The wind tugged at the corner of the newspaper, making it flutter with a whirr-whirr.
The deck was dead silent.
Gion stared at the blood-soaked photo on the front page.
"Golden Lion… Shiki…"
Her voice came out dry—an instinctive wariness any Marine had toward that name. "That madman… he cut off his own legs just to break out?!"
A remnant of Roger's era, the "Flying Pirate" who'd once nearly ruled the seas—what his escape meant was crystal clear to her.
The Great Pirate Era, born from Roger, was still cresting. And now the monsters of the old age were crawling back.
The sea was about to get worse.
Rain stood beside her, scanning the article. His expression was strangely calm. "Impel Down's 'impregnable fortress' myth just got shattered. For the World Government right now, that's a slap in the face."
He folded the paper and casually handed it back to Gion.
"Golden Lion picked his timing well."
"And the G-17 matter…" Gion's worry surfaced again. At a moment like this, would their "act first, report later" collide with the higher-ups' mood?
"Look at it another way." Rain's mouth curved instead. "For us, it's actually good news."
"Good news?" Gion blinked.
"With a screw-up this big, Admiral Sengoku and the Five Elders are probably tearing their hair out over where Shiki will go next. When the sky is falling, nobody has the bandwidth to dig into what happened at some tiny G-17 base."
Rain laid it out with cold clarity. "Our violations won't just be ignored under the shadow of Shiki—they'll be buried. And the 'results' we're bringing back? They'll become exactly what Headquarters needs right now: a fig leaf, and a shot of morale."
Hearing that, the tension in Gion's shoulders eased. She looked at the boy—calm, composed, even in the face of world-shaking news—and her unease slowly ebbed away.
"You…" Gion shook her head, helpless. "What is your heart made of? Something like this happens, and you can still smile."
"When the sky falls, the tall people hold it up," Rain replied. "We're not tall people."
He glanced around as the deck started to get noisy—clearly not a place to discuss sensitive things.
"Too many ears here."
Rain turned toward the cabins, voice level. "Come on. Let's find somewhere quiet. Before we reach Headquarters, we still need one last rehearsal of our story."
…
A little later, in the dining room
Outside, the paper had already set the ship buzzing—but inside the dining room, there was a rare calm.
Noon sunlight streamed through the portholes, falling over a table draped in white cloth.
Rain wore a black casual shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked unruffled by the chaos outside. In his hand was a silver teapot; his wrist tilted slightly.
Dark red tea traced a perfect arc through the air and landed neatly in Gion's porcelain cup—no splash, not a single stray drop.
Then he picked up his knife and fork and went to work on the steak.
In his hands, the cutlery moved as if alive. Every slice followed the grain of the meat. Smooth, efficient—no harsh scraping, no wasted motion.
Top-tier noble etiquette gave his every movement a bone-deep elegance and composure.
That "the world can flood outside, I'll still dine gracefully" air rubbed off on Gion. Her restlessness slowly settled.
"Try it," Rain said, sliding the cut steak toward her. "Things are tense, but this is top-grade wagyu we brought out of G-17. Don't waste it."
Gion looked at the immaculate plate, then at the boy across from her, who seemed like he was on vacation. She gave a bitter little laugh.
"I envy your mindset. Golden Lion breaks out—something that shakes the world—and in your eyes, it seems less important than that steak."
"Because anxiety doesn't solve anything."
Rain dabbed the corner of his mouth with quiet precision, gaze deep and measured. "And besides… chaos often means ladders."
…
Days later — North Blue, near Minion Island
A massive garbage processing yard—one of the Donquixote Family's current secret hideouts.
Inside a dim abandoned factory filled with scrap metal, a young man in a pink feather coat and sunglasses squatted ungracefully atop a pile of newspapers.
Donquixote Doflamingo—the future "Joker" of the seas.
"Fufufufufu…"
Veins bulged on his forehead as he clenched that day's World Economy News. His laugh was the kind that made your skin crawl.
The front-page headline read:
"SHOCK! G-17 BRANCH ATTACKED! GREAT PIRATE VICTOR HUGO SLAIN! REAR ADMIRAL NELSON DIES HEROICALLY!"
