"Thud...!"
The small boat struck the hull of the looming galleon with a dull knock, wood scraping against the aged, barnacled planks of the ship. Above me, framed against the overcast sky, stood two figures — one was unmistakably Don Krieg, and beside him, the brute known as Vane.
Initially, my plan had been simple — destroy all three ships and vanish into the horizon. But as my Observation Haki swept across the decks like a silent storm, something — someone — piqued my interest.
Krieg.
Younger, unscarred by the failures of his future, and crowned with wild, wind-whipped hair. Yet I recognized him instantly. A lesser villain in the chronicles of the East Blue, yes — but still a name carved in the early journey of the man who would one day become Pirate King. And now, here he stood, in the flesh.
Without a word, I leapt from the rocking boat. A whisper of air, a blur — and in the next instant, I stood on the deck before them. Krieg's eyes widened, instinctively taking a half-step back, hand tightening around the hilt of his cutlass. He didn't know who I was, not yet. But he felt it. The weight. The presence. The sheer wrongness of standing before something that should not be challenged — not by him, not by anyone.
He was no coward, though. Not yet the scheming tyrant clad in golden armor, hiding behind weapons and poison. No, this Krieg was young — raw, prideful. The fire in his eyes hadn't yet been snuffed by defeat and humiliation. Even now, staring into the abyss, there was defiance there. The kind that doesn't come from courage, but from pride — the kind that makes men spit in Death's face, even as it reaches for their throats.
"You... You bastard… Who the hell are you?" Vane growled.
I ignored him. My eyes studied him with quiet curiosity, as if examining a relic from a forgotten age.
"You're Krieg, right?" I asked, my voice calm, almost casual.
"You f***in' bastard—I asked you a question!" Vane roared behind me, rage boiling over. He lunged, his massive axe already swinging toward the back of my head.
I didn't turn.
Crack!
In a flash, my hand shot out behind me like a serpent striking. My fingers clamped down over Vane's face — the entire thing — and I lifted him effortlessly into the air, as if hoisting a sack of meat. His roar turned into a choked scream, limbs flailing violently. The axe slipped from his hand with a clunk, bouncing once on the wooden deck before rolling to a stop.
My grip tightened.
Vane's hands clawed at my wrist, nails trying to teari into my skin in desperation. His boots kicked against the air, then the deck, then nothing — like a dying insect trapped in amber. His eyes bulged. Blood sprayed from his nose. He screamed, but my palm muffled it into a high-pitched, panicked whimper.
I stared ahead at Krieg the entire time. Calm. Unblinking. Vane's skull began to cave beneath my fingers.
Snap. Crackle. Pop.
His crew watched in stunned, wide-eyed horror — no one moved. Not a sound. Not a breath. They were frozen, not out of cowardice, but pure, animal terror. Their instincts screamed that if they so much as blinked wrong, they would be next.
Vane's eyes met theirs. First filled with fury. Then confusion. Then terror. Pleading. Despair. The cruel procession of a man who realized far, far too late that he was already dead.
"Squelch!"
The sound echoed like a gunshot across the still sea — wet, visceral, final.
His head burst in my hand like an overripe melon. Blood, brain, and bone splattered across the deck, painting the planks in a gruesome tapestry. His body twitched once, violently, then hung limp in my grasp. I tossed the corpse aside like refuse — his neck now just a jagged stump spewing dark arterial blood.
Silence. Utter silence.
I turned my attention back to Krieg, who had not moved. Could not move. His jaw clenched. Not in defiance, but in disbelief. I wiped the blood from my hand onto the front of his torn, once-proud uniform. He didn't flinch. He couldn't.
"You're not the man they'll write about yet," I said quietly, stepping closer. "But maybe… this will help you remember why your name faded into dust."
"Remember this…"
My voice echoed across the bloodstained deck, calm but heavy with finality.
"On the seas, cunning and schemes will only take you so far. Strength — true strength — is what separates those who live… and those who perish in the storm. If you truly intend to step foot into the Grand Line, then stop playing pirate with this pitiful band of misfits… and learn what it really takes to survive."
A low chuckle escaped my lips. In truth, I hadn't planned on interference — not to this extent. But the world I once knew was already beginning to warp under the weight of my presence. Subtle changes, ripples in time and fate.
Now, I wondered — if I pushed a little more… could I reshape the very path of those who had once stood in the way of Luffy? Could I alter the trials that awaited him?
Krieg stood motionless. His knuckles white around the hilt of his cutlass. The metallic scent of blood lingered thick in the air, but it wasn't the gore that had him frozen. It was fear. Real, suffocating fear. And beneath that, something else.
