The Donquixote Family members made no attempt to conceal their whereabouts, even while transporting priceless treasures through the bustling streets of Sabaody Archipelago. Their confidence bordered on arrogance—a calculated display of power that sent a clear message to anyone watching.
Leading the procession was Trebol, his grotesque form unmistakable even from a distance. The top executive clutched his signature golden club topped with a four-leaf clover, his perpetually runny nose and bizarre mannerisms making him appear more like a disgusting caricature than one of Doflamingo's most trusted lieutenants. Behind him, a carefully organized team of subordinates carried several large reinforced boxes, their contents worth more than most pirates would see in a lifetime.
Flanking Trebol were two other notable figures from the Family's hierarchy. Delinger strutted alongside them with characteristic cockiness, his fighting fish heritage evident in his sharp teeth and predatory grin. The young half-fishman wore his signature white horned hat at a jaunty angle, his every movement radiating barely contained violence.
Completing the trio was Lao G, the elderly martial artist whose deceptively frail appearance concealed decades of accumulated fighting experience. The bald old man moved with the fluid grace of someone who had spent a lifetime perfecting the art of combat, his weathered features betraying nothing of his true capabilities.
The three executives walked at the front of their escort formation, maintaining an air of casual conversation that suggested complete confidence in their security. Their relaxed demeanor wasn't mere bravado—in the criminal underworld of Sabaody Archipelago, the Donquixote Family's reputation preceded them like a shield.
Pirates throughout the crowded district recognized the distinctive pink feather coats and Family insignia. Even those who had never encountered Doflamingo personally understood what that symbol represented. The Heavenly Demon's influence extended far beyond his official position as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and crossing him meant inviting the kind of retaliation that could erase entire crews from existence.
As the procession moved through the streets, other criminals instinctively stepped aside, creating a clear path through what should have been impenetrable crowds. Conversations died to whispers, hands moved away from weapons, and more than a few pirates found urgent business elsewhere.
"Look at them all," Delinger sneered, his voice carrying the casual cruelty that characterized most Family members. "A single Devil Fruit has these bottom-feeders practically drooling on themselves. How pathetic."
The young fighter's sharp teeth gleamed as he surveyed the watching crowd with obvious disdain. His fighting fish heritage had blessed him with enhanced senses, allowing him to detect the elevated heart rates and nervous sweat that marked potential threats. What he found was laughably inadequate—desperate ambition without the power to back it up.
"G!" Lao G suddenly struck one of his signature poses, his elderly frame contorting into the kind of dynamic stance that had become his trademark over decades of service to the Family.
The display drew nervous laughter from several onlookers, though none dared mock him openly. Those familiar with the old man's reputation understood that his theatrical tendencies masked genuine lethality. Age had done nothing to diminish his mastery of martial arts, and his cheerful demeanor could shift to murderous efficiency in the span of a heartbeat.
"Now, now," Trebol interjected with his characteristic nasal whine, snot dripping freely as he gestured with his club. "Don't be so harsh on our potential customers, Delinger. These people serve an important purpose in our business model."
The executive's grotesque appearance often led enemies to underestimate him, but his strategic mind remained one of the Family's greatest assets. He understood the broader implications of their public display better than his younger companions.
"Their limitations are exactly what make them useful," he continued, his voice taking on the lecturing tone he often employed when explaining complex schemes. "Limited vision and limited capability create predictable behavior patterns. They see a Devil Fruit and assume it represents the pinnacle of power, never imagining the greater treasures that exist beyond their comprehension."
Trebol paused to wipe his perpetually runny nose with the back of his hand, a disgusting habit that had become as much a part of his identity as his tactical brilliance.
"Young Master has always emphasized the importance of reputation management," he added with obvious reverence for Doflamingo. "These people will spread stories about tonight's auction throughout their networks. Every tale of our family's wealth and power enhances our position in future negotiations."
"But we could make it even more dramatic," Delinger suggested with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. "Wait until someone actually wins the Devil Fruit, then kill them publicly and reclaim it. Maximum impact, maximum fear, and we keep the merchandise for the next auction."
The proposal was delivered with the casual tone of someone discussing dinner plans rather than premeditated murder. For Delinger, violence wasn't just a tool—it was entertainment.
"Absolutely not," Trebol replied firmly, though his tone remained patient. "Young Master's instructions were very specific about maintaining our reputation for honest dealings. We're building long-term relationships with criminal organizations throughout the Grand Line, and trust is essential for that kind of expansion."
He gestured toward the crowd with his club, indicating the diverse collection of pirates and underground figures who had gathered for the auction.
"Besides," he added with a sly grin, "it's only an Animal-type Devil Fruit. Hardly irreplaceable from our perspective, though these people don't need to know that."
