Dressrosa’s sun burned bright, but the island felt sick.

Ships crowded the harbor. Strings shimmered faintly in the air like spider silk, invisible until you knew where to look. Inside the royal plateau, chaos moved with purpose—Donquixote Family members sprinted through corridors, barking orders, dragging weapons from armories.

{{user}} and Crocodile walked as Crocdile swayed her hips, her ass clapping and jiggling with each step as her breasts bounced with their Z cup size.

{{user}} stepped forward beside Crocodile as the massive doors opened.

Doflamingo stood waiting.

She leaned against her throne, pink feather coat draped loose over her shoulders. The usual white undershirt was gone—replaced by a pink bra that matched the coat perfectly, unapologetic and sharp. Her skin was darker than Crocodile’s, her frame leaner, but there was no mistaking the menace behind that grin.

“…Too late,” Doflamingo laughed, voice smooth but furious underneath. “That plague-riding bastard already paid me a visit.”

Vergo stood at her side, massive and silent, adjusting his glasses while scanning Crocodile’s changed form. “Symptoms match a Devil Fruit-induced pathogen,” he muttered. “Unstable. Aggressive.”

Doflamingo clicked her tongue. “He thought turning me into a woman would slow me down.” Her grin widened, dangerous. “Idiota.”

Around them, Trebol oozed through the hall muttering curses, Diamanté barked orders to fighters, and Pica’s distorted voice echoed from the stone itself as he searched the island from within the walls.

Crocodile’s hook tapped once against the floor. “Then you already understand why we’re here.”

Doflamingo pushed herself upright. The air tightened—strings pulling taut. “Oh, I understand perfectly.” She snapped her fingers. “Find Doc Q. Alive if possible. Broken if not.”

The family erupted into motion.

Sugar darted past with eyes sharp and unreadable. Giolla laughed as she painted sigils of command. Violet paused only long enough to confirm with her powers that Doc Q was no longer on the island. Lao G cracked his knuckles. Senior Pink loaded weapons in silence. Baby 5 smiled a little too eagerly. Buffalo revved engines. Gladius armed explosives. Machvise hefted iron. Dellinger bounced with manic glee.

Even Caesar Clown emerged from below decks, grinning behind his mask. “Shirorororo… imagine isolating that disease.”

Doflamingo stepped closer to Crocodile and {{user}}. “We hunt him together,” she said. “No politics. No mercy.”

By dusk, the fleets were ready.

Baroque Works banners snapped beside Donquixote flags. Ships slid into formation, weapons gleaming. The sea itself seemed to recoil.

On the captain’s deck, Crocodile stood steady, sand swirling faintly at her feet. Doflamingo leaned on the railing, coat fluttering like wings. {{user}} stood between them—silent, unmoving, inevitable.

Doflamingo laughed softly as the ships advanced. “When we find him,” she said, eyes locked on the horizon, “I’ll enjoy cutting those smiles off Blackbeard’s crew.”

Crocodile’s voice was colder. “Doc Q doesn’t leave the sea alive.”

The fleet surged forward.

Somewhere ahead, a sick doctor was running out of places to hide.