Resolve.
He swallowed hard. His voice trembled when it finally escaped his throat — barely more than a whisper.
"What... what will It take… to truly step into the Grand Line?"
There it was — that fire. Flickering, battered, but alive. The realization had struck deep: the East Blue was child's play. Whatever he was here… it would amount to nothing the moment he set sail beyond Reverse Mountain. And Krieg was not the kind to die small. He wanted to conquer, to carve out his name in history.
I turned to him fully.
"Haki," I said. Just that one word. But it rang out like a thunderclap.
Then I glanced around at the broken remnants of the Burning Horse Pirates — shattered morale, lifeless stares, blood-soaked timbers. I sighed and shook my head.
"These men… brave or not, they wouldn't even qualify as fodder in the Grand Line. They'd be crushed under the heel of a no-name pirate."
With that, I turned. The boards creaked under my feet as I returned to the small boat tethered at the side. I stepped aboard, the waves gently carrying it away from the galleons now steeped in silence.
Not a soul moved until I had vanished into the sea, a drifting shadow slowly swallowed by the horizon.
Krieg stood frozen on the deck, staring at the receding speck in the distance. His heart thundered against his ribs. "Haki…" he whispered aloud, the word foreign and powerful, like a curse or prophecy.
He didn't know who that stranger was. Younger than him, yet moving with the presence of a death god. A being of cold certainty, drenched in blood and destiny. Krieg couldn't remember ever meeting anyone like that before… and yet the man had recognized him. Had spoken to him as if he was already a relic of a forgotten path.
Humiliation.
It burned hot in his chest, a white fire. That wasn't just defeat — it was erasure. His pride, his ambitions, his very identity had been crushed under the weight of one word. But he wouldn't let it end like this. He would find out what Haki was. He would master it. He would become someone feared in the Grand Line.
His bloodied fingers gripped the cutlass at his side. He turned slowly, eyes landing on the shell-shocked remnants of the Burning Horse Pirates — wide-eyed, trembling, broken. The death of their captain had shattered their spirit, and Krieg saw his opportunity.
"Kill them all. No quarters."
His voice rang out cold and cruel, the voice of a man trying to reclaim his soul. He surged forward before his own men could move, slicing through the neck of the nearest enemy in a clean, vicious arc. The man's head tumbled to the deck like a fallen fruit, blood geysering from the stump. The silence shattered — suddenly replaced with screams and the metallic chorus of steel on flesh.
The Krieg Pirates, invigorated by bloodlust and fear, descended like wolves. No mercy. No hesitation. The deck erupted into chaos.
Some of the Burning Horse Pirates tried to fight, but most — seeing their numbers crumble, their morale broken beyond repair — fled. They leapt into the sea, desperate to escape. Others dropped their weapons, too numb to scream, too slow to run. It didn't matter.
Krieg wasn't just killing them. He was sending a message — to his men, to himself, and to the world.
****
"Tap... tap... tap..."
The steady rhythm of knuckles brushing against the armrest of Doflamingo's throne echoed like a heartbeat through the grand chamber. The air was thick with silence, pierced only by that deliberate tapping — measured, thoughtful, even amused.
Little Reiju sat across from the Heavenly Demon, her small frame dwarfed by the gilded, high-backed chair in which he lounged. Yet despite her youth, her spine remained straight, and her violet eyes met Doflamingo's without wavering. She didn't flinch. She didn't blink. It was a rare feat — even grown men couldn't hold his gaze without trembling.
Doflamingo tilted his head slightly, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"So... you want to meet your real family."
His tone was neutral, casual — but those attuned to his moods knew there was never anything casual about Doflamingo. His every word carried weight.
"You've been with us for years now. Even when they came to take you back… you refused. So what's changed, Reiju?"
Reiju reached forward and slid a worn envelope across the polished marble table — its seal already broken, the parchment within well-read. She knew he'd seen it. She knew nothing happened in Dressrosa without Doflamingo's knowledge or consent. The Revolutionaries thought they were discreet in their attempts to contact her, but the fact that the letters ever reached her at all… meant he'd allowed it.
Her mentor, after all, was a man who orchestrated entire wars from shadows. Nothing — nothing — escaped him in his kingdom. Doflamingo didn't touch the letter. He leaned back, resting his chin against his gloved hand, eyes half-lidded in scrutiny.
"I already know what the letter says."
He paused, letting the tension stretch.
"What I want to know is: once you meet them... will you sever ties with this family for the one you were born into?"
There was no anger in his voice. Just curiosity. Quiet, dangerous curiosity — the kind that could freeze a room.
