Dressrosa, New World
The flagship of the Donquixote Pirates cut through the waters like a crowned leviathan returning to its domain. Anne's Grace was not merely a ship—it was a statement.
Massive enough to dwarf most Marine battleships, her hull was carved entirely from Adam wood, procured at an obscene cost from Elbaf itself. The legendary timber gave the vessel a dark, burnished sheen, its grain polished until it resembled flowing silk frozen in time. Even the sea seemed reluctant to scar it; waves broke against the hull and slid away as if repelled.
Where ordinary warships bristled with cannons, rail guns lined Anne's Grace instead—sleek, angular weapons of terrifying precision. Their barrels gleamed with a cold metallic luster, humming faintly with stored energy, capable of punching through fortresses from beyond visual range. Ornate gilded inlays framed each emplacement, marrying brutal ingenuity with grotesque artistry—violence, made elegant.
Above it all rose the towering superstructure, draped in crimson and gold, crowned by the Donquixote jolly roger fluttering like a declaration of dominion. The ship did not merely arrive at port.
It claimed it. As the flagship came to a halt, dockworkers froze mid-motion, instinctively lowering their gazes. Before the gangplanks could even be deployed, a blur of motion leapt from the ship. Doflamingo descended.
He landed lightly on the stone pier, feathered coat rippling behind him like a living thing, sunglasses catching the sunlight in a brief, sharp glint. Not a single crack marred the stone beneath his feet. A heartbeat later, Senor followed, adjusting his gloves as he touched down with practiced ease, already half a step behind his master. Doflamingo's smile was absent.
"It was foolish of us…" he muttered, voice low, edged not with anger but with self-reproach. "…to leave Dressrosa so exposed."
They began walking immediately, footsteps echoing against the harbor stones as the city unfurled before them. His mind raced faster than his stride. Punk Hazard. The ancient giant. The underground lab. They had underestimated the risk—and nearly paid for it with everything.
Issho was away in Wano, his mission far from complete. Ross was chasing whispers of Pure Gold, too far to recall. Agana remained with Shirahoshi, where she had to be—Poseidon's guardian could not be elsewhere.
And the rest of the Donquixote family—their true main fighting force—had been off-island.
A few days of travel. That was all it took. A few days were more than enough for a monster of the sea to reduce Dressrosa to ash. Doflamingo's jaw tightened.
They had grown complacent—leaning too heavily on Shyarly's prophecies, trusting that fate itself would warn them of every disaster. The incident in the underground lab had shattered that illusion. Her power was immense, yes—but not absolute. It never had been.
And even if it were… That was no excuse.
If Leo and Dora hadn't been present—if they hadn't restrained the ancient giant at the last moment—the losses would have been catastrophic. Frozen specimens destroyed. Research obliterated. Greenbit torn open like a wound.
Luck. Doflamingo despised relying on luck. As they moved toward Greenbit, his voice hardened—not cruel, not loud, but heavy with authority.
"Senor," he said without turning, "I don't want this to ever happen again. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Master Doffy," Senor replied instantly.
"Even if I forget," Doflamingo continued, fingers flexing faintly at his side, "you will remind me. At least one of us must always remain in Dressrosa. Always." His smile returned then—but it was thin, dangerous. "We were fortunate this time. Next time, fortune may not be so kind."
Ahead, the distant silhouette of Greenbit loomed, scarred but standing. Doflamingo's gaze sharpened. He would not allow his kingdom to stand on borrowed time again.
It didn't take long for the two of them to reach Greenbit, nor to descend into the underground cavern where the laboratory dedicated to the revival of the Ancient Giants lay hidden beneath layers of earth and secrecy.
The moment Doflamingo stepped inside, his expression darkened. The place no longer resembled a laboratory of science. It looked like a ruin.
Cracked stone walls yawned open like old wounds, the cavern ceiling sagging unevenly as if the earth itself had nearly given up. Metal walkways lay twisted and half-buried beneath rubble, shattered glass crunching underfoot. Broken containment tanks littered the floor—once pristine med pools now reduced to jagged shells, their luminous fluids long since drained or evaporated into the cavern air.
