"That damned brat!"
Stussy watched Doflamingo shoot up into the sky, his figure shrinking fast until it disappeared into the clouds. Humiliation flashed through her eyes as she ground her teeth, her ears still burning red.
That little devil. This was payback for the way I mocked his father.
But what she hadn't expected—what she hadn't even considered—was that Doflamingo would actually piece together her "relationship" with Darren.
Having something that personal exposed by a "relative" sent heat crawling up her neck. The embarrassment hit so hard her toes curled inside her heels.
"Run faster next time," she huffed under her breath, snapping another cigarette between her lips.
She smoked it down in steady silence until the tightness in her chest eased. Then she slipped her fox mask back on—mysterious, alluring, unreadable—and stepped out of the cabin.
At the crisp click of her heels, a patrol guard hurried over and bowed.
"Your Majesty," he said respectfully. "Do you have any orders?"
The security on this ship consisted of her own core men—personally trained, absolutely loyal. They knew exactly who she was: an Underworld Emperor, and a CP0 operative.
Stussy's voice was cool, detached.
"Issue an order. Starting today, all business between our Pleasure District and the Donquixote Family will be offered a flat thirty percent discount."
"..."
The man in a black butler's suit looked up in shock. He stared at her as if he'd misheard. His mouth opened, but no words came.
"What is it?" Stussy asked, a faint edge creeping into her tone. "Do you have objections?"
The butler's expression twisted as he wrestled with himself. At last, he drew a breath like a man bracing for execution and spoke through clenched teeth.
"Your Majesty, this subordinate would never dare question your judgment."
He bowed deeply, genuine distress tightening his face. "But… are you certain you wish to relinquish that much profit to the Donquixote Family?"
"A thirty percent discount…?"
The Pleasure District's illicit trade brought in staggering sums, but surrendering thirty percent meant slashing margins to the bone.
And on their scale, thirty percent wasn't a number. It was a catastrophe—an astronomical loss no ordinary person could even picture.
How could Her Majesty make a decision this foolish?
This isn't her style.
Even if the Donquixote Family has been expanding fast, even if Doflamingo is worth investing in… sacrificing that much profit is insane.
"Hm." Stussy tapped a finger lightly against her chin, considering his plea.
The butler's shoulders loosened. Relief flooded his eyes.
Thank goodness. A momentary lapse, nothing more.
Of course. Her Majesty—who had never lost a negotiation in her life—wouldn't make a blunder like this.
"Thirty percent is too little," Stussy said at last, a faint smile curving her lips. "It makes us look stingy—like we lack sincerity."
She lifted her gaze, eyes gleaming.
"Very well. The Pleasure District can take a small loss. Offer them forty percent."
"...???"
The smile on the butler's face froze. He blinked, twice, as though trying to reboot his brain.
Forty percent?
That's not a discount—that's charity.
When did the Donquixote Family swallow us whole?
This isn't business. This is giving it away.
He stared at her, mind utterly blank.
So you meant thirty percent was too small?
But that's not what I meant—
In that moment, his worldview cracked clean in half.
Stussy's tone remained calm. "Execute it immediately. Consider it the Pleasure District's welcoming gift to the new Vice Commander of the Knights of God."
"Understood, Your Majesty," the butler said weakly. But the instant the words left his mouth, something finally clicked. His eyes went wide.
"T-the Vice Commander of the Knights of God?!"
Stussy didn't answer. She simply turned and walked toward the stern.
Hattori watched her graceful back recede… and then a jolt ran through him.
So that was it!
No wonder Her Majesty—who always squeezed blood from stone at the negotiating table—was willing to yield so much. This wasn't generosity. It was politics.
A deliberate investment, planted early.
The new Vice Commander of the Knights of God—power, influence, protection.
Our Queen truly lives up to her name.
Overcome with renewed energy, Hattori spun on his heel and hurried off to carry out the order.
As he passed, another crewman leaned in and whispered, curiosity bright in his eyes. "Have you noticed? Her Majesty seems to be in an exceptionally good mood today…"
Hattori rolled his eyes. "Of course. The Pleasure District is about to expand its influence even further."
"Is that so?" The man scratched his head and glanced toward the stern, where the Queen of the Pleasure District stood in the courtyard garden, humming softly as she trimmed flowers.
He murmured, baffled, "I still don't think that's the reason…"
---
First half of the Grand Line.
Impel Down, the Deep Sea Prison.
"Hey! You damned Magellan! Get your ass over here and clean this toilet!"
A bald deputy warden stormed out of the restroom, a gas mask strapped tight to his face, roaring as he waved his arms.
"You gluttonous bastard! You eat like a pig and absorb nothing! All you do is shit—eat, sleep, shit! Every time you go down, I'm the one covering your post!"
"And that's not even the worst part! You don't flush! Are you trying to kill me?!"
Behind him, thick purple fumes seeped from beneath the stall door—poison gas.
"I-I'm so sorry!" Magellan's muffled voice came through, choked with misery. He wore his own gas mask, sounding near tears. "My stomach was killing me, I completely forgot… it's all my fault!"
He suddenly dropped to one knee with a heavy thud, face carved into tragic remorse.
With solemn resolve, he drew a dagger, gripped it with both hands, and raised it toward his abdomen.
"I'll commit seppuku to atone for my sins!"
Wham!
The deputy warden's flying kick sent Magellan skidding several meters across the floor.
"Don't even think about it!" he snarled, panting.
"If you commit seppuku, who the hell is going to clean the toilets?!"
To be continued...