"Get in there!"
Shiryu kicked Doflamingo hard in the rear. Doflamingo stumbled forward, nearly rolling across the floor as he was kicked straight into the cell.
He scrambled to his feet, eyes flashing with fury, but before he could say a word, several guards rushed up and roughly chained his limbs with thick iron restraints, fixing him tightly against the wall. He could barely move at all.
"Such treatment — even down here on Level Six — is reserved only for the most notorious monsters."
Shiryu, a cigar between his lips, grabbed Doflamingo's chin and smiled faintly as their eyes met.
"And this… is only the first step of your 'special care.' The real fun hasn't even started yet."
BAM!
Before his words even faded, Shiryu's fist crashed into Doflamingo's face. Doflamingo let out a muffled grunt as his head snapped back violently. Blood welled up in his throat, and he spat out a mouthful—along with two intact teeth.
What a brutal bastard…
Outside the cell, Momonga's eyelid twitched.
He had seen it clearly—this new Head Jailer of Impel Down had thrown that punch with his full strength, hardened with Armament Haki.
"Fufufufu…"
Doflamingo coughed out blood, then gave a hoarse, mocking laugh.
"Hitting me once and calling it done? That all you got? If you're gonna do it, you'd better—"
THUD!
Another punch cut him off.
THUD! THUD!
Left hook, right hook, straight jab, elbow strike, knee smash—
Shiryu's face still wore a calm smile, but his fists showed no mercy. His blows rained down like a storm, pounding Doflamingo like a punching bag, venting all his fury without restraint.
Before long, Doflamingo was lying motionless in a pool of his own blood. His body curled up like a shrimp, trembling as he coughed up more blood. The world around him faded—the edges of his senses dulling into darkness…
Finally, Shiryu stopped.
He cracked his neck, turned his head, and saw Momonga staring at him in stunned silence. Shiryu shrugged casually.
"Don't look at me like that—it's not torture. He asked for it himself. I just granted his request. That's all."
"..."
Momonga's lips twitched, but he decided to hold his tongue.
CLANG!
With a heavy bang, the iron door slammed shut.
Shiryu leaned toward a few of his trusted guards, whispered something to them, and after giving one last cold glance at Doflamingo, he turned and left with Momonga and the others, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
Once they were gone, the darkness returned—deep, heavy, and silent.
No one knew how much time had passed.
Eventually, Doflamingo stirred from his half-conscious haze, regaining awareness bit by bit.
"Cough… cough…"
He coughed violently a few more times, struggling to sit up halfway. He noticed a food bowl had been placed in front of him at some point. The food inside looked like swill and pig slop, nauseating just to look at.
It was around eight or nine in the morning when he came in. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious. Was this in front of him lunch... or dinner?
In a place with no light, one couldn't feel the passage of time. Doflamingo stared at the food bowl for a while. Finally, he couldn't hold back, let out a cold laugh, and kicked it over with all his strength.
This is what they feed Level 6 prisoners?
The swill splattered, some of it landing in the neighboring cell.
"Kid," came a slow, hoarse voice from the darkness next door, "if I were you, I wouldn't be so picky. You'd better eat it. It's the only thing that'll give you enough strength to survive your next beating."
"You shouldn't have provoked him."
"Huh?"
Doflamingo turned his head instinctively.
"What did you just say?"
"I said…" the voice repeated, calm and low, echoing from the shadows—
"…you shouldn't have provoked him."
From the darkness, the shadowy figure stepped closer—a frail, wrinkled old man. He yawned lazily, using a fishbone to pick his teeth as he drawled,
"That guy… even though he's only been on the job for a short while, he's already recognized as the cruelest, most cold-blooded bastard among all the jailers.
I don't know what you did to piss him off, but… you're in for a rough time, kid."
Pissed him off?
Hell, I'd like to know that myself!
"…"
Doflamingo's face darkened as he stayed silent—but his sharp eyes quickly noticed the old man's food bowl in front of him.
There was still half left. It wasn't luxurious, but it had both meat and vegetables—and even a big, steaming piece of grilled fish.
That's when it hit him.
Not every prisoner on Level 6 was being fed slop.
It was only him.
That bastard's so-called "special care"…
It had started the very first day he was imprisoned—and extended to every miserable detail of his life here.
Damn it… that filthy bastard!