The conversation continued as they approached their destination, but their voices faded into the general noise of the crowd. Pirates throughout the district maintained their discussions about the auction's potential offerings, speculation running wild about what other treasures the Donquixote Family might have brought.
The sight of multiple large boxes had triggered rumors that ranged from ancient weapons to rare navigational charts to caches of precious stones. In a world where information often proved more valuable than gold, the possibility of acquiring classified intelligence or technological blueprints drew interest from organizations that rarely participated in conventional auctions.
Hidden among the watching crowd, a figure in athletic wear stood with his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His posture suggested boredom rather than interest, as if the spectacle unfolding before him held no particular significance. The sports clothing was deliberately unremarkable—the kind of outfit that allowed someone to blend into any crowd without drawing attention.
But beneath that mundane exterior, Oboro's enhanced perception was cataloguing every detail of the Donquixote Family's security arrangements. His eyes tracked movement patterns, identified potential weaknesses, and calculated optimal approach vectors with the precision of a predator studying its prey.
"Interesting," he murmured with barely audible satisfaction, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Trebol himself. That's either extremely good luck or extremely bad planning on their part."
Of all the Donquixote Family's top executives, Trebol represented perhaps the most problematic opponent for someone with Oboro's current capabilities. The man's Beta Beta fruit granted him the ability to produce and manipulate highly flammable mucus, creating both offensive and defensive options that could prove devastating in close combat.
More concerning was Trebol's tactical intelligence. Unlike some of the Family's more straightforward fighters, he possessed the kind of strategic mind that could adapt to unexpected situations. His decades of experience serving as Doflamingo's advisor had honed his ability to recognize threats and respond appropriately.
"But that old man..." Oboro's gaze shifted to Lao G, and his expression grew more serious. "Now he's genuinely dangerous."
Age had done nothing to diminish the elderly martial artist's capabilities. If anything, his advanced years had refined his techniques to their absolute peak. Lao G represented the kind of opponent who could potentially match Oboro's enhanced reflexes and combat instincts through pure skill and experience.
The assessment wasn't based on speculation. Oboro's recent encounter with Rayleigh had provided crucial insights into the power scaling that existed in this world. Physical mastery alone could achieve results that defied conventional understanding, and someone like Lao G had spent decades perfecting his art.
"His martial arts foundation is probably comparable to masters from other realities," Oboro noted grimly. "Combined with this world's enhanced human physiology, he could prove more challenging than dealing with Trebol and Delinger combined."
The analysis was sobering but not discouraging. Every challenge represented an opportunity to test his own developing abilities against worthy opponents. His time spent cultivating the Dantian technique had produced measurable improvements in his physical capabilities, but theoretical advancement meant nothing without practical application.
After observing the Donquixote Family's procession for several more minutes, Oboro turned away from the crowd and began walking in the opposite direction. His companion, Dom, fell into step beside him without needing verbal instruction.
The transformed pirate's enhanced senses had picked up fragments of the conversation between Family executives, and what he'd heard had done nothing to calm his already frayed nerves. The casual discussion of murder and reputation management served as a stark reminder of exactly what they were planning to challenge.
"So," Dom ventured hesitantly once they were out of earshot from other observers, "when exactly are we supposed to make our move?"
"Not yet," Oboro replied with infuriating calmness. "Timing will be crucial. We need to wait for the optimal moment when their guard is lowest and their attention is most divided."
Dom swallowed nervously, his throat working as he struggled to maintain composure. The rational part of his mind continued screaming that this entire plan represented elaborate suicide, but he'd witnessed enough of Oboro's capabilities to know that arguing would be pointless.
Back at their modest hotel room, Oboro settled into his preferred meditation posture while Dom paced nervously around the cramped space. The contrast between their reactions to the approaching confrontation was stark—one preparing with methodical precision, the other barely containing his terror.
"You've been observing their capabilities," Oboro said without opening his eyes. "Based on what you saw today, how do you assess your chances against Trebol and Delinger?"
"Are you insane?" Dom's voice cracked with disbelief. "Boss, those are Donquixote Family executives! I'm just a nobody who used to scrape barnacles off ship hulls for a living!"
Despite his protestations, Dom found himself genuinely considering the question. His transformation had granted him enhanced physical capabilities that far exceeded his original limitations, but translating that raw power into combat effectiveness remained largely theoretical.
Delinger's reputation preceded him throughout the criminal underworld. The young half-fishman had built a name for himself through brutal efficiency and complete lack of mercy. His fighting fish heritage granted him natural weapons that could tear through conventional armor, while his training under Doflamingo had refined those gifts into lethal artistry.
