Chapter 40

"Burns covering over forty-six percent of the body; multiple muscle tears; midshaft fractures of the left tibia and fibula; the sixth rib on the left, on the right..."

The old man rattled off a string of medical terms, his pace as steady as though he were reading instrument measurements.

Rossi's expression did not change.

But the burly companion standing behind him to one side suddenly turned cold-eyed and stepped forward.

The floor tiles creaked faintly.

That broad, anvil-like palm reached straight for the old man's shoulder-in Pica's understanding, listing injuries one by one was tantamount to intimidation.

Smack.

The attack was intercepted midway.

The man in a black suit and sunglasses had moved across their path at some point, his fingers closing around Pica's wrist.

One possessed extraordinary natural strength, the other was an enhanced clone. The instant they pitted their strength against each other, spiderweb cracks spread through the inlaid patterned tiles beneath their feet, the tiny sounds of fracturing unusually clear in the silence.

The disturbance in the hall was not loud, but it was enough to carry through the walls.

A figure swept through the window behind Rossi, so fast he left only an afterimage.

Doflamingo adjusted his sunglasses, his gaze locking onto the burly man in the suit and the white-coated old man behind him.

An invisible pressure spread like a tide, weighing heavily on the air. At the same time, several nearly transparent threads silently wound around the hem of Rossi's clothes-at any sign of trouble, he would pull him away immediately.

The door next door crashed down.

Diamante rushed in, dragging an absurdly long sword whose tip scraped the floor with a piercing screech; Trebol followed close behind, viscous liquid slowly writhing around him.

Killing intent instantly froze the air.

Though the balding old man knew nothing of Observation Haki, the goosebumps erupting across his skin and his racing heart told him enough.

He froze in place, even forgetting how to breathe.

"Sir."

Rossi rose amid the taut silence and lifted a hand to stop them. "Is Germa 66 threatening us?"

His voice was quiet, but it brought every movement to a halt.

"You think being injured means I'll let you push me around?"

He tilted his head. "You're underestimating me."

"No, no! It's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding!"

Only then did the old man snap out of his daze. He waved both hands frantically, speaking so fast he could barely enunciate. "What I mean is-Germa 66 possesses the most advanced biomedical technology in the North Blue... no, in the entire world!"

He drew a hurried breath and pointed at Rossi.

"Leave your injuries to us, and you'll be as good as new in just half a day.

In exchange, we want the new weapon you've developed-that's my offer."

When he finished, the only sound left in the hall was the faint cracking of the spreading fractures in the tiles.

Rossi watched him silently for several seconds.

So this was what a scientific researcher was supposed to be like? he thought.

The essence of negotiation lay in probing and bargaining.

Yet before their side had even named a price, the other party had revealed his bottom line.

The old man in the white coat rubbed his hands helplessly, clearly unaccustomed to situations like this.

Wesker turned his face away, seemingly unable to bear watching any longer.

Rossi tapped his chin with a fingertip, lost in thought.

The thing was simple in construction, with virtually no technical barrier to speak of.

Trading it for Germa's medical support was a good deal however he looked at it.

More importantly-

Establishing this connection would mean countless unseen benefits for their present group.

Others might not understand, but Rossi knew perfectly well that what Germa possessed went far beyond what showed on the surface.

Replicating life, reshaping flesh, memory metal, individual combat systems... even setting aside their combat applications, Germa's outstanding battlefield medical capabilities alone warranted his serious attention.

Their team currently consisted entirely of fighters. The only thing even remotely useful for treating wounds was Doffy's strange ability to manipulate threads.

"Germa's medical techniques, huh?"

Rossi pushed himself up against the tabletop, the splints and cast on his leg heavy and awkward.

"I'd like to see them for myself."

A cold smell of disinfectant mixed with metal permeated the interior of the Blackwater Security Company.

As a behemoth with roots deep in the North Blue, Germa had countless similar disguised bases under its control.

This facility in Spandamruze was merely one inconspicuous link among them.

Such bases often concealed creations entirely out of place in their surroundings.

For instance, the cultivation pod he had just lain in-its streamlined alloy shell, glowing blue circulating fluid, and faint mechanical hum were all utterly unlike the world Rossi knew.

"Not even a trace left."

He stepped out through the sliding pod door, his fingertips brushing the places where his flesh had once been torn open.

The furrows left by blades, the holes gouged by **, and the scorch marks licked by flames had all vanished without a trace.

Were it not for the faint, dull pain deep in his bones when he pressed down, he might almost have suspected those horrific memories were merely a nightmare.

Of course, even the most sophisticated technology seemed pale beside the unreasonable powers of Devil Fruits.

Supposedly, there was a Devil Fruit user whose single tear could heal someone in an instant.

"Your injuries have been treated."

The balding man waiting nearby spoke hurriedly, his fingers unconsciously tapping the metal worktop. "Now it's time to discuss business."

Rossi turned toward the tall figure standing motionless as a statue on the other side and nodded slightly.

Pica understood and opened his rocklike palm.

Several silver-gray metal objects shaped like miniature energy columns gleamed coldly in his hand.

In the testing area, the white-coated old man examined one of the metal cylinders between his fingers for a moment, then merely shook his head.

"In principle, it's no different from a child's whistle."

The boy standing beside him spread his hands.

"The shells whistling from warships and the stones children throw both essentially send an object flying toward a target."

