-Real World-
The Donquixote bloodline had always been strange—Celestial Dragons who rejected their own kind from the very foundation of their existence. Where other World Nobles reveled in their divine privilege, the Donquixote family produced anomalies. Outcasts. Rebels who either became monsters or martyrs with no middle ground.
Doflamingo embodied the monster path with perfect clarity.
He lounged on an ornate sofa in his temporary quarters, legs crossed with casual arrogance, watching the Sky Screen's broadcast of his future daughter's trauma with that signature grin stretching his face into something barely human. That laugh—that horrible, distinctive "Fufufufu"—echoed through the room without pause.
"Elsa," he purred, genuine delight saturating every syllable. "You're so much like me. Truly worthy of being my child. You even inherited Conqueror's Haki at such a young age. How many more surprises will you bring me, I wonder?"
Diamante stood nearby, his clownish appearance failing to mask the anxiety radiating from his posture. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the room's comfortable temperature. He'd been standing guard for hours now, watching his Young Master's expression remain fixed in that terrible smile from the moment Elsa faced King Riku until she finished constructing the ice mausoleum.
Is he pleased? Angry? Both? Diamante couldn't tell, and that uncertainty was terrifying. Doflamingo's moods could shift like quicksilver, and without Trebol present to read the subtle signs, Diamante could only stand silently and pray he wouldn't become the outlet for whatever emotion currently churned beneath that smile.
Something about Anna's screen time had affected Doflamingo on a deeper level—Diamante could sense it even if he didn't understand it. The way the Young Master's fingers had twitched when the younger sister was shot. The almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders when her body was laid in the ice coffin.
Corazon, Diamante realized with sudden clarity. He's thinking about Rosinante.
The younger brother. The Marine spy. The traitor Doflamingo had personally executed years ago. They'd shared the same surname, the same bloodline, the same traumatic childhood—yet they'd chosen completely opposite paths. One became a demon who reveled in suffering. The other became a saint who died protecting a child.
Now the Sky Screen had presented another pair of siblings. Elsa, walking her father's dark path with eerie precision. Anna, radiating kindness and trust even in her final moments. The universe had created a new control group to test the same variables that had split the Donquixote brothers decades ago.
Fate really does love its cruel jokes, Doflamingo thought, the observation bringing a fresh wave of genuine amusement. Will Elsa kill Anna someday like I killed Corazon? Or will their story end differently?
The answer didn't particularly matter to him. What mattered was potential. Power. Legacy.
His smile widened further, stretching into something that belonged on a predator rather than a human face. "Fufufufu... Violet, you've proven yourself quite the exceptional vessel. A good woman. A good mother." His voice dropped to a murmur only Diamante could hear. "It seems I'll need to ensure Elsa's birth personally. No more contraceptives. No more delays. The Donquixote Family requires her strength."
Diamante wisely said nothing, though his mind raced with implications. The Young Master had never shown interest in fatherhood before—viewed it as a distraction from his ambitions. But Elsa's displayed potential had changed that calculation entirely.
And Monet... Diamante felt a pang of sympathy for the devoted woman. She'd served loyally for years, wielding the Yuki Yuki no Mi (Snow-Snow Fruit) competently if not spectacularly. But competence wouldn't save her now.
"Monet will need to make a sacrifice for the family," Doflamingo continued, as though discussing the weather rather than executing a loyal subordinate. "The Snow-Snow Fruit is wasted on her mediocrity. Elsa requires it—deserves it. I'm sure Monet will understand. She might even thank me for allowing her death to serve such a noble purpose."
No guilt. No hesitation. No acknowledgment that he was condemning a woman who'd dedicated her life to his service. Just cold pragmatism wrapped in that eternal, mocking smile.
A natural Logia-type Devil Fruit used so wastefully, Doflamingo thought with genuine irritation. I should have given her a common Zoan-type Tori Tori no Mi (Bird-Bird Fruit) variant instead. Her talents lie in intelligence gathering, not combat. What a foolish allocation of resources.
The decision was made. Monet's fate sealed. Elsa's birth inevitable.
All that remained was execution.
-Real World: Marine Headquarters, Admiral's Office-
"Has she already achieved awakening?" Admiral Kuzan muttered, watching Elsa's ice constructs move with apparent consciousness. "At five years old? That shouldn't be possible."
The Marine Admiral sat alone in his office, having replayed the relevant Sky Screen segments multiple times. His analytical mind cataloged every detail of Elsa's demonstrated abilities—the fabric-like clothing, the living elemental servants, the architectural mastery, the temperature control.
These weren't techniques anyone could accomplish with baseline Logia powers. Kuzan had possessed his Hie Hie no Mi (Ice-Ice Fruit) for decades, trained extensively in its applications, and he still couldn't create living ice constructs with apparent autonomous intelligence. That level of mastery suggested Devil Fruit awakening—the dangerous, often-fatal process where a user's power began affecting the environment itself rather than just their body.
The Yuki Yuki no Mi is technically inferior to my Hie Hie no Mi, Kuzan thought, the comparison unavoidable. Snow versus ice. Similar but distinct. His fruit should theoretically grant superior combat capabilities.
Yet Elsa's architectural achievements far exceeded anything he'd ever attempted. She'd built a cathedral in minutes while grieving and exhausted. What could she accomplish at full strength? At maturity? With formal training?
"She's not just a genius," Kuzan said to his empty office. "She's a monster in the truest sense. Someone who reached in hours what takes others decades."
The thought was sobering and terrifying in equal measure. Kuzan had never encountered anyone—not even his rival Sakazuki—who'd demonstrated such intuitive mastery over a logia Devil Fruit. Most users spent years learning basic techniques, longer still to develop signature moves, and potentially never achieved true awakening.