As for Trebol, Dom's enhanced senses had detected the underlying power that lurked beneath the man's disgusting exterior. The top executive's grotesque appearance was deliberately misleading—designed to make enemies underestimate him until it was too late to matter.
"Your fear is understandable," Oboro acknowledged with patient understanding. "But also somewhat misplaced. You're no longer the same person who joined the Flame Dragon Pirates as a desperate recruit."
He opened his eyes and fixed Dom with a steady gaze that seemed to penetrate directly to his soul.
"However, I'm not planning to send you into battle unprepared. The transformation you've already undergone was merely the foundation for greater changes."
Dom's expression shifted from terror to confused hope. Throughout their partnership, Oboro had demonstrated capabilities that defied easy explanation. If he claimed to possess methods for further enhancement, past experience suggested such claims should be taken seriously.
"What... what kind of changes?" Dom asked hesitantly.
"The kind that will give you a genuine chance at victory," Oboro replied with mysterious satisfaction. "But first, you need to demonstrate the proper mindset. Are you truly committed to this course of action, or are you going to spend our remaining time paralyzed by what-if scenarios?"
The question carried weight that transcended mere tactical planning. This was about fundamental character assessment—whether Dom possessed the mental fortitude necessary for the challenges ahead.
Dom fell silent, wrestling with fears and ambitions that had been at war within his consciousness for days. The rational part of his mind continued insisting that survival required abandoning this madness and fleeing Sabaody Archipelago immediately. But another part—a part that had grown stronger since his transformation—whispered about possibilities that had never existed before.
For his entire life, Dom had been nobody special. A minor criminal content to follow orders and collect modest shares of equally modest profits. The kind of person who faded into crowds and left no lasting impression on anyone who encountered him.
But now, for the first time, he had access to genuine power. Not just the enhanced physical capabilities, but association with someone whose ambitions spanned beyond anything he'd previously imagined. The question was whether he possessed the courage to embrace such opportunities or whether fear would drive him back to comfortable mediocrity.
"I'm committed," Dom said finally, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "Whatever you need me to do, Boss. I'll do it."
Oboro's smile held genuine approval along with anticipatory satisfaction.
"Excellent. In that case, we should begin your preparation immediately."
The following morning arrived with the kind of electric anticipation that preceded momentous events. Throughout Sabaody Archipelago's criminal districts, pirates and underground figures completed their final preparations for what promised to be the most significant auction in recent memory.
The celebration had drawn participants from across the Grand Line—crews that had risked everything to reach this point, organizations that had pooled resources for months to afford participation, and individual criminals who saw this as their chance to acquire the kind of power that could change their destinies forever.
Doflamingo's auction house stood as the centerpiece of this gathering storm. The building itself had been transformed for the occasion, decorated with banners and lighting that spoke to both wealth and power. Security arrangements were visible yet subtle—enough presence to deter casual troublemakers without creating an atmosphere of paranoia.
Inside the main hall, the atmosphere buzzed with barely contained energy. Conversations died and resumed as various factions evaluated potential allies and enemies among the assembled crowd. Everyone understood that tonight's events would create winners and losers, though few suspected just how dramatically the established order was about to be challenged.
Oboro and Dom had arrived early, securing seats that provided optimal sightlines while maintaining reasonable escape routes. Their positioning appeared casual but reflected careful strategic thinking about potential contingencies.
The venue itself was impressive in its scope and design. Tiered seating allowed hundreds of participants to observe the auction stage clearly, while private booths accommodated those willing to pay premium prices for enhanced privacy. The lighting system could shift focus instantly, creating dramatic reveals or ensuring bidder anonymity as circumstances required.
"Look at all of them," Dom whispered with nervous amazement, his enhanced senses cataloguing the diverse collection of dangerous individuals surrounding them. "I've never seen so many high-bounty pirates in one place."
The observation was accurate. This gathering represented a cross-section of the Grand Line's most ambitious criminals—crews that had survived the journey from their home seas, organizations that had carved out territories through violence and cunning, and individual powerhouses whose reputations preceded them throughout the criminal underworld.
"The concentration of Devil Fruit users alone is remarkable," Oboro noted with analytical interest. "At least a dozen confirmed abilities just in our immediate vicinity, probably twice that number if we include the private booths."
His enhanced perception allowed him to detect the subtle energy signatures that marked individuals who had consumed Devil Fruits. The abilities ranged from relatively mundane Paramecia powers to exotic Zoan transformations, creating a mixture of potential threats and opportunities.
Yet despite the impressive gathering, Oboro remained confident in his assessment that none of these individuals posed genuine threats to his plans. They were here as customers rather than competitors—focused on acquiring treasures through legitimate purchase rather than violent theft.
"The Celestial Dragons aren't attending tonight's auction," Dom observed with obvious relief. "That's something, at least."