A vein bulged on Doflamingo's forehead, but the old man just chuckled as if it were nothing new.
"This is just the beginning, kid. You're here now—might as well stop dreaming about getting out. You still look young; if that jailer doesn't kill you first, you'll still be sitting here fifty, sixty years from now…
By the time you're a wrinkled old man who can barely open his eyes, you'll still be rotting in this place.
What awaits you here is endless darkness and time itself as your tormentor, so you might as—"
"Shut up."
Doflamingo cut him off, lips curling into that familiar twisted grin.
"Fufufufu… Don't talk down to me like some wise old sage, old man. I'm nothing like you lot. Give it a little time—soon enough, you'll see me walking out of this cage and saying goodbye to you from the other side."
Even though his face was still swollen and throbbing, his mind was sharp as ever.
It had been over a month since his capture and imprisonment, yet neither Mary Geoise nor the World Government had made any move.
That didn't surprise him.
After all, his Celestial Dragon status was long gone.
But those pompous fools in the Holy Land… they still had faces to protect.
He had spent years in the North Blue, building an intricate web of loyal followers and underground influence. There was no way that man, Nao, could have completely wiped them all out.
As long as even a few of his subordinates had the brains to use his "bloodline" to stir up public sentiment—to remind the world that he was once a Celestial Dragon—then the Holy Land wouldn't be able to just sit idly by.
Whether for pride or politics, they would have to intervene.
"It won't be long…"
Doflamingo smirked coldly.
So what if his empire had fallen?
So what if he'd been beaten and humiliated here?
Once he got out, he was confident he could reclaim everything he'd lost.
He might not be able to do anything to that man, Nao…
…but that jailer, Shiryu? Hmph.
"What's this—another dreamer?"
The sudden voice broke through his thoughts.
Doflamingo turned and saw the old man lounging against the wall, sneering as he jerked a thumb toward the next cell.
"You're not the first one I've heard spouting that nonsense. The last guy said the same thing—always dreaming about escape.
Look over there. See? He's still here, sleeping soundly like a baby."
The last guy?
Doflamingo followed his finger and looked toward the next cell—where, under the dim light, a red-haired boy in a straw hat lay on the floor, hands behind his head, belly full and round, snoring softly in contentment.
Who's that?
That kid looked barely out of his teens.
How the hell did someone like that end up in Level 6?
Doflamingo frowned, studying the boy's face for a long while, but came up blank. Losing interest, he snorted dismissively and leaned back against the cold wall, closing his eyes.
He couldn't even be bothered to reply to the old man anymore.
Comparing that brat to me?
How ridiculous.
...
Time passed—day after day.
Life in prison was even more unbearable than Doflamingo had imagined.
Shiryu's revenge could only be described as sustainable torment.
Every few days, he would come by to "check in"—beating Doflamingo until he was barely clinging to life, only to stop at the perfect moment before he died. Then they'd pour a bowl of slop down his throat—just enough to keep him alive for the next round.
And that was only the physical suffering.
Down here, there was no sun, no moon—no sense of day or night.
Time lost all meaning, swallowed up by endless darkness.
That unbearable, year-stretching loneliness slowly gnawed away at Doflamingo's sanity.
He began to waver.
He began to doubt.
Had his subordinates really all been wiped out?
Or had they simply forgotten about their fallen "young master," abandoning him to rot here in the dark?
Meanwhile, his "neighbors" in the surrounding cells seemed far more at ease.
The old man beside him, for instance, had clearly been here for years—long since adapted to this kind of life. He had no intention of leaving. He just spent his days lazing around, sleeping when he wanted, eating when he could, waiting to die peacefully in his cage.
But the red-haired boy in the straw hat…
Even Doflamingo couldn't make sense of him.
The kid was always cheerful—grinning from ear to ear like a fool, radiating optimism that didn't belong in a place like this.
Other than eating, drinking, and sleeping, he actually spent most of his time training, straining against his shackles to do push-ups, squats, or sit-ups.
Lately, Doflamingo had been waking up every morning to the sound of that idiot counting his push-ups out loud.
What a moron!
There was nothing Doflamingo hated more than those brainless, upbeat fools who smiled without reason.
If they were outside—enemy or not—just seeing someone smile like that would've made him want to slice their head clean off with his threads, just to savor the sight of that sunny grin twisting into terror and despair…
Then, one day—
From deep down the dim corridor, unfamiliar footsteps echoed through the silence.
