"You’re not in the North Blue anymore, kid. You can’t go around stirring up trouble whenever you feel like it."
Zephyr wasn’t wearing his usual sunglasses, so Darren could clearly see the steely glint in his eyes.
"This ti, the Marines managed to defend Marineford. And you deserve a large part of the credit."
"With what you’ve accomplished, you’ve earned enough military rit to step into the core leadership circle of Headquarters."
"Admirals, officers, even the public—all of them hold you in high esteem now. If you were to do sothing reckless with Big Mom..."
The warning wasn’t explicit, but Zephyr trusted Darren’s intelligence and instincts. He would read between the lines.
Darren got the ssage loud and clear.
You’re overthinking it, old man.
You really think I’d go that far?
The grotesque image of Big Mom’s bloated, monstrous form from the Original Story flashed through his mind. A chill ran down his spine.
He sighed, then managed a weary smile.
"Don’t worry, Zephyr-sensei. There’s no way I’d ever get involved with her."
Zephyr gave him a sidelong glance, unconvinced.
"I heard you used to have a thing for older won back in the North Blue. And Charlotte Linlin may be older, but... she’s still got a certain charm."
Cough! Cough!
Darren choked on his cigar smoke.
Even with his thick skin, that accusation landed hard.
"I’ve got zero interest in her, I swear."
"Then why is she interested in you?"
"Because she wants my body! She’s crazy—wants to have my kids!" Darren growled, jaw tight.
Zephyr studied him for a mont longer, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
"Alright. I just wanted to be sure."
Then he added casually, "As for Gion... I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything."
Darren exhaled in relief.
But Zephyr wasn’t finished.
"There’s also the matter of your graduation."
"As per tradition, every class in the Elite Officer Training Camp has a formal graduation ceremony. At that ceremony, the top graduate delivers a speech."
"This year, you’re the top candidate. No question."
"So start writing. You’ll be addressing your peers—and the generation that cos after you. Say sothing worth rembering."
Zephyr’s mouth twitched slightly, as if recalling sothing unpleasant.
Darren, sharp-eyed as ever, caught the shift.
"Sothing wrong, Zephyr-sensei?"
Zephyr grimaced like he’d just bitten into sothing sour.
"It’s nothing," he said with a wave of his hand. "Just... focus on your speech. I trust you, kid."
He definitely wasn’t about to recount the traumatic speeches from the previous two top graduates—both of which had been so unhinged they nearly caused political incidents.
With a pat on Darren’s shoulder, Zephyr turned and left the room.
---
Ten days passed.
In that ti, Darren tasted a rare luxury: paid dical leave.
He finally understood why Borsalino clung so dearly to his idle lifestyle.
Thanks to his rank and war record, he was granted a top-tier suite—the kind reserved for Vice Admirals and above.
The dical team was excellent, the nurses attentive, the als first-class.
And best of all was Toki, who stayed by his side every day, preparing nutritious als and fussing over him like a devoted wife.
Life was... good.
As for Gion?
She’d been livid at first when she heard Big Mom had targeted Darren.
But her anger quickly evaporated after seeing the extent of his injuries.
And under Darren’s "gentle persuasion," she had—albeit begrudgingly—participated in several "shaful" role-playing sessions in the privacy of his soundproof VIP room.
---
One morning—
"Mr. Darren, your wounds are fully healed! Your body’s back to peak condition!"
Dr. Aizawa’s eyes widened as she studied the report, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Darren flashed her a relaxed smile, puffing his cigar.
"Co on, Doctor. You of all people should know how strong I am."
She flushed slightly. Despite the crisp professionalism of her white coat and glasses, her shapely figure betrayed a very human softness beneath.
"Mr. Darren..." she murmured, stealing glances at his bare upper body.
His scarred, muscular fra exuded a savage kind of allure—brutal, untad, and undeniably magnetic.
As she lingered, Darren stood, shrugged into a crisp new uniform, adjusted his black tie, and—after a final glance—took her hand.
With a gentle smile, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"Thank you for taking such good care of , Miss Aizawa."
And with that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving the dazed doctor staring after him.
He moved through the corridor and out the main entrance of the military hospital.
There, three imposing figures were already waiting for him.
Sakazuki stood straight as a spear, his sharp uniform pressed to perfection, a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. He radiated ruthless, unyielding discipline.
Borsalino slouched nearby, hands buried in his pockets, expression lazy and unfocused—as if his mind were floating sowhere beyond the clouds.
And Kuzan—who’d been practicing jabs in the air—perked up the mont he saw Darren.
"Yo! Darren! Took you long enough!"
Darren smiled and strode toward them.
"Ready?" he asked.
Sakazuki gave him a cold glance. "Your promotion hearing to Vice Admiral is just a formality," he said flatly. "But so fools might still ask... inappropriate questions."
Darren chuckled. "I don’t mind. What about you? Aren’t you worried soone might vote against you?"
Sakazuki said nothing.
He turned sharply and marched toward the Fleet Admiral’s Office, every step radiating grim authority. His cloak billowed behind him like a banner of war.
"They wouldn’t dare," he said.
Darren shrugged.
Yep. That’s Sakazuki for you.
Beside him, Borsalino smirked.
"With that kind of energy," he drawled, "you’d think we were about to start a war..."
To be continued...
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