The first sensation Darren felt was the cool caress of the wind.
From far away, the cheerful cries of seagulls drifted toward him, mingling with the rhythmic sounds of military drills.
With great effort, Darren forced open his heavy eyelids, a sliver of bright light piercing through his blurred vision.
Am I dead?
It hurts... so much...
Long hours of unconsciousness had left his mind hazy.
It felt as if every bone in his body had been shattered, his chest burning with unbearable pain.
He lay there for a long ti, enduring the suffocating agony, until he slowly, barely, began to adapt. His dry throat rasped as he drew a faint breath.
"I'm still alive."
He muttered hoarsely.
He was alive — truly alive — having survived a direct encounter with the man who would one day beco the King of the Pirates.
Lying on a soft hospital bed, Darren was wrapped from head to toe in bloodstained bandages, with tubes inserted in various places. His face was as pale as a ghost.
Yet despite it all, he couldn't help but laugh.
Laugh freely, deeply.
Though, in the final monts before collapse, he hadn't managed to seriously wound Roger —
at least he had managed to take a small piece of revenge.
"What's so funny?"
A cold, clear voice broke through the air.
Darren turned his head with difficulty — and t a striking face.
Her long black hair was tied back simply into a ponytail, her sharp eyes slightly upturned, giving her a fierce yet refined air.
"Seeing such a beautiful face the mont I wake up...
of course I'm happy."
He grinned weakly at Gion, who looked worn out — clearly having sat by his side for a long ti.
Gion averted her eyes, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.
She snorted coldly:
"If you have the strength to talk nonsense, you're not dying anyti soon."
Darren chuckled.
"Seeing you makes feel much better, Lieutenant Commander Gion."
But before he could say more—
"And ! And ! Hahaha, Darren — aren't you happy to see too?"
A very rough-looking face suddenly shoved itself into his view, beaming with excitent.
In one hand, Tokikake held a half-peeled banana, the other already gnawing at it.
"Darren, you know what? You're a celebrity in Marineford now!
Okay, maybe not quite at my genius level yet — but still, everyone's talking about you!"
"The rising star of the Marines who fought Gol D. Roger face-to-face... and left a mark!"
"And also—"
"Tokikake...?"
Darren couldn't help interrupting.
"Huh? What? Tell !"
Tokikake leaned in anxiously.
After the incidents with Byrnndi World and Roger, even if Tokikake wouldn't admit it out loud, he had already truly accepted Darren in his heart.
"Are you feeling unwell?
Should I go get the doctor?
Or maybe you're hungry?
They said you have to fast for a few more days, you know — your internal organs are still badly injured—"
"Could you...
maybe just...
move your face back a little?"
Plop.
A chunk of banana fell to the floor.
Tokikake blinked.
Darren blinked back at him.
"You're just jealous because I'm so handso!"
Tokikake grumbled bitterly, retreating to a corner of the room where he began tearing open a fresh fruit basket in frustration.
Darren couldn't help laughing again.
His mood...
was definitely improving.
He turned back toward Gion.
"This place...
it's Marineford, right?"
He quickly scanned the surroundings.
White walls.
Ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead.
The sharp sll of disinfectant and blood hanging in the air.
Monitors beeping steadily beside him, flashing gentle lights.
The environnt was all too familiar.
Gion nodded.
"That's right.
This is the central ward at headquarters.
We arrived just a few hours ago."
Darren frowned slightly.
"How long was I out?"
"Three days."
Darren was silent for a mont, then let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.
"Looks like I really nearly overplayed my hand this ti."
Ever since his physical strength had surpassed human limits — hardened to the resilience of steel —
he had never suffered such grievous injuries.
Three full days of unconsciousness.
"I'm still far from enough..."
He muttered.
Facing Roger's blade — a strike so fierce that even spirits would flee —
if he hadn't managed to awaken Conqueror's Haki and instinctively activate Armant Haki at the last mont,
even his monstrous endurance would not have saved him from being split in half.
More importantly, in that split second, Darren had used his Magnet-Magnet Fruit powers to subtly apply repulsion against Roger's supre-grade sword, blunting its force.
Comparing everything now —
he finally realized that Byrnndi World, the so-called "World Destroyer" was nowhere near Roger's level in true combat strength.
And by extension —
those who could clash evenly with Roger for days and nights — n like Vice Admiral Garp, Whitebeard, and the Golden Lion —
how terrifying must they truly be?
"The summit of this sea..."
Darren's eyes glead faintly.
"Hahaha! Darren — heard you finally woke up!"
A hearty laugh echoed from outside the room.
Carrying a fruit basket, Dragon pushed open the door and strode in, grinning broadly.
"Rear Admiral Dragon."
Gion and Tokikake, cheeks stuffed with apples, imdiately stood up and saluted.
Dragon waved off the formalities with a smile, turning toward Darren.
"Feeling any better?
On the return trip, it was mostly Tokikake and Gion taking shifts looking after you.
The ship's dical staff were completely overwheld dealing with all the wounded."
"As for and the old man... well, you know we're not exactly caretakers."
He scratched his head sheepishly.
Most of the trip back, he and Garp had just slept.
"Much better," Darren said with a small smile.
He glanced at Gion and Tokikake —
a warm feeling rising quietly within him.
"Good.
You'd better recover fast —
the Officer Training Camp's opening ceremony is in two days."
"Soone like the 'King of the North Blue' can't exactly be absent from such an important event."
Dragon chuckled warmly.
After speaking, he suddenly raised an eyebrow, his expression turning playful.
"Looks like a particularly annoying guy's on his way.
An old acquaintance of yours."
Darren blinked.
Steady, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.
Each step was precise, hard, chanical —
like the swing of an iron pendulum.
Monts later, a tall, oppressive figure appeared at the doorway.
Just standing there, he radiated an intense, cold pressure —
a solid wall of iron and discipline.
---
To be continued...
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