And yet… it still stood.
Massive roots and thick barks burst through the stone walls, coiling and intertwining like the ribs of some colossal beast. Ancient-looking trunks pressed upward, bracing the ceiling, while sprawling vines stitched fractured rock together with unnatural precision. The wood was alive—thrumming faintly, breathing. Doflamingo didn't need to ask.
"…Leo," he muttered.
Only the Forest Logia could have accomplished something like this—turning nature itself into a scaffold, forcing trees to shoulder the weight of a collapsing world. Without it, the entire cavern would have caved in, burying decades of research beneath Greenbit forever. Still, the sight did nothing to ease the tightness in Doflamingo's chest.
The financial loss meant nothing to him. What stung—what truly burned—was the absence.
Four. Four Ancient Giants had been lost during the rampage, their massive forms torn apart while still suspended helplessly within their med pools. Centuries of effort. Irreplaceable specimens. Gone.
Doflamingo's fingers curled slowly at his side. Then his gaze sharpened. At the center of the cavern stood the one he had come to see. A boy—no older than ten. Yet the way the others moved around him made it unmistakably clear who was in charge.
Einstein.
Small in stature but straight-backed, his expression sharp and focused, he issued instructions without hesitation. Assistants—scientists, technicians, and especially members of the Tontatta tribe—moved at his word like parts of a living machine.
The Tontatta were everywhere. Tiny figures darted across broken stone and twisted metal, working at speeds that blurred the eye. With delicate hands and frightening efficiency, they repaired fractures in the cavern walls, guiding roots deeper, shaping earth and stone as though it were soft clay. Where cracks threatened to spread, they filled them with reinforced soil and living wood, coaxing the ground itself to knit back together.
Some sang softly as they worked—low, rhythmic chants that caused the roots to thicken and harden. Others carried materials many times their size, muscles straining but never failing. Under their care, the cavern didn't merely get repaired.
It healed. Stone smoothed. Earth settled. Nature reclaimed and reshaped itself into something stronger than before. Doflamingo watched silently.
Had the damage spread any further—toward the library, or worse, the sealed sector where Pluton was being manufactured—the consequences would have been unthinkable. Even Dressrosa's shadowy might would not have been enough to contain that disaster.
"Oh, Master Doffy, you're back already… I didn't expect you to return this soon." Einstein's voice cut through the cavern, calm and measured despite the chaos surrounding him. He turned from a cluster of assistants, sharp eyes flicking briefly over the ruined laboratory before settling on the Donquixote patriarch.
"Is everything on Punk Hazard settled?" he continued, almost idly. "A shame about the Fish-Man species being marked for extermination by the World Government… though, I suppose that outcome was inevitable."
Only then did he truly take in Doflamingo's expression. Perched on Einstein's shoulder was Leo.
The Tontatta warrior sat cross-legged there, small hands resting on the scientist's collar, his usual boundless energy dulled by exhaustion. Even after two full days of rest, Leo clearly hadn't returned to peak condition. His breathing was steady but heavy, his ears drooping slightly—yet his sharp eyes never stopped moving.
From his elevated perch, Leo surveyed the cavern like a general overlooking a battlefield. He barked short, precise orders to the Tontatta below, adjusting their work in real time as they followed Einstein's instructions. Roots thickened where he pointed, and stone compacted where he gestured. Despite his fatigue, his presence kept the restoration effort flowing smoothly. The moment Leo spotted Doflamingo and Señor Pink, his ears twitched.
"Master Doffy! Señor!" he greeted, straightening despite his condition. His tail flicked once before he could stop it. Then his expression shifted—concern flashing across his face.
"…The Princess?" Leo asked quietly.
As Princess Mansherry's personal guardian, the question came naturally. He had only remained behind in Dressrosa because Mansherry had been with young Master Ross—because Rosinante was the only one Leo trusted absolutely to protect her.
