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New World. Dressrosa.
The Royal Palace on the Plateau.
The high-ranking officers of the Donquixote Family were locked in a strategy session. Their agenda: how to milk the coming era for everything it was worth—and more importantly, how to cut the leash.
They were tired of being the Thunder God Pirates' lapdogs... they wanted to transition into a "partnership" model, backed by the various power players of the sea.
Doflamingo was a madman, no doubt, but his vision was sharp.
He could see through the fog of the present and map out the future—a prerequisite for anyone planning to sit on a throne.
But there was a glaring problem: he lacked the raw, absolute power to back up his ambitions, and it was a thorn in his side that gave him a constant headache.
Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring!
"Doffy, it's King Riku on the line. You think the old man's finally ready to throw in the towel on Dressrosa?" The slovenly Trebol, leaning on his staff, tossed a Den Den Mushi toward his leader.
"Fuffuffuffuffu! That 'benevolent' King Riku would never let his precious subjects die. When a man has a conscience, he has a weakness—and when he has a weakness, he can be leveraged."
Doflamingo leaned back, palm pressed to his forehead, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "That useless kindness of his is exactly what will turn him into our perfect little puppet."
He picked up the receiver. "King Riku, has the Reverie started yet??"
"Not quite," a smooth, chilling voice drifted from the other end.
The voice possessed a strange, magnetic power—the kind that felt like it was peeling back the layers of your soul.
Doflamingo's laughter died in his throat. His face went rigid, and the veins on the hand gripping his head bulged like thick cables. It was a voice he would never forget as long as he lived.
In his heart, the one man he never wanted to face was Arthur—the Thunder Emperor. A man who followed no rules, respected no logic, and had become Doflamingo's ultimate living nightmare.
"Lord Arthur..." Doflamingo forced the words out, his tone shifting instantly to one of forced subservience. "Do you have orders for us? The Donquixote Family is at your complete disposal."
"Doflamingo..." Arthur's voice was casual, almost bored. "If you can track down Shiki's Float-Float Fruit within the next two years, I'll grant you one request. Any request."
To Arthur, the idea of some low-level trash eating Shiki's fruit was the ultimate insult to the Golden Lion's legacy.
"A request?"
Doflamingo practically bolted upright. The fake smile vanished. For years, he'd been racking his brain for a way to slip out from under Arthur's thumb.
Being at the beck and call of a monster like that was like playing with a live wire—eventually, you get burned. And now, Arthur was handing him a golden ticket on a silver platter.
He swallowed hard, his breathing turning shallow as he gambled on his next words.
"Is that a promise, Lord Arthur? Does that request include... the Donquixote Family operating in the New World as independent partners of the Thunder God Pirates, rather than subordinates?"
In the room, Trebol, Diamante, and the rest of the crew held their breath, the silence so thick you could cut it with a knife.
"Is that so?" Arthur's chuckle turned into a full-blown, booming laugh. Over on Sabaody, the clear sky was suddenly swallowed by roiling black clouds and crackling veins of lightning.
"Hahahahahaha! Doflamingo... I've been waiting for you to grow a pair and say that for a long time. Honestly, I'm disappointed it took you this long to find your voice."
"You're dying to break away, aren't you? Anyone with an ounce of ambition hates being a footnote in someone else's story. You don't want to sail under another man's flag forever, do you, Doffy?"
There was a hint of flexibility in the tone, so Doflamingo played the game. "No, no, of course not. Carrying the flag of the Thunder Emperor is an honor, fuffuffuffu... it's just that..."
"Cut the crap," Arthur interrupted ruthlessly. "Don't lie to me; it's beneath you. I'm a man of my word. Find the Float-Float Fruit, and I'll give you the green light to build your own empire in the New World."
"Hahahahahaha! Go on then, Doflamingo—show me you can actually grow! If you can't evolve into something worth my time in this perfect era, then what's the point of you even breathing?"
"Two years. Find the fruit, and I'll give you your freedom. Don't make me regret the investment."
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Back at the harbor in Sabaody, on the deck of the Dressrosa vessel.
Arthur clicked the receiver shut and tossed the Den Den Mushi back to a trembling King Riku. He expanded his Observation Haki, casting a wide net over the island. He caught the signatures of the three Hancock sisters as they entered Shakky's Rip-off Bar, then completely ignored the hateful glares of the soldiers surrounding him.
With a sudden burst of static, he transformed into a bolt of pure electricity and shot into the stratosphere.
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In this world, true talent is like a weed—it finds a way to break through the concrete no matter how harsh the environment.
If someone is snuffed out before they can shine, they weren't "potential"—they were just another casualty. A fallen genius is just a corpse.
Doflamingo was a product of the Great Pirate Era: capable, ruthless, and possessed by an ego that touched the stars. A man like that only needs one opening to skyrocket.
Arthur knew that if Doflamingo ever reached a level where he thought he could challenge the throne—or found enough leverage to push back—things would get very, very interesting.
As for whether Doflamingo could survive the shark-infested waters of the New World without his protection? If he couldn't hack it against the other powerhouses, then his life had no value to begin with.
Arthur wanted a storm. He wanted an era where legends sprouted like wildflowers, an endless tide of monsters crashing against the shores of history.
The weaklings, the dreamers with no drive, the "tourists" of the Grand Line? Arthur couldn't be bothered with them anymore. Years ago, he might have found sport in hunting them down in the Paradise half of the sea, but now? He had zero interest.
Let the trash serve as whetstones for the real players.
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Late June, Sea Calendar 1506.
The World Government convened the most anticipated summit in history: The Reverie. Representatives from over two hundred allied nations converged on Mary Geoise, which was still undergoing half-finished repairs.
Unsurprisingly, the agenda was dominated by two topics: Pirates and the Revolutionary Army.
To the Government, pirates were a skin rash—irritating, persistent, but ultimately manageable. The Revolutionaries, however, were a terminal cancer eating away at the very foundation of the World Government's authority.
During the sessions, some of the more powerful kings didn't mince words. Right in front of the Five Elders, they demanded to know how much longer the world was expected to bankroll the pampered, entitled lifestyle of the Celestial Dragons.
The Elders brushed the questions off with bureaucratic doublespeak, leaving many monarchs simmering with a resentment they had to keep buried.
The common consensus among the wise was clear: the Celestial Dragons were a death sentence. If they weren't cut out, they would inevitably drag the World Government into the grave.
The summit lasted three days. By the time it wrapped, the newspapers were screaming about the "Revolutionary Threat."
"BEWARE THE WORLD'S MOST DANGEROUS ORGANIZATION: THE REVOLUTIONARY ARMY!"
"THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN ALIVE: MONKEY D. DRAGON!"
It was the same playbook they'd used to smear Whitebeard and Roger in the previous era—painting the Revolutionaries as absolute monsters to ensure the mindless masses stayed paralyzed by fear.
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Early July, Sea Calendar 1506.
Arthur returned to Raijin Island and issued a single, absolute decree.
The Thunder God Pirates were going on the offensive. It was time to expand. While the first half of the New World was largely carved up between the Four Emperors—with Arthur holding the lion's share—the islands further in remained wild.
Wano Country. Elbaf. These were territories where no one since Roger had dared to plant a flag.
That was about to change.
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