"One… one hit!"
"He's too strong—he dropped that seven-win slave with a single kick!"
"Big Bro Dio!"
The brat who'd promised to swear fealty if Dimon won actually kept his word on the spot. No one had ever stepped into the ring themselves at these little bloodsport meetups—today a meteor fell from the sky. The Celestial Dragon kids were star-eyed, looking at him like an idol.
Dimon smiled and slid his gaze to Malmedes.
Malmedes was stunned. He'd begged his mother for ages to buy that "strongest" slave, and the kid in front of him flattened the man in one kick.
"Damn it—Leitner, useless trash!"
"Forget the trash talk. Got any other slaves?" Dimon asked mildly.
Malmedes opened and closed his mouth. Who was this "Dio" punk and why was he so scary?
When Dimon started toward him, Malmedes yelped, "W-what do you want? I don't wanna fight you! These are slave games—you going in yourself breaks the rules! Wh-which family are you from!?"
"Brat," Dimon grinned, palming that mushroom-cut head and patting it twice, "call me Big Bro."
"Impossible! I—I'm a proud Manma—"
He didn't finish. Dimon tuned him up with a brisk, face-saving beatdown—light hands, controlled power, careful not to kill the kid.
"Ow—o-okay! Big Bro, please stop! At least not the face!"
A minute later, with a swollen nose and watery eyes, Malmedes managed a fawning smile. "Big Bro, I was just kidding…"
Kids squabbling wasn't worth a parent's time, let alone the God's Knights. To avoid more bruises, Malmedes bowed to the new king—for now. (He'd absolutely buy a stronger slave and take the ring back later. Someday.)
Not far away, Doflamingo watched, expression speechless.
Dimon flicked him a look. Doffy caught it instantly and strode up, scowling. "What's with that stink face? Big Bro Dio, let me pound him. I've had it with this brat."
"I'm not—!" Malmedes squeaked.
"You were definitely thinking of buying a stronger slave to get even, weren't you?" Doffy sneered.
Can you read minds, you jerk!? Malmedes clutched his lump, miserable. "J-just don't hit my face again. My mom'll yell at me."
"That guy wasn't your strongest?" Dimon asked, playing along.
Doffy nodded hard. "Nah. If we're talking strongest slave in Mariejois… it's the big pirate from five years ago—Rocks."
"Who bought him?" Dimon kept the rhythm smooth.
"I don't know," Doffy said, then turned to Malmedes. "Do you?"
"Huh?" Malmedes rubbed his head and muttered, "My dad said he's kept in Pangaea Castle. Who'd dare buy that slave?"
That was the most vicious pirate in history—the one who kidnapped Celestial Dragons. He didn't have the guts to buy something like that, and even if he did, he couldn't.
Then his eyes lit with mischief. "Doflamingo, I think Big Bro Dio should buy Rocks. Only Rocks is worthy of Big Bro Dio!"
Doffy popped him once more. "Trying to get Big Bro killed? Still not honest? Want another beating?"
"N-no, I'm wrong!"
Working the crowd with easy chemistry, Dimon and Doffy pulled the info they needed. Bonus: Dimon walked out as king of the brats—at least for this old-church circuit, which capped at boys under twelve. The "older geezers" above that age didn't play such childish games anymore.
"Big Bro, Rocks is in Pangaea Castle. I don't know where exactly," Doffy said once they'd slipped away. "And that place is locked down. You can't get in."
Ordinary Celestial Dragons could enter; Dimon wasn't one, and he had no chip. Any check would blow his cover.
"Good work, Doffy." Dimon's smile sharpened. "You're off the hook. Go play."
"You're really going?" Doffy gaped.
Rocks had invaded the Hall of Authority, faced Imu in person, strutted and escaped, and even killed an admiral on the way out. If Rocks could do it… why couldn't he?
Dimon didn't bother answering. He slipped into a deserted corner, dropped the Aged-Aged disguise, and thought it through.
"Mimic-Mimic? No—needs a face touch. Mythic Zoan nine-tailed fox? Also requires contact…" He exhaled. "Fine. Simple and crude."
Twisted Future — Invisible Man.
The state wouldn't last long and chewed stamina faster the longer he held it—but he could drop it, re-cast, and keep moving.
Pangaea Castle loomed: seven stories and spires, white mists curling its crown, soldiers thick at the front gate. Dimon slid in without a ripple.
Inside, knights in heavy armor stood at every corner. He took a quick tour. No Rocks.
Underground, then.
After a long spiral down, he found it—the deepest chamber. No guards, just a long, dim corridor bleeding cold air.
Dimon let himself become visible. His Observation Haki skimmed the door: a frail, stubborn pulse of life. He pushed the door.
Rocks was crucified on the wall in chains. Seastone blades skewered his chest; his hands and feet—severed—were impaled across the room. The severed limbs were turning to dust grain by grain, while new ones regenerated from his stumps at a glacial crawl.
The massive door creaked open. A blade of light slipped in. Rocks' eyelids lifted; his voice was a rasp.
"Not seven days yet, is it…"
He couldn't be killed. So the World Government made sure he suffered every seven days: grievous wounds, fresh amputations, reset the timer. Regeneration slowed to a crawl, the loop complete. He'd lost count of loops.
He watched the door open just wide enough for a man to step through. Footsteps ticked across the stones.
"Sashi-buri da na, Rocks." Dimon's voice smiled.
Shock flickered in Rocks' eyes. "Didn't think it'd be you who came to bust me out… Dimon."
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