Chapter Forty-Two: A Touch of Foolishness Is the Privilege of Protagonists

Rosinante, like his brother, was a tall man, and their styles of dressing were strikingly similar. He too wore a feathered coat, though his was black, and beneath it a pink shirt adorned with red hearts, paired with equally flamboyant trousers. As for his face—one might even say Rosinante was more fitting for the title of "clown" than his brother, for he painted clown-like makeup around his right eye and mouth.

But this style might not be entirely his own idea; perhaps it isn’t meant to showcase his personality. On a deeper level, even his attire seems to carry a hidden agenda. Doflamingo has often treated his younger brother as a shadow, a decoy—should a grave crisis arise, he could easily substitute one for the other.

Such things are all too common for Doflamingo. To preserve himself, he’d use his brother as a disposable pawn without any hesitation or moral qualms.

For a seafaring overlord like Doflamingo, it would hardly be surprising if one day he actually claimed the ONE PIECE.

Rosinante had left his brother’s side at the age of eight, and through a twist of fate was adopted by Admiral Sengoku. Naturally, he joined the Navy, and later, after the original Heart, Vergo, departed the Donquixote family on a secret mission, Rosinante returned as a spy and undercover agent.

His task and goal were to monitor Doflamingo’s movements and prevent his brother from going on a rampage.

Thus, to cover his true identity or to signal his harmlessness, Rosinante often acted the fool, though his personality did have genuine flaws... Sometimes he was pretending, other times he was genuinely dim-witted.

He tended to be absent-minded in minor matters.

So Qiubai couldn’t be sure whether Rosinante truly believed the Navy was watching him at this moment, or if he was simply performing.

This must be a kind of mastery—his actions always blended truth and fiction so seamlessly that no one could distinguish where the real ended and the fake began.

Yet this wasn’t Qiubai’s fault; more often than not, even Rosinante himself probably couldn’t tell if he was pretending.

“Why... do you think the Navy is watching you?” Qiubai withdrew his gaze and looked at Corazon’s face with an expression of constipation.

“Of course! Do you think I’ve been under their scrutiny for hours? Such naked stares, such persistent attention—who else but the Navy?” Perhaps feeling his judgment was doubted, Rosinante’s handwriting took on a forceful tone.

Besides the Navy, there really were others—for example, the butcher busy in his own shop...

Apart from feigning foolishness, Rosinante also persisted in his “mute” act. Practically, keeping silent had its advantages, especially for concealing his role as a spy. Over time, words betray, but silence avoids this. The second reason was psychological—according to him, he had nothing to say to these pirates.

Qiubai was speechless. Such a bizarrely dressed, three-meter-tall man, face painted like a ghoul, squatting outside his shop—how could anyone not notice? The butcher would be terrified, naturally.

Rosinante, feeling watched, dared not move and squatted there; the longer he stayed, the more attention he drew, which only strengthened his sense of being watched, so he remained even more motionless... At this point, the butcher hadn’t called the authorities yet, thanks to his robust nerves, honed from daily wrestling with massive beasts.

So, after squatting here for several hours, why not just turn around and take a look? A glance wouldn’t get you pregnant... Qiubai wanted to remind him kindly, but after some thought, he gave up.

“The ship is at the port. We’ll move slowly, then shake off the Navy when they least expect it. Once we’re at sea, we’re safe.”

The ocean is vast; warships prioritize firepower, while pirate ships are built for speed, designed to escape at a moment’s notice. It’s not uncommon for pirates to outrun the Navy at sea.

Rosinante nodded in agreement with Qiubai’s plan, but instead of acting immediately, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Hmm, why was he so composed again? Or...

Let’s not forget his “dislikes children” persona, meant to drive away any kids who might want to join the Donquixote family. Perhaps he was considering how to persuade Qiubai to leave Doflamingo behind.

Unfortunately, Qiubai wasn’t a child; his age sat squarely in the middle, making it difficult for Rosinante to deal with him.

In the silence, Qiubai began to consider the possibility of having to fight Rosinante... It seemed that, in close combat, he might actually stand a chance against him?

Rosinante was a Navy lieutenant colonel—definitely a high-ranking officer, but his work had always been in intelligence, not frontline battle. He possessed a Devil Fruit ability, “Silent Fruit,” but its powers were auxiliary, mainly isolating and suppressing sound. In direct combat, such abilities rarely proved decisive.

Qiubai’s swordsmanship, after Ryoma’s tutelage, was shifting from beginner to advanced. So if it came down to a real confrontation, the outcome was uncertain.

Rosinante’s silence made Qiubai brace for trouble, but once again, he was overthinking.

Rosinante scribbled three words in his notebook:

“My legs are numb...”

“...Huh?”

Both had reasons not to speak, both communicated by writing. At that moment, Qiubai wished Corazon would turn into Eucliwood.

Numb legs? What kind of excuse was that?

“What? If you’d been squatting for hours, you’d be numb too!”

Indeed, anyone would be; Qiubai might have cramped up by now.

“Be careful. Help me up. Don’t attract attention.”

Resigned, Qiubai extended his right hand and hauled Rosinante to his feet. Even now, Rosinante never looked back—not once. He was cautious; if his eyes met those of any Navy surveillance, he’d expose himself.

Rosinante stood, stepping forward with his left foot, then bringing up his right. But numbness is numbness; his leg nerves weren’t quite under control, misjudging his steps. Suddenly, his right foot kicked hard against his left ankle, sending him stumbling, then missing the step...

Before him lay the boundless sea, with a sloping road leading straight to the port. Rosinante curled up like a ball and rolled down.

It didn’t end there—his cigarette, barely finished, jabbed right into his feathered coat, which, perhaps to keep its sheen, had been oiled. Instantly, Rosinante turned into an unstoppable wheel of fire.

He demonstrated a simple truth: smoking is hazardous to health—seriously.

Qiubai was dumbfounded. So much for “not attracting attention.” Was this really acting? Surely it shouldn’t go this far?

The slope was stained red with blood... In any case, it’d be wise to remind Rosinante to buy some insurance.

PS:
First, I previously said Robin’s bounty at eight years old was seventy-nine million, not that Robin was eight in 1506. Don’t confuse context and chronology; it’s not a problem with my writing, but some readers’ comprehension—really.
Second, Ryoma’s era is ambiguous, and I handled it as such. As for Ain’s timeline, it was indeed brought forward, as noted earlier. This is a unique exception in the text; accept it or move on, but don’t blame the author.
Fanfiction sometimes deviates from the original, sometimes it’s the author’s own interpretation, sometimes it fills gaps, sometimes it’s deliberate, sometimes it’s due to missing original info. I’m just a regular fan; I get things right when I can, wrong when I can't, and I’ll fix what I can. It’s all normal. Shonen manga is just that. If someone wants to study it like a classic novel, that’s their own courage. My ability is only to do the best I can.

I hope you’ll focus on the story itself and seek common ground while respecting differences.