"So, Doffy… did all this turn out as you wished?"
Darren's question landed like a hook to the ribs, quiet and precise. For a heartbeat, Doflamingo didn't answer. His gaze went distant, glassy.
Is this… what I wished for?
Images surged up like a tide he couldn't hold back—
His mother, smiling through tears as her life slipped away in a sterile bed.
Hands digging through garbage for something not yet rotten.
The nights drenched in blood and curses, the faces of commoners twisted with hate, spittle flying as they threw stones and screams.
His father's head—severed, frozen in disbelief, like the world itself had refused to accept what he'd done.
The Celestial Dragons' stunned expressions.
The Stairway to Heaven stained with bloody footprints that would never truly wash away.
And then, inevitably, those five faces.
Old. Impassive. Arrogant.
"Your father abandoned his Celestial Dragon status, and you are a disgrace to our kind."
"Filthy thing. Take your worthless father's head and get out of the Holy Land."
Doflamingo felt the memory like grit scraped across a wound.
Even now, after returning, after being placed into the heart of the Land of the Gods in silk and marble and gold—those looks hadn't changed.
When he stepped onto these streets again, he'd felt it in every pair of eyes: fear, curiosity, suspicion, awe…
And beneath it all—contempt.
You don't belong here.
He saw it. He couldn't not see it.
No one understood that look better than he did.
Silence deepened in the grand hall of the mansion. Even the soft crackle of Darren's cigar felt too loud.
"All this…"
Doflamingo finally lifted his head. He met Darren's gaze—the man calling him Doffy like it was natural, like it was allowed.
A slow chuckle came out of him, dry and sharp.
"No," he said, each word carved out carefully. "This isn't… enough."
"Oh?" Darren's expression didn't change. Not surprised. Almost amused. "Why not?"
"Isn't this everything you wanted?"
He gestured lightly, as if listing trophies.
"The Celestial Dragons who once scorned you now tremble when you walk past. As Vice Commander of the Knights of God, you hold power over their lives and deaths."
"Your statue stands on the sacred Stairway to Heaven."
"Even the Gorosei have to listen when you speak."
"No!" Doflamingo snapped, cutting him off like a whip crack.
His eyes reddened, thin veins crawling at the edges. His breath hitched, then steadied into something harsher.
"I should be happy. I should be satisfied."
He turned toward the window, toward the tranquil villas of the Land of the Gods and the distant crown of Pangaea Castle rising through the clouds like a blade.
"But you know what, my dear Godfather…"
His voice dropped, rough with something that was almost honest.
"When I finally got everything I wanted… when I sat here and looked at all of this—this so-called paradise…"
His fingers tightened around the wine glass.
Crack.
The glass shattered in his hand. Shards bit into flesh. Blood welled, dark and quick, seeping into the amber liquor, dripping down his fingers like he didn't feel it.
A twisted gleam slid into his eyes—something hungry, something broken and proud.
"I only had one thought."
Darren watched him, motionless. "What was it?"
Doflamingo's smile sharpened into a sneer.
"I want to destroy it," he hissed. "All of it. Utterly and completely."
Hatred rose off him like heat. The pink feathers of his coat stirred as if the room itself had flinched.
Darren stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled a slow breath through his nose and rubbed his temples like he'd been given a headache by fate.
That kid… sometimes he's way too edgy.
Still—Darren understood.
What you're denied as a child doesn't disappear. It learns how to live inside you.
Doflamingo had gambled everything, offered his father's head to claw his way back into the sky, and the "gods" had only laughed at him and spat him out again.
A wound like that didn't heal. It fermented. It turned into something that wanted to bite the whole world.
"Doffy," Darren said, his voice steady, almost stern. "I get it. But I don't want you blinded by hatred."
Doflamingo froze. He looked back, confused—almost offended.
"What?" Darren's smile curved, sharp with understanding. "You thought I came here to agree with you?"
"To fan your rage and use it?"
"To turn you into a weapon pointed at the World Government?"
Doflamingo didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
That was exactly what he'd been thinking.
If Darren could be pushed, if Darren could be coaxed into using him—then Doflamingo's dream of defiling the Holy Land would become real.
And yet…
Darren wasn't taking the bait.
Seeing the silence, Darren chuckled.
"Don't underestimate me, you impudent brat. I might be a scoundrel—sure."
He stepped closer, lowering himself just enough to meet Doflamingo's eye line, that casual dominance wrapped in a smile.
"But I'm a scoundrel with principles."
He reached out and ruffled Doflamingo's hair, like he was still thirteen and furious and starving, like he was still someone's problem to solve.
"I'm Rogers Darren."
"Using a kid's trauma to fuel my ambitions?" He scoffed softly. "That's not my style."
Darren straightened, grin widening—wild, arrogant, and very, very dangerous.
"The World Government isn't yours to destroy," he said.
A beat.
"Not yet."
To be continued...