-Broadcast-
In this information-starved ocean, the only lifeline connecting distant islands was the Den Den Mushi network. Though these remarkable creatures could transmit voices across any distance, they remained luxury items far beyond the reach of ordinary citizens.
The common folk relied on newspapers for their glimpses of the wider world, and precious few events carved themselves deep enough into collective memory to survive the passage of years. Of the White Town of Flevance, only one thing endured in the public consciousness—the terrifying legend of Hakuen-byou, the Amber Lead Syndrome.
To civilians who had never witnessed the truth, this plague that could supposedly obliterate an entire nation in mere days represented the ultimate biological weapon. They clung to the belief that the disease was highly contagious, spreading like wildfire through any population unlucky enough to encounter it.
In recent weeks, the name "Flevance" had begun circulating again among Dressrosa's social circles. The wealthy patrons who had attended tonight's Show certainly hadn't expected the grand finale to involve that cursed place.
At the mermaid host's signal, two burly staff members struggled to maneuver an enormous container onto the center stage. A thick tube snaked from the container's base, disappearing into the stage's infrastructure. Like every other exhibit tonight, this one remained shrouded beneath black cloth, its contents a mystery that had the audience shifting forward in their seats.
The container appeared large enough to house several people. Murmurs rippled through the stands as patrons who had paid exorbitant sums to attend this exclusive show speculated about what treasure might justify such dramatic presentation.
"Some of our younger guests may be unfamiliar with Flevance's history," the mermaid Camie announced, her melodious voice carrying easily through the hushed venue. "Allow me to provide context—patience, please. This exhibit is... quite extraordinary."
Camie's words painted a picture of Flevance's former glory in economical strokes. The nation had once stood as a beacon of prosperity, its white buildings gleaming like jewels against the North Blue's horizon. But beneath that gleaming facade, a silent killer had taken root. The residents suffered from a mysterious affliction that painted their skin with white patches—Hakuen-byou, the Amber Lead Syndrome.
"The official reports claimed this plague was highly contagious," Camie continued, her tone adopting the practiced neutrality of a tour guide recounting ancient history. "According to the World Government, infected individuals would die in agony within days of symptoms appearing. When every last soul in the White Town perished overnight, Flevance became nothing more than a cautionary tale, and Hakuen-byou supposedly vanished forever from our seas."
The mermaid's jade hand came to rest on the black cloth. A theatrical pause stretched across the venue as every eye fixed on her delicate fingers.
"However," she said, her voice dropping to a conspirative whisper that somehow reached every corner of the arena, "the survivors of Flevance were not entirely extinct. Our Donquixote Family was fortunate enough to acquire the sole remaining specimen. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... the Silver Daughter."
The cloth fell away like a curtain drop, revealing a transparent glass container that sparkled under the stage lights. Inside, curled in a fetal position, was a young woman whose skin gleamed with an otherworldly silver sheen. The sudden exposure to blazing spotlights caused her to flinch and attempt to shield herself, but the cramped confines of her prison offered no escape from the invasive illumination.
Her vulnerable posture only served to emphasize the unnatural beauty of her condition. The carefully positioned lights caught every curve and angle of her metallic skin, transforming her into a living sculpture that seemed to embody both human fragility and ethereal perfection.
"The silver coating you observe is not paint or powder," Camie explained with the detached professionalism of an auctioneer. "This woman suffers from advanced Hakuen-byou. The complete silver pigmentation of her skin represents the final stage of the disease's progression. She is the only survivor of the White Town—unique in all the world."
The artificial scarcity was worth more than gold to these collectors. Even if the exhibit had been an ordinary human being, her provenance alone would have commanded a king's ransom.
Yet beneath the fascination, fear began to creep through the audience like spilled ink. Hakuen-byou was no mere footnote in medical textbooks—it represented death incarnate.
"Dear gods," whispered a portly man in the third row, his face draining of color. "Is it safe to be in the same room with her? What if the disease spreads?"
"I didn't pay this much to catch some plague," another patron muttered, half-rising from his seat. "Silver skin won't matter much if we're all dead by morning."
