What is the most important thing when raising a wild wolf?
Is it to fuel its hatred for the Celestial Dragons and the World Government? To cultivate its thirst for blood and war? To allow it to hunt freely, keeping its savage instincts sharp? Or perhaps, to give it a clear target—to train its killer instinct?
But none of them are the most important.
To raise a true wild wolf, the most crucial thing is to dominate it completely.
To torment it again and again, until submission becomes not just habit, but instinct. Until it carries the memory of that domination like a brand scorched into the depths of its soul.
So that it never forgets who its true master is.
Rogers Darren smiled in satisfaction as the young Celestial Dragon knelt before him and kissed his hand.
"Good," he said warmly. "You're truly worthy of being my godson."
He ruffled Doflamingo's golden hair affectionately, then took his hand and led him, step by step, out of the blood-soaked grand hall.
Outside the villa, the entire Donquixote Family stood in stunned silence.
They watched, slack-jawed, as their defiant, untamable young master was led like a docile child by a black-haired Marine. No one could speak. No one could move. It felt like a dream.
"Doflamingo... these are your subordinates?" Darren asked casually, his eyes sweeping over the thousand-strong crowd of underworld soldiers.
Doflamingo lowered his head.
Darren nodded. "Quite impressive. For the North Blue, they're elite."
He paused. "But there's one thing I don't like."
Doflamingo raised his eyes slightly. "What is it, Godfather?"
Darren's smile sharpened.
"You are my godson. A born king. Remember this:"
His eyes flared with imperial menace.
"Everyone—except me—must kneel before you."
The words were followed by an earth-shaking pressure.
A tidal wave of pure will.
Unleashed without restraint.
A torrent of Conqueror's Haki exploded from Darren's body, sweeping across the entire area like a divine punishment. The world lost its color. Black and white consumed everything.
Gales tore through the trees. Dust swirled. Shadows shrieked.
The Donquixote officers—Trebol, Diamante, Vergo, and Pica—fell to one knee as if gravity had quadrupled.
Their knees hit stone.
Thousands of weapons clattered to the ground in a storm of steel.
Even those who managed to stay conscious were trembling, cold sweat drenching their backs.
Only two men remained standing.
The boy was biting down hard, veins bulging in his neck, eyes bloodshot.
He was trying to suppress something raging within.
A familiar pressure pulsed beneath his skin—his own Conqueror's Haki—but it couldn't rise. Not here. Not now.
"I'll be waiting for you in the Grand Line, Doflamingo."
Darren's cloak billowed behind him, casting a long shadow that fell over the blond youth like a mantle of fate.
Doflamingo bowed his head.
"Yes, Godfather," he said, voice low, wild ambition hidden deep behind crimson eyes.
In the year 1492 of the Sea Circle Calendar, under the direct orders of Rogers Darren, Supreme Commander of the North Blue Marines, the Marine forces of the North Blue launched a brutal campaign against more than twenty known mafia syndicates.
The purge marked the end of an era.
In less than a week, the Donquixote Family, led by the now fully empowered Doflamingo, claimed absolute dominion over the underworld.
Their operations spanned arms smuggling, gambling, trafficking, intelligence, and extended tentacles far beyond the North Blue—even touching the Grand Line.
And from that day forward, a new saying was born:
"The world may be painted in color. But in the North Blue, there is only black and white."
The lawless North Blue—once a hive of chaos and blood—had entered an age of controlled peace.
"You're insane. Letting him run free ... Aren't you afraid Doflamingo might stab you in the back one day?"
Back at the 321st Branch, inside the Commander's office, Momonga rubbed his temple while scanning a thick dossier.
Reports of the Donquixote Family's rapid expansion filled every page: acquisition records, territory claims, influence maps.
"He won't," Darren said easily, puffing on a cigar while gazing out the wide window toward the sea.
"You sure? That kid doesn't exactly scream loyalty."
Darren turned, his smile calm.
"It's precisely because he isn't loyal that I trust him."
"The truly dangerous enemies are never the ones with ambition. They're the ones who smile and hide the knife behind their back."
"Doflamingo is useful. The bigger his power, the more stable the North Blue becomes."
"And with his identity as a Celestial Dragon, not even the World Government will interfere with what we build here."
Momonga frowned. "Maybe. But I've seen the way he looks at you. That kid's hungry."
"What happens when you leave the North Blue?"
Darren shrugged, then asked, "Do you know what the spirit of a king is?"
"You mean Conqueror's Haki?"
He smiled again, more deeply this time.
"Doflamingo has it. That's why I chose him."
"Power, speed, status—all of it is secondary."
"On this sea, the one thing that decides everything... is will."
"As long as my Conqueror's Haki is stronger than his, he will never rebel."