"Get you out…?"
Roger blinked. "You snuck into this steel beehive at insane risk—and you weren't here to rescue me?"
Dimon sighed. Rocks had said the same thing the first time he'd shown up uninvited. Maybe he really did give off "mysterious savior" energy.
"Did you forget what we talked about when we left Laugh Tale?"
"You mean…" Roger paused—then the scene clicked back into place.
Have you ever thought about finding a stage big enough to start a new age?
"So it's time already?" Roger's mouth curled. "Hah! Interesting—I get it."
As the freshly crowned Pirate King, the Government and Marines wouldn't waste a trophy like him. Not right away.
"They'll roll out a grand public execution, won't they? And right before the axe—" he grinned, eyes alight, "—I declare the Great Treasure to the world!"
"After that, every soul at sea will go mad for it…"
"A runaway era—call it the Great Pirate Era."
When Shakky wasn't involved, Roger's brain worked just fine. Dimon had only nudged him; the man had clearly been thinking about this already.
"Smart plan," Dimon admitted.
Roger pouted. "Flatter me later, Dimon. I'd rather not die. Any chance you can still bust me out?"
"Bust you out… you sure you want to toss the perfect stage?"
Truthfully, even if Roger died now, the tides would still turn. Laugh Tale's existence had been proven. As long as people dreamed—of power, wealth, fame, even immortality—desire would shove history onto the same rails.
That's how an era moves.
"You can chew on it. I'll come back," Dimon said. "Tonight isn't a breakout—it's a briefing about someone."
"Manmaya Gunzi."
Roger's eyes tightened.
"That wasn't her," he said slowly. "The thing calling itself Imu—it was riding Gunzi. A possession."
His expression turned odd. "How do you even know that? Were you there?"
"I have people in the Navy," Dimon said, perfectly calm.
People? More like personally present. The current boss of this prison… wore Dimon like a glove.
Roger went quiet. As the brewer behind Immortality, Dimon was a man of riddles. A Navy mole didn't even make the list of shocking facts anymore.
"The one using Gunzi," Dimon continued, "was one of the Twenty Kings who founded the World Government."
"Nerona Imu."
"So—I need the details."
He'd been too far to read the whole fight. He wanted Roger's firsthand.
"I'll tell you," Roger said with his usual careless smile. "The fight details…"
Dimon listened, still and intent.
Against Imu riding Gunzi, Roger was outclassed—pure Conqueror's dominance. No tricks. No special technique on display. Just a will stronger than his—and an undying body.
"That's it?" Dimon asked.
"That's it," Roger sighed. "You've been to Laugh Tale. You know what I know. Joy Boy lost eight hundred years ago. I lost now. Is it shameful?"
Joy Boy had lost in person; Roger had lost to a proxy. Dimon watched him without comment.
Guessing his thoughts, Roger tried to salvage pride: "Eight hundred years will fatten even a pig. Honestly? Even with Joy Boy revived at my side, two of us together might still not beat her."
Dimon shook his head and rose.
"Enough. I dropped by so you wouldn't sulk alone. And to say this plainly: the prison warden, Columbus, is mine. You won't be mishandled."
Columbus is yours? Roger gaped. No wonder Dimon had walked in like he owned the place. Because… he did.
"Hey—at least smuggle me a bottle with breakfast, lunch, and dinner!"
If not for the soundproof shell, Level Six would have heard that plea.
"Besides wine, anything else?" Dimon asked.
"I'll think on your plan. And—tell Rayleigh and the boys: get Shakky out!"
Even locked up, Roger's compass pointed at Shakky. Dimon was half-impressed.
He glanced back at the cell, eyes wicked. "Roger… don't tell me you're still a pure-hearted maiden."
Roger hesitated, then nodded proudly. "I keep myself for Shakky!"
"When I have time, I'll take you to the Capital of Flowers," Dimon said. "There's a cure for that particular… condition."
—
It was night in the great prison. It was day in Wano.
And the Flower Capital was buzzing—because the biggest pleasure house in the city had just reopened.
The news reached Shōgun Dimon the instant he stepped back from the deep sea. Abel came at a run.
"Say that again?" Dimon blinked. "The Kuja Pirates opened a brothel in my capital?"
Kuja. Brothel. How did those two belong in the same sentence?
Abel nodded, dead serious. "You heard right, my lord. They bought the largest house and reopened it under their own banner."
"Well, that's… new. I'd better go show support."
Curiosity hooked his collar. Dimon went with Abel to the red lanterns.
The old signboard was gone. The new one read: Nine-Serpents Flower Pavilion.
They'd even branded it.
A thick queue of Wano citizens—merchants, dandies, and shameless rogues—snaked out front. Dimon stared, silently judging everyone.
Abel didn't. He shoved forward like a snowplow. "Clear the way! The Shōgun approaches!"
Dimon opened his mouth to stop him—too late.
"Even the Shōgun should queue!" a fat merchant snapped, scandalized.
Abel ignored the protests, bowed crisply. "My lord, please."
"Suffering follows me," Dimon muttered, and walked in under a hundred jealous stares.
Inside, a Kuja woman in Wano silk glided forward—wildness sheathed in charm.
"Shōgun-sama," she said, eyes bright. "Would you like to meet our oiran?"
"You have oiran already?"
"Three," she said sweetly. "Tori Toma-dono, Gloriosa-dono, and our most requested—Shakky-dono."
"I'll take all three."
Children choose. Adults bundle.
The Kuja woman hid a smile and led him upstairs. Abel stayed in the hall while Dimon slipped into a tatami room on the third floor. A painted screen divided the chamber; three silhouettes waited beyond.
"Shōgun-sama~ long time no see~"
Shakky's voice drifted through, lilting in a Wano accent she'd clearly been practicing.
Dimon sank cross-legged. "Let's start. What services do you offer?"
Why are you so familiar with the menu…?
Behind the screen, Shakky stifled a laugh. "This is a conversation parlor only. One oban per minute."
Dimon deflated. So that's the trick. He'd thought the Kuja had gone fully to sea; turns out they'd just found a faster way to take men's money.
And Wano's dandies were easy marks.
"One oban per minute? Why not just rob them?"
No—piracy is slower. This was efficient.
"I'm offended. This is fraud."
Shakky slid out from behind the screen, knelt behind him, and set her hands on his shoulders, kneading gently. "Don't pout, Shōgun-sama~"
Dimon's retort died as a faint click came from the corridor. A shadow crossed the paper door—paused—then moved on.
Shakky's voice dropped to a whisper against his ear. "House policy says we only talk…"
Her fingers pressed a folded slip of paper into his palm.
"…but some clients don't."
Dimon opened it with two fingers. One inked symbol stared back:
A trident—drawn in a single, unbroken stroke.
His smile vanished.
"Abel," he called without looking up, voice light and pleasant. "Kindly seal the street."
Outside, wooden geta scuffed to a stop. Several silhouettes froze—and didn't move again.
Dimon's shoulders loosened under Shakky's hands as if nothing had happened.
"Now," he said cheerfully, "about that conversation…"
—To be continued…
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