Chapter Seventy-Two: The Red Thread of Fate

“So you’re saying, we were just a step too late?”

Doflamingo’s right hand suddenly froze, the piece of grilled meat lingering near his lips. Having just dealt with the Mafia, his mood hovered somewhere between pleasure and irritation. Eliminating his own carefully cultivated pawn left him with a peculiar feeling, but without doubt, Qiu Bai’s words had now tilted him toward irritation.

“You could say we were ten thousand steps too late.”

Whether late by a single step or ten thousand, what was lost was lost all the same. Qiu Bai’s voice was tinged with indifference, the sort that borders on schadenfreude... A tone likely to further inflame his current boss, perhaps even provoke domestic strife, or the possibility of divorce.

Still, Doflamingo was a reasonable man. Even if angered, he would understand this wasn’t Qiu Bai’s fault. In fact, his subordinates had been battered to the point of internal injury for the sake of this mission—hardly a lack of effort.

“CP9...”

Of course, Qiu Bai couldn’t admit he’d been attacked by CP9, a group shrouded in secrecy, the kind of information Qiu Bai shouldn’t plausibly know. So he limited himself to describing observable phenomena.

But even with just that, Doflamingo easily arrived at the truth—remarkably, the correct one. For a pirate, his understanding of the World Government’s machinations surpassed that of many professionals.

“Well, obtaining what we want was always a matter of chance. Now the answer is negative; we simply landed on the disappointing half of the coin flip. Qiu Bai, you did well. No fault lies with you.”

Ultimately, Doflamingo set aside his personal feelings, offering Qiu Bai a fair and objective assessment—a captain’s proper attitude toward a subordinate who had done his utmost.

Qiu Bai nodded, utterly unashamed, accepting the praise as his due for diligent work. The best lies are the ones you tell yourself; after enough self-hypnosis, he almost believed it was the World Government that had destroyed the mine.

But... does your conscience not ache?

“Now then, Law, how do you feel hearing news of Flevance again?” Doflamingo’s gaze, hidden behind his sunglasses, shifted to Law, as though genuinely interested in the boy’s thoughts.

A subtle change had come to the Donquixote family’s dinner table today: Law was now formally permitted to sit. Though Doflamingo hadn’t made it explicit, the meaning was clear as day.

Perhaps Rosinante was still reeling from Qiu Bai’s “monumental nonsense,” and therefore refrained from bullying the child further. Unfortunately, once Doflamingo had rendered his decision, Rosinante had no grounds to object.

“Nothing.”

“There’s nothing left there anyway.”

Law’s response was disarmingly calm, not at all befitting his age, as he answered Doflamingo. All the while, his gaze flitted between Rosinante and Qiu Bai, as if surveying them both.

Hearing Law’s icy tone, Baby-5 unconsciously shuffled closer to her left—toward Qiu Bai—not out of fear of contagion, but because Law’s fierce glare had reduced her to tears before. She remained quite wary of the “newcomer.”

“Fufufu...” Doflamingo chuckled softly at Law’s reply. No one could say whether he was pleased or dissatisfied with the answer, but one might guess he was satisfied. A mind bent on destruction is far more admirable than one plagued by hesitation.

“The dining table is truly a fascinating place,” Qiu Bai mused silently. He certainly noticed the hatred in Law’s eyes, but was unconcerned; shaping Law’s character was Rosinante’s responsibility. Qiu Bai merely intended to reap the finished product.

At this stage, Law’s eyes held nothing but vengeance. Qiu Bai, who had teased him once, was hardly worth mention compared to Rosinante’s torments. It was easy to see that Rosinante harbored no taboo about Amber Lead Disease—a rare thing indeed.

Throughout his journey, Law had grown accustomed to panic, disdain, and fear in people’s eyes, thanks to the conspicuous white spots that marked him as a monster and source of contagion. Even at his first appearance before the Donquixote family, he had been regarded as such.

Yet neither Rosinante nor Qiu Bai had ever looked at him that way, though Law hadn’t noticed.

...

The meal soon ended, and the officers dispersed. Qiu Bai, too, set about his “work”—he went to an old, weathered wooden pier by the sea.

He’d discovered this place not long ago and had since made it his spot for training and practice. With the “Seven Blades” technique now fully mastered after his battle with Lucci, Qiu Bai decided to develop a new style... No, a new sword technique.

He’d long since formed the basic idea; now it was a matter of repeated practice and endless refinement. Yet as he swung his sword again and again, his focus began to drift.

Something was missing. This dry, repetitive practice fell short of the technique he envisioned... But what exactly was lacking?

His practice devolved into a purely mechanical routine, his most common mode of training. Around the age of ten, Qiu Bai felt his body and mind had matured enough, so every day on a grassy plain of Whale Island, he would face the sun with gratitude and perform a set posture, swinging his sword ten thousand times.

At first, ten thousand swings took him eighteen hours. Five years later, at fifteen, he could finish in just three; now, his speed had increased again.

He hoped that, eventually, he would be able to complete the training in under an hour. At that point, his sword speed would surpass that of sound itself—enough to subdue an entire kendo dojo with a single stroke. As long as he continued his basic training and his body improved, he would only grow faster, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to wait until fifty to see it through.

“What exactly is missing? Virtue? That can’t be it, can it?”

“But it’s definitely not you...”

Even in a distracted state, Qiu Bai’s strong vigilance allowed him to sense someone sneaking up on him with ill intent.

“Hey now, all I did was hang you up for a bit. It’s not like I beat you half to death like Rosinante. You’re not really going to stab me in the back, are you?”

Clumsy, murderous intent—here, it could only be Law.

Qiu Bai began to consider: if Law really did attack, should he just choke the kid out in return? Choking shouldn’t count as a sword-killing, right? It’s a question worth pondering. After all, Law wasn’t someone he strictly needed... Still, come on, this is sword training, not some sinister ritual requiring the blood of a youth to forge a legendary blade.

Superstition and inhumanity, that’s what that is!

At that moment, Law, thinking himself utterly stealthy, crept closer. Once within what he deemed an effective range, he raised a knife wrapped in newspaper in both hands, then rushed forward, aiming to drive the blade mercilessly into Qiu Bai’s back—a medical education and knowledge of human anatomy serving him well, knowing precisely where to strike for a fatal blow.

But in that critical instant, Qiu Bai realized he didn’t need to act—his bodyguard had already arrived.

“Take that!”

At this life-or-death moment, a round, plump Kung Fu Bear charged from the side, unceremoniously kicking the knife from Law’s grasp.

Who would have thought? An unexpected intervention—a dog bites the bear on the way.

And so, as fate would have it, Bepo and Law met, even ahead of schedule. As the saying goes, “A golden wind and jade dew meet, surpassing countless meetings in the world.” Though much had changed, fate’s red thread spun stubbornly on... Or so it seemed.