"Don?"
Far away in Baltigo, Dragon froze for a moment. In his mind appeared the image of that peculiar boy he'd once met in Shimotsuki Village.
"Him? What about him?"
Dragon's curiosity was piqued. He waved his hand, and the Revolutionary Army officers in the room cast curious glances his way but refrained from interrupting.
"You must have sensed his talent."
Koushirou's voice came through the Den Den Mushi.
The officers grew even more curious. Among them, Ivankov—who had personally seen Don before—looked especially puzzled.
Dragon himself was unsure.
"Of course I know. That boy's talent is undeniable. To have mastered both Observation Haki and Armament Haki at his age is exceedingly rare."
"That's not what I mean."
Koushirou's voice rose again, and then he recounted the battles he'd had with Don over the past days.
This time, Dragon's expression shifted to one of astonishment.
"He doesn't get hurt?" Dragon asked in disbelief.
"Exactly. After all this time fighting, not once has he suffered even a single injury."
Koushirou's words left the Revolutionary officers exchanging baffled looks.
"Could it be… that race?" someone murmured.
Dragon had previously denied Don being of the Lunarian race. But now, he wasn't so sure.
Or perhaps, this boy named Don possessed a talent on par with Charlotte Linlin herself?
Charlotte Linlin had dominated the seas for decades. First as a member of the Rocks Pirates, and after their dissolution, she established her own Big Mom Pirates, carving her name into history.
One particular trait of hers was infamous across the seas.
The Iron Balloon.
A body so monstrously durable it was like a living fortress.
Many knew of it, and it explained why Linlin's battle records showed so few injuries—even against foes of equal caliber.
If what Koushirou said was true, then Don's natural gifts were nothing short of terrifying.
"So, what exactly are you trying to say?" Dragon asked, though he already had a suspicion.
"Perhaps… it's worth trying again to recruit him into the Revolutionary Army."
Koushirou's words carried a hint of hope.
Dragon fell silent.
"That's impossible. He's already refused my invitation once. I could sense the resolve in his heart."
"Maybe he doesn't understand what we're fighting for. If you revealed a little—" Ivankov interjected.
Dragon gave him a glance, then shook his head before speaking once more into the Den Den Mushi.
"No. He doesn't care about what we're doing. Even if I told him, it would change nothing. To him, whether it's us, the pirates, the Marines, the World Government, or even the Celestial Dragons—it's all irrelevant."
He paused, then sighed before continuing.
"You've seen it too. His detachment from the world. That's just who he is."
"I only thought… it might be worth another try," Koushirou replied with a trace of resignation.
"You didn't contact me just for that, did you?"
Dragon, ever sharp, quickly discerned that this call wasn't solely about recruiting Don.
"…No. I don't have the ability to teach him properly. He needs a better mentor, someone who won't waste that monstrous talent."
So Koushirou revealed his true reason.
"You could at least ask him what he thinks," Dragon suggested with a faint smile.
"…Very well. I'll speak to him," Koushirou said at last.
"Then let's leave it at that."
Once Dragon confirmed Koushirou had no more to add, he ended the call and turned to face his officers.
"That brat really has such a terrifying gift?"
Now that the Den Den Mushi call was over, Ivankov couldn't hold back his question.
He had seen Don with his own eyes, and at the time, nothing about him had seemed so extraordinary.
"It seems certain. Koushirou wouldn't say so unless he was sure," Dragon replied, shaking his head. His eyes swept the room once more.
"Enough. Put this aside. Let's return to the plans at hand."
Shimotsuki Village.
At dawn, Koushirou summoned Don alone. He relayed the entire conversation—his talk with Dragon, his suggestion that Don join the Revolutionary Army, and his belief that Don deserved a better teacher.
Don listened quietly.
"Dragon thinks you won't agree," Koushirou said, studying his calm expression. "But I wanted to hear it from you."
"…This is your war," Don answered after a long pause, shaking his head.
As expected, Dragon had been right.
Koushirou sighed at the boy's refusal.
"My abilities won't be enough to guide you for long," he admitted solemnly.
"It doesn't matter. I won't be staying here much longer anyway. There are things I need to do," Don replied casually.
"You plan to leave Shimotsuki Village?"
Don had hinted at it before, but now it sounded more certain.
"Mm. But I won't be leaving the East Blue."
"You really won't reconsider? Dragon is far stronger than I am," Koushirou pressed once more.
"Spare me. Your ideals don't suit me."
Don's refusal was firm.
"…Very well," Koushirou nodded, dropping the subject. He knew it had been rash to involve Dragon in the first place. Since Don was resolute, there was no point in pushing further.
Still, he couldn't shake the thought that such an extraordinary talent needed a teacher worthy of it.
But of course, Koushirou had no way of knowing Don's true reality.
Don, on the other hand, understood himself perfectly.
His time sparring with Koushirou had taught him an undeniable truth:
Battle itself is the best teacher.
Every exchange honed his techniques, every clash inspired new methods. Even his body—his strange, resilient constitution—grew stronger at a frightening pace through combat.
So what he needed most was not guidance, but opponents. The right battles would shape him better than any master.
And right now, there was already a worthy opponent standing before him. Why waste time searching elsewhere when he could keep drawing from Koushirou here?
He would train, grow, and wait for the right time to depart.
After that conversation, Koushirou never again mentioned recruiting Don. Instead, he lived each day in quiet shock at the boy's relentless growth.
Meanwhile, Don delved deeper into combat—refining a style uniquely his own, weaving the power of the Mera Mera no Mi into techniques both destructive and precise.
He even experimented with ways to imitate the methods of that old man Yamamoto—the fire-wielding captain from another world. Though he could never reach such searing, world-ending temperatures, the principles were still worth studying.
Until, one day, a major headline blazed across the newspapers:
Donquixote Doflamingo had become the king of Dressrosa—and accepted the title of Warlord of the Sea.