Dimon's pentagram was his own creation; of course he understood it. The array did have teleportation properties—only, it lacked coordinates.
"No linked sigil, no destination," he mused, poking his hand through the shimmering center. "I'll need to carve another one somewhere else if I want to jump between them."
He waved his hand, dispersing the glowing lines. Not bad. I'll leave one at the bar next time—fast travel unlocked.
Black lightning coiled over his body again, demonic energy whispering like silk as he lifted off the ground.
The wings spread wide—boom!—air shattered as Dimon cut across the sea at supersonic speed.
A black streak ripped the ocean open behind him like a blade.
By the time he returned, moonlight glinting on his horns and wings, the thrill still hummed through him.
This form's power scales with me… just as I thought.
Satisfied, he dispelled the transformation and returned to human shape.
"Abel, hold the bar while I'm gone. Tell anyone who comes that I'm out—and if they want my wine, bring a Devil Fruit."
"Yes, Lord Dimon!"
With orders given, Dimon stepped out into the day's chaos—hunting season.
He needed a new target—someone strong, with both Armament and Observation Haki.
Conqueror's would be a bonus.
He had a hundred demon points, three-quarters of a bottle of Immortality Wine, and a single injector left.
A proper test subject had to be worth at least a hundred million.
Still, he wasn't rushing. The Sea King essence in his veins was still digesting.
By the time his wandering brought him near Shakky's bar, the street was already boiling over.
Outside the bar, chaos reigned.
"Miss Shakky, I love you!"
"Shakky-chan! One photo, please!"
"If I could taste your cocktail, I could die happy!"
The woman herself stood by the doorway, smiling serenely, commanding a crowd that worshipped her like a goddess.
She clapped her hands lightly, and the noise stopped instantly—dozens of pirates frozen like trained pets.
Dimon blinked from the back row. "…This is terrifying."
A tap on his shoulder.
"Morning, Dimon~"
He turned—and nearly jumped. "Stussy. Don't sneak up on people like that."
She smiled, graceful as ever. "Curiosity. I saw a crowd and followed the noise."
Up front, Shakky spoke, her voice soft but clear.
"There's something I'd like to ask everyone. I'm looking for a Devil Fruit—any kind. I'll pay 100 million berries, and…"
She winked. "You'll also get a lifetime VIP card—free drinks, no waiting in line."
The pirates erupted again, love-struck fools one and all.
"I'll find it for you, Shakky-chan!"
"Leave it to me!"
"Forget the money—just give me your underwear!"
"Kill the pervert!" someone yelled, and the fight began instantly.
Dimon took three careful steps backward. Nope. Not getting punched over fan service.
He squinted at the idiot shouting about underwear. Tall, thin, afro… nah, can't be Brook… right?
Beside him, Stussy sighed dreamily. "No one ever asks for mine. Such a pity—one worn pair for a Devil Fruit would be a bargain."
"You look classy, don't ruin it," Dimon muttered.
"Thanks for the compliment~" she sang.
"…That wasn't a compliment."
Shakky sighed as the fight escalated—but before she could speak, a powerful voice boomed above the noise.
"I've got a Devil Fruit!"
Every head turned.
A new group of pirates strode down the street, aura unmistakable.
"The Roger Pirates!" someone gasped.
"The other legend!"
"Roger! Can I get a photo? An autograph?"
Excitement rippled through the mob. Even the Rocks Pirates didn't cause this level of mania—probably because they were too common a sight here.
Dimon frowned. "Roger? He dares show up here? This is Rocks' island."
Stussy rested her chin on one hand. "Not the first time. And rumor says Roger's also one of Shakky's admirers."
Roger approached like a man who lived for spectacle—a rose between his teeth, grin blazing.
"Shakky, my dear, for you."
"Thank you, but flowers are unnecessary," she said with her usual teasing smile. "You said something about a Devil Fruit?"
"Picked one up on the way here!" Roger turned. "Jabba! The fruit!"
The huge, ponytailed man with round shades sighed and tossed him a bundle. "You sure about this, Roger?"
"Absolutely!" Roger opened it, pulled out the fruit, and presented it with both hands.
"Shakky—come sail with me!"
"Thank you for the fruit," Shakky replied sweetly. "I'll pay you later, and you'll get your drink pass… but sailing's not on the menu. I've retired."
Roger froze mid-pose. Around him, whispers of pity—and laughter.
From the back, Dimon covered his face. Another one… even Roger is a simp. This era really is the Great Depression—for dignity.
Shakky turned, fruit in hand, and walked straight to him.
"This is for you, Dimon. As promised—now I can have a taste of your wine, right?"
Dimon nodded. "Of course. Come by tonight—"
He stopped.
A killing intent sharper than a blade was cutting straight through the air.
He looked up—and met Gol D. Roger's glare.
"Who the hell are you," Roger growled, rose stem snapping between his teeth, "and what's your relationship with Shakky!?"
Dimon's lips curved in amusement. Great. Another love-struck idiot with a death wish.
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