Doflamingo stopped walking. For a brief moment, the cavern seemed to hold its breath.
"You did good, Leo," Doflamingo said at last, his voice lighter than before. "Truly. You have my thanks."
The words landed heavier than any medal. Leo froze. His face reddened instantly, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a response. He managed to keep his posture stiff and professional—but his tail betrayed him, swishing back and forth in unmistakable embarrassment. Señor Pink stepped forward, hands tucked into his pockets.
"Mansherry is on her way back to the palace with the others," he said calmly. "She's safe."
Leo visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping just a little in relief.
"You can go to her if you want," Señor added after a beat. "We'll catch up later."
Leo hesitated—torn between duty and devotion—but nodded gratefully. Before he could move, Doflamingo's gaze drifted across the cavern once more.
"By the way," he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, "where's Dora?"
The absence of the giant was conspicuous. After all, it had taken the combined effort of Leo and Dora to subdue the rampaging Ancient Giant before the lab was completely destroyed.
Doflamingo glanced at Señor. Señor Pink nodded once and wordlessly turned, already heading off to find the only giant among the Donquixote Family. Doflamingo didn't wait.
"Einstein," he said, resuming his stride toward the central tower, where newly installed consoles and control pillars were being assembled, "tell me." Einstein immediately fell into step beside him, hands clasped behind his back, voice steady and precise. "What have we gained… and what have we lost from this incident?"
As they walked deeper into the heart of the wounded laboratory—past tireless Tontatta, living supports of wood and stone, and the remnants of shattered ambition—Einstein began his report.
Einstein's fingers glided across the console as they spoke, thin hands moving with practiced precision. Holographic projections bloomed into the air—streams of data, pulse graphs, skeletal overlays of Ancient Giants frozen at the moment of failure. The cavern hummed softly, as if the laboratory itself were listening.
"We lost the awakened Ancient Giant," Einstein began, his tone clinical but not detached. "Along with three additional specimens whose containment failed during the rampage. Irreplaceable assets, unfortunately." Doflamingo's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"However," Einstein continued, his fingers pausing briefly before flicking the display forward, "the data gathered during the entire duration of the incident is… substantial. Neural activity under extreme stress, cellular degradation rates, abnormal resonance patterns between the giant's core and external stimuli—phenomena we could never have replicated under controlled conditions."
Layer after layer of information unfolded, clean and concise. Even someone like Doflamingo—who had little patience for pure science—could clearly see the balance sheet forming in his mind.
"In short," Einstein concluded, "the loss is heavy, but the knowledge gained will accelerate our project by years. Possibly decades." Doflamingo exhaled slowly.
"Keep up the good work," he said at last. "I'll assign additional forces to Greenbit. I don't want a repeat of this incident—ever." Einstein inclined his head slightly.
"As for the resources you'll need to rebuild," Doflamingo continued, his voice steady, decisive, "don't worry about it. If there's one thing our family doesn't lack, it's wealth. Reach out to Señor if you need additional funds or personnel. We cannot afford delays—not now."
He paused, then added casually, as if discussing nothing more important than a routine supply run: "And a heads-up—Ross has some leads on Pure Gold. If he manages to bring it back, you'll need to split your attention."
The words hung in the air. Einstein's hands froze mid-motion. Pure Gold.
A myth. A legend whispered among scholars and madmen alike. A substance rumored to halt aging itself—to grant eternal youth. Doflamingo looked entirely unfazed. Einstein, on the other hand, felt his breath catch.
His eyes widened—not in dread at the additional workload, but in sheer, unfiltered exhilaration. A low chuckle escaped him, one filled with awe rather than humor.
"Pure Gold…" he murmured. "Even Vegapunk may never have laid eyes on such a material in his lifetime."
Though born from Vegapunk's genius, Einstein was not merely an echo. Where the other satellites embodied fragments of the original mind, Einstein possessed an independent curiosity—a hunger for the impossible. And now, the impossible was within reach.
