"Abel, where did this paper come from?"
Dimon mulled. This didn't read like a normal headline. Morgans messing up was always possible—he'd print a thunderstorm in a desert if it sold a few more papers.
"I stole it from a news coo mid-air."
News birds rarely flew over Wano; one of Abel's daily chores was to rocket up, "liberate" a fresh copy, and glide home.
"Next time, pay. Keep robbing them and they'll put us on a blacklist."
Paper in hand, Dimon headed back toward the Flower Capital.
Today's edition stank of setup. Shakky was literally under his nose—how was she "captured"? And immediate transfer to Enies Lobby? That screamed World Government theater more than reporting.
"What's the goal? If Shakky's 'caught,' the whole world will riot."
Dimon had a sober read on the newly minted Great Suppression Era—this would dominate the news cycle, maybe even eclipse Roger's coronation.
A spark clicked. It's a lure for Roger, isn't it?
Back in the Capital, the streets had gone idol-mad. A single line of fans stretched from one end of the avenue to the other, damming traffic and common sense.
At the inn where the Kuja were staying, Shakky signed like a machine.
"Please sign my chest, Miss Shakky!"
"Of course."
Her pen flowed across a man's bare pecs; she added a heart for flourish.
"I'll never bathe again!" the man trembled.
He staggered away glowing; the line lurched forward. The next petitioner was a ramen shop owner lugging a gift basket.
"Please accept this! We've been a family shop for a hundred years. With this coupon you can eat free forever!"
"Could you… make it cash instead?"
No shame, only efficiency. The owner fumbled out several ōban gold plates.
"Please take these four!"
Shakky beamed and passed them to Toritoma. Toritoma stacked them into a treasure chest. It was their fourth, already nearly full.
Gloriosa hovered, green with envy. "When will I be this popular? Ugh!"
A ripple of commotion rolled up the line.
"The Shogun—the Shogun's here!"
"Even the Shogun can't cut the line, you jerk!"
"Miss Shakky, someone's ignoring the rules!"
The Shinsengumi opened a path as Dimon walked up. He stared at his brave citizens. No one dared rebel against their Shogun—but for an idol? They'd call him a jerk to his face.
To be fair, Shakky had been here, what, days? Walking succubus. These cattle were ready to be milked.
"Morning, Dimon~" Shakky waved, all smiles.
He eyed the overflowing chests and sighed. The Flower Capital is too rich. I'm raising taxes. Heavily. That's my money.
"I need a word. Pause the signing."
He pulled Shakky inside. Outside, the "cattle" booed about VIP treatment. Gloriosa instantly sprang into the vacant seat.
"I'll sign next! My fee is cheaper than Shakky's!"
"Who are you?"
Stone. Heart. Shattered.
Dimon handed Shakky the paper. "Read."
She blinked at the headline, baffled. I got arrested? No one told me.
"This smells wrong," she said at last. "An op, maybe? If I were arrested, the world economy would shut down for a month."
A bit dramatic, Dimon thought. "I'm guessing it's aimed at Roger. If you're 'caught,' he'll come. The Marines want to bag the Pirate King."
"That dumb plan… will it work?" She snorted—then pressed her lips. "Fine. It'll work."
She tilted her head. "So you want me to publish a denial?"
"I'm just giving you a heads-up. What you do is your call."
Dimon's pocket hummed—a communication snail. Wano's local variant: a tubular shell with short-range mindwave relay. Good across Wano, nowhere else.
He popped it open. Inuarashi's voice drifted out.
"Moshi-moshi, Lord Dimon?"
"Speaking."
"We're in Ringo, the northern graveyard. We found a fruit, but it's not in the index, so we're not sure if it's a Devil Fruit."
Already? Good doggo. "Stay put. I'm coming."
He clicked off and looked at Shakky. "Do what you want about the story. Also, stop fleecing my citizens. Keep it up and I'll deport you."
"Yeah, yeah. It's not my fault they insist on paying me."
Dimon stepped outside, unfurled demonic wings, and lanced toward Ringo.
Snow fell in sheets over the Northern Graveyard. While cherry blossoms painted the Capital pink, winter had its claws sunk deep in this land. Dimon touched down among stone markers until he found the trio.
"Here, Lord Dimon." Inuarashi offered the fruit.
Dimon turned it in his hand. Classic swirl pattern.
"Not in the book?"
He flipped through the index—three hundred cataloged Fruits—and found no match.
"Looks like a Devil Fruit to me. Good work."
He praised them—and before they could bask: "Strike while the iron is hot. Go find the next one."
"Eh? Can't we rest?"
"At your age, you grind. Don't waste your youth. Move."
They trudged off, aggrieved. Dimon, satisfied, studied the fruit again.
Human-Human, Mythical Model: Daidarabotchi? If it kept respawning in Wano, that would explain why the book missed it.
Only one way to be sure. Chomp.
[Devoured a Devil Fruit, +800 Demon Points.]
Demon Points: 2400 → 3200.
Free +800. Dimon's grin crept up. The trio had earned a bonus later.
"Plans rarely keep up with luck. Points are in—time to unlock."
He spent 3000.
Demon Points: 200
Devil Skills:
Wine of Immortality
Demonic Form
Fruit of Parasites
Domain Expansion
Locked
Plenty more to come, by the look of it. He ignored the foggy future skills and opened Skill Four.
Knowledge poured in like it had always been there—instinct stitching to intent until it clicked.
He exhaled. "This one… is strong."
Rime crackled along the tombstones as a border bled outward from his feet—an invisible curtain snapping into place, slicing the world into inside and out. Within, air felt thicker, sound closer, and his Haki thrummed like a taut bowstring.
Somewhere far off, a cipher line chimed again in the Shogun's manor.
Somewhere farther, three Marine task forces nudged pins across a map.
And directly behind Dimon, beyond the curtain of his newborn Domain, a shadow took a breath it had been holding—
—and stepped inside.
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