Elsa had skipped the entire learning curve through pure instinct and natural talent.
But awakening comes with risks, Kuzan reminded himself. Logia awakening could result in the user becoming permanently merged with their element—losing human consciousness entirely. Zoan awakening risked complete loss of humanity, transforming the user into a mindless beast. Only Paramecia awakening was relatively safe, which was why so few attempted the process at all.
Yet here was a five-year-old seemingly bypassing all those dangers through sheer prodigious ability.
A knock on his door interrupted his analysis. "Come in."
A communications officer entered, saluting crisply. "Admiral Kuzan, sir. Fleet Admirak Sengoku has requested your presence for the strategy meeting regarding increased pirate activity."
Kuzan nodded, standing with his characteristic lazy grace. "I'll be there shortly."
After the officer departed, Kuzan cast one final glance at the Sky Screen still displaying Elsa's sleeping form in her ice palace. One day, that girl will be one of our greatest enemies. I just hope I'm still around when that day comes.
He closed the door behind him, leaving the broadcast playing to an empty room.
-Real World: Marine Headquarters, Fleet Admital's Office-
Fleet Admiral Sengoku sat alone at his desk, the door locked, all interruptions forbidden. In his weathered hands, he held a photograph retrieved from his personal drawer—a drawer he rarely opened anymore because the contents hurt too much.
The photo showed two men: Sengoku himself, decades younger but already wearing his Admiral coat, and Donquixote Rosinante—Corazon—smiling with gentle warmth that seemed impossible for someone born into the Celestial Dragons. His adopted son. His greatest pride and deepest regret.
"Corazon," Sengoku whispered, his thumb brushing across the young man's face in the frozen image. "You were so young. Still so much life ahead of you."
While Sengoku's own body betrayed him with increasing frequency—joints aching, energy flagging, paperwork piling higher than he could manage—his son remained eternally youthful in this photograph. Forever twenty-six. Forever kind. Forever dead.
Sengoku had dedicated his entire life to the Marines. People called him a dove, a compromiser, a bureaucrat who served the World Government's interests rather than true justice. Perhaps they were right. He'd inherited the Fleet Admiral position from Kong and managed to keep the organization functional through political maneuvering, careful diplomacy, and endless compromise with the Celestial Dragons he privately despised.
He could endure the pressure from above. Could tolerate the frustration from subordinates who wanted more aggressive action. Could even stomach the moral compromises required to maintain stability.
But losing Corazon? That wound would never heal.
There was a moment, Sengoku remembered, the memory as fresh as yesterday despite the years. A moment when I wanted to abandon everything—rip off this coat, sail to Dressrosa, and strangle Doflamingo with my bare hands. Justice be damned. The Marines be damned. I wanted revenge.
But he'd suppressed that impulse. Channeled it into work. Used the Marines' concept of justice to contain his personal hatred because that was what leaders did—they sacrificed personal desires for the greater good.
Now the Sky Screen showed him another generation following the same tragic pattern.
Elsa and Anna. Doflamingo and Corazon. The universe's cruel sense of humor on full display—creating another pair of siblings where one embodied darkness and the other light, testing whether bloodline determined destiny or choice still mattered.
"You'd have liked Anna," Sengoku said to the photograph. "She had your kindness. Your trust. And she died for it, just like you did."
He set the photo back in its drawer, closing it with more force than necessary. The sound echoed through his office like a gunshot.
Elsa will become the Marines' greatest enemy, he thought grimly, returning his attention to the strategic reports covering his desk. The Ice Queen. Born from Doflamingo's bloodline and forged in trauma. Possessing Conqueror's Haki and a mastery over the Snow-Snow Fruit that suggests awakening before she even reaches school age.
The future looked bleak. Sengoku was old, tired, and running out of time to prepare for threats that grew more numerous with each Sky Screen broadcast. The number of pirates had exploded this year—multiple times higher than previous years as people saw the broadcast and decided to chase the adventure, power, or freedom it promised.
Branch offices from all four Blues sent constant requests for reinforcements. The Grand Line was becoming unmanageable. And now Buggy had proven himself a genuine threat by defeating an Admiral in single combat.
We need more manpower, Sengoku thought, eyeing the large-scale conscription proposal sitting on his desk. But recruiting outsiders risks corrupting the Marines' culture. Bringing in people with questionable morals and motivations could do more harm than good.
Unlike Sakazuki, who'd later implement exactly such a conscription as Fleet Admiral without hesitation, Sengoku moved cautiously. Measured risks. Calculated consequences. It's what made him a good administrator but sometimes a poor wartime leader.
"Maybe I'm just too old for this," he muttered, rubbing his temples where a headache had been building all day. "Too tired. Too slow."
A dark thought crossed his mind—one he immediately felt ashamed for thinking but couldn't entirely dismiss: Unless someone castrates Doflamingo before he can impregnate Violet, Elsa's birth is inevitable. And once she's born, there's no stopping what comes after.
He shook his head, dispelling the thought. The Marines didn't engage in preemptive strikes against children who hadn't yet committed crimes. That was a line he wouldn't cross, no matter how tactically sound it might be.
We'll deal with the Ice Queen when she emerges, Sengoku decided, returning his focus to the mountain of paperwork demanding his attention. Just like we deal with every other threat. One crisis at a time.
But in the privacy of his locked office, with Corazon's photograph hidden in its drawer, Fleet Admiral Sengoku allowed himself a moment of weakness—a quiet admission that he was terrified of the future, exhausted by the present, and haunted by a past he could never change.
The Marines would endure. They always did.
He just wasn't sure he would.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~