Upon hearing the Golden Lion's prideful, almost comically stubborn declaration, the Whitebeard Pirates were rendered momentarily speechless.
The tension was immediately replaced by a wave of collective, unimpressed disdain.
They exchanged glances, and their expressions said everything that their words didn't need to.
Ace let out an audible snort, while Marco simply sighed and shook his head with the weary patience of a man used to dealing with oversized egos.
Their unified thought was clear: As if anyone was begging you to join, you old fool.
Doflamingo, standing off to the side, observed this entire chaotic exchange with a keen, analytical eye, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.
Fufufu... so that's the angle.
Now he understood.
This wasn't a true alliance.
Shiki wasn't a new member in the Whitebeard family; he was a leashed attack dog, bound personally to Ron.
An interesting, and frankly, far more stable arrangement.
With this crucial piece of insight, Doflamingo gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
The time was right.
He turned his full attention toward Ron, his posture shifting into one of impeccable, gentlemanly grace.
He offered a slight bow, a perfectly measured smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Vice-Captain Ron," he purred, his voice smooth as silk.
"A fascinating outcome. Now that your… internal affairs are settled, may we perhaps proceed with our own discussion of cooperation?"
Ron tilted his head slightly, holding up a single hand to politely signal for Doflamingo to wait.
"One moment. First, we need to take care of some... paperwork."
He then slowly turned his gaze toward the back of the crowd.
Before anyone could react, Ron casually raised his hand and beckoned.
"Haruta!"
A moment later, the Twelfth Division Commander, Haruta, came running through the crowd, parting a path through the assembled pirates.
His steps were hurried, his face etched with a focused urgency.
"Ron, here!" he called out, coming to a stop before them.
With a practiced motion, Haruta plucked a single, gleaming strand of hair from his own head.
Then, right before everyone's stunned eyes, something utterly unbelievable happened.
The seemingly ordinary strand of hair began to shimmer with an internal light.
It writhed in Haruta's fingers, elongating and flattening as if being worked by an invisible artisan.
Within seconds, it had transformed into a sheet of what looked like solid gold parchment, glowing with a soft, radiant light and covered in faint, ethereal lines.
The miraculous sight drew sharp, involuntary gasps from the onlookers.
Their eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and profound confusion.
Even the Golden Lion, who had seen countless wonders in his long life, wore a puzzled expression, his gaze fixed intently on the impossible object in Ron's hand, searching for an answer.
Holding the golden sheet aloft for all to see, Ron turned to address the crowd, his voice steady and firm.
"This is the power of the Twelfth Division Commander, Haruta. He is a user of the Contract-Contract Fruit."
As he spoke, he raised the golden paper higher, its light pulsing gently.
"His ability is simple, yet absolute. Any part of his body can be transformed into a binding contract." He let that sink in for a moment before continuing.
"This contract requires both parties to willingly sign it. Once the agreement is finalized, if either side violates the terms, they will face the predetermined consequences. No exceptions. No excuses."
At this, the crowd's confusion gradually morphed into dawning comprehension, their faces lighting up with realization.
It was a Devil Fruit that could enforce a promise.
Meanwhile, Shiki's normally unflappable expression faltered.
A faint flush of color rose to his aged cheeks.
Deep down, in the treacherous corners of his mind, he knew he had already been entertaining thoughts of betrayal.
His plan had been simple: play along, get the Dual-Fruit ability, and then fly away, laughing at the fools he'd left in his wake.
He never expected Ron to have a contingency for loyalty itself.
The brat had thought of everything.
His entire scheme was rendered utterly futile before it even began.
Doflamingo, on the other hand, felt a wave of relief and renewed confidence.
His eyes were fixed intently on the golden paper, his pupils involuntarily contracting behind his shades.
Fufufu... the world is truly vast and full of wonders.
In the lawless sea, where betrayal was as common as the tides, an ability like this was priceless.
Having this contract as a safety net made him feel increasingly at ease about making a deal of his own.
With this guarantee, he could have some actual peace of mind.
After a thorough discussion and seeing that neither side had any further objections, Ron gave a slight nod.
He slowly laid out the terms he and Shiki had agreed upon inside the pocket dimension.
The conditions were extensive, but the core points boiled down to three unbreakable laws.
"First, the fundamental principle of interest," Ron declared clearly.
"You will take no action that knowingly violates my personal interests." He paused, catching Marco's questioning glance.
"Shiki had… reservations about tying his fate to the entire crew. This was our compromise."
Shiki grunted in affirmation, crossing his arms.
"Second, the boundary of will and action," Ron continued.
"You must not act against my will. However," he added, looking at Shiki, "there is a crucial precondition: I cannot command you to certain death."
"And don't you forget it!" Shiki interjected loudly. "That was the part I added! I am no one's disposable pawn!"
"And third," Ron concluded, "the constraint of time. This contract will last for exactly three years. During this period, any violation of these terms by either party will result in immediate and absolute death as punishment."
After outlining the conditions one last time, Ron took the golden paper and held it out to the Golden Lion.
"Sign your name. Willingly. Otherwise, the contract will not take effect."
Shiki awkwardly reached out and took the glowing parchment.
He scratched his head, trying to muster some semblance of dignity.
"Right, right," he said with a forced, booming laugh. "It's not like I'd ever break my word, given our new relationship! But having it down in black and white… yes, that makes perfect sense. It's much more reassuring for everyone!"
As he spoke, he took the special, glowing pen that Haruta offered him.
With a deep breath, he solemnly wrote his name on the golden paper: Shiki.
Each stroke was heavy, deliberate, sealing his fate for the next three years.
Once finished, he handed the contract back to Ron.
Without hesitation, Ron signed his own name below Shiki's.
The moment he set down the pen, something miraculous happened.
The golden paper, which had lain quietly on a nearby crate, suddenly burst into cool, harmless flames.
It emitted a dazzling golden light as the fire danced and swirled, consuming the parchment without producing any smoke or heat.
At the same time, a low, eerie hum filled the air, a resonant chime that seemed to emanate from some distant, mystical realm, vibrating in the very bones of everyone present.
As the flames consumed the last of the contract, it turned to shimmering golden ash.
And from within that ash, two brilliant beams of golden light suddenly shot forth.
Like two nimble, ethereal threads, they moved faster than the eye could follow, striking Ron and the Golden Lion in the center of their chests. U
nder the astonished gazes of the onlookers, the golden light merged instantly into their bodies and then vanished without a trace.
The contract was forged.
At the exact same time, the Golden Lion's previously composed expression underwent a drastic, violent change.
His eyes flew open wide, and a sharp gasp escaped his lips.
He could feel it.
It wasn't a physical sensation.
It was deeper.
A cold, undeniable presence had taken root in the very back of his mind, a binding force that coiled around his soul like an invisible chain.
It was an oppressive weight, a deep, soul-piercing deterrence that was both terrifying and absolute.
He tested it.
For a fraction of a second, he allowed a rebellious thought to form: I should just tear this brat's head off and fly away right now.
The response was instantaneous.
A sharp, violent jolt of pure metaphysical warning shot through his very being.
It wasn't pain, but the absolute certainty of what would come next.
It was a premonition of his own soul being snuffed out, a terrifying glimpse into the void that awaited him if he ever dared to violate the terms.
The mysterious and formidable power of the contract was real, and it would not hesitate to claim his life.
He was, for the first time since escaping Impel Down, truly and completely bound.