides."
Issho had scoured the archives of his homeland for information on the so-called Ghost Surgeon. But the records were fragmented — erased, perhaps — the kind of redacted silence that only surrounded the truly dangerous. What he did know was chilling enough:
Dr. Kureha had not always stayed confined to the snows of Drum Island. There was a time when she roamed the seas — unbound, unchained… unchallenged.
A stillness settled.
Then Doflamingo chuckled, stepping back from the edge of the balcony, his silhouette framed by the golden horizon.
"Fufufufu… Good."
He turned back to Law, and for a moment, there was no emperor, no demon — only a man placing his trust in the future.
"I trust you'll remember everything we've told you. And if the opportunity presents itself…" he smirked, "…try to convince your mentor to join our family for real."
He laughed lightly, but his next words carried weight.
"It never hurts to have a true monster like her among our ranks."
Law said nothing. He simply bowed, the wind tugging at his coat as the sun dipped lower, casting shadows across his small frame.
But even in silence, the resolve was deafening. The boy would leave Dressrosa.
He would walk alone into the snows — into the dragon's den, into the lair of a legend who had lived more lifetimes than most empires.
And if he survived…
If he endured…
He would return not just as a doctor. He would return as the Surgeon of Death.