The central square was frozen in a deathly silence. The trembling gazes of Dressrosa's people were fixed on the imposing figure of Mihawk, seated on his rock like an impassive judge. At his feet lay Doflamingo's lifeless body, a chilling spectacle that reminded everyone of the power of the man before them.
Mihawk slowly raised his eyes, scanning the crowd.
"Who speaks for these people?" he asked.
A shiver ran through the assembly. Eyes instinctively turned to Riku.
The old man took a deep breath and stepped forward, despite the crushing pressure radiating from the Warlord.
"I am Riku Dold III," he declared, straightening slightly. "Former king of Dressrosa, before that… monster stripped me of it."
Mihawk studied him for a moment.
"And what do you have to say, Riku Dold III?"
Riku clenched his fists.
"I want to know what you want from this country," he replied, his voice laced with restrained anger. "We've suffered under a tyrant's yoke. We won't submit to another pirate."
A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. Some nodded, others lowered their eyes, too scared to openly support their king.
Mihawk didn't move. Yet an invisible wave seemed to emanate from him, a pressure so dense the air itself seemed to solidify.
Riku faltered. His knees buckled under an unseen force, and he collapsed, unable to resist. Violet, at his side, rushed to support him, but she too trembled under the terrifying aura.
"You oppose me?" Mihawk asked, as if noting a trivial fact.
The crowd held its breath. No one dared move.
Then Rebecca, eyes shining with tears and rage, pushed her way to the front.
"Stop!" she cried, her young but determined voice echoing in the silence. "You're despicable! Look around you! Look at what you've done!"
She pointed at the smoking ruins, the groaning wounded, the terrified children.
"Is this how you plan to rule this country? Through fear and destruction?"
Mihawk slowly turned his gaze to her. A deathly chill fell over Rebecca, and she collapsed, her legs giving out.
Kyros, moving swiftly despite his missing leg, stepped between her and Mihawk.
"Rebecca…" he murmured, teeth gritted.
Mihawk studied the warrior with an expressionless gaze.
"And you?" he asked. "Do you also oppose my rule?"
Kyros didn't answer immediately. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the tension between his duty as a protector and the overwhelming reality of the power before him.
Then, slowly, he bent his knee.
"Spare her," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "She's my daughter."
Rebecca, still on the ground, looked up at him.
"Father… no! Don't kneel for me!"
Mihawk observed the scene with unsettling coldness. Then, after a heavy silence, he tilted his head slightly.
"A father's love for his daughter…" he murmured, as if weighing a foreign concept. "Very well. I'll spare her."
He stood, his black coat billowing slightly. With slow steps, he crossed the square, pausing before Riku, still kneeling, then before Kyros.
The crowd held its breath.
"So," Mihawk declared, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Since no one else openly opposes me… I am now the king of this country."
He cast a glance over Dressrosa's ruins.
"However, this is a ravaged land. A broken people."
Silence followed. No one dared speak.
Then a crystalline, mocking laugh shattered the tension.
"Hihihi! Oh, you're such a terrible actor!"
All eyes turned to the source of the voice.
Perona, floating in the air with her pink umbrella, grinned with delight.
"You're playing the tyrant, but everyone can see you're bored out of your mind!"
Mihawk didn't respond, but a faint twitch flickered in his eyelid.
Perona's mocking laugh rang out like a cracked bell in the dead silence.
But for Rebecca, kneeling in the dust, the sound stirred something else. Memories flooded back.
"It's her…" Rebecca whispered, eyes widening. "The ghost girl… the one who freed me, Kyros, all the gladiators…"
A surge of pure gratitude, mixed with immense confusion, overcame her fear. She stood shakily, her pained but intense gaze fixed on Perona.
A murmur spread through the crowd, amplifying Rebecca's silent revelation. Gladiators recognized the voice, the floating figure. Their terrified expressions shifted to disbelief, then a fragile hope. "The liberator…" whispered a man in leaden armor. "She's the one who broke our chains!"
Perona, unwittingly, had just been cast in the light of a savior in the eyes of the desperate people.
Perona, for her part, looked at Rebecca with vague boredom. Her attention was entirely on Mihawk, her big pink eyes sparkling with defiance.
