Who could have imagined that Rogers Darren—one of the World Government's most hated enemies—would one day see his godson installed as the second-in-command of the Government's highest instrument of law and judgment?
The irony of it was almost nauseating. Or maybe it was something worse—something quietly, deeply wrong.
Momonga's lips twitched.
Back then, he'd argued fiercely against Darren taking Doflamingo as his "godson," insisting it was like raising a tiger cub that would eventually turn and devour its keeper.
Now, Momonga had to admit he'd been too rash.
But he could never say that out loud.
Not to Zephyr-sensei. With Zephyr's hatred for pirates carved into his bones, Momonga couldn't imagine him ever accepting Darren's choice.
"During the Felsek 'Godfall Island' incident," Momonga said with a dry chuckle, "Darren practically wiped out the Celestial Dragons' young elite. Add the casualties from the Holy Land bombing, and it's no wonder panic has taken root in their ranks."
"And since most of the Celestial Dragons are nothing but swine anyway, the Gorosei don't exactly have a deep bench to choose from."
"Even before he became a Shichibukai, Doflamingo had already shown a rare mix of cunning and strength. After taking the title, he used it as leverage to expand aggressively in the New World, and he climbed fast—until he became an Underworld Emperor."
"In a way, the resources he controls have forced even the Government to treat him as a serious player."
"The Vice Commander of the Knights of God holds very limited authority. On paper, it's second-in-command, but in practice it's a leash—no independent right to deploy forces, completely subordinate to the Commander. It's a title more than a position."
"But a title like that—prestigious, hollow, and safe—was enough to buy the loyalty of someone dangerous. Someone strong, shrewd, and backed by influence and supply lines that stretch through the underworld. From the Gorosei's perspective, it's a bargain."
"And Doflamingo is a Celestial Dragon by blood. Appointing him doesn't violate their customs. It's clean. It's defensible."
Zephyr's gaze flicked to Momonga, approval there in the faint shift of his expression.
Momonga's calm, methodical reasoning reminded him of Darren. Under Darren's influence, Momonga had clearly been sharpening himself into a commander who could see beyond the battlefield.
With that thought, Zephyr couldn't help glancing toward the other side of the deck.
It was chaos.
Tokikake sat sprawled on the planks with a cigarette dangling from his lips, digging between his toes with grim focus. Every so often he lifted his fingers to sniff, shuddered violently, then went right back to it.
Nearby, Shuzo had stripped off his shirt, his body a knot of tight muscle as he hammered a sandbag with manic intensity, chanting through clenched teeth, "Stronger! Muscles! Muscles!"
Yamakaji lounged in a corner with two lit cigars clenched between his teeth, the smoke so thick it nearly swallowed his silhouette whole.
Zephyr stared.
Then he looked back at Momonga—standing rigid and composed, grim as ever—and his lips twitched again. A dull ache rose in his chest.
Why do all the disciples I've trained end up… like this?
---
No matter the era, the Stairway to Heaven inspired the same oppressive awe.
Its immaculate, snow-white steps climbed endlessly into a sea of clouds, vanishing toward a summit the eye could never reach.
On either side stood towering statues in silent ranks, cold sentinels guarding the ascent. Their unblinking gaze bore down on every soul who dared to climb, pressing the World Government's authority onto the spine like a physical weight.
This was not Stussy's first time here.
Since joining CP0, she'd climbed the Stairway to Heaven twenty-six times, entering Pangaea Castle's Chamber of Authority to pay homage in person to the Gorosei—five men who held the world's highest power in their hands.
Twenty-six times. She remembered every one.
Because every ascent filled her with the same trembling dread.
Dread that the Gorosei would discover what she truly was.
And an even sharper dread that a single misstep would get Dr. Vegapunk erased.
To others, an audience with the Gorosei might have been the crowning honor of a lifetime.
For Stussy, it was always a gamble with no prize for winning—only the certainty that losing meant everything. Including her life.
So each time she stepped onto those pristine stairs, she kept her head bowed, careful not to meet the hollow stone eyes of the Knights of God lining the path, terrified that the CP agents hidden in the shadows might sense even the slightest crack in her composure.
On the road to supreme authority, she had always walked on eggshells.
But today—
Today, as she climbed the Stairway to Heaven for the twenty-seventh time, none of that dread remained.
No anxiety. No fear. No unease.
Instead, an indescribable sense of security pressed at her back—like two invisible hands, steady and powerful, pushing her forward.
There were two reasons for it.
The first was Egghead. She'd seen with her own eyes that Vegapunk was alive.
But the second—far more decisive—was simpler.
She was no longer alone.
With that thought, Stussy slowly raised the head she'd trained herself to keep lowered.
Sunlight flooded her vision, bright enough to sting, almost forcing her eyes shut.
And then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
At the top of the Stairway to Heaven, the colossal statues of the Knights of God loomed like mountains. At their highest point stood the Commander's and Vice Commander's statues—monuments being repaired and polished under the blazing sun by workers and slaves.
Stussy recognized the Commander's statue instantly.
That crescent arc of red hair. That domineering, devilish grin. That posture—elegant, arrogant, unmistakable.
Only one Celestial Dragon in the Holy Land carried an aura like that.
Saint Figarland Garling.
The king who had once reigned over God Valley had now taken the highest seat among the Knights of God.
That much didn't surprise her.
Figarland Garling—by strength, pedigree, talent, and experience—was more than qualified to succeed Saint Michael.
What drew her gaze, what snagged her curiosity, was the other statue.
The Vice Commander.
It was still taking shape beneath the hands of craftsmen and slaves, details emerging as they worked. Stussy frowned, studying it, something uneasy stirring in the back of her mind.
Why does this person look… so familiar?
To be continued...