Reiju inhaled, then exhaled slowly — steady, composed.
"No, Master," she said softly but firmly, her voice carrying more weight than her years should allow.
"At worst, I plan to spend a few months. I only wish to see my mother… and my little brothers. She was always kind to me, and if seeing me alive eases her burden, then I want to grant her that peace."
Doflamingo's fingers stopped tapping. His glasses glinted in the light as he leaned forward ever so slightly.
"If you truly wanted to be with your family, Reiju…" He paused. "…I wouldn't stop you."
Beside him, Señor Pink stood like a statue — silent, unreadable behind his dark shades and black suit. Even he didn't fully understand why Doflamingo was testing this little girl, the same girl he had taken under his wing, trained personally, protected fiercely.
Reiju didn't flinch.
"No."
The word rang like steel on stone.
"I want closure. I want to say my farewell properly — on my terms this time. But my family…"
She pressed a hand over her chest.
"…is here. I was born into the Vinsmokes, but I was raised by the Donquixote family. I carry your name with pride, Master."
For a moment, the room was still. Silent. Then — a slow, sharp grin curled across Doflamingo's face. He didn't show emotion easily, but this time… there was something almost paternal beneath the gleam in his eyes. Pride. Real pride.
"Fufufufufu…"
His laugh rolled out like thunder behind a storm cloud.
"Very well, my little demon. Go. See your mother. Play big sister for a while. But never forget — no matter how far you sail — you carry the name of Donquixote. And you will never walk this world alone."
Reiju's shoulders relaxed, just slightly — not from fear, but from the weight of emotion. That silent, unspoken bond between them had only deepened.
Doflamingo rose to his feet in a single fluid motion and turned toward the window, where Diamante sat lazily on the ledge, one leg dangling off the edge, the sunlight catching the ruffles of his flamboyant outfit. He was gazing at the sea, seemingly disinterested.
"Diamante…" Doflamingo called, voice firm. "…you'll accompany Reiju. Stay by her side. Protect her."
He turned his head slightly, just enough for a smirk to pull at the edge of his mouth.
"I wouldn't entrust this task to anyone else. You know how precious my student is to me."
Diamante scoffed immediately, waving a hand dismissively without turning around.
"Tch. Come on, Doffy… don't start getting all sappy now." He adjusted his cloak, feigning boredom.
"You've got other officers more suited to babysitting duty."
Doflamingo's grin widened.
"Fufufufu… don't sell yourself short. I wouldn't trust just anyone to guard someone I consider family."
Diamante rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched at the edges.
"Now you're just flattering me."
Doflamingo stepped closer, tone deepening.
"I mean it, Diamante. There are few I trust in this world… and fewer still that I would place by Reiju's side. You've always been one of them."
The room fell quiet again. Diamante didn't respond right away. His eyes remained fixed on the ocean — but behind the flamboyance, a flicker of something else crossed his face.
Pride.
He hid it well. His smile remained lazy, his posture relaxed, but deep down, he was soaking in the rare praise. To be acknowledged by Doffy — truly acknowledged — was everything to a man like him. After a moment, he swung off the ledge and landed with flair, spreading his arms with a dramatic bow.
"Well, I suppose if the Heavenly Demon insists… then how can I refuse?" He winked at Reiju. "Guess we're going on a little family reunion, Princess."
Reiju gave a small smile, standing from her seat, the crimson cloak of the Donquixote family fluttering behind her like a banner. Doflamingo watched them both — his top officer and his prized student — and for a moment, beneath all the darkness that shrouded him, there was a glint of something human in his eyes.
Family. The kind you choose. The kind you bleed for.
"Master Doffy… we can't very well let the scion of the Donquixote family arrive empty-handed." The voice, low and amused, broke the stillness of the chamber as Señor Pink stepped forward, arms folded across his suit and lips curled in a smirk.
"After all," he added with a chuckle, "she'll be meeting her little siblings for the first time. And she's representing you — the Emperor of the Seas."
He didn't say it aloud, but they all knew what he meant.
The only Yonko to ever hold a "Dead Bounty" — a man so dangerous the World Government no longer wanted him captured. Just gone.
Doflamingo, lounging once more in his grand throne of black steel and crimson velvet, threw his head back and let out a deep, rolling laugh that echoed across the marble-floored chamber.
"Fufufufu… what would I ever do without you, Señor?"
He leaned forward, eyes glinting behind his rose-tinted lenses.
"You're absolutely right. My little demon can't go knocking on the Revolutionaries' door with just her pretty smile. So, tell me…"
A wide grin split his face.
"What do you suggest we send them?"
