The scene was almost surreal—a towering serpent, a mountain of glittering gold, and Dora, the mighty yet childlike giantess, behaving like an overexcited treasure hunter. Her usually commanding tone was replaced with an oddly playful reprimand as she wagged her massive finger at her enormous pet snake, Nora.
"Come on, cough it all up!" Dora scolded, hands on her hips, her golden bell earrings jingling with each movement. Her pet snake, the once-monstrous "Master of the Sky," now looked remarkably sheepish as it coiled around itself, attempting to avoid Dora's piercing gaze.
"I know you've got more in that big belly of yours! Don't make me send Lucci in there again!" she threatened, her voice half stern, half teasing.
The massive snake hissed weakly, its tongue flickering out in what could only be described as a gesture of protest. Beside it, a pile of gleaming gold relics glinted in the sunlight—ornate jewelry, crowns encrusted with jewels, and chunks of pure gold. The hoard was so enormous that even the air around it seemed to shimmer.
Nora, despite her status as a fearsome creature of legend, appeared utterly defeated, her giant head lowering as if to say, "Haven't I suffered enough?" She had been subdued not long ago, and since consuming a miniature Zoan Devil Fruit, she could now shrink to a size that allowed Dora to carry her like an oversized scarf. However, in her full, massive form, extracting the centuries of treasure she'd swallowed was proving to be... messy.
Nearby, Lucci sat on a rock, his expression caught between indignation and exhaustion. His once-pristine white shirt was drenched, stained with greenish snake bile that gave off a faintly acrid smell. He was wringing it out with an annoyed grimace, and even Hattori, his ever-loyal pigeon, had abandoned him, choosing instead to perch smugly on my shoulder.
"This is your fault, you know, Master." Lucci grumbled, glaring at me as though I'd personally thrown him into the snake's gullet. His piercing eyes narrowed as he jabbed a finger in my direction.
"Why would you even tell her there was gold inside the snake?!"
I couldn't help but chuckle, earning an even more sour expression from him. "Oh, come on, Lucci. You have to admit, this is worth it," I said, gesturing to the growing pile of treasure.
Lucci scowled and shook his head, wringing his shirt harder. "Worth it? You weren't the one shoved down the throat of a snake the size of an island! Do you have any idea how disgusting it was in there?!"
Dora's booming laughter cut through his complaints. She crouched down to inspect a golden crown that looked like it belonged to a long-forgotten king, her eyes sparkling brighter than the gems encrusted in it.
"Oh, don't be such a grouch, Lucci!" she said, waving him off like a cranky child. "You did great! Look at all this shiny stuff Nora was hiding in her belly!"
Lucci muttered something unintelligible under his breath, though I caught the words "crazy giant" and "next time, you're going in."
Meanwhile, Dora was fully in pirate mode, giggling like a kid in a candy store as she turned her attention back to Nora. The serpent had coiled up tighter, clearly trying to pretend it had nothing more to offer, but Dora wasn't having it.
"Oh no, you don't! I know there's more in there!" she declared, pointing dramatically at Nora's belly. "You've been gobbling up treasure for centuries, and I'm going to make sure every single shiny piece comes out! Spit it out, Nora, or else!"
Nora hissed again, as if pleading for mercy, but Dora only grinned wider.
"Lucci! Get the medicine!"
"Absolutely not!" Lucci snapped, standing up with a look of pure horror. He backed away from Dora as if she might grab him and throw him into the snake again. "You want more gold? You go in this time!"
I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and even Hattori cooed in amusement. Lucci shot me a glare that could've frozen magma.
"Why are you laughing? You're the one who told her!" he accused, his voice rising in frustration.
"Because," I said, barely able to keep a straight face, "it's hilarious watching you get covered in snake bile."
Dora tilted her head and gave a mock-innocent smile. "Come on, Lucci~ Don't you want to be part of history? You're helping uncover ancient relics!"
"Ancient bile, more like," Lucci growled, yanking his shirt back over his head with a grimace. "What you already have excavated is worth a fortune..."
It was at that moment that Nora, perhaps tired of the drama, let out a long, gurgling groan. The crew froze as the serpent's massive body quivered. Then, with a thunderous retch, more gold, massive chunks of forgotten relics, and—unfortunately—a fresh wave of bile came spewing out, scattering across the clearing.
Dora clapped her hands in delight, hopping in place like an excited child. "There it is! Good girl, Nora! Keep it coming!"