He was just about to ask how soon Ross might return, how intact the material could be, what precautions would be required— When heavy footsteps approached. Señor Pink walked toward them briskly, his usual laid-back demeanor gone. His expression was tight, irritated, a transponder snail clutched firmly in his hand.
Doflamingo noticed immediately. "Senor?" he asked, one brow arching.
Señor didn't even slow down. "Master Doffy," he said, voice edged with annoyance, "we have a problem." Doflamingo gestured for him to continue. "Dora isn't on Dressrosa," Señor went on. "She used the young master's name, commandeered Leviathan, and departed two days ago."
The air seemed to shift. Doflamingo's brow twitched—not in rage, but in sharp irritation. Dora was mischievous by nature. Unrestrained. Impulsive. And though older than Doflamingo by giant standards, she was still little more than a child by Elbaph's reckoning.
That she would abuse Rosinante's authority to take Leviathan—the only vessel in their armada capable of transporting a giant—was infuriating, but not surprising. Doflamingo's gaze slid to Leo.
Leo understood the unspoken question immediately.
"I… I remember seeing her last on that day," Leo admitted, ears drooping. "But I was unconscious for almost a full day after the battle. I thought she was resting, like me, Master Doffy…"
Doflamingo clicked his tongue softly. "What is she thinking…?" he muttered.
Mischievous, yes—but commandeering Leviathan, Rosinante's personal ship, was a line Dora rarely crossed. That alone told him something was off. Before Doflamingo could order Señor to contact her directly, Einstein spoke up.
"I may know where she's headed," he said. "She received a call from her homeland. I recall her asking Rosinante for permission to return to Elbaph. The young master told her to wait until you returned."
Einstein adjusted his glasses. "It seems she didn't have the patience."
Señor rubbed his brow with a sigh. "When young master Ross isn't around, she's a menace," he muttered. "He's the only one she listens to."
Doflamingo's irritation deepened. Traveling alone across the seas was reckless—even for someone as powerful as Dora. Her Lightning Logia made her formidable, but the New World did not forgive arrogance. Not even giants.
"Senor," Doflamingo said, voice dropping into a dangerous growl, "connect me to her."
****
Far from Dressrosa—beyond the familiar shipping lanes and the watchful eyes of the Donquixote family—the sea itself seemed to part in reluctant submission. A massive vessel tore through the ocean like a waking titan.
Leviathan.
Its hull alone cast a shadow wide enough to swallow smaller ships whole, reinforced adam wood plates groaning softly as they cleaved through the waves. Each surge sent walls of seawater rolling aside, the Donquixote Jolly Roger snapping violently in the wind high above, its grin stretched wide and defiant against the open sky.
On the open deck, a strange scene unfolded. A half dozen crew members sat in a loose circle on the expanded deck plating, legs crossed, backs stiff, sweat glistening on their brows—not from exertion, but from nerves. Between them, seated far too casually, was Dora.
The size disparity was absurd. Even on a ship built to accommodate giants, Dora's presence was overwhelming. Her massive frame was folded awkwardly as she sat, knees drawn up, elbows resting on her thighs. In her enormous fingers—each thicker than a mast beam—were tiny cards.
Well… tiny to her.
The deck had been specially modified, tables enlarged, chairs reinforced, cards custom-printed on oversized parchment thick enough not to tear under her touch. And yet, in Dora's hands, the cards still looked comically small, like children's toys. She squinted at them, one eye shut, tongue slightly sticking out in concentration.
"…Hmph," Dora muttered. "These symbols are too small. You humans really need to work on readability." One of the crewmen swallowed.
"Yes, Captain Dora… I mean—Lady Dora," he corrected hastily. They were playing Pirate's Fortune—a popular gambling card game in the New World. Bluffing, bets, and bold lies were the core of it. Normally loud and chaotic.
Here? Dead silent. Dora leaned forward, cards held much too close to her face. The problem wasn't subtlety. Her fingers didn't hold the cards so much as frame them—leaving massive gaps between her knuckles through which anyone with eyes could clearly see her entire hand.
