The wind swept across the deck, tugging at the hem of Buggy's cloak.
He stood at the prow like a stage actor stepping into a spotlight.
The flamboyant circus coat was gone. In its place, a dark, fitted tank top clung to his torso, outlining lean muscle beneath pale skin. A long crimson cloak hung loosely from his shoulders, its interior lined in black. His blue hair fell freely around his face, longer and wilder than before. The red paint that once curved upward in exaggerated cheer now extended from the corners of his lips toward his cheeks in sharp streaks, like carved smiles.
Dark shadows circled his eyes.
He looked less like a jester—
And more like a man who found the world amusing for the wrong reasons.
If not for the round red nose, no one would have recognized him as the same Buggy.
"Captain…?" Alvida murmured, stunned. "What happened to you?"
Buggy tilted his head slightly.
"Just refreshed the makeup."
That was all he said.
In truth, Lock had reshaped more than cloth. The moment he altered his appearance, something subtle shifted in his mindset. The costume fits differently. It felt intentional.
A presence required a silhouette.
Across the gap of sea and tension, Rob Lucci studied him without expression.
"You look different," Lucci said flatly.
Fujitora's brow furrowed.
Though blind, his Observation Haki painted a far clearer picture than sight ever could.
The man before him was no longer a bundle of scattered fragments and theatrical bravado.
There was motion inside him.
Constant motion.
Electricity flickered within his body like coiled serpents. It flowed in circuits, looping and accelerating. The sensation resembled Eustass Kid's magnetic influence—but more refined. Controlled.
Fujitora tightened his grip on his cane sword.
This was not the same Buggy he had read about.
Within his own body, Lock felt it clearly.
The cells he divided microscopically rubbed against one another under his control. Friction generated faint currents. Those currents flowed in spirals. When they reached a stable threshold, they intertwined—
And a magnetic field formed.
Not explosive.
Not yet.
But steady.
It circulated through his heart and brain like a silent engine. As long as he maintained the structure, it would not fade. His Devil Fruit sustained the internal divisions effortlessly.
This world did not require rigid formulas.
Devil Fruits responded to will.
As long as the concept did not exceed the fruit's domain—separation and control—everything else followed naturally.
The magnetic flow stabilized.
He exhaled.
"Where is our honored guest?" Buggy asked casually.
"In the cabin," Mr. 3 replied. "Do we… release him?"
Mr. 3's instincts screamed to end this cleanly. Holding a Celestial Dragon hostage was not a game.
Buggy smiled.
"Bring him up."
The grin widened slightly.
"If they call us clowns… then let's give them a show."
Mr. 3 hesitated—but obeyed.
Lucci's patience thinned.
"Buggy. The Gorosei are already furious about this farce."
"Furious?" Buggy spread his arms lazily. "If those five old men choke on their own anger, what does that have to do with me?"
His eyes sharpened.
"I am no longer a Warlord. We are enemies now, aren't we?"
Lucci's jaw tightened.
Behind him, Fujitora sighed faintly.
The abolition of the Seven Warlords had been Fujitora's own proposal. At the time, Marine Headquarters believeditsr new military strength was sufficient to balance the seas.
Instead, Wano had erupted. Blackbeard had begun moving. Red Hair had reappeared. The Revolutionary Army had infiltrated Mary Geoise.
And now a Celestial Dragon stood captive on an Emperor's deck.
Lucci spoke again.
"Even Red-Haired Shanks would not dare harm a Celestial Dragon."
Buggy chuckled softly.
"Is that so?"
Mr. 3 emerged then, escorting Rosward Saint onto the deck.
The Celestial Dragon's once-pristine attire was wrinkled and stained. His bubble helmet had been removed. Fear clung to him like sweat.
He looked smaller without the aura of untouchable authority.
The pirates around him watched with barely concealed hostility.
Buggy stepped forward slowly.
"Saint Rosward," he said pleasantly. "You wish to return home?"
"Yes! Of course!" the man shrieked. "How dare you keep me here, you filth!"
Buggy's smile didn't falter.
"You can return."
Rosward blinked.
"But first," Buggy continued, "we play a game."
Lucci's eyes narrowed. "Enough of this."
Buggy ignored him.
"This game," he said calmly, "will be broadcast across the world."
Lucci's voice turned icy. "Impossible."
"How unfortunate."
Buggy's sword flashed.
The motion was clean. Precise.
A finger fell to the deck with a soft thud.
For a heartbeat, no one reacted.
Then Rosward screamed.
High. Shrill. Animal.
The blood pooled slowly at his feet.
The deck fell into stunned silence.
Even the Buggy Pirates froze.
Mr. 3's flame flickered violently.
"Captain…" he whispered. "This escalates matters."
Buggy did not look away from Lucci.
"Isn't that the point?"
He rested the blade lightly against Rosward's trembling hand.
"As an Emperor, I must make an impression."
Bonney stepped forward suddenly.
"Nicely done," she said, eyes burning. "Are you recruiting?"
Several pirates gasped.
Buggy turned his head toward her.
"Of course."
She did not hesitate.
"Then we join you."
For a moment, the deck was silent.
Then—
Cheers erupted.
"As expected of Captain Buggy!"
"He does what others fear!"
"Even Red Hair wouldn't dare!"
Lock felt a flicker of unease at that last statement.
Comparisons invited attention.
But the momentum was useful.
Loyalty surged among the crew like wildfire. Fear had shifted into awe.
Lucci's gaze hardened.
"Fujitora," he said quietly, "can you end this instantly?"
"Not without heavy damage," Fujitora replied.
Opposing them stood not only Buggy's pirates but the Revolutionary Army's commanders and Sabo himself.
A clash here would be catastrophic.
Lucci withdrew a Den Den Mushi.
"I will contact the Gorosei."
The snail blinked awake.
Time stretched.
The wind carried Rosward's ragged sobbing across the water.
Finally, Lucci ended the call.
"They agree," he said stiffly. "Your broadcast will proceed. You will release Saint Rosward afterward."
Buggy sheathed his sword slowly.
"Good."
He turned toward the sea.
"For the broadcast," he added, "have Morgans handle it."
Lucci's brow furrowed. "The World Economic Journal is not under our command."
Buggy's painted smile widened.
"He won't refuse."
Of that, Lock was certain.
A newly crowned Emperor.
A captive Celestial Dragon.
A public challenge.
Morgans lived for such chaos.
The News Coo would come.
The world would watch.
Buggy stepped forward to the edge of the deck, cloak rippling behind him.
He could feel Fujitora's gravity pressing subtly downward, testing him.
He allowed his internal magnetic flow to strengthen slightly.
The air hummed faintly.
"Prepare the stage," Buggy said quietly.
Across the sea, the Marine battleship hovered.
Above, the sky darkened further.
And somewhere far away, a certain albatross would soon receive the most irresistible headline of the era.
The Clown's Game was about to begin.
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