"So, Mihawk?" she called, twirling carelessly on her umbrella. "Gonna keep up this gloomy tyrant act much longer? It's boring! And honestly, poorly done. You're dying of boredom!"
Mihawk turned his head slowly toward her. A faint twitch in his left eyelid was the only sign of irritation. "Your sense of timing, as always, is deplorable, Perona," he said in a chillingly calm voice. "You didn't have to come ruin my… speech."
"Ruin?!" Perona shrieked, her cherubic face twisting with fury. She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're the one who ruined my life! Remember? You tossed me overboard like a sack of rotten potatoes! Abandoned! Without a 'sorry'! Without even a spare umbrella!" Her voice rose to a theatrical pitch, laced with exaggerated resentment. Negative ghosts swirled around her, mirroring her mood.
Mihawk ignored her tirade completely. His yellow eyes fixed on her with sudden intensity. "If you're here," he said, cutting off her complaints, "it's because you completed the task I gave you. Correct?"
Perona stopped shouting instantly. She crossed her arms sulkily, pouting. "…Maybe," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. Then, after a second, she nodded reluctantly.
A heavy silence fell over the square.
The people, from Rebecca to Riku supported by Violet, exchanged baffled looks.
The initial fear of Mihawk now mingled with total astonishment. This ghostly creature, their liberator, seemed to know the fearsome Warlord intimately… and obey him? They were clearly in cahoots, but their dynamic was strange, contentious, incomprehensible.
Mihawk gave them no time to unravel the mystery. He extended a gloved hand toward Perona, palm open. Something settled delicately in it.
A tiny creature: Mansherry, the Princess of the Tontattas. She stood upright in the giant's hand, her petal dress slightly crumpled but her bearing regal.
"Princess Mansherry of the Tontatta Kingdom," Mihawk announced, his voice carrying an unusual gravity, addressing only her as if the crowd didn't exist. "I return your freedom. And that of your people."
Mansherry bowed deeply, a fierce gratitude shining in her tiny eyes. "Lord Mihawkland," she said in a clear, crystalline voice that miraculously reached the stunned front rows of the crowd. "The Tontattas' debt to you is eternal. You defeated the Demon who enslaved us and destroyed our home. Thank you."
Mihawk tilted his head slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture. "The debt is repaid by your courage and resilience, Princess. Now, Dressrosa is free, but broken." His piercing gaze fixed on her. "In return for your freedom, I expect you to use your power. Heal the wounded. Bring life back to this land. Rebuild this kingdom. Are you capable?"
Mansherry squared her shoulders. "Yes, Lord Mihawkland!" she cried with conviction. "With all my heart and power! For my freed people, for saved Dressrosa, and to repay you, I'll make life bloom even in the ashes!"
Mihawk gave what might have been a faint nod of approval. Without another word, he brought his hand back toward Perona. Mansherry hopped lightly onto the ghost girl's familiar shoulder. Mihawk gave Perona a brief nod.
"Tch," Perona muttered. But she gripped her pink umbrella and shot upward, carrying Mansherry.
All eyes—Riku, Rebecca, Kyros, Violet, and thousands of stunned residents—followed them into the sky.
What was happening?
Mihawk seized the collective attention. He spread his arms wide, his black coat unfurling like a raptor's dark wings against the dawn. His voice boomed over the ruins:
"People of Dressrosa!"
The silence was instant, absolute.
"I have defeated the Usurper. I have freed your captive souls. I have returned the Tontatta Princess to her people and her duty." His eyes swept the devastated horizon, then returned to the crowd. "As the new Sovereign of this kingdom, my first act, my only demand for now, is clear:"
He raised a finger to the sky, pointing at Perona and Mansherry reaching the peak of their ascent.
"Rebuild this country!"
As the words echoed, the first rays of the rising sun broke over the horizon, tearing through the wisps of smoke and darkness. They struck Dressrosa's ruins, illuminating the upturned faces.
Then, from Mansherry, a torrent of golden-green light poured down onto Dressrosa. It was like a rain of living stars. It touched the ravaged ground, the cracked stones, the wounded bodies lying among the debris.
And under the Falcon's unwavering gaze, and the rising sun, Dressrosa began to heal.