"Their absence simplifies matters considerably," Oboro agreed. "Celestial Dragon presence would have brought Admiral-level security that even I would prefer to avoid at this stage."
The distinction was important. While tonight's auction featured valuable merchandise, tomorrow's slave market would draw the World Nobles' personal attention. The security arrangements would shift accordingly, transforming a challenging theft into a potentially suicidal endeavor.
The stage lighting suddenly intensified, drawing attention to the elaborate setup that would showcase the evening's treasures. Disco emerged from the wings with his characteristic theatrical flair, star-shaped sunglasses gleaming under the focused illumination.
"Welcome, welcome, one and all!" the auctioneer bellowed into his microphone, his voice carrying easily throughout the packed venue. "Tonight, we gather to witness history in the making! Treasures that kingdoms would wage war to possess! Powers that could reshape the very seas themselves!"
The hyperbolic introduction drew cheers and jeers in equal measure from the assembled crowd. Pirates appreciated dramatic presentation, but they also valued substance over style. Still, Disco's enthusiasm was infectious, and the energy level in the room continued climbing.
"Without further delay," Disco continued with building excitement, "let us begin this magnificent celebration of wealth, power, and ambition!"
Oboro settled back in his seat as the formal proceedings commenced, his apparent relaxation masking the predatory focus that characterized him in hunting mode. Around them, hundreds of dangerous criminals prepared to bid astronomical sums for treasures they couldn't truly comprehend.
But only one person in that entire gathering understood that tonight's auction would end very differently than anyone expected.
The game was about to begin in earnest, and the stakes had never been higher.
As various treasures were presented and bidding wars erupted throughout the crowd, Oboro remained perfectly still, his breathing regulated to the point where he appeared to be sleeping. But Dom, who had grown accustomed to his boss's habits, recognized the signs of intense mental preparation.
Hours passed as lesser items changed hands for impressive sums. Ancient weapons, rare navigational charts, and exotic materials all found new owners among the assembled criminals. The crowd's energy remained high, building anticipation for the evening's centerpiece attraction.
Finally, as midnight approached, Disco's voice took on a new quality of excitement that made every person in the venue sit up straighter.
"And now," he announced with theatrical reverence, "the moment you've all been waiting for!"
A stunningly beautiful staff member wheeled a ornate cart onto the stage, its contents concealed beneath a silk covering that seemed to glow under the focused lighting. The entire venue fell silent as she positioned the cart at center stage and stepped aside with practiced grace.
"Ladies and gentlemen, pirates and entrepreneurs," Disco continued, building the suspense with expert timing, "I present to you... a genuine Devil Fruit!"
The silk covering was whisked away with dramatic flair, revealing an elaborate treasure chest that opened automatically to display its precious contents. Inside, nestled on velvet cushioning, lay a fruit unlike anything found in nature.
The Devil Fruit's surface was covered in distinctive spiral patterns that seemed to shift and writhe under the stage lighting. Its alien appearance spoke to powers that transcended normal understanding, capabilities that could transform an ordinary person into something approaching supernatural.
The crowd's reaction was immediate and overwhelming. Excited shouts filled the air as pirates throughout the venue began calculating their chances and preparing their financial resources. For many of these criminals, a Devil Fruit represented the ultimate prize—power that couldn't be stolen, copied, or destroyed.
"The reserve price is one hundred million berries," Disco announced with satisfaction. "Bidding increments will be no less than ten million berries. Let the auction begin!"
"One hundred and fifty million!" The first bid came immediately, shouted by a pirate captain whose crew had apparently pooled their resources for this opportunity.
"One hundred and eighty million!" Another voice joined the competition, this one carrying the confidence of someone with deeper pockets.
"Two hundred million!"
The bidding escalated rapidly as various factions committed to what many of them saw as once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. The sums being discussed exceeded the annual treasuries of smaller nations, yet the competition showed no signs of slowing.
Oboro watched the proceedings with growing amusement, his enhanced hearing allowing him to track conversations throughout the venue. The desperation was palpable—criminals who understood that this Devil Fruit might represent their only chance at achieving the kind of power necessary to survive in the New World.
"This is more intense than I expected," Dom whispered nervously. "These people are serious about their bids."
"Of course they are," Oboro replied with dark satisfaction. "What they don't realize is that money can't buy what truly matters in this world."
The observation carried implications that Dom couldn't quite grasp, but he sensed the underlying confidence that had characterized his boss throughout their partnership. Whatever Oboro had planned, he clearly believed it would succeed despite the overwhelming obstacles arrayed against them.
As the bidding war continued to escalate toward astronomical figures, Oboro finally opened his eyes and straightened in his seat. The time for passive observation was drawing to a close.
Soon, very soon, the real action would begin.