Lucci, meanwhile, dived for cover behind a rock, muttering curses under his breath as the vile liquid splashed dangerously close to him. I couldn't stop laughing, clutching my stomach as even Hattori flapped his wings and gave a mocking coo.
As the gold pile grew, so did Dora's excitement. She tossed a giant chunk of treasure into the air and caught it with ease, her booming laughter echoing across the jungle.
Nora, now visibly exhausted, let out a low hiss as if to say, "That's it. No more."
Dora knelt down and patted the giant snake's head fondly. "You're the best, Nora," she said with a grin. "Don't worry, I'll share some of the gold with you."
Lucci muttered, "Yeah, like she knows what gold is."
But Dora ignored him, already dreaming of what she'd do with her newfound fortune. Meanwhile, I leaned back against a tree, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. It wasn't every day you saw a giantess playfully scolding a mythical snake for its poor treasure-hoarding habits.
One thing was for certain—life with this crew was never boring.
The jungle buzzed with the soft hum of distant insects and the occasional crackle of the gold pile Dora was digging through, but I remained quiet, my focus trained on the towering bean stalk-shaped structure in the distance—the heart of the Shandian legacy, the Golden Bell, and the shrine which held the poneglyph rested upon the top of it, hidden amongst the clouds.
Beside me, the chieftain of the Shandian tribe, Wyrah, shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between Dora's gleeful antics and the path ahead. For a moment, he hesitated, his reverence for me battling with his growing unease.
"My Lord," Wyrah began, his voice careful, like he was treading on fragile glass. "If it is gold she seeks, the main temple has outer structures—shrines, storerooms. They hold relics that are not part of the main shrine itself. Perhaps the giantess can take from those instead…"
Though he did not voice it directly, his concern was clear. The Shandians revered me as a living god, a savior who had restored their ancestral land. Yet, that trust did not extend to Dora or Lucci, who were seen more as opportunistic outsiders.
Wyrah's hesitation wasn't just about the temple; it was about protecting their sacred legacy. I could feel it in his thoughts, as clear as if he'd spoken them aloud. His reverence and fear wrestled within him.
I chuckled lightly, breaking the tension, and Wyrah flinched slightly at the sound. "You underestimate my family, Wyrah," I said, my tone calm yet firm.
"For all her excitement, Dora doesn't care about wealth in the way you think. She's a pirate at heart—an adventurer. This pile of gold is just a distraction, a curiosity to her. I doubt she's even thought about how she'd transport it all back home."
I gestured to Dora, who was still tossing aside massive chunks of stone and bile-coated metal like a child searching for buried treasure. She laughed as she held up a particularly shiny relic, turning it in the light before discarding it with a thud.
"She's not here to take from your people's legacy," I assured Wyrah, my voice steady.
"And even if she were, I wouldn't allow it. I'll make sure she doesn't lay a finger on the Golden Bell."
Wyrah's shoulders relaxed slightly, and a visible sigh of relief passed through his eyes. But I didn't stop there. I leaned in closer, my tone lowering just enough to carry weight.
"You must trust me on this, Wyrah. My family's wealth—our resources—dwarf this bounty a hundredfold. Gold like this is nothing more than a speck in the ocean for us. But your history? Your people's legacy? That, I respect. It will remain untouched."
Wyrah nodded, his faith in me seemingly restored, though his eyes still lingered warily on Dora, who was now attempting to convince Nora to spit out yet another batch of treasure.
Turning my attention to Ganfall, who stood quietly nearby, I asked a question that had been pressing on my mind. "Ganfall, any word on the treasure I'm seeking?"
The Sky Knight, the current god of the Skypeians, acting now as a guide, straightened at the sound of my voice. His face was calm but carried an undercurrent of unease.
"Rosinante, I believe you already know," he began cautiously. "The priests at the temple… they're reluctant to speak openly about it. It's tied to the Birkans, and that makes them hesitant to involve themselves."
I narrowed my eyes, feeling the edges of my patience fraying. Ganfall pressed on quickly, sensing my displeasure. "But I've sent trusted men to the Birkan elder council. They are attempting to open negotiations to uncover what they know about the treasure. I'm doing everything I can to ensure this is handled peacefully."
For a moment, I said nothing, letting the weight of silence stretch between us. The jungle seemed to hold its breath, even Dora's laughter fading into the background. When I finally spoke, my voice was cold and sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
"Ganfall, let me make this perfectly clear. If something happens to that treasure—if it disappears, is hidden, or damaged—I won't hesitate to raze Birka to the ground. Do you understand?"
