"Why, Father!?"
Doflamingo didn't want to live below. He darted a pleading look at his mother.
She smiled gently. "Doffy, Rosinante—your father must have his reasons."
Rosinante, hair curtaining his eyes, said nothing—quiet, timid, and obedient.
Homingo Saint patted Doffy's head. "Life below will be more fulfilling—not in comfort, but in spirit. Doffy, you will—"
Doffy slapped the hand away, throat tight with a mix of fear and fury.
Last night's encounter with Dimon had rattled him; now this talk of abandoning the Holy Land only churned his gut more.
"I refuse!"
He stormed from the table.
"Doffy…" Mother worried aloud.
"He'll understand," Homingo sighed. "Let him cool off. I'll start the paperwork and liquidate what we can."
Mother stroked Rosinante's hair, still smiling. "Life below… how exciting, right, Rosinante?"
"Yes, Mother," he whispered, eyes down, calmly eating his exquisite breakfast.
"Damn it—why leave the Holy Land!?"
Doffy kicked one of his favorite toys clear across the room.
A knock. "Young master… the lady asked me to bring your breakfast."
"Leave it!" he snapped through the door.
A soft "Yes" and silence returned.
Jaw clenched, he yanked up his shirt again.
The black pentagram still marked his chest.
"What is this thing? It won't wash off… a curse? A Devil Fruit ability?"
"It's a magic circle."
A mocking voice behind him.
Doffy spun—and fell on his butt. Dimon stood there, very much uninvited. The door and window were both shut tight.
"H-how did you get in?"
"Like this."
Dimon glanced around the toy room, picked up a blue ogre mask, and slowly set it on his face.
"Your father just left to file the papers. Soon, you won't be Celestial Dragons. I was right, wasn't I?"
Doffy's eyes shook. "H-how do you know? Can you see the future?"
"Just happened to," Dimon said lazily. "You don't want to leave the Holy Land? I can help."
A spark flickered behind Doffy's shades. He didn't even try to hide it. "What do I do?"
"Start by kneeling. Knock your head and call me Big Brother."
…Kneel? To a pirate?
Doffy trembled. He was a Celestial Dragon—a god's descendant. Kneeling to a mere human?
Dimon pressed a palm on the brat's head and forced him down.
"You're a legendary pirate," Doffy gritted out. "Bullying a kid—have you no shame?"
"We pirates love bullying brats—especially Celestial Dragon brats," Dimon grinned. "Say it."
"…Big Brother."
It came out bitter, but it came out. Against a famous pirate, kicking and screaming meant nothing.
Still—I'm safe for now, Doffy thought, the tension in his shoulders easing.
"Big Brother, how do we stop my father?"
Funny how quickly the second "Big Brother" rolled off his tongue.
Dimon's tone turned leisurely. "Simple. We kidnap Shamloktoday. If the Holy Land goes up in chaos, your father can't just waltz out."
Will that really work? Doffy doubted, but he had no better plan.
"Shamlok shows up at the park around noon," he said rapidly. "But he'll have bodyguards."
"No problem. Lead the way."
Dimon scooped him up, stepped onto the windowsill, and jumped.
"That's the third floor—!"
They landed lightly. Dimon set him down. "If anyone asks, I'm your slave."
"…Got it."
Moments later, a dignified woman arrived outside the toy room with a breakfast tray.
"Doffy, eat well so you grow up fast."
Silence. She opened the door to an empty room. "Doffy…?"
Holy Land — The Park
Dimon shadowed Doffy to a broad patch of shade.
By midmorning, the place hummed. Parks were for socializing—in the Holy Land, that meant displaying slaves.
Noblewomen strolled with leashes. At the other end were humans on all fours, eyes dull, crawling like dogs.
Among Celestial Dragons here, some dressed like ordinary nobles; others wore those ridiculous space suits with bubble helmets.
"Why the difference?" Dimon asked.
"I don't know, Big Brother…" Doffy leaned against the trunk, arms crossed, scanning for Shamlok. "I hate the suit. Heavy and ugly. But we're required to wear it for… 'important' occasions."
Breathe different air to feel different? Dimon snorted. In a park full of 'gods', who were they even performing for?
A small figure waddled into view—a boy in a bubble suit, five or six, trailing several black-suited guards.
"That him?"
"That's Figarland Shamlok!" Doffy jabbed a finger, urgency flaring. "Big Brother, go! Grab him!"
You're more desperate than I am, Dimon thought, mildly amused. The brat really couldn't stomach losing his "divinity."
"Stay put."
Dimon walked straight up to the child. Shamlok frowned at him.
"Why aren't you kneeling?"
Dimon moved like lightning—one hand clamped the kid by the collar and lifted him off the ground.
"We pirates," Dimon chuckled, eyes cold, "love bullying little brats."
"Nice to meet you, Shamlok."
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