Chapter 24

But Trebol was different-in those fragmented images flooding his mind, this was the man who had constantly goaded the young Doffy toward extremes, using fire and violence to raise the boy onto a pedestal, ultimately cultivating that arrogance that looked down on all living beings.

By the time Doffy truly grew up and saw through the so-called "family"

to the control and fear beneath the facade, Trebol and Diamante had begun desperately defending the "authority" they had shaped with their own hands.

They always had the word "family"

on their lips, yet deep down they were afraid at every moment-afraid that the boy who far surpassed them in both strength and intelligence would one day turn and leave.

That was why, later, when a boy in a spotted hat sneered and exposed him with "You're nothing but a puppet controlled by Doflamingo,"

Trebol had instantly fallen apart.

These thoughts flashed through Rossi's mind.

He raised a hand, stopping the pledge of allegiance just before its completion.

Trebol's expression darkened.

Rossi merely asked calmly, "Have you ever seen anyone who needed to kneel to their family?"

The air froze for a moment.

"Bolkin."

Rossi turned toward the boy beside him. "Would you kneel before your uncle or grandfather?"

Bolkin shook his head almost instinctively. "Of course not."

He scratched his head, then added, "Though I squat when I wash Grandpa's feet... that doesn't count as kneeling, right?"

Quite a devoted grandson.

The corner of Rossi's mouth moved almost imperceptibly.

"I wouldn't kneel to Doffy either."

His gaze returned to the four silent figures. "Because we're brothers, real family.

If you only want to become his subordinates, I have no objection."

"But if what you want is to be his 'family'-"

Rossi's voice was quiet, but it struck clearly against everyone's eardrums. "Then stand up.

Prove through your actions that the bond between you and him deserves that word."

With that, he turned his head.

Doflamingo was staring at the pear-shaped fruit in his hand, his fingertips unconsciously stroking its skin, eagerness gleaming in his eyes.

"Wait."

Rossi spoke again.

"Don't eat that."

Doffy's brow suddenly furrowed.

He looked at his younger brother, then down at what was unmistakably a Devil Fruit in his palm.

A suspicion quickly took shape.

"That's right."

Meeting his gaze, Rossi nodded. "This fruit... its ceiling isn't very high."

Trebol's face instantly flushed red.

If Rossi's earlier attempt to stop them from becoming Doffy's "family"

could be understood as consideration for their future relationship, then dismissing the fruit's significance with such a casual remark now was practically denying the worth of every one of them.

"You're talking nonsense-"

He nearly jumped up.

"Paramecia. The String-String Fruit."

Rossi's voice cut him off, piercing the heated air like a spike of ice.

The boy did not even look up. He simply stated the name calmly.

"Whoever eats it can draw threads from their body and control them."

He paused, his fingertips unconsciously tapping his knee.

A seabird swept past the window, casting a fleeting shadow.

"Compared to fruits that can make islands float, manipulate souls, or raise waves that swallow coastlines-"

The boy finally lifted his face, the faintest curve tugging at his lips. "This thing really isn't much to look at."

Trebol's mouth hung open, ragged gasps rasping in his throat.

"There's an encyclopedia in this world that records Devil Fruits."

Rossi looked away, toward the dust-covered window frame. "Not many people have seen it, but I happened to read some of it and remember the contents of a few pages."

Many years ago, he and Doffy had held a different status.

Back then, never mind an encyclopedia-they had seen more than one or two actual fruits.

They had simply been too young, and those memories had long since blurred into fragments.

Now, this "knowledge"

could only be attributed to a memory naturally a little better than most people's.

"...The String-String Fruit?"

Trebol repeated it under his breath, hearing the dryness in his own voice.

Just "making threads"

? How could an ability like that be worthy of the person they had decided to follow? Doused twice with cold water, his fervor finally withered completely, leaving only hollow bewilderment.

"Don't look like that."

Rossi stood up and brushed nonexistent dust from his clothes.

No one knew how many precious fruits the Family would gather in the future-abilities that could manipulate the earth, control gold, and even turn everything into weapons would fall into their hands one after another.

Not to mention those abilities so impossible to counter that they were almost like rules themselves.

After Ace died, hadn't that burning fruit quickly appeared in Doffy's collection too?

So why rush to swallow a fruit with such limited room to grow?

"We know it's the String-String Fruit, but outsiders don't."

The boy walked to the door and rested his hand on the rusty handle. "As long as it still carries the 'Paramecia' label, we won't have trouble getting a good price."

In this era, "Crocodile"

was still nurturing his ambitions in some corner, and those future renowned Marine commanders had only just emerged from training camp, perhaps still bearing traces of youthful inexperience on their faces.

Logia had yet to be placed on a pedestal, while Zoan was still far from ushering in those ancient and ferocious forms-most of what circulated across the seas now were merely unremarkable ordinary varieties, their ceilings low enough to see at a glance.

The damp night wind swept over the docks, the smells of rust and brine winding among the piled wooden crates.

Trebol wiped his brow with his sleeve, and dark sweat stains immediately spread through the fabric.

Broken sounds came from his throat, like a leaking bellows.

"We can only... we can only do that."

As he spoke, his gaze fell on the sealed iron box at his feet.

What lay inside could fetch a sum in ** that would make any outlaw's eyes turn green.

