The Boy Above the Throne

He's waiting.

The person who could calmly relocate the entire Donquixote Family right under his nose, yet deliberately leave behind this house full of pretense of normalcy, would then make his appearance.

No one would go to such lengths to arrange all this; it was just to play a joke on him.

Doflamingo stood in the center of the empty main hall of the palace, his lips still bearing that cynical smile.

A pink feather coat cascaded silently behind him, and his pointed leather shoes echoed crisply with each step on the smooth, mirror-like stone pavement.

He walked slowly through those familiar corridors—the bread Baby-5 had baked that morning in the restaurant was still warm, every knife in the armory was polished to a gleaming shine, and the orange tree in the yard was still bearing green fruit.

Everything was in perfect order, everything was as usual, as if his family members had only gone out temporarily and would soon emerge from some corner to greet his return with their noisy chatter.

It's so quiet.

It was so quiet it didn't feel like the Donquixote Family headquarters; it was more like a meticulously maintained exhibition hall.

Doflamingo stopped at the doorway of the Throne Room, raised his right hand, and gently pressed his index finger against his temple.

An invisible wave emanated from him, spreading outwards like ripples— his Observation Haki was fully unleashed.

He was never the type to do things himself; he would never waste effort on problems that could be solved with intelligence.

But now, he had to see for himself where his family members, who were supposed to be waiting for him at the dock, had gone.

The fluctuations of Observation Haki penetrated the stone walls, crossed the courtyard, and swept over every side hall, every secret passage, and every dark room.

In his perception, the Royal Palace of Dressrosa was like an unfolded blueprint, with every corner clearly visible.

Soon, he caught those familiar scents— Trebol's viscous and sluggish aura, Pica's heavy, almost rock-like vibrations, Diamante's sharp, blade-like presence, Baby-5's always slightly trembling, uneasy aura, Buffalo's clumsy yet warm breathing, Jora's flamboyant and ostentatious scent, Rao G's aged yet still robust pulse, Señor Pica's steady, rock-solid breath, Gladius's suppressed, angry pulse... They were all there.

They were all gathered in the same large hall.

He knew that hall all too well—it was right beneath his feet, in the very center of the palace, where he usually convened meetings with his family officials.

The heavy oak doors, the soaring dome, the stained-glass windows, and the golden throne placed on the high platform. His smile froze for a moment.

Without his order, none of the family's officials would ever gather together. Even more strangely, his Observation Haki swept over the throne.

It was empty; there was nothing there.

Doflamingo withdrew his fingers from his temple, slowly turned around, and faced the tightly closed oak door.

His pink feather coat swayed gently with his movements, and his eyes behind his sunglasses narrowed into dangerous slits.

He stood in front of the door, tilting his head, as if listening to a melody that only he could hear.

Then he suddenly threw his head back and burst into his signature, deafening laughter.

The laughter was unrestrained, piercing through the heavy oak doors and rampaging through the palace corridors.

"Fizz! Interesting! This is so interesting!"

He laughed as he pushed open the heavy oak door.

The door hinges emitted a dull thud, and the scene inside the hall unfolded before him like a scroll being slowly pulled back, inch by inch.

He could see clearly that every member of the family was there. Trebol, Diamante, Pica —his three highest-ranking officers—were kneeling in the front row.

Trebol, who was always sticky and had disgusting snot running down his face, now looked like an empty shell, his body hunched over and his forehead almost touching the ground.

Diamante's usually ramrod straight back slumped into an arc, and his face, which always wore a slick smile, was completely blank.

Pica's massive body lay sprawled on the ground like a collapsed rock, and her usually shrill voice, which was constantly screaming, was now eerily quiet.

Behind them stood the entire Donquixote Family bureaucracy.

Baby-5 was curled up on the ground, her shoulders trembling slightly;

Buffalo's plane engine completely stalled, and his obese body curled up into a ball;

Jora's hands, which he always waved exaggeratedly, hung limply at his sides;

Rao G's old face was hidden in the shadows, making his expression impossible to see;

Señor Pica still had that cigarette in his mouth, but he didn't even react when ash fell all over him;

Gladius's fists clenched so tightly they turned white, his nails digging into his palms until they bled.

Without exception, everyone faced the golden throne on the high platform, heads bowed, kneeling like soulless puppets, forming a deathly silent sea.

Doflamingo's gaze swept past the kneeling crowd and landed on the throne.

It's empty.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the back of the throne, the velvet cushions so smooth they were without a single wrinkle.

His Observation Haki swept across the area repeatedly, but it was completely empty; there was no breathing, no heartbeat, not even the slightest fluctuation or aura.

It was as if no one had ever sat there, as if the scene before us was nothing more than an absurd collective hallucination.

He finally stopped smiling. The curve of his lips was still there, but his eyes behind the sunglasses had turned completely cold.

He stood in the center of the hall, with family members kneeling all over the floor in front of him, and the open oak doors behind him. The crystal chandelier above cast a long and heavy shadow of him.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze passing over the three highest-ranking officials kneeling in the front row, past the empty golden throne, and landing on the shadow behind the throne.

In the shadows, a pair of scarlet eyes were silently watching him.

Three jet-black Tomoe slowly rotated in his pupils, gleaming with a cold, eerie light.

Those eyes belonged to a boy.

He sat on the windowsill in the shadows behind the throne, one leg dangling casually, the other bent at the knee, resting on the stone window frame, the hem of his grey-white robe fluttering in the night breeze.

He sat there for an unknown amount of time, so long that he became one with the shadows, so long that Doflamingo scanned him twice with his Observation Haki, and subconsciously ignored him both times.