The sound stirred every prisoner along the way.
Doflamingo was no exception. He leaned against the wall, squinting toward the faint light—
A few guards were leading the way, holding oil lamps and bowing respectfully as they walked.
Behind them were two tall figures, dressed in luxurious clothing.
Even from afar, Doflamingo could tell—these were people who didn't belong in a place like this.
The two "noble visitors" clearly loathed the filthy surroundings, keeping their sleeves raised to cover their noses the entire time.
That style of dress…
That familiar, arrogant demeanor…
There was no mistaking it—people from the Holy Land, Mary Geoise!
Finally…!
They've come for me!
Doflamingo's spirits lifted instantly. He fought to suppress the surge of joy in his chest and straightened up, trying to look dignified. His mind raced, already rehearsing how he would maintain his composure and charm before these high-born envoys.
However—
Thud.
The footsteps stopped—but not in front of his cell.
Instead, the two richly dressed figures ordered the guards to unlock the red-haired boy's cell—the one with the straw hat.
Ignoring the filth and stench, the two officials entered the cell themselves, bowing obsequiously, speaking in soft, flattering tones as they tried to persuade the red-haired youth.
What…?
Doflamingo's pupils contracted sharply. A wave of disbelief and humiliation crashed through him.
He couldn't hear what was said, but a few moments later, the red-haired boy mumbled a few words in reluctant protest, stretched lazily, and—under the respectful escort of the two envoys—walked out of the cell, disappearing down the corridor.
Leaving Doflamingo, and the old man in the next cell, staring after him in stunned silence, mouths half open…
...
Sea Circle Calendar 1504, Winter
In the great underwater prison, Shanks, who had been imprisoned for only three months, was officially released.
That same month, the World Government signed a treaty with him.
From then on, Shanks took the place left vacant after the death of the "Bubble Queen" Sofia, becoming the newest member of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
When news of this sudden development spread, Aokiji was furious—
That brat had been captured by him personally, and now, barely a few months later, they'd just let him go and even made him a Warlord?
At the time, Nao had been drinking with Aokiji. Hearing the news, he paused briefly, then shook his head with a faint smile—showing little surprise.
He had already suspected as much.
Shanks's background had always been shrouded in mystery; Nao had long believed the young man must have some hidden connection to the Celestial Dragons. His release was, therefore, entirely expected.
As for Shanks becoming a Warlord—
Nao actually thought that might not be a bad thing.
The vacant Warlord seat had to be filled sooner or later, and until Nao had the power to abolish the system altogether, it was far better to see someone like Shanks take the position than one of those greedy, vile pirates who used their title to pillage under legal cover.
Their allegiances might differ, but when it came to character, Nao had a certain respect for the red-haired man.
The matter became nothing more than a small topic of conversation over drinks.
After Aokiji left the tavern, Nao returned home, had dinner, and once again immersed himself in his training.
Since returning from the North Blue, he could feel it—his swordsmanship had reached a critical point.
The bottleneck was loosening more and more.
After years of quiet accumulation, the Master-level Swordsmanship realm was now within reach.
At the same time, his focus never wavered on other fronts:
his physical combat skills, mastery of both forms of Haki—and even the Conqueror's Haki—and the development of his Rumble-Rumble Fruit abilities.
...
Days devoted to training passed quickly.
In the blink of an eye, two years went by.
Sea Circle Calendar 1506, Early Autumn
Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
A light autumn rain had fallen that morning, sweeping away the lingering summer heat. The air was fresh, the sea breeze cool and crisp, carrying the scent of salt and new beginnings.
The crescent-shaped harbor bustled with activity—dozens of warships docked along the piers, and the docks swarmed with fresh-faced recruits, their eyes bright with determination and excitement.
It's a good day for new recruits to enter the camp, thought Zephyr, who was humming a little tune while brewing coffee in his office. The instructors responsible for greeting and guiding the new recruits at the camp entrance thought so, too.
Most of the new recruits, arriving with anticipation, thought so as well.
But for the two young Marines who had traveled thousands of miles from East Blue Branch 16—Smoker and Nezumi—it might not have been.
Because shortly after setting foot on the land of Marineford, the two looked around blankly and realized that at some point... they had lost the entire group and were completely lost.