Ganfall's face paled, and I felt the tension ripple through him. He had begged me—pleaded for a chance to handle this delicately. He understood what I was capable of, what I was willing to do to get what I sought. I had already shown mercy by granting him this favor, but I would not be swayed if his efforts failed.
"I…" Ganfall began, his voice faltering slightly. "I assure you, I will not let it come to that. The council will heed my word, and I will ensure that the treasure you seek remains safe."
I held his gaze, my expression unyielding. "See that you do," I said, each word carrying the weight of a promise—and a threat.
"You asked for my patience, Ganfall, and I've granted it. But my patience is not infinite. I'm entrusting this to you because of the respect I hold for your bond with Roger and the efforts to rebuild trust between the Shandians and the Skypieans. Do not make me regret it."
Ganfall nodded, his jaw tightening as he absorbed my warning. "Understood."
My eyes narrowed, sharp and resolute, as the weight of my realization pressed heavily upon me. The information I had gathered from the Shandian high priestess painted a picture that shattered my previous understanding.
The Devil Fruit I had consumed was not the legendary Lightning Logia as I had first believed—it was something far more profound, something so unique that even the annals of history bore no record of its existence. It was as if my very existence was intertwined with an ancient secret lost to time.
The high priestess spoke of legends—fragments of an almost-forgotten truth. Just as Luffy's paramecia devil fruit had revealed itself as a Mythical Zoan tied to the Sun God, she spoke of two other Mythical Zoans, symbols of gods worshipped by the Moon People who once thrived in the skies.
These Zoans represented powers so immense that they were whispered about in riddles, their names spoken only in hushed reverence.
If my suspicions were correct, my own abilities were not born of the Lightning Logia but instead rooted in the legacy of one of these ancient gods. My power was something different—something transcendent.
But I needed proof to solidify this theory, and that proof lay in the Lightning Logia itself. If it still existed, it would confirm that the fruit I consumed was indeed of another nature—another realm entirely.
The idea consumed my mind. If I could secure the Lightning Logia, it would not only validate my suspicions but also fulfill one of Dora's deepest dreams. Ever since she had joined the family, her fascination with my lightning powers had been impossible to ignore.
She often spoke of wielding the crackling, destructive force of lightning, imagining the chaos and adventure it would bring. To give her such a gift—a power that mirrored my own—would solidify her place as an unstoppable force.
I allowed myself to envision it for a moment: Dora, the towering giantess, wielding the Lightning Logia. The destructive combination of her sheer size and strength, coupled with the devastating force of lightning itself, was a recipe for pure carnage. The world would tremble at the sight of her—a walking tempest, the embodiment of destruction and might.
But this wasn't just about fulfilling a dream. This was about power, the one that would tip the scales in the future when we faced the World Government head-on.
The Lightning Logia represented more than just an ability; it was a piece of the puzzle that tied the gods of the Moon People to the modern world. If I could unlock the truth about my fruit and its connection to these ancient deities, it would give me insight into powers that even the World Government feared to acknowledge. It would place me on a path to rival the most legendary figures that have been long lost in history.
"How is the training progressing? Have you had any issues with the new techniques I passed down?" I asked Wyrah, momentarily shelving the matter of the Lightning Logia. Blindly searching for it wouldn't yield results; for now, my focus needed to be on building the future fighting force of the Donquixote family.
Wyrah straightened, his posture one of respect, but the slight furrow of his brow betrayed the weight of responsibility he carried. I had recently compiled an extensive manual detailing the Rokushiki techniques alongside methods for training both Observation and Armament Haki.
The training methods for Haki, though, were crude and grueling—a regimen designed to push warriors to their absolute limits. Yet, the Shandians, ever prideful as a people, had not flinched.
If anything, they had embraced the pain, spurred by the stories of their ancestors and the legendary Great Kalgara, their greatest warrior, who was said to have wielded Haki at a level bordering on supernatural.
What had surprised me most was the ripple effect among the Shandians. Even the children, emboldened by the sight of their elders throwing themselves into the harsh regimen, had started to mimic their movements, albeit clumsily. It was heartening to see a tribe that had once been reduced to a shadow of its former glory rediscovering its roots as masters of combat.
