Chinjao rubbed his eyes, glanced at the paper, then back at the man floating above the prow.
Same face as the headline. No—same person.
"You're the winemaker Dimon. I've been looking for you!"
"You've been looking for me?"
"Five years ago, Kaido held a tournament on Hachinosu. The prize was a cup of wine that grants immortality!" Chinjao boomed. "That Eternal Life Wine—you brewed it, didn't you?"
Ah. So he wanted the wine.
Chinjao laughed from the gut. "Word spread like wildfire. Half the sea set sail chasing you and your wine!"
"Do you know what pirates call it now? The Great Treasure."
"Treasure, power, wealth, fame… and now—eternity."
Eternal Life = One Piece? Dimon's expression twitched. Was he jump-starting the pirate era by accident?
He raised a hand to halt the ramble. "You want the wine? Then you know the rules?"
"What rules?"
"Just tell me the price," Chinjao said, careless. "I've hoarded enough to pay."
Price… That jogged a memory: Chinjao burying his hoard beneath an iceberg only his conical head could crack.
Dimon smiled. "One Devil Fruit for one cup. And—everything you own."
Chinjao's brows pinched. Everything? He hesitated only a heartbeat. Compared to eternity, coin was kindling.
"My treasure's hidden in a place no one can reach. I'll take you. It's all yours."
He folded his arms, proud. "I don't have a Fruit, but converted to belli, my trove buys a hundred Fruits."
"How much is 'a hundred Fruits' in numbers?"
"Ten billion belli."
Dimon understood instantly. No wonder Chinjao would end up hating Garp to the bone over that ruined head. If he lost ten billion under ice, he'd want the old man's whole family too.
A windfall like that? Only an idiot says no. And while he was at it, there was always Skypiea—gold for days.
"Lucky you ran into me," Dimon said. "Trade your hoard for eternity."
"Come aboard," Chinjao grinned. "I'll have the cooks lay out Kano Country's finest—"
"Save the feast. Where is the stash?"
"Paradise side of the Grand Line. An ice island."
Sailing there would take a month. He could haul Chinjao through the sky, but why bother? Dimon flicked a folded paper slip to him.
"Call this number when you arrive. I'll come to you. Until then."
He beat his wings and streaked away—a black seam across the sky.
Chinjao was a happy accident. Dimon hadn't forgotten his real destination. He timed his flight perfectly: by the time the clouds parted, Mary Geoise slept under a moon-washed hush.
He sank his aura to a whisper and alighted atop a lavish manor in the so-called "Domain of God"—home of the Celestial Dragons.
The houses weren't special. Just bigger. Patrols clinked down the streets, spears and boredom in equal measure.
Dimon crouched, eyes on the distant keep: Pangaea Castle, the world's political heart. The Five Elders, Im—they were in there somewhere.
"Far enough. Aura suppressed. No pings." Good.
He popped a skylight and slipped inside. A sweep of Observation Haki: a dozen sleepers, breaths slow and even. One master bedroom—husband and wife.
He eased the door open and closed it behind him. Moonlight silvered a long-haired man with golden mustaches; the woman slept turned away.
The man stirred at the sound, blinked blearily—only to see a dark silhouette by the window. A blade kissed his throat before he could gasp.
"Don't," Dimon murmured. "You don't want to wake your lady, do you?"
He put a finger to his lips. "I ask. You answer."
The man nodded frantically.
"Where does the Donquixote family live?"
The body went rigid. Fear flared in the eyes.
Steel whispered closer to skin. The man shuddered. "Wh-which Donquixote do you mean?"
There were only nineteen Celestial Dragon bloodlines left of the original twenty kings—"Donquixote" appeared on more than one doorplate.
"Donquixote Doflamingo. He's what—grade school? Which house?"
The man shook worse. "I… he's my son."
Well now. That was convenient. Dimon eyed him. So this fool was the idiot father who'd one day drag his family down to live as commoners and get them lynched for it.
"Not your problem," Dimon said—and snuffed him with a ripple of Conqueror's Haki.
He slipped out and padded to a smaller door. Children's room.
Open. In. Close.
He approached the bed. Yes—that kid. Even asleep, he wore sunglasses. Brain worms already.
Dimon patted the boy's cheek.
"Mn—" The child blinked awake and froze at the shadow looming over him.
Dimon clapped a hand over his mouth and grinned. "Yes," he whispered. "I'm your dad."
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