Water 7, a city floating upon the sea, glittered like a gem set in crystal. As a city embraced by water, its streets were narrow canals, its vehicles Yagara Bulls, its architecture palaces mirrored in the waves—every corner spoke of romance and an ancient, sea-salted melancholy.
Sunlight pierced the clouds and spilled across an old stone bridge. Beneath it, a gondolier hummed a lilting tune, his oar breaking the stillness of the surface. Buildings along the canals were painted in bright hues—pink walls, green shutters, golden reliefs—glowing vividly in the morning light. In San Marco Plaza, flocks of doves wheeled past as the bell tower's peal rolled through the air, as though rousing the city from sleep.
The architecture of Water 7 was its most singular mark. Most homes were built upon the water, their foundations thousands of wooden piles driven deep into the silt—still standing, centuries on.
But the city's charm was more than stone and timber; it was a way of life. In the alleys, the aroma of coffee drifted out as locals sat at café tables, leisurely sipping espresso. In the windows of craft shops, glasswork and masks shone in splendid color—each a piece wrought by a patient artisan.
By evening, the setting sun dyed the canals gold. Couples rode Yagara Bulls, making vows among the swaying shadows of boats. Ripples spread, and time itself seemed to soften.
Dream and reality intertwined here, its beauty both fragile and enduring. Each tide's rise and fall, every wind that moved through the lanes, reminded one of a miracle born of nature and human hands together.
Gulu Fish Bar. A big round table.
"Waaah, this is so good, waka-sama! Water-Meat! Quick, more Water-Meat!"
"Waka-sama, if you're not eating it, I will!"
"Who said I'm not? Put that down, Pica—that's mine!"
"Whoever snatches it keeps it—haha! Got it!"
"Diamante, you're cheating! You used your Devil Fruit to make the table go soft—ahh, I challenge you to a duel!"
"Vergo, why do you have corn stuck on your face? And how did the Water-Meat end up on your cheek? You've changed. Didn't food that sticks to your face usually stay there all day? Give me back the Vergo I know!"
The rowdy chatter of Doflamingo's group didn't stop. Since arriving in Water 7 and sorting out their ship business, Doflamingo had planned to relax for two days. On the way here he hadn't eased up for a moment: weighted swim drills, open-sea laps—nothing skipped. Now, in so bustling and beautiful a city, a short rest was only natural.
Of course, no fools came to provoke this noisy bunch. Judging by looks alone—and setting aside the relatively "slight" frames of Vergo and Diamante—anyone with eyes could tell these were not people to trifle with.
Fed and watered, the group was about to head out when, by sheer chance, something interesting reached Doflamingo's ears. He sat back down, patient, listening to the murmurs of a "group"—or perhaps just one man.
"Listen up. This operation is extremely important. Priority one: protect my safety. Priority two: complete the mission. Whoever gets in our way—kill without mercy."
"Yes, taichō!"
"Jibatai, Mnita, Bibi—you three infiltrate Tom's Workers with me. As long as we find incriminating evidence of Tom's crimes, brothers—our promotions and pay raises are as good as done."
Hearing the words "Tom's Workers," "taichō," and so on, Doflamingo glanced at the young man kept well-guarded in the center—big front teeth, a slightly sleazy grin—and guessed this was CP5's chief, Spandine.
He was quietly impressed. Spandine's political nose was sharp. Moving on Tom's Workers this early—before Roger had even become Pirate King—meant Spandine's sights were already locked on Tom. No wonder men like that climb so fast. Who else, while obsessing over their own safety, would still wade personally into danger? That alone tends to grease the rails of promotion.
Interesting as it was, Doflamingo had no intention of interfering. Tom's value in shipbuilding was immense—and he was stubborn. Without a little hardship, threats were meaningless to him.
When Spandine and his people slipped out of the bar, Doflamingo took out a Den Den Mushi and quietly gave Trebol some instructions. Then he, too, left with his crew to keep touring Water 7.
Time flew. After two days in Water 7 and the so-called Gourmet City, Doflamingo's five set sail again, following a Log Pose Diamante had prepared in advance—destination: Jaya.
Jaya—an island shaped like the lower jaw of a skull. Spring weather all year had given it a lush look: broad forests, wild growth, strange plants everywhere.
Because of Noland the Liar, the island drew bands of treasure-seeking pirates. When many discovered Jaya was "a lie," some left in disappointment. Others, still unwilling to give up on the secret of the Golden Land, stayed—forming a town: Mock Town.
A town built by pirates who worship coin above all. Here, the strong ruled, and greed was a virtue. Many wore an expression like money was dirt—ironically, because gold was everything. Yet centuries of history had given Mock Town its own peculiar culture and little industries.
Mock Town, commercial street.
Doflamingo swaggered forward, hands in his pockets, stride wide and heedless. Vergo and the other two fell in half a step behind, flanking him left and right, keeping pace.
"Diamante, what do you think of Mock Town?" He looked up at the sky, eyes brushing the greedy or excited faces of the pirates watching them, and asked suddenly.
"Everyone living here is a fool." Vergo, with a chopstick stuck to his cheek, kept it simple.
"Ambitious trash that won't face itself. No vitality. They live only for money." Pica had nothing more to add.
"Do you have plans for this town, Dof? If you want to make it a stronghold, it'll take a lot of effort." Diamante didn't answer the question so much as meet it. Older than Vergo and Pica, he could read what Doflamingo really meant.
(End of Chapter)
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