"Yes, Admiral Sengoku — Douglas Bullet has been successfully captured and is now secured in the ship’s brig."
The cool sea breeze drifted lazily across the deck, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and smoke. Darren and Borsalino lay side by side on reclining deck chairs, sprawled out like a pair of overfed sea lions, cigars dangling from their mouths.
Between them sat a small table holding a Den Den Mushi that perfectly mimicked Sengoku’s features — black-rimd glasses, an afro that looked ready to explode, and that familiar sharp, booming voice.
"Hmm, you haven’t disappointed , Darren," Sengoku said, his smile stretching wide across the snail’s face. "I knew entrusting you with the Buster Call authority would pay off."
Darren took a slow sip of whiskey, his voice even and composed. "You’re too kind, Admiral. The three senior officers and nearly ten thousand Marines under your command played an equally vital role. I couldn’t have done it without them."
Behind him, the three Headquarters Vice Admirals stiffened, mouths twitching in unison.
Equal role? We were drinking tea while you fought a demon, you shaless bastard!
Sengoku chuckled, clearly pleased by the flattery. "Good. That’s the kind of teamwork I like to hear about. Now tell — casualties? Our intelligence indicated Bullet’s firepower rivaled a full-scale Buster Call. Even with his Devil Fruit neutralized, I can’t imagine it was an easy battle."
"Zero casualties," Darren said simply.
A long, heavy silence followed.
"...Zero?" Sengoku repeated at last. "You an to tell not a single man died?"
"That’s right," Darren confird calmly.
For several seconds, the only sound over the line was the soft hiss of the Den Den Mushi’s static. Then Sengoku sighed — sowhere between disbelief and amusent.
"Darren," he said slowly, "what exactly do you plan to do with Bullet?"
"The decision is yours, Admiral," Darren replied smoothly, his tone humble. "I only followed your orders. Without your leadership and foresight, we could never have achieved such success."
Behind him, the Vice Admirals nearly choked.
This man’s shalessness knows no limits!
Sengoku chuckled anyway, the Den Den Mushi’s cheeks puffing with laughter. "Don’t give that North Blue smooth talk, kid! You’re worse than Garp when he’s begging for doughnuts."
The three Vice Admirals exchanged helpless glances. Even the Admiral’s trying not to laugh. Incredible...
Sengoku’s tone shifted back to business. "Enough flattery. If recruitnt fails, we’ll have no choice but to send Douglas Bullet straight to Impel Down."
Darren nodded, his expression sobering. "Understood. But convincing him will be difficult. Bullet’s pride is everything. To him, the idea of becoming a governnt lapdog is the ultimate humiliation."
He flicked ash from his cigar. "Still, I’ll do what I can."
Sengoku nodded, his tone firm. "Then I’ll leave it in your hands."
The Den Den Mushi’s eyes drooped shut as the call ended.
Darren stretched, rolling his shoulders with a sigh. "Never a mont’s rest..." he muttered, cigar bobbing between his lips as he turned toward the lower decks.
---
The ship’s brig reeked of blood and salt. Rusting tal groaned with the rhythm of the waves. An oil lamp swayed gently from its hook, casting jagged shadows across the cold iron walls.
When Bullet’s eyes finally snapped open, his vision blurred with pain — but the mont he saw that familiar figure seated in the corner, his fury reignited.
"Darren!!"
His bloodshot eyes glead crimson, body tensing to lunge forward — but the Sea Stone shackles embedded in the wall yanked him back, chains clanking uselessly.
"Save your energy," Darren said evenly. "I know that constitution of yours. Those shackles are near maximum purity Sea Stone. You’re not breaking them."
The lamp flickered, revealing Darren’s calm, sharp profile. He sat on a stool, legs crossed, cigar glowing faintly red in the darkness. His expression was half amused, half bored.
"If you’ve got any guts left, release !" Bullet snarled. "We’ll settle this one-on-one!"
Darren arched an eyebrow. "Are you brain-damaged from all that muscle training? I nearly died getting you here, and you think I’ll just let you go?"
He exhaled a lazy plu of smoke. "Besides, you really think you can win now?"
Bullet’s jaw clenched until his teeth ground audibly. "Then kill ! I’ll never join your pathetic governnt!"
His voice dripped with venom. "I’d rather die than beco one of their lapdogs!"
"Relax," Darren said lightly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I’m not here to lecture you. I just wanted to talk. This place..." — he gestured to the cold, damp walls — "feels nostalgic, doesn’t it? Reminds of our old cell back under Kaido."
Bullet fell silent. His fury simred, but his eyes flickered with recognition. mories of those dark, bitter years in the Beasts Pirates’ prison crept unbidden into his mind.
"What do you want to talk about?" he growled finally, his tone still cold but no longer murderous.
Darren smiled. "I was just curious about sothing." He leaned forward, elbows resting casually on his knees. "Back then, you were stronger than . Way stronger. So how is it," he asked with mock innocence, "that I can kick your ass now?"
"YOU—!" Bullet’s crimson eyes bulged. His body trembled with rage, the chains rattling violently as if his fury alone might snap them.
Darren blinked innocently. "Calm down. I’m just asking a question."
"Darren! You’ve gone too far!" Bullet roared, his entire face turning red as a vein pulsed on his forehead. He coughed hard, spitting up a splash of blood.
Darren sighed. "See? Look at you — you’re going to pop a vein at this rate. Relax. I’m not mocking you."
He took another drag of his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the dark. "I’m genuinely curious. You were part of Roger’s crew, weren’t you?"
Bullet scowled. "What about it?"
"Then you must’ve had so incredible teachers aboard the Oro Jackson," Darren said thoughtfully. "Top-tier ntors, legendary fighters... plenty of people to learn from."
He tilted his head. "And yet, despite that, you ca up with sothing as sophisticated as Demon Form all on your own... and I mastered it in less than an hour. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?"
Bullet stiffened. His eyes narrowed. "So what if it does?"
Darren’s smile turned sly. "I’m just curious, that’s all. Who trained you while you sailed with Roger?"
A long silence. Then Bullet lifted his chin proudly. "The Dark King—Rayleigh."
Darren paused, blinking. "Rayleigh?"
"Damn right," Bullet spat. "The one and only."
A low whistle escaped Darren’s lips. "No wonder..." he murmured, a strange mix of respect and realization in his tone. "So that’s the kind of teacher who shaped you."
He leaned back in his chair, smoke curling around his face as his eyes glead with quiet amusent.
"I see. That explains a lot."
To be continued...
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