Observation Haki, or "Mantra" as they called it, was present but woefully underdeveloped among them. Armament Haki, on the other hand, was practically non-existent. This would not do if they were to serve as a future fighting force under the Donquixote family's banner. Haki was no longer a luxury—it was a necessity.
Wyrah's expression tightened as he spoke. "Everything seems to be progressing smoothly, my lord. The warriors have been throwing themselves into the training with everything they have.
However..." His gaze drifted toward a commotion nearby, where Dora was bickering with a young boy who had latched onto her.
There was an undercurrent of unease in Wyrah's voice, and I caught the brief flicker of dread in his eyes as he added, "It would be helpful if you could... assist us more directly. Many of the warriors are doing their best to follow the techniques, but..." He trailed off, clearly hesitant to voice the full extent of his concern.
I followed his gaze towards Lucci—a boy no older than ten—who was arguing fiercely with Dora over some petty matter. Yet, the boy's movements betrayed a remarkable control of Haki for someone so young.
Dora, of course, was unfazed by Lucci's audacity, playfully pushing him back while laughing, but I could see why Wyrah was troubled. Lucci's proficiency with Haki was leagues ahead of many of the tribe's seasoned warriors, and it had become a source of both awe and shame for the adults.
I let out a soft chuckle, understanding Wyrah's discomfort. "Ah, so the warriors are being petty about being outdone by a child, are they?" I said, a teasing edge to my voice. Wyrah flinched but nodded, clearly not pleased to admit it.
"Don't let it discourage them. This is what happens when potential is nurtured at a young age. That said, Lucci is exceptional. Comparing yourselves to him will only lead to disappointment. However, if you possess a will of steel, setting that child as your goal is not a bad thing. And rest assured, Lucci will never stop growing."
Wyrah gave a solemn nod, though his unease hadn't fully lifted. "Understood, my lord. But even so, it would be a great honor if you could oversee some of the training personally. Your presence would undoubtedly motivate them to push beyond their limits."
I considered this for a moment before giving a nod. "Fine. Once we return, I'll personally devise your training routines. But let them know this—when I take over their training, there will be no room for weakness or hesitation. I expect them to rise to the challenge, no matter how difficult."
Wyrah bowed deeply, relief washing over his features. "Thank you, my lord. They will not disappoint you."
I gestured for him to gather the others as we prepared to move toward the temple. This was the final stop before we made the climb up the beanstalk to where the Golden Bell awaited—a symbol of Shandian history and their unyielding spirit.
*****
Dressrosa, New World
Within the grand side chamber of the Dressrosa palace, the air was heavy with tension as Arnold, a bull shark Fishman and one of the Donquixote family's closest allies, paced back and forth. His sharp teeth clenched, his massive frame cast long shadows under the soft glow of the crystal chandeliers.
The weight of recent events at Fishman Island bore down on him like an anchor. A plea for help had come, not from some nameless group, but directly from the Ryugu royal family—a desperate cry for assistance in a matter that could shake the foundations of their community.
Fisher Tiger, the beacon of hope for the ostracized Fishman District and a revolutionary figure in the fight for equality, had been captured by slavers. The brutal twist of fate had seen him sold to the World Nobles, the very architects of the oppression he sought to dismantle.
Arnold's gills flared as he thought of the horrors Fisher Tiger was undoubtedly enduring. He had already received the call from King Neptune himself, the urgency in the monarch's voice making it clear: they needed the Donquixote family's help.
Arnold's pacing stopped as he clenched his fists, his sharp nails digging into his palms. He knew Doflamingo was many things—merciless, cunning, a mastermind of the underworld—but to him and his people, Doffy was also a benefactor, someone who had extended a hand to the Fishman species when the rest of the world had looked down on them.
Still, even with their deep connection, this wasn't a request Arnold took lightly. To ask the Donquixote family to openly defy the World Nobles was to gamble with fire itself.
Suddenly, the adjoining doors creaked open, revealing Doflamingo in all his imposing grandeur. Dressed in his signature flamboyant pink feather coat, he strode in with a swagger that radiated absolute confidence.
In one hand, he carried a bottle of fine liquor, its shimmering golden contents catching the light, and behind him, Senor Pink followed, stoic as always, a toothpick lazily perched in his mouth.
"Fufufufu… Arnold! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the way to the palace from Coral Port," Doflamingo said with a wide grin, his glasses gleaming. His voice carried warmth, a stark contrast to the icy tone he reserved for most.
