"Fuffuffuffu, you've really started doing things on a grand scale, Rosinante!" In the luxurious villa on the Sabaody Archipelago, under Shaxia's guidance, a man draped in a pink-feathered coat swaggered in with his trademark crooked stride.
"Sit down. I told you I'd come find you when I was ready, yet here you are instead," Rosinante said casually, not bothering to stand, gesturing toward the sofa.
"I just couldn't wait to see you. Fuffuffu, who can blame me? You are my beloved little brother, after all," Doflamingo said with a grin.
"Spare me the act. Just tell me what you're here for," Rosinante replied flatly.
"Fuffuffuffu, you've really lost your cuteness, huh? Fine then—how about letting the Donquixote Family join your Grey Nation?" Doflamingo's grin vanished, his face turning serious.
"That's fine," Rosinante said lightly.
Doflamingo froze for a second.
He hadn't expected Rosinante to agree so easily. He'd prepared countless persuasive arguments, but none were needed now. It was strange—after all, the last time they met, Rosinante had looked at him with nothing but disgust.
"Fuffuffu… that was quick. So quick it makes my heart race. Aren't you afraid I have some hidden agenda? You used to hate me, didn't you?" Doflamingo chuckled.
"In the past, I avoided you because I was afraid you might sell me out for profit one day. Now, I'm not afraid anymore. Even if I let you sell me, you wouldn't dare—because it's not profitable," Rosinante said coolly. "I don't actually hate you, Doffy. You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. But if you want to join the Grey Nation, you'll have to play by my rules."
"Fuffuffu, sounds like we've both misunderstood each other. But you're right, we haven't really spent time together in years. Misunderstandings are inevitable. Give it time, little brother—you'll see what kind of man I am," Doflamingo said with a small, knowing smile.
He truly believed he treated his people well. He trusted his officers, gave them power, and rarely betrayed those who were loyal. He couldn't understand why Rosinante saw him otherwise—but Doflamingo was wise enough not to defend himself. The more you explain, the guiltier you seem.
"So," he asked, "in what capacity do you want the Donquixote Family to join?"
"I'll give you two choices," Rosinante replied. "First—you bring your entire Donquixote Family under the Grey Nation and form your own division. I'll give you the title of Zero Division, a mark of distinction. You'll be in charge of intelligence across the Grey Nation. You'll have high autonomy and freedom to expand. I won't interfere—unless I issue an order. When that happens, you must obey unconditionally. That's a rule every division lives by."
"Fuffuffuffu… not bad. And the other option?" Doflamingo asked, intrigued.
It was a tempting offer. The Zero Division—just the name alone sounded elite and exceptional.
"The second option," Rosinante said, "is for you to join alone—as a core member of the BloodSworn Guard. Your subordinates can find their own path, or join other divisions if they qualify. Some might even be selected to enter the Guard later."
It wasn't an overly generous offer, but it was fair.
Someone of Doflamingo's status could easily be made a vice-captain elsewhere—he was, after all, Rosinante's older brother, and both powerful and cunning. But the Grey Nation had grown too vast for Rosinante to hand out high-ranking positions on a whim.
Without enough merit, even Doflamingo's title wouldn't silence the resentment of others. With his current strength, he couldn't yet surpass fighters like Jack or Raelmann—the latter of whom was even stronger than Doflamingo right now.
"Fuffuffu… you're good at tempting people, you know that?" Doflamingo chuckled.
He hadn't expected Rosinante to offer him a place within the core of the BloodSworn Guard itself.
Because he understood one thing—in the Grey Nation, the BloodSworn Guard wasn't just an elite unit. It was the heart of Rosinante's entire power. The core of the core.
The other divisions might seem independent, but Rosinante didn't truly rely on them. They expanded, fought, and conquered, but all under the name of the Grey Nation. Their spoils, their territories—all ultimately belonged to Rosinante.
And should he command it, those divisions would lay down their lives without question. That was the unbreakable rule.
Rosinante had built a perfect structure—each division squeezed dry of its potential, yet still grateful to serve him. Even knowing they were being used, they would still smile and count his money for him.
And yet, the world was full of people desperate to join. Why? Because of Rosinante's monstrous strength. Because the BloodSworn Guard was the most terrifying force alive. Because within the Grey Nation, one could rise freely—so long as they had the power to do so.
"You can think about it slowly," Rosinante said. "There's no rush. But before you decide, I have a task for you."
"Fuffuffu, you're already assigning me work before I've even joined? Fine, let's hear it."
Rosinante reached into his coat, pulled out a gold-printed note, and slid it across the table toward Doflamingo.
Doflamingo glanced down—and his grin widened in shock.
"Fuffuffuffu… is this the one-trillion-Berries note? The same one that killed the underworld's so-called king?"
"You know about it then," Rosinante said. "I plan to use this one trillion Berries to rebuild the Lawless Zone—transform it into the world's greatest modern city of trade, travel, and entertainment: Evernight City. And I want you to take charge of the project."
"You really do trust me, huh?" Doflamingo said, fanning the golden note in his hand. "Aren't you afraid I'll take this trillion and run?"
"There aren't many people left in this world who'd dare steal from me," Rosinante said quietly. "Besides… do you really think I'm only worth a trillion Berries? When your strength and vision reach a certain level, you'll realize—money's nothing more than a piece of paper."
...
The author sighed in a note at the end: things had been hectic lately, updates rushed out without much polish. So for now, only two chapters per day—until next Sunday, when normal updates would resume.
He hoped readers would understand.