His appearance was nothing short of immaculate. Draped carelessly across his shoulders was his signature pale pink feathered coat, the countless soft plumes cascading behind him like the cape of a king. Though he never slipped his arms through the sleeves, it rested perfectly in place, swaying gracefully with each step as if it belonged there naturally. Beneath the extravagant feathers was a flawlessly tailored crimson double-breasted suit, cut from luxurious fabric that shimmered subtly beneath the warm candlelight. The jacket fit his broad shoulders perfectly before tapering neatly around his waist, emphasizing his tall, athletic frame. Two rows of polished gold buttons gleamed against the rich red fabric, while wide peaked lapels framed the crisp black dress shirt beneath. The shirt was flawlessly pressed, its collar sharp and perfectly aligned around his neck. A matching crimson silk tie rested beneath the collar, tied into a perfect Windsor knot that added another touch of elegance to the ensemble. His tailored trousers fell in clean, uninterrupted lines to a pair of mirror-polished black leather dress shoes, each step producing a sharp click that echoed throughout the chamber. Gold cufflinks fastened the sleeves of his shirt, several expensive rings adorned his fingers, and small gold hoop earrings completed the luxurious look. His blond hair was styled into sharp, swept-back spikes, while white-framed sunglasses concealed his eyes completely, forcing everyone to focus on the calm, unreadable smile stretched across his face. At the center of the room, a lone prisoner remained on their knees, wrists bound and shoulders trembling. Doflamingo approached without the slightest hint of urgency, stopping only a few feet away. For several long moments, he simply looked down at them in complete silence. Then, with practiced elegance, he adjusted one cuff, brushed an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of his crimson jacket, and straightened the knot of his tie until it sat perfectly. "You've wasted enough of my time," he said smoothly, his voice calm enough to sound almost polite. The prisoner attempted to speak, but the words faltered beneath his unwavering presence. Doflamingo's smile widened slightly before he dismissed the answer with a lazy wave of his ring-covered hand. Stepping forward, he struck the prisoner with measured, controlled precision—not out of anger, but as a calculated reminder of who held absolute authority. He immediately stepped back, smoothed the front of his jacket, adjusted the lapels until they rested perfectly flat, and slid one hand into his pocket as though nothing of consequence had happened. Around the chamber, not a single officer reacted. They had witnessed this countless times before. Their captain never relied on shouting or reckless displays of fury. His immaculate appearance, unwavering composure, and quiet confidence were more intimidating than any outburst could ever be. Without another glance at the prisoner, Doflamingo turned on his heel, his feathered coat drifting behind him as his officers silently followed, leaving only the lingering weight of his presence behind.