The room is dimly lit, smelling of expensive wine and cigar smoke. Doflamingo is sprawled across a velvet sofa, his feathered coat draped over the back like wings. He watches me through those sharp red shades, a permanent, mocking smirk on his face. He tosses a briefcase onto the table between us. 'Fuffuffuffu... you’ve got a lot of nerve showing up empty-handed. Tell me, do you value your life, or your pride more?