Impel Down, Level Six.
Even deep beneath the ocean, where sunlight had never reached, and hope had long since rotted, the world still found ways to change.
"Donquixote Doflamingo. You have a visitor."
The massive Jailer Beast stepped aside as the iron door groaned open. A small figure entered, calm and composed despite the suffocating darkness.
Doflamingo lay chained in Seastone, reclining against the cold stone wall as if it were a throne.
"Fuffuffuffuffu… Vice Admiral Tsuru. To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice slithered through the air, amused and mocking. "Surely you didn't miss me."
Vice Admiral Tsuru did not indulge him. She stepped forward and tossed a folded newspaper onto the ground before him.
"You would have seen it in two days," she said evenly. "Consider this an early courtesy."
Doflamingo picked it up lazily. Several wanted posters slipped free and scattered across the floor.
"Fuffuffuffu… What's this? Another rising star crushed beneath the tide? Or perhaps the Marines finally caught Straw Hat—"
His laughter cut off.
The chains binding him rattled sharply as he rose to his feet.
For once, there was no grin.
"What kind of joke is this?"
Tsuru watched him carefully.
The headline stretched across the front page:
Two Emperors Fall. New Era Begins.
Below it were four newly printed bounty posters.
Monkey D. Luffy — 3,000,000,000 Berries.
Trafalgar Law — 3,000,000,000 Berries.
Eustass Kid — 3,000,000,000 Berries.
And another.
A red-nosed clown with a wild grin, eyes blazing with theatrical madness.
"Genius Jester" Buggy — Emperor of the Sea.
Doflamingo's fingers tightened around the paper.
"Kaido?" he demanded. "Charlotte Linlin?"
"Defeated," Tsuru replied. "Law and Kid brought down Big Mom. Straw Hat Luffy defeated Kaido."
For a moment, silence lingered in the abyssal chamber.
Doflamingo's smile did not return.
"Fuffu… Luffy, perhaps," he muttered. "He carries Garp's blood. Dragon's blood. Red Hair's blessing. I can accept that."
His gaze snapped back to the poster.
"But this?"
He lifted Buggy's bounty.
"How did a clown ascend to the throne of the sea?"
Tsuru's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Because of him," she said quietly, "the seas have grown more unstable than ever."
She turned to leave.
"Perhaps prison is safer for you, Doflamingo. The world outside no longer follows the rules you remember."
The iron door slammed shut.
For the first time in years, Donquixote Doflamingo did not laugh.
Far above the ocean floor, aboard the grand vessel of the Cross Guild, chaos reigned.
Cheers erupted like cannon fire.
"Captain Buggy! Emperor Buggy!"
"Our captain stands among the Four Emperors!"
"Two Emperors are practically our allies! Who dares challenge us now?!"
The deck shook with celebration. Pirates drank, fired pistols into the sky, and roared Buggy's name as if chanting a god's.
Inside the captain's quarters, however, the mood was very different.
Buggy stood alone.
He stared at his reflection.
Red nose. Blue hair. White face paint.
Emperor of the Sea.
Lock inhaled slowly.
This… this was absurd.
Of all the bodies to wake up in.
Of all the fates possible.
Why Buggy?
If it had been years earlier, perhaps he could have hidden, built strength, laid foundations quietly.
But no.
He had arrived at the worst possible moment.
Buggy was now one of the Four Emperors.
That meant Admirals. Rival pirates. Ambitious rookies. Assassins.
All eyes would turn toward him.
He knew Buggy's reputation better than anyone.
Luck. Bluffing. Running at the first sign of danger.
A master of survival through coincidence.
And now the world expected that clown to stand shoulder to shoulder with monsters.
"This is bad," Lock muttered.
Very bad.
The cheering outside intensified.
"Captain Buggy once insulted Red Hair and lived!"
"No one dares oppose our Emperor!"
Lock pressed his palms against the desk.
He needed to think.
He needed—
The desk vanished.
No explosion. No splinters.
It simply dissolved.
Lock froze.
"…What?"
The wooden table was gone. Not broken. Not cut.
Gone.
He looked at his hands.
A faint sensation lingered in his palm. A strange, subtle awareness—like threads stretching outward into space.
He focused.
Fragments.
He could feel fragments.
A thought flickered—
And the desk reassembled in front of him, wood reforming seamlessly, nails sliding back into place as if time itself had reversed.
Lock's breath slowed.
The Chop-Chop Fruit.
Awakened.
He closed his eyes and sifted through the memories left behind by the body's former owner.
