"He's that guy from the papers, right?"
Jabba stood behind Roger, giving Dimon a once-over. "Rocks' newcomer—the brewer, Dimon."
Roger snapped his fingers as it clicked—then immediately zeroed back in on the only thing he cared about.
"So… what's your relationship with Shakky?"
"Colleagues. That's all." Dimon's tone was calm.
Young Roger was, frankly, a lovestruck fool—and not a very smart one. Dimon even remembered: Shakky's crush was Silvers Rayleigh, Roger's own right hand. Getting jealous at the wrong man? Peak clownery.
Roger didn't buy it. The Devil Fruit he had just gifted Shakky was now in Dimon's hands.
"Shakky, why give my gift to someone else?"
Shakky's eyes curved, smile as soft as always—almost amused at the mess her beauty caused. Still, she answered seriously.
"It's just a trade. Dimon is a brewer—his wine is special. If I want to taste it, the price is a Devil Fruit."
What wine is worth that? Roger blinked. Not lovers—good, he still had a chance!
Then Shakky's next line cracked his heart again.
"By the way, Roger—did Rayleigh not come ashore?"
Roger's jaw twitched. "He… didn't want to set foot on the island. He's on the ship."
"Didn't want to see me?"
Shakky froze for a second, a brief, aching shadow in her eyes.
Dimon munched popcorn in his head. You love her, she loves him, and he's your best friend. Tragic rom-com. Also… what about Ace later?
A new, unhelpful thought derailed him.
Shakky's breathing suddenly hitched. Color rushed to her cheeks, then drained—she swayed.
"Shakky!"
"Miss Shakky!"
Pirates panicked, crowding in. Dimon blinked. Lovesickness—the Amazon Lily kind?
As if to confirm, Stussy's face went taut. "It's Amazon Lily's love-sickness. Gloriosa had it before!"
Roger stared, stunned. "What? What do we do? Where's a doctor?"
"If it's a sickness… then it's simple," Dimon said, stepping forward. "Stussy, carry her inside. One sip of my wine and she'll live."
Undying means no dying; a broken heart was nothing next to decapitation. And since she'd just paid him a Fruit—fair was fair.
Most people had never heard of Immortality Wine. Stussy had. Her eyes lit up.
"Right—make way!"
She hauled Shakky into the back room. Roger tried to follow; Stussy blocked him with a palm.
"No entry."
"Why can he go in?" Roger protested as Dimon slipped past.
"I'm saving her," Dimon said dryly. "You want the job instead?"
Stussy almost laughed, then shut the door and whispered, "Where's the wine?"
Dimon didn't waste breath. Black lightning crackled; three-quarters of a bottle appeared in his hand.
Stussy gasped, hand over her mouth. "You're a Devil Fruit user? What fruit is that?"
"The brewing kind," he deadpanned.
He poured a glass. Stussy propped Shakky up and pinched her chin lightly so her lips parted. Dimon tilted the crimson liquid in—then studied Shakky's face. Honestly, he didn't get how her charm steam-rolled Rocks, Roger, Shiki, even Whitebeard. Beautiful, yes. Mind-melting? Eh.
Wine gone, he stowed the rest.
"She fixed?" Stussy asked. "Why isn't she waking?"
"Not instant." Dimon hesitated—then gave Shakky a light slap.
Stussy stared. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to wake her."
"I know what you're doing—but on Shakky's face?"
New continent discovered: a man immune to Shakky's aura. Her eyes glittered with amused respect.
Shakky groaned awake.
"Are you okay?" Stussy asked.
"I… almost died, right?" Shakky pressed a hand to her chest, shivering at the memory. "Amazon Lily's love-sickness. I underestimated it."
"Looks like you're fine. That completes our deal," Dimon said, already turning to leave.
Shakky watched his back, dazed, then looked to Stussy.
"He made you drink a glass of Immortality Wine, Shakky. You're like me now."
Shakky's eyes flew wide. "I drank it? While unconscious?"
"Otherwise you'd be on the floor, not talking." Stussy smiled. "Didn't expect it to cure love-sickness. Maybe the undying don't get any disease."
Shakky pouted. "That explains the taste in my mouth. Damn—I didn't even taste it!"
Aside from undying beauty, she wanted to know how it tasted.
"Be grateful to Dimon," Stussy chided. "How do you feel now?"
Shakky touched her heart again, baffled. "Strange. When I heard Rayleigh didn't want to see me, I felt like I'd die."
"But now…"
Nothing. The ache was gone—muted to silence.
Dimon stepped out. Roger lunged up to him.
"Hey—how's Shakky?"
"First, my name isn't 'hey'. It's Dimon. Second, she's fine. Awake."
Roger exhaled in relief. Dimon, allergic to simps, couldn't help it.
"Roger, hear a proverb: simping gets you nothing."
Sounded bad. Roger scowled. "You don't understand my love!"
He squinted. "You're Rocks' newbie, right? Where's Rocks?"
"Elbaf."
"Figures." Roger's disappointment lasted one second—then he grinned, sharp and bright. "If that bristly hedgehog isn't around, spar with me instead."
This about Shakky, or am I just today's punching bag? Dimon wondered. Still…
"Sure," he smiled. "I've been wanting to see what you've got."
They stepped out into the open, the crowd splitting into a ring before Shakky's bar.
Roger rolled his shoulders, the air around him tightening with pressure.
Dimon flexed his hand—Sea King power still roaring in his veins—and let a thin sheen of Armament creep over his knuckles.
"Come on then, brewer," Roger laughed. "Show me a toast worth remembering."
Dimon's eyes sparked. "Bottoms up."
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