The Reverie Ends, the Strange Dressrosa
The Navy will continue to hunt down pirates, the Four Emperors will continue to carve out their territories in the New World, and that madman named Uchiha Natsu will continue to give the World Government a major headache.
And his captain, Marshall D. Teach, will find their opportunity amidst the chaos.
He glanced down at the carved cane in his hand, his fingertips lightly tracing the patterns on the cane, a strange smile lingering on his lips.
Captain Teach, mission accomplished.
The night breeze in Dressrosa, carrying the sweet, tropical floral scent unique to the tropics, gently blew across the terraces of the royal palace.
This island, known as the "land of love and passion," is now bathed in the warm, golden glow unique to the setting sun.
In the distance, dim lights shone from the windows of every house in the streets and alleys, and occasionally the cheerful sound of flamenco guitar drifted in on the wind, mingling with the clinking of glasses and women's laughter.
In stark contrast to the chaos and filth of the Sabaody Archipelago, the air here is filled with an atmosphere of tranquility and pleasure.
A greyish-white figure appeared silently atop the highest tower in the royal palace.
Uchiha Natsu's toes touched the rough stone-carved eaves, his clothes were lifted and fell by the night wind, and he seemed to blend into the deepening Dusk.
His gaze passed through the layers of white stone steps and palm tree shadows beneath his feet, landing on the brightly lit main hall of the royal palace in the distance.
The port of Dressrosa was as bustling as ever.
The sea breeze, carrying the salty smell and the shouts of the fish market vendors, blows across the stone-paved coastal road.
Merchant ships unloaded their cargo at the dock, sailors carried sacks back and forth, street vendors shouted to sell freshly caught tuna, and several teenagers chased and played among the fish baskets, only to be chased away by the fishmonger auntie waving a broom.
Toy Soldier patrol in formation below the clock tower, their mechanical joints making crisp clicking sounds, eliciting curious cheers from tourists.
Everything seemed the same as usual.
As Doflamingo stepped onto the dock, his pink feather coat fluttered in the sea breeze.
He had just disembarked from the warship in Mary Geoise, and the soles of his shoes were still covered with the unique, sun-baked white cobblestone fragments found in the Holy Land Square.
The aftereffects of the Shichibukai meeting two days ago hadn't quite dissipated. Lafitte's ghostly figure, the Five Elders' gloomy faces, Hawkeye's words, "He's not a swordsman,"—these images swirled in his mind, but he habitually suppressed them into a corner of his heart.
He stood on the dock, took off his sunglasses, wiped the lenses, and waited for that familiar call.
At this time of day, Trebol would usually be the first to push his way out of the crowd, waving his sticky snot and shouting in his shrill, strange voice, "The young master is back!"
Pica would pop half his body out of the floor tiles and call out "Young Master" in a muffled, high-pitched voice;
Baby-5 would start calling out from afar, "Young Master, are you hungry? I've prepared steak for you."
Buffalo would come crashing down from the sky like a cannonball, yelling, "Young Master, Young Master, look, I've learned a new move!"
It was a bit noisy, but every time he came back from a long trip, it was always this chaotic scene.
Today, the dock is quiet.
No Trebol, no Pica, no Baby-5, no Buffalo.
Even Gladius, who usually loved to stroll around the docks, was nowhere to be seen.
Only a few dockworkers were busy carrying goods, and a few Toy Soldier were mechanically waving their arms to maintain order. Sunlight fell on the stone pavement, casting long shadows.
Doflamingo stopped wiping his sunglasses and slowly put them back on.
His smile remained unchanged, the corners of his mouth still bearing that nonchalant curve, but his eyes behind the sunglasses narrowed slightly for a fleeting moment.
He strode forward, his pointed leather shoes making a soft, rhythmic sound as they clicked on the stone bricks of the dock.
The pink feather coat trailed behind him with a soft rustling sound, and his gait remained as unrestrained as ever.
He did not quicken his pace, nor did he show any unusual behavior.
But as he crossed the seaside promenade and turned onto the stone steps leading to the King's Plateau, people around finally noticed the king's return.
"Your Doflamingo!"
Someone shouted first, and the street vendors, pedestrians, and patrolling guards all stopped and bowed to the person in the iconic pink feather coat.
The Toy Soldier turned around in unison, raising their mechanical arms to their foreheads in a standard, stiff military salute.
Several women in flashy dresses leaned out from the balcony, smiling and waving handkerchiefs at him.
Everything is normal. Too normal.
Doflamingo continued walking, but the smile on his lips faded almost imperceptibly.
He casually waved to the crowds on both sides, eliciting even more enthusiastic cheers, then turned and headed straight into the path at the foot of the King's Plateau, a path accessible only to members of the royal family.
The palm trees on both sides of the path rustled in the wind, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns of light.
The stone steps were spotless, not even a fallen leaf could be seen. The guards at the sentry post stood ramrod straight, and when they saw him approach, they saluted in unison, their movements impeccably precise.
He walked across the pond in the courtyard, where toy fish were still spouting water. He pushed open the heavy doors of the main palace, the hinges making a dull thud.
The Throne Room was empty.
The crystal chandelier was still lit, the curtains swayed gently in the breeze, and the floor was so polished that it reflected the ceiling.
He walked slowly through those familiar corridors and rooms—Baby-5's freshly baked bread was still on the table in the dining room, the documents in the study were still laid out on the page he left before he left, every knife in the armory was polished to a gleaming shine, and the orange tree in the yard where he would occasionally drink coffee still had a few green fruits hanging on it.
There were no signs of a struggle, no signs of intrusion, and not the slightest bit of anything unusual.
Doflamingo stood in the center Throne Room, his back to the doorway and his face to the empty throne.
His right hand unconsciously rose, his fingertips lightly tapping the belt buckle at his waist.
The pink feather coat hung silently, no longer swaying in the wind.
The entire palace was as quiet as an exquisite but empty model.
His noisy family members, who should have been surrounding him, were nowhere to be found.
The gaze behind the sunglasses turned completely somber.
"Interesting."
He muttered something to himself, his tone unreadable.
A light flick of the fingertip on the belt buckle produced a crisp, tinkling sound that was particularly jarring in the excessively quiet Throne Room.