A Good Journalist

Whether Sokachio Aleus had been scheming and plotting all along, Doflamingo didn't know. All he needed to confirm was that Aleus bore him no ill will—that was enough. There were seven Shichibukai in total; as long as no one touched the seat beneath him, he couldn't care less who got kicked off.

On the contrary, He was very eager to stir up such interesting and lively affairs.

Still, he couldn't let his guard down, especially regarding Violet... She had taken the initiative to approach Aleus. Though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the necessary precautions still had to be taken. He didn't plan to dig into the purpose behind Violet's actions; as long as he strictly prevented any follow-up moves, that would suffice.

The banquet continued on.

Whether it was instinct or a shared trait among the people of this world, they possessed an indescribable passion for feasts. Once a banquet began, unless something unavoidable interrupted it or conditions no longer permitted it to go on, it would stretch on for a very long time.

"Monet."

Doflamingo approached the green-haired woman sitting under a parasol, eating shaved ice.

"Young Master? Is something the matter?"

The woman, who was enthusiastically digging into her shaved ice, mumbled her question. Her grass-green wavy hair hung down her back, and the thick, milk-bottle glasses on her face covered most of it, hiding her lovely features. Under the glasses, she gave off a plain, bookish impression.

She was Monet.

A member of the Donquixote Family and Doflamingo's secretary.

She firmly believed that Doflamingo was the only one fit to become the Pirate King, and for his sake, she would sacrifice even her own life without hesitation.

"Monet, I have a task for you. Keep an eye on Violet."

"Violet? What's wrong with her?"

"Not sure. She might be harboring some unwelcome little thoughts."

"Ah! Is Her Highness the Princess still foolishly dreaming of restoring her kingdom?" Monet set down her spoon, licked the syrup from the corner of her mouth, and rolled her golden eyes behind the thick lenses. Her sharp gaze pierced through the milk-bottle glasses, searching for Violet among the noisy crowd.

"Fufufu! Just keep an eye on her. Before our guest leaves, don't let her do anything strange. I don't want to see family members lost for some inexplicable reason. So, Monet, I'm leaving Violet to you for now."

"Leave it to me, Young Master! I'll make sure our Princess understands that family shouldn't scheme against each other." Monet agreed with a smile.

The New World.

In this world where chaos mingled with order and order accommodated chaos, every day, every night, every hour, every minute, every second, people died—of illness, starvation, old age, murder... The outcome of death was the same, but the paths leading to that single result were countless.

Of course, in this world that divided humans into three classes and nine ranks, The deaths of different people naturally brought different consequences. Well, this was probably true no matter which world you were in.

On a nameless island, the headquarters of the World Economic News Paper.

While the lively banquet continued in the Royal Palace of Dressrosa, "Chief Editor!!!"

"An urgent, top-secret letter."

The employee took two steps for every one. If he'd had wings, he would have flown straight into Morgans' office. Since he couldn't fly, he jogged all the way, shoving aside anyone in his path, and burst into Morgans' office without even knocking.

This was permitted.

As long as you held information important and urgent enough, you could not only storm into the office but even drag Morgans out of the bathroom mid-business without any issue.

"Urgent... Hmm."

Morgans, who had been drinking tea, set down his cup and took the sealed envelope from the employee.

After carefully inspecting it to confirm no one had opened it before, he picked up a letter opener, slit the envelope, and pulled out the letter and... photographs. They were photos of Umit—Umit lying dead on his back in a large pit. The clarity was so astonishing that every detail was visible.

In addition, there were photos of Aleus and his Aides. Judging by the background, they seemed to be in the same area as Umit.

"...Umit. So you were the first sacrifice."

After reading the letter, Morgans remained seated in his chair, unruffled. Seeing this, the employee, realizing that a big scoop wasn't in the cards, dejectedly took his leave, quietly exiting the office and carefully closing the door behind him.

Ignoring his subordinate's petty thoughts, Morgans focused entirely on the letter and photos in his hands.

Or rather, he had been waiting for this news for the past two days.

As a journalist, passively waiting for events to happen before gathering information was unacceptable. Only by predicting events in advance could one secure exclusive, first-hand intelligence and maintain the reputation of an excellent journalist.

"What a shame. This news can't go in the paper."

Morgans sighed regretfully.

He and Umit had little friendship—quite the opposite, in fact. Umit, who adhered to a policy of secrecy, hated nothing more than having his wealth publicly exposed. Even trivial gossip was firmly resisted. They had once had a huge argument over a minor news item, and if someone hadn't intervened, they might have come to blows right then.

If not for Umit's status as a Dark World magnate, Morgans would have loved to splash the story of the new wave washing the old one onto the beach. Unfortunately, that was just wishful thinking. It couldn't be published openly. At most, a corner of tomorrow's paper would carry an obituary—something about the chairman of some company or association passing away due to an accident.

The old chapter was turned. Without any lingering attachment, Morgans completely dismissed Umit from his mind. In his place came the name "Black Prince" Sokachio Aleus, which had fully occupied the space Umit had vacated.

He gripped the photo in his hand, His sharp gaze fixed on Aleus, whose pitch-black wings were spread wide.

"Prince Aleus... Not a fleeting meteor, but a fixed star destined to illuminate the sky?"

"Someone!"

"Someone!"

He slapped the table, and immediately a crowd of people poured in. Though they seemed chaotic, not a single sound was made. Everyone stood silently in the office, waiting for the director to speak.

"The latest intel: Umit is dead."

"He was taken out by the Black Prince, Sokachio Aleus. This can't go in the papers, so... spread it through private channels. Those who should know, those who need to know—I want them all to know. And don't forget to advertise our paper's capabilities."

This is what news is all about!

Newspapers are just one channel of dissemination—the most convenient and practical, yes—but there are plenty of other ways to spread news beyond that.