"It looks magnificent, but this is madness," a woman declared, her jewelry rattling as she gathered her purse. "Hakuen-byou should have remained buried with Flevance!"
Panic began to ripple through the crowd like a stone dropped in still water. In this enclosed, air-recycled space, every shared breath suddenly felt like a potential death sentence. If the legendary plague erupted here and now, would anyone in Dressrosa survive to tell the tale?
Recognizing the imminent collapse of her carefully orchestrated show, Camie raised her hands for silence. Her voice cut through the rising anxiety with practiced authority.
"Please, honored guests! The Donquixote Family has maintained custody of this specimen for many years without incident. Medical observation has confirmed that Hakuen-byou requires direct physical contact for transmission. As long as no one touches the container or its contents, you remain perfectly safe."
The reassurance, delivered with the confidence of established science, slowly drew the fleeing patrons back to their seats. Grumbling and exchanging nervous glances, they settled back into their chairs. With the immediate threat of contagion seemingly removed, their perverted curiosity began to override their survival instincts.
Once order was restored, Camie couldn't allow her prized exhibit to remain cowering in the corner. She approached the glass container and began tapping its surface with her knuckles. Each sharp rap made the woman inside flinch violently—a conditioned response that spoke of months or years of such treatment.
After the tenth tap, the woman's trembling gradually subsided. Like a marionette responding to invisible strings, she slowly unfurled from her defensive posture and rose to her full height. With mechanical precision, she began to turn and pose, displaying her silver-transformed body from every conceivable angle for the audience's consumption.
The visual impact struck the crowd like a physical blow. Gasps and exclamations erupted from the stands as patrons leaned forward for better views. Every inch of the woman's flesh had been transformed—not just her skin, but her hair, her eyes, even her fingernails gleamed with that unnatural metallic sheen. She was a living statue, a human being transmuted into precious metal.
"Incredible... it's like something from a dream."
"The stories about Flevance's beauty weren't exaggerated after all. Even their plague victims are works of art."
"She's completely unique—there's nothing else like her in the entire world. Imagine owning such a treasure. The prestige alone would be worth any price."
As they marveled at the Silver Daughter's transformed appearance, several wealthy patrons were already calculating bids. To possess something that no other collector could ever acquire—wasn't that the ultimate luxury? The woman's humanity had already been stripped away in their minds; she was simply an exotic artifact to be acquired and displayed.
Whether the exhibit lived or died seemed irrelevant to these people. They had never considered the survivors of Flevance to be truly human anyway. In their twisted logic, converting her into a living trophy was an act of mercy—at least she served some purpose now.
The two female attendants flanking Franky continued their enthusiastic cheering, swept up in the crowd's manic energy. The Silver Daughter continued her slow rotation inside the glass prison, her movements carrying the eerie grace of a music box ballerina. She had become a perfect sculpture, allowing the audience to experience what they imagined was ancient beauty preserved in metal.
Throughout the entire grotesque spectacle, Franky remained silent as a grave. Even from his position in the rear seats, his mechanical eyes could clearly read the small placard mounted beside the container. Above the exhibit name "Silver Daughter," written in smaller text, was her real identity: Trafalgar Lami.
That surname struck him like a lightning bolt. The same family name as the Shichibukai. The implications were staggering.
In the atmosphere of madness and carnival that had consumed the venue, the figure in the back row had gone completely rigid. His relaxed posture vanished as his hands clenched around the long sword resting across his knees. His entire frame trembled with barely contained rage, and a murderous aura began radiating from him like heat from a forge. The killing intent was so intense that it made the white bear beside him shift nervously.
"C-Captain, are you okay?" Bepo stammered, his voice barely audible over the crowd's continued cheering. "Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry—"
The polar bear's instinctive apologies died in his throat as his captain's voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk.
"I'm not okay, Bepo." The words carried such cold fury that they seemed to freeze the air around them. "I'm going to kill every single person in this room."
Trafalgar Law's entire world had narrowed to a single point of white-hot rage. If he didn't act tonight, if he let this moment pass, he would carry the regret for the rest of his life.