Saint Saturn stepped forward, his ancient staff tapping once against the white stone—soft, yet somehow loud enough to silence an entire plaza.
His somber gaze swept down the Stairway to Heaven, passing over the clustered rulers and nobles, the merchant magnates and journalists, the uniformed attendants and armed guards. The corners of his mouth didn't move when he spoke.
"The inauguration of the new Commander and Vice Commander of the Knights of God has always been among the World Government's most vital affairs."
"We, as the representatives of the World Government, extend our gratitude to all of you for setting aside your responsibilities to attend this ceremony in the Holy Land."
The representatives of the Member States responded at once, stiff smiles and obedient voices layered atop one another like practiced paint.
"It is our honor to witness such a momentous occasion."
"Indeed. Without the Government's protection, our nations could not endure."
"Even the busiest schedule cannot outweigh the importance of today."
"Your Excellency humbles us…"
Saturn lifted a hand.
The formalities died mid-breath.
"Today, you are here to witness—under the eyes of the entire world—the moment these two young talents assume their glorious responsibilities."
His voice remained measured, but the pressure inside it pressed down all the same, a calm dominance that made disobedience feel unthinkable.
"As the elite force safeguarding the Celestial Dragons' dignity and authority, the Knights of God exist to protect the Holy Land, uphold the Government's dominion, deter external enemies, and wield internal judgment and punishment."
"Therefore, the positions of Commander and Vice Commander are not merely titles. They are pillars of Government stability—and the order of the Holy Land itself."
"For that reason, we deliberated at length and selected the most suitable candidates."
Saturn's staff tapped lightly again. His tone rose by the barest fraction, the closest thing he offered to warmth.
"We are confident that under their leadership, the World Government will better safeguard the security of all Member States—and protect them from threats posed by any person or power."
"As for their identities… I believe many of you have already heard certain rumors."
"Now."
"Let them take the stage."
His eyes flicked toward a Government official standing at the side of the platform.
The Administrator stepped forward, chest lifted, voice amplified by the Visual Den Den Mushi into every corner of the sea.
"Next, we welcome the candidate for Vice Commander of the Knights of God!"
"He abandoned the noble status of a Celestial Dragon in his youth and chose instead to sail the seas. After enduring countless hardships and overcoming formidable trials, he has proven his worth—having passed the rigorous assessments set by the Gorosei."
"He is the Underworld Emperor of the New World…"
"A Great Pirate acknowledged by the Government…"
"One of the Shichibukai…"
"The arrogant Heavenly Demon himself—"
The plaza visibly tightened.
A wave of pale faces.
A collective inhale that never quite became a breath.
People turned, almost in the same motion—as if their bodies moved before their minds caught up—staring toward the entrance of the vast square.
"The blood of the most esteemed lineage in the world flows through his veins…"
The Administrator's voice swelled, fervent, triumphant, and mercilessly public.
"—He is Saint Donquixote Doflamingo!"
For a heartbeat, the world went mute.
Then the cameras followed the direction of the crowd's frozen stares.
At the plaza's entrance, a shadow dropped from the sky.
A figure draped in a pink feather coat descended with silent grace, landing as lightly as a predator on a rooftop. Sunlight struck his wild golden hair, turning it into a crown of molten gold. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the arrogance that rolled off him like heat.
"This… this can't be!"
"It's Doflamingo!"
"He's a Celestial Dragon!?"
"Impossible!"
"He's a pirate—one of the Shichibukai!"
Whispers broke into gasps. Gasps broke into stammered disbelief.
The Member State representatives—men and women who had negotiated wars into treaties and treaties into conquest—stared like children hearing their first ghost story.
Doflamingo.
A Celestial Dragon.
In a twisted way, it almost explained too much.
And yet that only made it worse.
Because lineage alone didn't justify placing a madman with blood on his hands into one of the Government's most critical seats of power.
That disbelief didn't belong only to the Holy Land.
Across the world, the broadcast detonated like a cannon.
In the New World's Underworld, Umit—the Shipping King—watched the screen for three seconds before slamming his glass down so hard it shattered, amber liquor spraying across the table.
"Damn it…! That brat's a Celestial Dragon!? No wonder the Government and Marines always 'handled' him so gently!"
Not far away, Lu Feld lounged on a leather sofa with a blonde beauty draped over his arm, exhaling smoke with a slow, pleased grin.
"Tch, tch, tch… So that's the foundation under his feet. Looks like I'll have to adjust our rates—before I lose my head."
Elsewhere, pirate crews and private militias erupted into frantic arguments.
"This complicates everything."
"Boss, we should join the Donquixote Pirates!"
"Are you insane!? We should run—get out of the New World!"
On the screen, Doflamingo moved.
"Heh heh heh heh heh…"
His laughter crawled over the plaza as he swaggered forward with hands in his pockets, like the Holy Land was his private estate and the world was a stage built only to admire him.
The armed ranks parted without being ordered to.
Holy Land Guards dropped to one knee—one after another, neat as a ritual.
"Excellency Doflamingo!"
"Excellency Doflamingo!"
Step by step, beneath a sky so blue it looked painted, he began to ascend the Stairway to Heaven.
In the rear of the crowd, Stussy—fox mask in place—watched him climb.
Her eyes narrowed, slitting with something colder than suspicion.
Darren.
Do you see this?
Your "godson" is being lifted to the pinnacle of power in front of the entire world.
Those eyes… that hunger… that ambition burning under the laughter—
Can you really hold him?
Now that the flamingo has grown wings made of authority, will he still accept the weight of his past?
Or will he finally decide he doesn't need shackles at all?
To be continued...