"Just days ago, that lunatic Golden Lion chopped off his legs and flew out of Impel Down, slapping the Navy across the face…"
"And today—another headline like this."
"Heroic death? Mutual destruction? Don't make me laugh."
Doflamingo slammed the paper onto an oil-stained table. Behind his lenses, his eyes glittered with something vicious.
"Victor, that idiot—he pinned everything on the Celestial Dragons just to become a Warlord. G-17 was his most important supply channel, his stepping stone to the top. He'd have to be insane to attack it!"
"And Nelson, that cowardly piece of trash—die protecting civilians? Ha! That's the biggest joke of the century!"
As someone who understood the rules of the underworld, Doflamingo saw through the crude lie at a glance.
"The logic doesn't add up."
He tapped the tabletop lightly. "Victor's dead. Nelson's dead. Even the CP0 on site 'vanished'… everyone who knows anything is gone."
"This is obviously… an internal Navy purge."
His gaze slid down to a small line printed in the corner—mentioning the "survivors" and "suppressors" of the incident:
"Headquarters Rear Admiral Gion and her accompanying Staff Sergeant Rain performed bravely…"
"Gion…"
Doflamingo's attention passed over the name—and stopped hard on the unfamiliar one after it.
"Rain?"
Behind the sunglasses, his pupils tightened.
That face—
Memory snapped open. Two years ago, at Loguetown—at the execution that lit the fuse of the Great Pirate Era—this was the kid who'd pulled the trigger and personally executed the Pirate King.
"Fufufufu… so it's you."
He bared white teeth in a crooked grin, laughing low. "That brat on the execution platform… has turned into the Navy's 'fast blade' now?"
"Interesting."
"Rain… I'll remember that name."
…
In the shadow behind Doflamingo, another tall man leaned against a rusted machine.
He wore a black feather coat too, with ridiculous clown makeup on his face and a cigarette between his lips.
Rosinante. Doflamingo's younger brother.
Not long ago, he'd returned to the family claiming he "hated the Navy" and had nowhere else to go—taking Vergo's place as the second-generation "Corazon."
To conceal his undercover identity—and keep his suspicious brother from sniffing anything out—he claimed the trauma of childhood had made him mute, communicating only with gestures and writing.
Right now he was trying to light the cigarette in his mouth.
Click.
Maybe the name had pulled his attention for a split second. The lighter's flame licked his feather coat.
Whoosh! Whoosh!!
Fire jumped up instantly, igniting the black feathers.
"Ah!! Corazon-sama!!"
"Quick! Water!!"
"Damn it—move! If Corazon-sama gets burned, the Young Master will kill us!!"
The pirates around them panicked, dropping cups and weapons, rushing to slap out the flames.
After all, he was the Young Master's little brother.
In the frantic chaos, Rosinante finally put the fire out. His face was soot-blackened, expression awkward. He waved at the men, signaling he was fine.
Doflamingo glanced over and snorted, not bothering to care.
But under the clown paint—behind the blank, dull look—emotions churned that only Rosinante himself could feel.
Never thought I'd hear news about you here… Rain.
His mind snapped back to months ago—elite training camp, and those days shoulder-to-shoulder with Rain during the Ohara incident.
After Ohara, because the Silence Fruit was so uniquely suited for it, "Old Man" Sengoku had chosen him for the highest-classified undercover mission.
He'd graduated, erased his records… and before he could even properly say goodbye to that friend from training, he'd plunged into the darkness of North Blue.
"G-17… Victor Hugo…"
Rosinante stared at the paper on the floor—the lies about "pirate attack" and "heroic Navy resistance."
As the family's second-generation Corazon, he knew Victor's relationship with G-17 better than most.
He understood the truth.
And looking at that crumpled headline, a warmth spread quietly through his chest.
This has to be Rain's handiwork.
No matter where you are… you're still carrying out your justice.
~~~
Patreon.com/Weze_
— You can read more Chapters in my Patreon Page! please vote, comment, share this, or visit my Patreon Page and join the Free Membership!