"It's good to see you here today. You picked an excellent time—we're throwing a massive banquet tonight to welcome a new member to the family!"
Arnold stopped in his tracks, his large webbed hands hanging at his sides as he looked at Doflamingo. Normally, such a warm greeting would have eased his mind, and he might have even shared a drink with the Emperor of the Seas, but not today.
The usual banter and camaraderie were the furthest things from his mind. His heart felt like it was sinking to the bottom of the ocean, and every second he wasted felt like another nail in Fisher Tiger's coffin.
"Doffy…" Arnold's deep voice rumbled, heavy with urgency. He stepped forward, his sharp blue eyes meeting Doflamingo's. "We need to talk. This isn't a social visit—I need your help. It's serious."
Doflamingo's grin faded ever so slightly as he tilted his head, his sharp instincts kicking in. He knew Arnold well enough to recognize when the Fishman was burdened. The usual stoicism Arnold carried had been replaced by a visible unease, and that alone told Doffy this was no ordinary matter.
"Fufufu… You look like you've been dragged through the depths of the Calm Belt. What's wrong, Arnold?" he asked, his tone softening, though his sharp mind was already piecing together the gravity of the situation.
Arnold hesitated for a moment, his powerful frame seeming to sag under the weight of what he was about to say. But there was no room for doubt, no time for hesitation.
"I assume that you know about Fisher Tiger," Arnold said, his voice low but steady.
"He's been captured… by slavers. The latest information we have says he's been sold to the World Nobles. King Neptune himself called me for help—they're desperate, Doffy. They need your help."
The room fell silent, the words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Even Senor Pink, usually unreadable, raised an eyebrow and leaned slightly forward, his interest piqued. Doflamingo set the bottle of liquor down on a nearby table with deliberate care, his grin now fully gone. His sharp eyes, hidden behind his trademark shades, narrowed as his fingers flexed, the movement eerily precise.
"The World Nobles..." Doflamingo muttered, almost to himself, as a dangerous glint flickered in his expression.
"Fufufu… That's a delicate matter, Arnold. You realize what you're asking me to do, don't you?"
Arnold nodded firmly, his webbed hands balling into fists again. "I know exactly what I'm asking. But if there's anyone in this world who can pull this off, it's you, Doffy. Fisher Tiger's not just a symbol to many in Fishman Island—he's their hope for a better future. If they lose him…" Arnold's voice cracked for a moment before he steadied himself. "We can't lose him."
Doflamingo studied Arnold for a long moment, his calculating mind already weighing the risks and rewards. Then, to Arnold's surprise, a slow smile crept back onto Doflamingo's face—not the playful grin from earlier, but something far more dangerous, almost predatory.
"Fufufufu… Arnold, you've never been one to mince words, have you?" he said, stepping closer standing just a few feet away from Arnold.
The air in the chamber grew heavy as Doflamingo, the infamous Heavenly Yaksha, took another step. Despite his laid-back demeanor, the aura he exuded was suffocating.
Arnold, the bull shark Fishman who had known Doffy for years, stood before him with tense shoulders and a clenched jaw, his towering frame somehow dwarfed by the sheer weight of Doflamingo's presence.
"Before I decide whether to help the Fishmen in this matter," Doflamingo began, his voice calm but laced with a chilling undertone, "tell me something, Arnold." He paused, swirling the liquor in his glass, letting the silence stretch until it felt unbearable.
"How did someone as prominent as Fisher Tiger—a hero of your kind—get caught by slavers? And while we're at it…" Doflamingo's sharp grin widened as he tilted his head, the lenses of his signature shades gleaming ominously.
"I came across an interesting little tidbit recently. It seems our dear Tiger wasn't just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was caught in Sabaody… while trying to cut a deal with an underground broker for high-quality seastone."
Arnold froze. His gills fluttered involuntarily, betraying the sharp pang of guilt and dread he felt. Doflamingo's words hit like a sledgehammer. Despite Arnold's best efforts to conceal the circumstances of Tiger's capture, Doffy—who practically ran the underworld—had already pieced it together.
"Fufufufu," Doflamingo laughed, though the sound was anything but warm. His grin widened into something predatory, his sharp teeth glinting under the light. "Did you really think you could keep such a significant piece of information from me, Arnold? I have to say, I'm a little disappointed in you, my friend."
