Chapter 54: Who Is The Protagonist?

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Lucia fastened the last button on Carl's coat, then stepped back to admire him. She studied him from head to toe and smiled.

"Young Master, you look really good in this."

Carl pulled on a pair of black boots and walked toward the floor-length mirror. His reflection showed a tall, slender figure dressed entirely in black, exuding an air of quiet authority.

Behind him, Lucia approached and wrapped her arms around his waist. Carl instinctively placed his hand over hers. For a moment, they stood in silence, enjoying the warmth of each other's presence.

But there was no time to linger. Business awaited.

—

When Carl met Garling again, his uncle was also wearing a black suit of the same style, standing next to a broad-shouldered guard clad in golden armor. The armored figure bowed his head slightly and saluted.

"Lord Carl, I am Carlos, captain of the first escort team."

The Figarland family had five elite escort teams. The first, third, and fifth were under Garling's direct control, while the second and fourth were assigned to Darian. Garling had formally entrusted the third team to Carl, though it was a mere formality—after all, its captain was Lucia. The transition had been seamless.

Garling glanced at Carl's new outfit with approval.

"Yes, now *this* is what a member of the Figarland family should look like."

Carl slipped one hand into his pocket. "I thought a member of the Figarland family looked like a fat sack with a fish tank on its head."

Garling's brow twitched. "Don't talk nonsense. You don't need to wear the hood here. And that kind of attire is… acceptable."

He hesitated before adding, "Now that I think about it, I've never actually seen you wear one of those. Does it not fit you?"

Carl smirked. "Not my style."

Garling glared but then sighed. "You're lucky to be my nephew. Even in Mary Geoise, there aren't many people who dare speak to me like that."

His expression softened. "But I suppose that's what makes you my nephew."

Carl didn't argue. He simply stepped forward, leaving Garling to chuckle to himself.

Lucia quickly followed. "Young Master, do you even know the way?"

Garling, watching Carl's retreating back, couldn't help but shake his head.

"This… feels pretty good."

Carlos, observing the rare display of warmth from Garling, was stunned. To see the ever-stern leader of the Knights of God act so *human* was beyond shocking.

As Carl and Lucia disappeared down the hall, Garling murmured, "It would be better if that boy could stay by my side…"

—

**Celestial Dragon Conference Hall.**

A dozen Celestial Dragons, dressed in their ridiculous spacesuits, sat around a long conference table. But their attention wasn't on the meeting itself—it was on the small boy standing at the end of the room.

He had short blond hair and wore oval-shaped sunglasses. Though still young, his expression was hardened beyond his years. He stood stiffly, gripping a severed human head in his trembling hand. His white shirt was stained with dried blood.

The surrounding Celestial Dragons barely spared him a glance. They were more interested in flaunting their latest purchases—new slaves, rare treasures. The boy's desperate plea was nothing more than background noise.

At the head of the table, Saint Saturn sat with his hands folded, his expression unreadable.

The boy, struggling to maintain his composure, finally broke the silence.

"Will you let me come back or not?" His voice was hoarse. "Haven't I done enough?"

Nobody answered.

Nobody cared.

Doflamingo's grip on the severed head tightened.

Saturn, finally speaking, said, "Be patient, Doflamingo. Your fate will be decided once Saint Garling arrives."

Doflamingo clenched his teeth. "Why!?"

"Because you killed a Celestial Dragon," Saturn said flatly. "If he finds you guilty, not only will your return be denied—you will be executed *on the spot.*"

A chill ran down Doflamingo's spine.

His confidence wavered.

His whole life, he had fought to *escape* the suffocating grip of Mary Geoise. But now, standing here, waiting for *them* to decide his fate… it felt unbearable.

His blood boiled at the humiliation.

Then—

**Step. Step. Step.**

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed outside the hall.

The doors swung open.

A broad-shouldered figure in golden armor entered. Doflamingo swallowed. *Is that him?*

But no—the armored man moved aside, standing at attention. He wasn't Garling.

The Celestial Dragons, previously disinterested, suddenly fell silent.

Then—

Two figures entered the chamber.

A tall, imposing man with silver hair and sharp eyes.

And beside him—a younger man, clad entirely in black, moving with a casual confidence that made the room *stop.*

Garling and Carl.

The uncle and nephew.

Carlos, having opened the door, quietly stepped outside. Lucia remained behind him, waiting at the entrance.

Inside the hall, the gathered Celestial Dragons froze.

Their eyes locked onto Carl, their expressions shifting to intrigue.

Saint Saturn studied Carl briefly before looking back at Garling.

"Saint Garling, you've finally arrived." He glanced at Carl. "Shall we start by introducing your… guest?"

Garling crossed his arms and gave Carl a sidelong glance.

"This is my nephew—Saint Figarland Carl."

Carl mirrored his uncle's posture, crossing his arms and giving a slight nod.

Simple. Unconcerned.

Yet that single acknowledgment sent the entire room into a hushed frenzy.

The whispers began immediately.

*"Garling's nephew? Isn't he the sole heir to the Figarland family?"*

*"I nearly forgot he existed! And now, he's *here*?"*

*"He does look a lot like Garling… though that hairstyle is far too plain."*

*"Let's introduce ourselves. If he's next in line, we need to be in his good graces!"*

Several Celestial Dragons pulled their chairs closer, eager to chat with Carl.

And just like that—

Doflamingo was forgotten.

He stood there, gripping the severed head, his face darkening with every passing second.

He had risked everything to reclaim his rightful place. He had walked into this room believing *he* was the center of attention.

Yet now, the moment Carl entered, it was *he* who was overlooked.

The jealousy surged.

His fingers twitched.

His pride burned.

**Who… who was supposed to be the protagonist here?**