Buggy had never respected the fruit.
He had resented it.
On Roger's ship, Devil Fruits were rare. Many aboard preferred raw strength, swordsmanship, and Haki. Buggy had once believed he could grow strong without relying on such powers.
Then he had swallowed the Chop-Chop Fruit by accident.
A pirate who could not swim.
To Buggy, it had felt like a curse.
So he had never pursued it seriously.
He used it for tricks. For escape. For theatrics.
Even when the fruit had awakened—allowing him to split external objects—he had barely cared.
Treasure mattered more.
Survival mattered more.
Power? That was for fools who wanted attention.
Lock opened his eyes slowly.
The power simmered beneath his skin like something alive.
Split.
Separate.
Control.
He extended his hand toward a nearby chair.
The wood shuddered—and divided.
Not shattered.
Divided.
Clean segments floated apart, each piece suspended in midair as if the world had forgotten gravity.
Lock rotated his wrist.
The fragments orbited gently, obedient.
His heartbeat quickened.
This was not merely disassembly.
It was control over separation itself.
He snapped his fingers.
The chair reformed.
Not a scratch.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat—and he immediately stifled it.
Careful.
He was still Buggy.
He could not afford to act differently too suddenly.
He lifted his left hand and focused inward.
His palm separated—not visibly, but at a finer scale. He felt layers shifting, minute divisions forming within flesh without pain.
A tingling sensation spread through his arm.
He compressed and shifted the internal fragments rapidly.
A faint crackle answered him.
Tiny arcs of electricity flickered across his fingertips.
Lock stared at it, stunned.
So it wasn't limited to visible separation.
The fruit responded to intention.
To imagination.
His pulse steadied.
Calm down.
Think.
This was still a Paramecia. It had limits.
Devil Fruit abilities drained stamina. Overuse would exhaust him. Injury still mattered. Seastone still nullified him. Water would still weaken him.
And the world he inhabited was merciless.
Kaido and Big Mom had fallen—but monsters like Blackbeard remained.
The Marines still had Admirals.
He could not afford arrogance.
But…
A slow grin spread across his painted face.
Perhaps the sea had not made a mistake.
Outside, the cheering grew louder.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Captain Buggy?" came a familiar voice. Smooth. Controlled. "May we enter?"
Alvida.
Lock forced his posture into something suitably dramatic.
"Enter."
The door opened cautiously.
Alvida stepped in first, elegance replacing her former roughness. Behind her came Mr. 3—Galdino—glasses gleaming nervously. Mohji hovered near the back, uncertain but loyal.
They closed the door carefully.
Alvida studied him.
"You've been quiet since the news," she said. "The crew believes you're overwhelmed by the weight of becoming an Emperor."
Lock tilted his head.
Overwhelmed?
That was one word for it.
Mr. 3 adjusted his glasses.
"Captain, the situation is… delicate. The Marines are mobilizing. Other pirate crews are probing for weakness. We must decide how to respond."
Yes.
That was the problem.
An Emperor could not hide.
An Emperor had to project power.
Lock folded his arms and let his body separate subtly at the shoulders, floating a few inches apart—a casual display.
Alvida's eyes flickered with respect.
Good.
He let a confident chuckle escape.
"Delicate?" he repeated. "Let them probe."
He stepped forward.
The wall behind him silently split into neat rectangular panels, hovering in midair like tiles.
The three subordinates stiffened.
Lock hadn't even touched it.
With a flick of his finger, the panels snapped back into place perfectly.
"I've merely been… adjusting," he said lightly.
Mr. 3 swallowed.
Alvida smiled slowly.
"Of course you have, Captain."
Inside, Lock's thoughts raced.
This was dangerous.
The more he revealed, the more expectations would grow.
But hiding weakness was more dangerous still.
He needed balance.
Fear.
Mystery.
Unpredictability.
That was Buggy's greatest weapon.
He leaned back into his chair.
"For now," he declared lazily, "we celebrate."
The three exchanged glances.
"Celebrate?" Mohji asked.
Lock grinned, red nose gleaming.
"Yes. Let the world see that an Emperor does not tremble."
He tapped the armrest.
"And spread a message."
Alvida tilted her head.
"What message?"
Lock's eyes gleamed with theatrical madness.
"Tell them… the clown is smiling."
Outside, the cheers roared on.
Across the seas, powers shifted. The old balance had shattered.
And somewhere beneath the paint and bravado, a cautious mind began mapping the board.
The era had changed.
And whether by luck or design—
Buggy the Clown now stood at its center.
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