Somewhere deep in the heart of Dressrosa's capital, buried beneath layers of cobblestone and questionable urban planning, was a dimly lit cellar. The only source of illumination came from flickering candles that gave the whole place the ambiance of a haunted wine tasting.
Around a creaky old table sat a group of people so strange, even the shadows were confused.
Every now and then, a ghost floated through the room with a smug grin, startling everyone and accomplishing absolutely nothing except upping the creep factor.
At the head of the table sat Ezio—a totally ordinary human being with no fighting skills, no epic heritage, and definitely no six-pack. But what he did have was the uncanny ability to bend fate like a guitar solo at a rock concert.
To Ezio's right was Viola, the newest addition to the crew and easily the most baffled person in the room. She still wasn't sure how she ended up here. One moment she was living her life, the next she was apparently part of a supernatural crew startup.
To his left sat Hina—the crew's reluctant, emotionally fragile doctor, who had accidentally eaten a Devil Fruit that let her heal anything. Unfortunately, Ezio's poor decision-making is the one thing she can't fix.
Beside her stood Princess Mansherry, looking utterly lost. "Why am I even here?" she asked out loud. Nobody had a good answer, so they just kind of nodded sympathetically and moved on.
Next came Conis: sweet, wide-eyed, and radiating violent lightning like a death trap disguised as a friend. If sunshine could electrocute you, it would look like her.
And finally, there was Perona, who had mentally left this meeting three times already. She still couldn't figure out why they were squatting in this creepy cellar instead of haunting a luxury island like civilized ghosts.
With dramatic flair, Ezio stood. "With all members assembled, I now declare this official meeting… begun!"
His serious expression didn't quite match his usual chaotic energy, which only made the room more uncomfortable.
"First, the facts," Ezio began, grim as a man who just learned the last slice of cake was gone. "We have absolutely no chance of defeating Doflamingo in our current state."
Every person in the candle-lit room blinked.
"...Isn't this whole meeting then… pointless?" Mansherry asked, sounding like the only sane person in a room full of plot devices.
Naturally, everyone ignored her.
"There are strategies for dealing with an unstoppable enemy," Hina offered coolly. "The strategy is: don't deal with the unstoppable enemy."
"Wow. Thank you for that deep tactical insight, General Obvious," Perona muttered, rolling her eyes so hard they nearly left orbit.
"Maybe… maybe we could just talk to Mister Doflamingo?" Conis asked sweetly.
Her suggestion was met with the kind of silence reserved for the truly absurd. Mansherry gave her a pitying pat.
Ezio, meanwhile, stood up like a man about to declare something extremely reckless. Which, of course, he was.
"If we can't touch Doflamingo directly," he announced, puffing his chest with the confidence of someone who'd clearly never been punched by a warlord, "then we'll take everything around him!"
He slammed his fist on the table. The candles jumped. Viola flinched. Perona sighed. Conis clapped politely.
"There will come a day when we can crush him! But until then," Ezio said, eyes glinting with dramatic nonsense, "there are other ways to make someone's life miserable."
He paused for effect. Then, with as much gravitas as a man in a haunted basement could muster, he declared:
"That's why we're establishing a brand new organization—effective immediately! And we'll call it..."
"...The Misfortune Society!"
There was a beat of silence.
"...And the first thing The Misfortune Society needs is—"
"—A better name?" Perona cut in.
Ezio ignored her. "—People! Lots of them. Preferably the angry kind."
Mansherry buried her face in her hands. They were absolutely doomed.
…
The Thunder Soldier—formerly known as Kyros (not that anyone remembered)—peered through the foggy window of a tiny wooden house, watching his daughter struggle to make a meal for herself.
"One day, my child," he sighed dramatically, "one day I will avenge us. One day, you'll live like a normal girl—going outside, eating real food, maybe even seasoning."
Thunder Soldier had no idea that trouble was already stalking their little family with all the subtlety of a drunk elephant.
Suddenly, Rebecca shrieked.
"WHAT'S WRONG?!" he yelled, spinning around in full Dad Mode.
And then he saw it.
Ghosts.
Freaking ghosts were kidnapping his daughter!
Four of them—one ghost per limb like it was a haunted game of tug-of-war.
He leapt to attack, but his strikes passed clean through the ghosts like they were made of bad dreams and regret.
"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Thunder Soldier roared, completely helpless as his daughter was carried off into the night like a particularly confused balloon.
Then came the laughter.
A massive ghost appeared—just the head alone was several times larger than his old, glorious gladiator body.
It grinned.
And grabbed him.
