Mary Geoise remained as prosperous as ever.
Merchants from every corner of the world brought an astonishing variety of goods to the Holy Land, filling its markets with nearly anything a person could desire.
In theory, Mary Geoise was the center of the world’s economy.
But its influence extended far beyond commerce.
Its unrivaled geographical position, combined with the authority of the World Government, also made it the political center of the world.
The Levely, held once every four years, was the clearest proof of that.
Its thriving economy, abundant resources, and exceptional social prestige drew nobles from across the seas.
Countless aristocrats searched for ways to settle in Mary Geoise, bringing their customs and traditions with them.
Where nobles gathered, artists inevitably followed.
Pianists, novelists, dancers, and countless other cultural figures flocked to the Holy Land to entertain them.
As a result, Mary Geoise became a meeting place for cultures from all over the world.
Ideas, art, and traditions constantly blended and clashed there, producing more than a few genuine masterpieces.
Some even regarded it as a sacred center of culture.
Mary Geoise was unquestionably a den of corruption.
Beneath its elegance and splendor lurked cruelty and evil beyond imagination.
Yet for all its darkness, the Holy Land still possessed an undeniable grace and refinement.
To avoid unnecessary trouble, Doflamingo retreated into his cabin once the Flamingo had been lifted onto the Red Line.
After waiting in line for roughly two hours, he sat inside reading a book bound in leather.
Suddenly, he felt the brief weightlessness of a descent.
The ship swayed before beginning to lower at a steady pace.
They had clearly crossed the Red Line.
The port below them should now be the one facing the West Blue.
Someone knocked twice on the cabin door.
Before Doflamingo could respond, Vergo entered carrying a serving tray.
“Doffy, do you want something to eat?” There were still traces of food stuck to Vergo’s face.
Bread crumbs, perhaps.
Doflamingo glanced at him.
“You’ve fallen into two of your old habits again, Vergo.” Vergo looked puzzled.
“Which two?” “First, there’s no food on that tray.
Were you planning to have me lick it clean?” Doflamingo sighed.
“Second, you have bread crumbs on your face.
Wipe them off.” Vergo was loyal and highly capable.
Doflamingo could already sense that he possessed the qualities needed to handle major responsibilities on his own.
Considering the role Vergo played in the original timeline, there was no question that he had the ability.
Unfortunately, his memory had always been rather questionable.
For example, there had been times when he and Doflamingo were training Haki in the courtyard, only for Vergo to stop halfway through and suddenly walk away.
When Doflamingo asked where he was going, Vergo would claim that it was time for sword practice and that he needed to find where he had left his sword.
Doflamingo would then have to remind him of two things.
First, Vergo had never bought a sword.
Second, he was not a swordsman.
There had never been any sword practice planned in the first place.
After hearing Doflamingo point out his latest mistake, Vergo stared at the empty tray with visible frustration.
He reached up and plucked a lump of bread from his cheek almost as large as a meatball.
His eyes shifted between the crumb and the empty plate.
Then his expression brightened.
“No, Doffy.
I didn’t forget anything.” Vergo raised the crumb proudly.
“I simply came to offer you this piece of bread.” Doflamingo stared at him in disbelief.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Vergo could be remarkably proud at times.
Despite his young age, he always insisted that anyone beneath him in status address him as Mr.
Vergo.
Now, even though Doflamingo had only pointed out two harmless mistakes, Vergo still felt compelled to defend himself.
“Sometimes you really should let go of that pointless pride,” Doflamingo remarked.
Vergo gave a faint smile but did not reply.
He tossed the empty tray onto a nearby table, then looked curiously at the book in Doflamingo’s hands.
“Is that book interesting?” “There are a few passages worth reading,” Doflamingo replied casually.
“Such as?” Doflamingo thought for a moment before lifting his head.
Through the orange-red lenses of his sunglasses, Vergo could just barely make out his eyes.
“There’s one sentence that left a particularly strong impression on me.” Doflamingo’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“Even as infants, we instinctively understand that we must cry, scream, and make a mess before anyone pays attention to us.” Vergo looked at him in confusion.
“What is there to think about?” “A great deal.” Doflamingo nodded.
“Tell me, Vergo.
Why does a baby choose to cry?” Vergo frowned.
“Because it’s instinctive.
Wasn’t that what the sentence said?” “No.” A sinister smile slowly spread across Doflamingo’s face.
“It cries because it cannot communicate its needs, and those needs remain unmet.” Before Vergo could ask another question, Doflamingo continued.
“The baby is hungry, but it can’t speak.
It has no way to explain what it wants to the people around it.” “So it cries.
It screams.
It makes as much noise as possible until someone finally pays attention.” “Once they do, they begin searching for the problem.
Does the child need its diaper changed?
Is it hungry?
Is something hurting it?” Vergo still appeared unconvinced.
After hesitating for a moment, he asked, “So… what’s your point?” Was there truly some profound meaning hidden in something so obvious?
Doflamingo leaned back in his chair.
“My conclusion is simple.” “If this world refuses to satisfy my demands, then I should make enough trouble that it can no longer ignore me.” Vergo laughed and nodded.
“And what exactly are your demands?” Doflamingo raised an eyebrow.
“You already know, don’t you?” They had known from the moment they chose him as their king.
Donquixote Doflamingo had been born to rule.
He deserved to become the new king of the world.
Every senior member of the Donquixote Family believed that from the bottom of their hearts.
“Young Master, there’s something I often see in the streets,” Vergo said seriously, deliberately switching to a more respectful form of address.
Doflamingo lifted the teacup beside him and took a sip.
“What is it?” “A child throws a tantrum because he wants his parents to buy him a new toy.” Vergo spoke calmly.
“Sometimes, instead of getting what he wants, he gets beaten.” “Fuffuffuffuffu…” Doflamingo immediately understood the warning behind those words.
“You certainly have a distinctive way of offering advice.” Making enough noise might get someone what they wanted.
But it could just as easily earn them a beating.
At what point did a child stop being so easily punished?
Perhaps it was when he matured.
When he grew taller and stronger.
When he gained social standing, wealth, and independence.
In the end, it all came down to the same thing.
Strength.
“I accept your advice, Vergo.” Doflamingo placed his teacup down.
“You’re right.
Ambition unsupported by strength will only end with a beating.” “I’ve watched your discipline and determination for the past seven years, Young Master,” Vergo replied without hesitation.
“That is why I believe the day will eventually come when you can make all the trouble you please.” “And when it does, you will take the throne in Mary Geoise and make it your most treasured toy.”