Even Reiju, seated to the side, felt the warmth — and the weight — of that gesture. This wasn't just about family. This was politics draped in gold and silk, an unspoken reminder to the Revolutionaries of who Reiju truly belonged to now. A girl they once left behind… now returned, not as a lost child, but as the crowned ward of the underworld's king.
Señor Pink tugged his shades slightly lower, giving Doflamingo a mischievous grin.
"Well… personal gifts for Lady Vinsmoke and the children are a given."
He stepped closer, speaking more clearly now.
"But as a token of goodwill, how about we include a year's worth of standard-grade armaments from our main Grand Line factories — the same kind we discreetly supply to the Revolutionaries through proxy buyers?"
Doflamingo's grin widened into something more feral.
"Fufufu… I like the way you think, Señor." He turned to Reiju, voice playful but laced with unmistakable authority. "After all, generosity is only effective when it's undeniable. Let them choke on our kindness."
Wealth was not a problem for the Donquixote Family — not anymore. With their sprawling black market networks reestablished across the Four Blues and half the Grand Line, they once again stood at the summit of weapons trade, Devil Fruit acquisition, and underground commerce. If the World Government had the Celestial Dragons, the Underworld had the name Donquixote.
Even Reiju was momentarily taken aback by the sheer scale of it — but she composed herself quickly. This was not mere pomp. This was chess, and her master was always ten steps ahead.
Doflamingo stood slowly from his throne, his coat billowing like the wings of a vulture, casting long shadows across the polished obsidian floor.
"Reiju…" He raised a brow. "You said you have four little siblings, didn't you?"
Reiju nodded, already sensing something outrageous was coming. Doflamingo extended an arm toward the windowsill where Diamante sat, who turned to Doffy and the rest.
"Then go with Diamante to the vault. Pick four Devil Fruits from our collection."
Even Diamante, still leaning by the window, blinked. Reiju's lips parted slightly in disbelief.
"Four… Devil Fruits?"
Doflamingo shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance.
"They're only children, after all. What kind of big sister shows up without a few life-changing presents?"
Doflamingo continued, his voice smooth.
"We've got over a hundred Devil Fruits in cold storage. Most of them are not suitable for the core officers but are powerful enough to change lives. Even the most mediocre fruit is a myth to the average pirate. And to the revolutionaries, it can be a great boon."
He turned to Reiju, his tone dropping an octave, colder now.
"Let the Revolutionaries see what they abandoned. Let them see that the girl they once left behind for dead is now a queen in her own right. They wanted to pull us into their little war with their little tricks by using your name…"
He grinned.
"…So let's remind them that they are now speaking to the child of a king."
The chamber was silent. The kind of silence that happens right before lightning strikes. Reiju lowered her head slightly — not in submission, but in solemn understanding. When she rose, the faintest smile curved on her lips.
"Then I'll make sure they understand, Master… who I belong to."
Diamante turned to her, giving a rare soft nod.
"Come on, Princess. Let's go pick some world-shaking party favors."
And with that, Reiju turned on her heel, her coat fluttering behind her as she followed Diamante down the side hallway — her steps echoing like a heartbeat down the corridor lined with ancient weapons, marble busts, and banners embroidered with gold.
Senor, still by Doflamingo's side, chuckled softly.
"Four Devil Fruits… a year's worth of weapons… and a little girl with Donquixote carved into her soul… you really know how to make an entrance, Master Doffy. Even my thoughts fell short."
Doflamingo smiled wide.
"It's not about the entrance." He walked to the window, looking over the sun-soaked city of Dressrosa, its harbor glittering with ships bearing the family's black flags.
"It's about reminding the world… that we never left the stage."
"Fufufufu… Speaking of reminding the world…"
Doflamingo's voice curled through the chamber like smoke, thick with anticipation. His fingers slowly laced behind his back as he stood by the window, eyes never leaving the fiery horizon where sky met sea in a crimson blaze.
"…Where is my little brother, Senor?"
His tone dropped an octave — still playful, but weighted with something unspoken.
The room stilled for a heartbeat. Even the sounds of the sea beyond the palace walls seemed to hush in reverence.
Senor Pink, who'd only moments ago been jesting about gifts and grandeur, now turned solemn — the ever-present smirk on his face softening into something sincere, almost proud.
"Young Master Rosinante is already en route to Dressrosa, Master Doffy." His voice was steady and respectful—not out of fear, but out of loyalty.
Doflamingo's smile widened, though his expression was unreadable. His glasses caught the last rays of dying sunlight, veiling his eyes in amber fire.
"Well…" he said quietly, as if to himself. "…It's about damn time he came home."