"If only I had my original body…" he muttered, flailing like an angry stuffed toy as he too was spirited away to who-knows-where.
…
Elsewhere in Dressrosa, a large bull with dark fur, long horns, and muscles that could file taxes by flexing was living his best life.
Why was this bull famous?
Because he was a gladiator in the Corrida Colosseum, and not just any gladiator—a legend. A horned beast feared across the New World.
So, of course...
WHY WAS HE BEING KIDNAPPED BY GHOSTS?!
AND WHY COULDN'T HE DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!
…
Meanwhile, Gatz—the ever-proud announcer of the Corrida Colosseum—was enjoying a well-balanced meal.
Meat.
With a side of meat.
And for dessert? Probably more meat.
Blissfully chewing, he didn't even notice the army of cheerful, grinning ghosts casually seating themselves at his table.
When he finally looked up, he didn't scream. He just scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Well," Gatz said, "we've had plenty of weirdos show up to the Colosseum, but this is a new one. You can't just crash my house like it's a backstage entrance."
Living in the New World, Gatz had seen everything from giants to fishmen to sentient slimes—so a few floating specters didn't even ruffle his napkin.
"You still gotta go through the proper channels," he added. "I know, I know, bureaucracy sucks. But imagine the matches! Ghosts vs. Zombies! Ghosts vs. Exploding Lemurs! Think of the hype!"
The ghosts, unmoved by visions of promotional posters, grabbed him by all limbs and began dragging him away.
"OH, COME ON!" Gatz groaned. "THIS IS WHY WE HAVE RULES!"
He was ignored.
"Can I at least take my meat?" he whimpered, looking back at his unfinished steak like it was the love of his life.
Suddenly, Gatz noticed another elderly gentleman floating awkwardly through the sky beside him, held aloft by the same grinning ghosts.
Something about him looked familiar…
"Wait a second!" Gatz squinted. "Aren't you the previous king?!"
"Well spotted, Gatz," sighed King Riku Doldo, upside-down and clearly not enjoying the view. The poor man was dangling like a forgotten wind chime, suspended only by ghostly hands. "I see you're enjoying the same... royal treatment."
"Isn't this just hilarious?!" another voice chimed in, with all the energy of a man who had accepted his absurd fate. "Can't even punch these things! Not with fists, not with Haki! What kind of twisted concept is an invincible ghost?!"
Both men twisted around mid-air and saw the speaker—tiny, elderly, and unmistakably furious.
"Tonta-Chief Gancho?!" Doldo Riku blinked in disbelief. "Even you got caught?"
"Not just me," Gancho huffed. "These freaky phantoms are kidnapping my entire kingdom! They're hauling off the Tontatta like it's a clearance sale!"
The three floated along in stunned silence, dragged like confused parade balloons across the night sky.
They looked at each other.
Then, in perfect, shared disbelief, they all screamed internally:
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN DRESSROSA?!
As the trio of airborne elders—King Riku, Gatz, and Chief Gancho—bobbed through the night sky like confused parade balloons, their expressions were a blend of bafflement, indignation, and mild seasickness.
"I used to command armies," Riku muttered, flapping his cape helplessly as he rotated upside down again. "Now I'm being carried like laundry on a ghostly clothesline."
"I know how you feel," Gatz grumbled. "I was halfway through a perfect steak. Perfect. Medium-rare. Garlic butter. It winked at me."
Chief Gancho, who was being carried in a dignified seated position on a flying ghost-throne made from what looked like stolen furniture, sighed dramatically. "My people are being abducted by translucent pranksters and I still don't know why. This isn't how diplomatic visits are supposed to go."
At that moment, the ghost convoy banked hard to the left—because of course ghosts don't follow air traffic laws—and the three were flung into a wide spiral. Somewhere below them, the Colosseum bull let out a furious MOOOOOO as it was airlifted past a flock of pigeons who promptly had an existential crisis.
"Wait—do you hear that?" King Riku asked, blinking.
A gentle melody drifted on the breeze. Was that... harp music?
Then they spotted a bunch of weirdos sitting in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a suspiciously large collection of empty chairs—none matching, which was a pretty clear sign someone had a serious chair-stealing habit.
And there stood Ezio—arms wide, scarf flapping dramatically, flanked by Conis holding a harp and Hina looking like she very much wanted to not be there.
"Welcome, honored guests, to the first official recruitment gala of Plot Armor United!" Ezio announced proudly.
"The what now?" Gatz shouted from midair.
"We're starting a revolution!" Ezio beamed. "But like... the fun kind. With snacks and performances and occasionally... ghost-based abductions!"
Gancho blinked. "This is madness."