Arnold stiffened as Doflamingo rose from his chair, his tall, lanky figure moving with a casual grace that belied his deadly nature. He walked over, placing a hand on Arnold's shoulder. Though the gesture seemed friendly at first, the grip tightened—just enough to remind Arnold of the vast difference in strength between them. Even as a Fishman, blessed with a monstrous physique, Arnold felt the pressure like a steel vice.
"Arnold, I own half the underworld," Doflamingo continued, his voice dropping into a cold, almost amused tone.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice when the Fishmen broke faith and went behind my back? Seastone… treasures of the sea… all being traded in the black market without a single word to me. So tell me, Arnold, why should I extend a hand to help Fisher Tiger? He tried to stab me in the back. And it wasn't like I was extorting you Fishmen for those treasures. I paid you a premium—out of goodwill, no less." His grip tightened further, his tone growing darker. "And this is how you repay me?"
The air felt electrified, charged with the weight of Doflamingo's anger. Arnold, who had faced countless threats as a warrior and representative of the Fishmen, found himself unable to meet Doffy's gaze. He knew there was no escaping the truth.
"Doffy…" Arnold began, his deep voice trembling slightly. "I swear, the Fishman Island had no hand in this. Fisher Tiger was foolish. He must have thought—"
"Thought what, Arnold?" Doflamingo's voice cracked like a whip as he interrupted, his sunglasses gleaming menacingly.
"That I wouldn't notice? That I'd let it slide after he smeared my pride? It seems you Fishmen have misunderstood the Donquixote family. Do you think I'm just a merchant building a relationship with you out of the kindness of my heart? Fufufu… Let me remind you of something, Arnold. I am a pirate. If I wanted those treasures, I could invade Fishman Island tomorrow, capture every last one of you, and make you toil until your dying breath. Either way, I'd get what I wanted."
Arnold's breath hitched. He knew Doflamingo wasn't bluffing. The man was ruthless enough to carry out such a threat, and even Whitebeard's protection wouldn't stop Doffy if he decided to make Fishman Island his target. After all, the Donquixote family had Rosinante. They would think nothing of clashing with anyone—even Whitebeard—if the situation demanded it.
But Arnold also knew Doflamingo wasn't wrong. The fault lay entirely with Fisher Tiger. The Donquixote family had been nothing but generous to the Fishmen, extending goodwill and fair dealings where others would have exploited them. Fisher Tiger's actions were a direct insult to the family's pride, and Arnold couldn't deny it.
"Arnold," Doflamingo said, his tone softening just slightly, though the edge of menace remained.
"You're here as my friend. If you ask me to save Fisher Tiger, I'll do it. But…" He let the words hang in the air, knowing Arnold would understand the cost.
Arnold's heart sank. Doflamingo's offer wasn't a simple one. If Arnold invoked their friendship to save Fisher Tiger, it would forever tarnish the bond they had built. Their years of trust and camaraderie would be reduced to a debt—a mark against Arnold's name. The Donquixote family's wrath wouldn't fall on him immediately, but it would simmer beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment.
Arnold's thoughts drifted back to the past, to the days when he had been desperate, broken, and helpless. His family had been captured by slavers, their fate sealed to a lifetime of servitude. No one had come to his aid—not the Ryugu royal family, not Fisher Tiger, not even his fellow Fishmen. It was Doflamingo who had saved them. It was Doflamingo who had shattered the chains that bound his family and given Arnold a place in this world.
Taking a deep breath, Arnold finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Doffy. I shouldn't have tried to hide the truth from you. Fisher Tiger acted foolishly, and his actions don't reflect the will of Fishman Island. I won't ask you to help him."
Doflamingo's eyes narrowed as Arnold straightened, his shoulders squared with resolve. "I'll inform King Neptune that there's nothing you can do in this matter. The Donquixote family has been nothing but honorable to the Fishmen, and I won't risk our friendship for the pride of one fishman who didn't know his place."
Doflamingo regarded Arnold in silence for a long moment, the tension in the room almost unbearable. Then, slowly, a small smile returned to his lips—a smile that carried something close to approval.
"Fufufu… Well said, Arnold. You're wiser than I thought." He loosened his grip and clapped Arnold on the shoulder, his grin widening. "Consider this matter closed. Let's go. There's a banquet waiting, and you've got some drinking to do."
Arnold exhaled, the weight on his chest lifting slightly, though the sting of his decision remained. He had chosen loyalty to the man who had saved him over the pride of his people. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but in the harsh world they lived in, Arnold knew it was the only choice he could make by remaining true to his conscience.