Watching Doflamingo swagger up the Stairway to Heaven—his grin widening with every step—Stussy's eyes narrowed behind her fox mask into thin, dangerous slits.
Power was an intoxicant. It didn't need to be forced. It seeped in through the cracks, rotted the edges of restraint, and made even iron-willed men forget where they started.
And Doflamingo?
He didn't merely want power.
He worshiped it.
After all, the Gorosei could offer him… so much more.
The title of Vice Commander of the Knights of God wasn't just authority. It was recognition. A public reinstatement. A declaration to the entire world that Donquixote Doflamingo belonged among the "gods" again—and not as a tolerated stray, but as a rising pillar of the Holy Land's power structure.
And Darren?
What could Darren offer now?
Back in the North Blue, he'd suppressed Doflamingo with Marine rank and institutional leverage. He'd fed him resources, tidied paths, nudged doors open with political weight—and in return, he'd gotten cooperation.
But now?
Doflamingo could simply entrench himself in Mary Geoise.
If he lived in the Holy Land, even Darren wouldn't be able to touch him—not without igniting a war he'd been careful to postpone.
So aside from raw threat and brute force… what leverage did Darren have left?
Stussy couldn't fathom it.
As for "Godfather" and "Godson"…
She almost laughed.
A man like Doflamingo would snap that kind of sentimental chain the instant it became inconvenient.
Still—
Tch. Even if the flamingo betrays him… what's it to me?
Stussy's sneer hid beneath her mask as the ceremony moved forward under the eyes of the entire world.
The plaza swelled with bodies and breath.
Doflamingo strode through the sea of dignitaries as if he owned their oxygen, reaching the foot of the Stairway to Heaven with the slow arrogance of a man convinced history itself had been waiting for him.
At that moment—standing where he had once been dragged like a dog, blood on his hands, laughter in the mouths of those who rejected him—
the contrast struck like a hammer.
Sunlight. A cool, clean wind. Thousands of eyes burning with attention.
A place that had once spat him out now raised him up.
For a heartbeat, behind those dark sunglasses, confusion flickered—dreamlike, surreal, almost dizzy.
Then it was gone.
His fingers curled slightly. Veins bulged faintly at his temple.
And his grin deepened.
"So, Doflamingo…"
Saint Saturn looked down from above, staff in hand, his expression calm in the way only absolute authority could afford.
"Is this the feeling you have always longed for?"
"The sensation of standing above all others… it must be exhilarating."
Doflamingo's chuckle was low, pleased, and sharp-edged.
"Heh heh heh… I haven't surpassed everyone yet, old man."
He tilted his head just enough, as if measuring the distance between them.
"You're still looking down on me, aren't you, Saint Saturn?"
Saturn paused. Studied him. Then, unexpectedly, laughed—a thin, dry sound that carried no warmth.
"If you aspire to replace us, you still have much work ahead of you."
"But before that…"
His gaze drifted, almost casually, toward the heights beyond the plaza.
"The target you should pursue is Figarland Garling."
Doflamingo's smile sharpened.
Their exchange was quiet enough that the crowd saw only polite words and ceremonial decorum—nothing more than a compliant candidate receiving a few approving remarks from the Government's highest authority.
Saturn lifted a hand.
An official approached with careful steps, bearing a tray.
Upon it rested a gilded medal—its centerpiece the cross-shaped emblem of authority, encircled by a solemn dragon, heavy with meaning and threat.
"This is the insignia of the Knights of God," Saturn said, voice rough but firm, "and your personal identifier."
Then he raised his voice, letting it pour into the plaza, into the Den Den Mushi, into the entire world.
"I, the supreme authority of the World Government—the Warrior God of Science and Defense—Jaygarcia Saturn…"
One by one, the other four stepped forward and declared their titles and names in turn—each voice like a seal pressed onto reality itself.
"I, the supreme authority of the World Government—the Warrior God of Finance—Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro…"
"I, the highest authority of the World Government—Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, Warrior God of Agriculture…"
"I, the highest authority of the World Government—Saint Topman Warcury, Warrior God of Justice…"
"I, the highest authority of the World Government—Saint Marcus Mars, Warrior God of Environment…"
The five voices overlapped into a single, crushing proclamation that silenced the plaza and filled the live broadcast with the weight of inevitability.
"…In the name of the Gorosei, we hereby officially appoint Saint Donquixote Doflamingo as the new Vice Commander of the Knights of God!"
With solemn precision, Saturn lifted the medal and pinned it to Doflamingo's chest.
The gold caught the sun.
The dragon and cross gleamed like a brand.
"Heh heh heh… I'm still not used to this," Doflamingo murmured, eyes angled down to the emblem, his laughter low enough to be mistaken for humility.
Then the applause began.
Not the polite kind.
It erupted—thunderous, swelling, obediently ecstatic—until the plaza shook with it, and the entire world watched a pirate's smile under a Celestial Dragon's name.
---
And yet—
While every eye in the world was locked on the Stairway to Heaven…
While the applause drowned out doubt…
Somewhere else, beyond the reach of cameras and crowds, the real game began.
Deep within Pangaea Castle—
inside the Chamber of Authority—
a figure appeared without announcement, without footsteps, without warning.
Short dark hair stirred as if touched by a breeze that shouldn't exist there.
Blue arcs crackled between long, sharply defined fingers, lighting the dim marble for brief instants like distant lightning trapped indoors.
Darren stepped forward as if he belonged.
He reached out casually, plucked a cigar from the marble coffee table, bit off the tip, and lit it with a lazy spark.
Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled, amused.
"I expected most of the security to be pulled toward the ceremony… but still."
His voice was quiet, almost conversational, as if he were commenting on the quality of wine.
"This infiltration…"
He smiled, eyes narrowing slightly.
"…was far easier than I imagined."
From far away, muffled through walls and distance, the applause rolled like ocean thunder.
Darren turned his head toward the deeper end of the chamber.
A corridor stretched there—dark, long, and too silent, like a throat leading down into something that did not want to be found.
He exhaled a smoke ring and chuckled softly, stepping toward the unknown.
To be continued...