A pair of aces. Three kings. And—somehow—two cards that definitely hadn't been in the deck five minutes ago. One of the crew members stared. Another slowly closed his eyes in resignation. She shuffled her cards—shff shff—with all the finesse of a collapsing building, then glanced up, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"You're all awfully quiet," Dora said. "You planning something?"
"No!" six voices replied instantly. She huffed. "Good. Because cheating is against the rules."
The irony was painful.
Dora slammed her cards down onto the deck with a thunderous THOOM, cracking the reinforced plating beneath them.
"I win." There was a long pause.
"…Yes," one of the crew said carefully. "You do."
Another nodded far too enthusiastically. "Absolutely. Brilliant play."
Someone else threw in their coins without even looking at the cards. "Masterful strategy."
Dora beamed.
"Tch. Of course I did." She swept the pile of coins toward herself, the metallic clatter echoing across the deck like falling hail. "You all need more practice."
No one dared argue. They all remembered the last tantrum. The screaming. The lightning. The three-hour delay while Dora sulked at the bow, threatening to throw everyone off the ship and have them swim the rest of the way to Elbaph.
Leviathan had nearly capsized from her stomping alone. So now? They humored her. Like seasoned babysitters.
One of the older crew members leaned back, forcing a grin. "Another round, Lady Dora?"
Dora's eyes sparkled. "Obviously."
She reached behind her back and, with absolutely no attempt at subtlety, pulled out another handful of cards—cards that had not existed moments earlier. Every crew member saw it. Every crew member said nothing.
They exchanged weary glances that said the same thing: If Young Master Rosinante were here, this wouldn't be happening. But he wasn't. And without him, Dora was exactly what she had always been— A spoiled, stubborn, absurdly powerful giant child… playing pirate games atop a ship that could flatten kingdoms, laughing as Leviathan thundered onward through the endless sea toward Elbaph.
"Purupurupuru….purupuru…!"
Just as Dora reached forward to deal the cards again, a sharp ring cut through the easy chaos on the deck. The sound was small. But to Dora, it might as well have been thunder. She froze mid-motion.
Slowly—painfully slowly—she reached to her side and pulled out her personal transponder snail. The moment it opened its eyes, its expression shifted. Gone was the lazy, half-lidded look. Dora's own face went stiff… then pale… then visibly nervous. Like a child caught red-handed with both hands buried deep in the cookie jar.
"Oh—" Dora muttered.
Every crew member felt it. The air changed. In the next instant, Dora shot up to her feet.
The deck exploded with motion. The reinforced table was knocked sideways, cards scattering like leaves in a storm. The crew members—who might as well have weighed nothing compared to her—were flung into the air, tumbling helplessly.
"AAAA—!"
"SORRY—!"
Splash! Splash! Splash!
One by one, they were unceremoniously thrown overboard, barely managing to grab railings or plunge straight into the sea below. Leviathan rocked violently, its massive hull groaning as Dora stood bolt upright, eyes wide. She didn't even notice. Her thumb slammed down on the snail.
Click.
The voice that came through was calm. Too calm.
"Dora."
The transponder snail's face shifted instantly—brows furrowing, mouth curling into a familiar, terrifying smile. Doflamingo. Dora went rigid. Her shoulders tensed, back straightening as if instinctively standing at attention.
"…H-Hi, Master Doffy," she said, forcing a laugh that came out far too loud. "You're… uh… back early?"
On the other end, Doffy exhaled slowly. "What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone even, measured—deadlier than any shout. "Using Ross's name to commandeer Leviathan… and then sailing all the way to Elbaph alone."
The smile on the snail's face widened—but its eyes were cold. Dora winced.
"I—I was just borrowing it," she said quickly. "I mean, it's basically my ship too now, right? It was modified for me and everything by the family right!"
Silence. A long one. The kind that pressed down on her chest.
"Dora," Doffy said at last, voice still calm, "do you have any idea what the seas look like right now?" She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unable to meet the snail's gaze.
"…They look… wet?" she said without thinking as she felt something snap on the other end of the call.