Those strange things called "Paramecia"

could, once in truly capable hands, stir up waves powerful enough to change an island's fate-though everyone knew that what was truly frightening was never the fruits themselves, but the hands that wielded them.

Doflamingo leaned against a rusty bollard, his gaze behind his lenses passing through the drifting fog toward the pitch-black sea beyond the harbor.

His silence carried more weight than words.

"The money problem is solved for now."

Rossi kicked a pebble at his feet. It rolled into a puddle, sending up tiny ripples. "But what next? We just turned the Jiedi Family's warehouse upside down."

The lingering smell of gunpowder filled the air.

A few hours earlier, flames had lit half the docks orange-red.

The man famous for taming wild beasts, his three officers renowned for their fighting prowess, and hundreds of sword-wearing thugs-those names were like heavy iron anchors, dragging at everyone's breathing.

More troublesome still was "Big Bucks," who stood in the shadows,

that old fox who could mobilize the entire city's law enforcement with gold coins.

Those with shoes normally could not be bothered to trample the barefoot, but if the barefoot splashed boiling oil onto their shoes first, that was another matter.

"There aren't many options."

Rossi raised one finger, its tip still stained with unwashed coal dust. "Disappear.

The sea is vast enough. Hiding a few people would be like tossing a handful of salt into a wine barrel.

Once our names appear in the papers, whether our pursuers still dare come after us will be another question."

He paused briefly, watching the other two's expressions.

Backing down had never been their style. Even to his own ears, those words sounded like yesterday's cold soup.

As he raised a second finger, his voice dropped, the words squeezing through his teeth. "Or uproot the Jiedi Family entirely.

Once a seat opens up in Spandamruze's Underworld, someone will have to take it."

Replacement.

The word gleamed like cold iron in the darkness.

Without touching those bloodstained trades-people, living merchandise, illicit drugs-they could still skim profits from every ship, every warehouse, and every transaction in the harbor.

Gold coins would attract followers, followers would weave a network of connections, and that network would be woven into power.

He thought of the man who would later wear a clown hat.

That man had reached the top not because his fists were so powerful, but because he held the largest transportation network in the entire New World, shipping wars back and forth in his holds like cargo.

Then fate happened to take a ridiculous stumble at just that moment, and he became a legend.

Even that rubber kid could never have kept his crown steady without the fleet looming behind him, the Kingdoms nodding in the shadows, and the intermittent aid of powerful figures from all sides.

On these seas, victory had never been decided solely by the clash of blades, but also by glances exchanged over lightly clinking glasses, unwritten clauses in contracts, and tacit nods in the darkness.

Doflamingo finally moved.

He straightened, his leather heel grinding over the damp planks with a slow creak.

"Run?"

He smiled, the curve of his lips as sharp as a freshly honed blade. "Do we look like people who would run?"

The fog thickened, moisture blurring the distant lighthouse's glow into a hazy pale yellow.

In the harbor's shadows, a new order was quietly growing over the old remains.

When the cabin door opened, the creak of rubbing wood interrupted the conversation inside.

A girl leaned halfway in, stove ash smudging her cheeks.

She was not particularly pretty, but her eyes were bright and her movements quick-she was Bolkin's younger cousin, currently helping cook aboard the ship.

The kitchen was just below this deck. Rossi remembered the place clearly; it was where he had first drawn blood.

"Food's ready."

She spoke.

The figures seated around the round table varied greatly in height, like a haphazard pile of rocks.

Doflamingo stood with his back to everyone, facing Spandamruze beyond the porthole.

He was only ten, his fingers spread against the glass, yet his words were resolute:

"The Jiedi Family has to disappear."

He paused, then added, "No matter who comes."

A sticky string of chuckles rolled from Trebol's throat.

He sat with three others covered in bandages-one tall and thin, one short and fat, and Vergo, whose arms were wrapped in thick bandages.

The four exchanged glances, and Trebol spoke first:

"We're in."

He grinned, revealing tobacco-yellowed teeth. "If we let someone step on our faces without hitting back, we can forget about ever standing tall again."

Diamante tapped the tabletop with his cloth-wrapped fingers, his voice muffled. "Blood for blood."

Rossi said nothing, merely glancing over them.

For now, these four counted as allies. That was enough.

A common enemy was like a rope, enough to bind the two groups together for the moment.

The food arrived, and the savory aroma of stew mingled with the scorched smell of wood repairs throughout the room.

Everyone grabbed bread, tore it apart, dipped it into the thick soup, and stuffed it into their mouths.

Chewing, swallowing, and the clatter of dishes filled the gaps in the silence.

Trebol swallowed a mouthful of meat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"We need to find out exactly what we're up against first."

He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "The Jiedi Family... aren't decent sorts who play by the rules."

He began speaking in fits and starts: the Family's makeup, the streets they controlled, the businesses they ran, and the hired muscle they kept.

Every few sentences, he paused to observe the reactions of the two boys opposite him.

Doflamingo kept looking out the window, but his shoulders and back were taut.

Rossi gazed down at the beads of oil floating on his soup, occasionally looking up to sweep his gaze over each face around the table.

Hatred was a kind of fuel.

He knew a fire burned in everyone seated here-some blazed openly, while others smoldered within.

Those fires pointed in the same direction. That was enough.

As for later?

He tore off a piece of bread and chewed slowly.

The future could wait until they lived to see it.