His tone was calm. "When you break a weapon down to its fundamentals, it's often surprisingly simple."

The old man fell silent for several seconds before finally nodding.

"Bring over a few E-Class personnel."

Black-clad guards escorted several people in prison uniforms and ankle shackles into the testing area.

The instant the metal cylinder detonated in the distance, an invisible vibration swept through the air. All of them clapped their hands over their ears and staggered to their knees, their facial muscles twisting in pain.

The old man lowered his head and wrote rapidly on his clipboard.

"Unlike conventional ** devices that inflict lacerations through fragments... this device uses sound waves as its medium and can significantly disrupt targets with bounties below twenty million Beli."

His pen paused. "Against opponents with bounties of around ten million, it can cause several seconds of dizziness and immobilization."

The world had never lacked monsters with extraordinarily tough **.

Those blessed with exceptional gifts or tempered by years of training could withstand bullets with their flesh, or even cleave flying metal with a blade.

Those figures flickered through his memories-some withstood cannon fire with bulging muscles, while others wove through hails of bullets with ghostlike movements.

But sound was harder to dodge than **.

Training one's eardrums to withstand such an impact? That was far beyond what ordinary methods could achieve.

"Simple to manufacture and suitable for large-scale deployment."

The old man closed his clipboard, his gaze sweeping over the figures still curled up on the ground. "It can effectively suppress ordinary soldiers and even reasonably capable fighters."

As for the possibility of hitting allies, a pair of specially made earmuffs would suffice.

A fingertip tapped the air lightly, as though gently pushing an invisible task across.

"How to give sound penetrating power-that's the question you need to consider."

Rossi raised his hand, instinctively wanting to make an encouraging gesture, but the difference in height meant his palm ultimately landed only on the hem of the man's coat. The rough texture of the fabric pressed against his palm.

Sound had never been mere noise.

He recalled a certain woman's roar-something sharper had been mixed into that voice, like ice picks stabbing into the eardrums.

Even those who had spent years roaming the New World would turn pale and cover their ears upon hearing it.

How far the man before him could go would depend on him.

"Also, can you... supply medical supplies here?"

"Just call me '404.'"

The balding old man adjusted his glasses.

Their conversation had gradually made him realize that the blond-haired boy's manner of speaking and the angles of his questions went far beyond what one would expect of his age.

Combined with those weapon concepts just now, that warranted taking him seriously.

"As a rule, medical supplies aren't distributed externally."

He paused, lowering his gaze over the boy's upturned face. "But for a long-term partner, the company is willing to offer certain conveniences."

"The wounds... are completely gone?"

"Unbelievable. Could they possess some kind of Devil Fruit ability..."

When Rossi returned to the rose-covered building, he was surrounded again.

Exclamations poured in from every direction, continuing like a tide for several minutes before he found an opening and motioned for Pica to hand the metal case to Doffy.

"Disinfectant, scalpels, bandages."

He pointed them out one by one, finally stopping at a silvery-white spray can. "And this-it accelerates wound healing. It's all their technology."

These were high-grade goods obtained from the researcher numbered 404.

Combined with Doffy's ability, they should be sufficient for treating external injuries.

At present, the injuries they encountered most often were nothing more than cuts from swords, holes pierced by **, or broken bones.

"Got it. I'll find a few people to try them on later."

Doffy took the case and nodded.

He intended to find a few injured people to practice on and test the effectiveness of these instruments in the process.

Though his Devil Fruit ability was not among the very best, it was still a superior one.

For instance, that "Stitch-Stitch Devil Fruit" that could only mend clothing

was clearly an inferior substitute for it.

Using threads to reconnect torn tissue from within could pull a fatal injury back from the brink of death-just like the time Rossi had been stabbed through. Had his internal organs not been secured with threads in time, he would probably have been beyond saving.

"Guhehe... now that Rossi's all right,"

Trebol rubbed his sticky palms nearby, his voice filled with irrepressible excitement. "Shouldn't we officially get started on establishing the Family?"

Vergo's gaze shifted from Rossi to the metal case, and something in the air congealed.

They had faced gunfire together and torn down Jedi's flag together. But if a new flag rose, beneath that banner embroidered with ""

would there truly be a place for them?

"Why bring that up now?"

Rossi's voice made Trebol's Adam's apple bob.

The embarrassment of having something exposed burned his ears. "Ahem... Rossi, you certainly fight better than any of us, but we aren't-"

"Haven't we been walking this road together all along?"

Wait-

He wasn't saying we were holding them back?

The gaze behind the sunglasses slowly passed over every face.

Doffy's lips curled upward.

Apart from his brother, who shared his blood, those four names-Trebol, Diamante, Vergo, Pica-had long since been seared into his awareness through smoke and sweat.

He crooked his index finger.

At the far end of the long table, a glass bottle and six stemmed glasses floated into the air, as though drawn by invisible strings.

Dark red liquid flowed into the glasses like snakes, and then each glass hovered silently before someone's chest.

"From this moment on-"

Six arms reached out, and the glasses met with a clear chime.

The boys of varying heights formed a circle.

The burning liquid sliding down their throats forged some invisible bond into shape.

"Here we swear our oath as a Family!"

Six voices overlapped.

Clink.

They tilted their heads back and drained their glasses.

The empty glasses were casually tossed into a corner, their shattering drowned out by the uproar that followed.

"Yahahahaha-we've done it! We've done it!"