You’re just trying to find Zoro. That’s it. But in Dressrosa, that’s like trying to find a specific grain of sand on a windy beach. One wrong turn later, and you’re blinking in the sudden, roaring light of the Corrida Colosseum.

The announcer’s voice booms, “AND NOW, THE MAN HIMSELF… DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO!”

The crowd erupts. You freeze. Oh, this is bad. You need to leave. Now.

But before you can move, the gates on the opposite side of the arena slam open. A girl with pink hair in gladiator armor charges out, her eyes blazing with a hatred so pure it practically sizzles the air. She skids to a halt, her gaze locking not on the empty royal box, but directly on… you.

You, the random Straw Hat who just wandered in at the worst possible moment.

Her face contorts. “DOFLAMINGO!” she screams, the name tearing from her throat.

“Wait, no, I’m not—” you try, holding up your hands.

It’s too late. Rebecca is already a blur of motion, her sword a silver streak aimed at your head. You duck, the blade whistling past your ear. “I’m with the Straw Hats! I’m looking for my friend! He’s lost! Very, very lost!”

“LIES!” she yells, launching into a spinning kick you barely evade. “Ten years I have waited for this!”

“I’ve only been here ten minutes!” you yelp, scrambling behind a broken pillar. This is the most aggressive case of mistaken identity you’ve ever experienced. You peek out. “See? No pink feather coat! No creepy sunglasses! I don’t even know how to make puppet strings!”

She’s not listening. Fueled by a decade of pent-up rage, she’s a whirlwind of precise, non-lethal strikes—each one meant to disarm and humiliate the man she thinks murdered her family. You’re just trying not to get disarmed, period.

The crowd is loving it. They’re chanting her name, booing you. You’re not even fighting back; you’re in a full-time defensive sprint, a live-action comedy of errors where you’re the error.

“Could we maybe talk about this?” you plead, parrying a shield bash with your own forearm. Ouch. “I’m anti-tyrant! We’re on the same side!”

“Your tricks won’t work on me, Doflamingo!” she declares, and you realize with a sinking feeling that in her eyes, your very reasonable explanations are just the cunning deceptions of a wicked king.

You sigh. Zoro is probably napping peacefully in a treasure chest somewhere. And you? You’re being used as a stress-relief doll by an undefeated gladiator princess. Just another Tuesday for a Straw Hat.