World

The next morning.

Gentle sunlight spilled over the streets of Spider Miles, illuminating last night's wreckage and chaos inch by inch.

The light passed over broken eaves and patched corners, casting irregular shadows across the ground, as though draping the city in a cloak of wounds not yet fully healed.

The smell of lime, dust, and dampness still lingered in the air, but blood and fear no longer tainted it.

At the end of the street, Trebol leaned crookedly against a freshly repaired wall, his breathing heavy and drawn-out.

He had worked through the entire night.

Damaged walls, collapsed ground, cracked drainage channels—

Every last one had been patched up, however barely.

Traces of his power were visible all along the street.

The brown mucus resembled crude stitches, gluing the shattered stones together piece by piece. It was neither attractive nor particularly sturdy, but it held the street's framework together through sheer force, restoring something that could once again be called a "street."

Barely, but whole.

Trebol's figure had visibly shrunk, no longer as exaggeratedly bloated as usual.

Overusing his power had left him looking unusually frail. Now he slept, slumped weakly against Diamante's shoulder, traces of exhaustion still lingering on his face.

—All fixed.

At least we can report the job done.

Meanwhile, inside the little house.

Rosinante slowly opened his eyes.

His vision was still a little blurry. He instinctively sat up and looked around, as though checking whether something important was still there.

Soon, his gaze settled beside the table.

Doflamingo sat there with his back to the morning light, his head lowered in thought.

Soft sunlight streamed through the window, stretching his shadow behind him and making him seem much quieter and steadier than before.

"...Brother."

Rosinante murmured softly.

His voice was quiet, but it pulled