A Fork in Fate

Under that suffocating pressure, Doflamingo instinctively tensed.

His feet finally showed the slightest sign of retreat.

But at that very moment—

"Brother!!!"

A young, hoarse voice tore through the still air behind him.

Doflamingo jolted.

A small child stumbled out from around the street corner.

His steps were unsteady and he was not fast, but he was plainly running with all his might.

"Run!!!"

The child practically threw himself forward and clung to Rock's leg with both hands.

His grip was laughably weak. Rock could have shaken him off with the slightest movement.

But the resolve behind it was impossible to ignore.

Messy blond hair fell over his eyes, and his clean white clothes fluttered in the wind.

His hands shook violently. So did his body. His hurried, ragged breathing nearly lost its rhythm—

But he never let go.

Not even a little.

He was Donquixote Rosinante, only eight years old.

Lately, he had begun to sense that something was wrong.

He sensed the growing malice in his brother and the path spiraling out of control toward an abyss.

He knew he could no longer stop him.

So he had resolved to slip away in the next day or two.

To leave this family. To leave the brother they called a "king."

But as he packed his things, a crash and tremor from the far end of the street stopped him.

Fear spread through him, while worry held his feet in place.

He could not sever the bond of blood between them.

In the end, he dropped his bag and ran out.

What he saw—

Were guards lying on the ground and a street cracked and collapsed.

And standing before his brother was a Marine so powerful that the sight of him inspired despair.

There was no time to think