The largest and wealthiest commercial port in the North Blue—
When Donquixote Doflamingo and his men arrived, what they saw was chaos wrapped in prosperity.
Ships of every size jostled for space in the harbor. Flags bearing dozens of different insignias flapped in the wind. Sailors barked orders from the decks while nobles and merchants puffed pipes on the shore, yelling at dockworkers and pointing fingers.
Beyond the docks, a sprawling city climbed from the shoreline. Shops of every kind lined the streets, crowded with bodies. Goods from across the North Blue—and the world—filled the shelves.
From a distance, the city looked like it was swelling, growing in every direction. White canals cut through the maze of buildings like ribbons of light, shimmering beneath the setting sun.
Bustling, bloated, filthy, rich—everywhere stank of gold and rot.
"W-whoa... this place really is the North Blue's biggest trade port," Trebol muttered, snot dripping from his nose.
"Smells like opportunity," said Diamante, licking the corner of his mouth, face painted in garish colors.
Vergo said nothing, munching on a slice of bread stuck to his cheek.
Pica laughed in his high-pitched, squeaky voice. "Pikkya-pikkya-pikkyarara! Won't be long before it's ours!"
Their faces gleamed with ambition—and rightly so.
In just two weeks, the Donquixote Family had gone from nothing to a dominant force, swallowing over 30% of the North Blue's underworld in a blitzkrieg of precision and blood.
No one had ever moved so fast. Not in this sea.
And now, this glittering port... was their next target.
"Rodriguez Family..." Doflamingo stood at the prow, sunglasses gleaming as he took in the scene. His lips curled into a cold grin.
Same smug outfit as always—shades, a button-up shirt, cropped pants, pointed shoes.
But now, his look was completed by a flamingo-pink feather coat, whipping in the harbor wind like the wings of a proud young bird.
"Doffy," Trebol wheezed as he hobbled over, "if we take down the Rodriguez Family and absorb their operations, we'll have half the North Blue's underworld, won't we?"
Doflamingo's grin widened.
"Exactly. They're entrenched here in Tass Port. With the trade routes flowing through this place, they control at least 30% of the black market. Take them out, and what's left? The Snokes, Vincents, Rockefellers—they're just scraps."
The four officers laughed with reverence.
"Boss," Diamante said suddenly, tone dark. "We don't have to bow to that damn Marine."
The laughter stopped.
"He says the underworld belongs to him now, but let's be honest—we're the ones who bled for it. Has Rogers Darren ever helped us? Even once?"
Doflamingo's smile faded.
"Is that what all of you think?"
The four men lowered their heads, avoiding his eyes.
"We just believe... you were born to be a king."
"A king bows to no one."
He stared at them for a long moment. Then turned back toward the city.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he said softly. "Don't say it again."
But even as they did, they exchanged wary glances.
The quieter Doflamingo got... the more violent the storm building inside him.
He was one. But would a king ever kneel to another man?
Could the name Donquixote accept such a thing?
"Let's go," he whispered, a grin twisting his face.
"Hihihi... let's take what's ours."
He raised both hands.
A storm of invisible threads shot from his fingertips, vanishing into the air and reaching deep into the city like spider legs.
His coat flared dramatically behind him.
Doflamingo let out a wicked, thunderous laugh:
"This world's rules? At their core—it's just survival of the fittest!!"
One of the Donquixote men fired a pistol into the air.
"Donquixote Family business! Civilians, clear the area!!"
Terrified merchants and sailors froze. The sudden crack of gunfire drained the color from their faces.
And when they saw the rising skull flag above the ship, they dropped everything and fled in panic.
Donquixote foot soldiers leapt from the ship with crazed grins, charging toward the Rodriguez Family's territory.
The battle had begun.
A sealed conference room.
A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows.
Two men sat across from each other.
One in a sharp black suit, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
Supreme Commander of the North Blue Marines, Rogers Darren.
"I know you're angry, Commander," the older man rasped. "But... is it really fair for the house to enter the game?"
Darren smirked, eyes narrowing.
"No," he said. "But life isn't fair."
Veins bulged along the man's forehead.
"I've followed your rules for years," he said, trembling. "And now I just—"
"You broke the rules," Darren interrupted flatly.
The man paled, his knuckles clenching and unclenching.
"Not just you. Everyone who breaks them... will be punished."
Wild, shaking laughter that brought tears to his eyes.
"Hahaha!! I see... so that's how it is. After all these years of rivalry, we all end up in the same grave."
"Rogers Darren... they call you the disgrace of the Marines..."
He locked eyes with him.
"But I know what you really are."
"Cunning. Cold. I don't even think you can feel compassion."
"I knew this day would come the moment I chose this life."
"They call me a giant of the North Blue underworld..."
He laughed again, bitterly.
"In this sea—the darkest thing of all..."
"...is you, cloaked in justice."