Doflamingo's pupils shrank. His heart pounded wildly.
It was him...
That Marine.
The Supreme Commander of the North Blue—Rogers Darren.
His mind involuntarily replayed the brutal memory from not long ago: this man, like a rampaging beast, crushed the entire Donquixote Pirates into the ground. Just the thought sent an icy chill crawling up his spine.
"No need to tense up. I don't mean any harm."
Darren lounged comfortably on the couch, legs crossed, puffing on his cigar.
He could see the hidden fear flickering in Doflamingo's eyes, and the corner of his mouth curled up into a faint smirk.
Yep. Some kids don't learn until you beat the lesson into them.
"Don't give me that 'no harm' crap!" Doflamingo felt as if a knife had pierced his chest at those words. Bloodshot eyes locked onto Darren as he growled through gritted teeth.
"What do you want from me?"
His gaze swept across the room.
They were in a dimly lit hall. Oil lamps on the walls cast flickering shadows across the gray and peeling plaster. The doors weren't even closed—beyond them lay a decrepit courtyard. Moldy plaster flaked from the archway, revealing damp stone underneath.
On the far end of the room, Trebol, Diamante, Vergo, and Pica lay unconscious, crudely bandaged and unmoving in the corners.
Seeing that his top officers were at least alive, Doflamingo exhaled quietly, raising his battered face with a defiant glare.
"Why didn't you just kill me?" he spat. "I'm a pirate. You're a Marine. Isn't killing pirates supposed to be your proudest duty?"
"Kill you? Nah," Darren waved him off with mock weariness. "I told you already. I want to talk. You attacked first. I just defended myself."
Doflamingo nearly coughed up blood.
"You're messing with me!"
Veins bulged on his temple as he roared in fury.
If he wasn't in so much pain—his whole body slick with cold sweat—he would've gone another round with this bastard even knowing he'd lose.
"Believe what you want," Darren shrugged. "And as for all that 'Marines stand for justice, pirates are evil' nonsense... that's outdated."
He looked at the pale-faced boy in front of him, who wore an expression far too old for his years.
"I'm the 'Disgrace of the Marines.' Justice, evil, neutrality—none of that matters to me."
"The world has always obeyed one fundamental truth," he said, leaning forward with a devilish grin.
"Justice prevails? Of course it does..."
"Because winners write justice."
The words rang like a thunderclap.
Doflamingo went rigid. Staring into those wild, ambitious eyes, he found himself instinctively flinching—then caught himself, biting down hard and straightening his spine.
"So what? Even if you're a disgrace, you're still a Marine. That won't change."
"Kill me if you want. The weak don't get to choose how they die."
His lips curled into a vicious grin.
Darren smiled with satisfaction.
Now that... is raw potential.
He eyed the golden-haired boy with newfound appreciation. Twelve, maybe thirteen years old, and already filled with the hunger to destroy.
He couldn't help but compare him to a certain rubber-headed protagonist.
What was Luffy doing at twelve?
Probably still playing pirate with Ace and Sabo.
Meanwhile, Doflamingo had already gathered a loyal, powerful crew and carved out territory in the chaos of the North Blue.
Insane talent. A terrifying Devil Fruit. Natural charisma. Celestial Dragon lineage.
If guided correctly, and pushed in the right direction, Doflamingo could become a very valuable card in his deck.
Right now, he was like a shooting star—blazing, brilliant.
All Darren had to do was give him a push.
He had no intention of giving up his status as a Marine. His personal fleet was growing by the day. Once he joined the officer training program, he'd have access to even more resources.
Power, influence, loyal troops—things no pirate could offer.
The Saint Schild incident had been a close call. He'd smoothed it over, but it had shaken him.
He couldn't rely on the system alone.
Zephyr, after all, was the perfect example. A life of loyalty to justice, only to be betrayed by his own students.
No. He needed an ace outside the system. Something the World Government and even Marine HQ would fear.
And right now, the answer was right in front of him.
A twelve-year-old Doflamingo.
Still undeveloped. Still impressionable.
If this had been the future warlord, king of Dressrosa? Darren wouldn't hesitate to kill him.
But this Doflamingo could be shaped.
He could be trained.
Darren's smile turned slow, calculated.
It sent a chill down Doflamingo's spine.
He knew that smile.
The look a child gave a new toy.
He shivered.
---
To be continued...