The fact that a Devil Fruit user could ignore seawater was something so absurd that anyone who heard it would laugh—or call you insane.
And yet, it was real.
It was happening—to him.
White Flame understood why.
He hadn't eaten a Devil Fruit himself.
He had consumed its power through his IBM—through Little Black and Little Two Black, who devoured the corpses of those who once wielded it.
The ability passed on, but the curse did not.
No weakness to seawater.
No paralysis.
No fatal flaw.
White Flame had become something the world had never seen before—
a Devil Fruit user without a single weakness.
If he had any flaw at all, it was simply that some powers he absorbed weren't… impressive enough.
"Enren!"
White Flame had just finished wiping the sweat from his body when the door of the abandoned warehouse creaked open.
A small figure stepped in—
bright pink hair, a shy smile, and eyes full of light.
It was Rebecca.
She had just turned fourteen—graceful now, no longer the trembling little girl he'd rescued.
"Ah!"
Her face went crimson the moment she saw him shirtless, muscles gleaming under the light. She squeaked, covering her eyes with both hands.
White Flame, whose physique had been perfected through countless devoured warriors, didn't so much as flinch.
"Rebecca," he said calmly, still wiping the sweat from his neck. "Something wrong?"
"Mm! I—I brought you lunch!"
She lifted a neatly wrapped pink lunchbox, her voice bright with nervous energy. "I learned how to make it from the lady next door. I don't know if it's any good… Would you—would you try it?"
"I've already eaten."
The words came out flat.
Rebecca's shoulders drooped. The light in her eyes dimmed.
"…But I'm not full yet," White Flame added. "Give it here."
Her face lit up again instantly.
He unwrapped the lunchbox. Inside sat a simple meal—a fried egg, carefully shaped into a heart.
Rebecca peeked up at him, waiting for his reaction.
But his expression didn't change.
Not even a flicker.
Her heart sank.
"…Pretty good," he said after a pause.
Her head snapped up. "Really?! Then you have to finish it, okay? It's my first time making lunch!"
White Flame didn't reply, but he ate every bite.
When he finished, Rebecca beamed, clutching the empty box to her chest.
"Then… can I bring you lunch again next time?"
"Next time, come earlier," he muttered, expressionless. "I'm stuffed."
Then, quite unexpectedly—he hiccuped.
A faint, embarrassed cough escaped him.
"Pfft—!"
Rebecca burst into giggles, her cheeks pink. "Enren, you're so cute!"
White Flame shot her a look that could freeze lava.
But from that day on, Rebecca began visiting twice a day—every morning and evening—
always with a different meal.
And though he never admitted it, White Flame never once turned her away.
Half a month passed like that—quiet, peaceful, almost… human.
Midnight – Dressrosa, under the silver moonlight.
On a rooftop overlooking the sleeping city, White Flame sat beside a chimney, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.
He exhaled slowly, pale smoke drifting across the stars.
"Little Black. Little Two Black."
His voice was soft, yet carried a chill.
"Tonight's target is the House of Toys. Eliminate everyone.
There's one exception—a little girl.
Don't kill her. Just knock her out."
He closed his eyes for a moment, an image flashing in his mind—Rebecca's face.
For a second, something almost like pity crossed his expression.
"Go."
"Yes, Master…"
Two shadows materialized beside him. Then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone—
swallowed by the night.
"Doflamingo," White Flame murmured, looking up at the moon.
"Tonight, you'll lose another 'family member.'"
He flicked his cigarette off the edge.
"You wanted to kill me? Then I'll make sure everything you built turns to dust."
Meanwhile, in the House of Toys, the transformed workers toiled tirelessly, their wooden limbs creaking as they carried boxes and parts.
All the while, their master—the childlike Sugar, wielder of the Hobby-Hobby Fruit—slept peacefully in her cozy little room, hugging a stuffed bear.
The door creaked open.
A shadow slipped in, soundless as death.
In another room, Trebol, one of the Donquixote Family's top executives and the Sticky-Sticky Fruit user, snored loudly, mucus bubbling around him.
Little Black glided through the darkness, claws glinting faintly as it prepared to strike.
But before it could attack—
Trebol's eyes snapped open.
"So the second target… is me?"
His voice oozed contempt. "Heh… Don't underestimate me, you filthy bug."
He raised one dripping hand. A drop of thick brown mucus rolled off his fingertip—
PING!
The glob shot forward like a bullet, striking Little Black square in the gut.
SPLAT.
A hole tore through the creature's abdomen.
Black particles fluttered into the air—then instantly pulled together again, refilling the wound as if it had never existed.
Trebol's grin widened. "Heh-heh-heh… What the hell is this thing?"
The flare of emotion sharpened his perception. For the first time, he saw it—
a bandaged humanoid monster crouched before him, claws dripping with darkness.
"So this is what killed Diamante?" Trebol sneered. "Pathetic. How could that fool lose to something this weak? He deserved to die!"
The words dripped with cruelty.
Little Black lunged forward in a blur.
[Sticky Chains!]
Trebol flicked his wrist, and from his body burst a stream of glue-like liquid—thick, glossy, and dark as tar.
The substance hardened into segmented, bead-like chains that lashed through the air.
"Danger… dangerous…"
Little Black twisted its body, ducking beneath the whip-like strike.
Its legs bent, springing off the floor in a blur of motion—
and then it was on him.
SHRRRAK!
Its claws carved deep gashes across Trebol's chest.
"Fuh—hah! You think that'll kill me?"
Trebol laughed, mucus sizzling from his wounds.
Before Little Black's eyes, the slashes sealed themselves instantly, his sticky flesh knitting back together.
"You're strong, I'll give you that…" Trebol hissed, his grin stretching unnaturally wide. "But you'll learn something very important tonight—"
"—nothing can escape Trebol's slime."
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