The Greatest Disgrace in Marine History Chapter 656 - 175: They Don’t Even Show an Old Man Any Respe

A violent shockwave, thick with dust, rolled across the military port, sending Marines ducking by reflex, eyes wide with disbelief.

"W-what was that...?"

"What just happened?"

"Sothing fell from the sky!"

"A teor?"

"Use your head—if it were a teor, the whole port would be gone!"

...

Smoke billowed, swallowing the scene. The furious battle cut off as if a blade had severed sound itself. For a long breath, the vast port knew only silence.

Then the cold sea wind began to peel the haze away.

The five Shichibukai, who monts ago were tearing at one another, had drawn apart. Faces unreadable, they watched from a wary distance.

Two swords.

One black, one white—two slender ito driven deep into the earth.

Their impact had gouged a crater ten ters wide, and, like gashes dividing a map, the blades split the field cleanly: Doflamingo from Mihawk; Fisher Tiger from Crocodile and Moria.

Reactions rippled through the five in starkly different ways.

Doflamingo blinked, then let a low, sinister chuckle slip.

Fisher Tiger exhaled and eased his hands down from his Fish-Man Karate stance.

Mihawk’s hawk-bright eyes flared; his sword hand trembled once.

Moria and Crocodile went still, pupils pinning; cold sweat beaded along their brows.

Silence pressed down.

"Vice Admiral Darren’s swords!"

"Enma! And... A no Habakiri!"

"Vice Admiral Darren is back!"

...

Gasps broke, then cheers. Marines craned toward the sea, eager for the figure they knew would follow.

"That guy and his timing..." Doberman muttered atop the rampart, fingers loosening from his hilt with a wry smile.

"That’s just his style, isn’t it?" Yamakaji chuckled.

Gion’s eyes shone; she let out a soft breath.

Truth be told, the instant Sengoku spoke, the Headquarters cadre had been poised to move. But at the sight of those two blades, the knot in their chests unraveled.

Sowhere along the line, they had learned to trust the man they half-jokingly called the Marine Disgrace without reservation.

He had a way of making people feel safe—of making catastrophe look manageable simply by standing there.

Reality had borne it out again and again.

He hadn’t even arrived in person. The re presence of his rarely used swords had made five arrogant Warlords tread as if on thin ice.

In all of Marine Headquarters, perhaps only Darren could manage that.

"Hey. You’ve had your fun. That’s enough," a tired, low voice drifted from above. "This is Marine Headquarters, not your private arena."

Heads snapped up. Eyes went wide.

Two figures glided across the cloudless sky, one leading, one following.

In front, a tall, imposing man stood upon a gleaming ito as if born to it, arms slightly spread, a mountain’s poise in the set of his shoulders. Short black hair lifted in the wind; deep-set eyes shone like distant stars. A broad white cloak stread behind a razor-straight black suit.

He looked down on the port like a sovereign surveying his realm—and drew unabashed, hungry stares. More than a few female officers went starry-eyed.

Behind him, Garp wobbled cheerfully on another ito, dog-headed cap bobbing as he grinned like a kid riding a new toy.

Out at sea, the Dog-Head Battleship churned along, a miserable figure at the prow gnashing his teeth and hopping in place.

Darren touched down lightly, a faint, effortless smile on his lips.

His gaze passed over Doflamingo and the rest. "Give so face. Let’s end this farce here."

He paused, then added with a lazy curl of his fingers as arcs crackled between them, "Of course... if anyone insists on pushing it—"

Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!

Four razor-straight sword beams snapped into place, cutting the wind as they speared down to hover at his back, points leveled at the Warlords.

"I’m ready anyti."

The world held its breath.

On the rampart, Sengoku drew himself up in all a fleet admiral’s dignity, shook his head, and sighed theatrically. "These fools won’t give an old man any respect... how could they possibly—"

"Vice Admiral Darren has done great things for Fish-Man Island," Fisher Tiger said suddenly. He t Darren’s eyes and gave a solemn nod, then folded his arms and stepped back.

Darren’s smile touched his eyes.

Doflamingo withdrew his web of threads with a cold chuckle. "Heh heh heh... fighting the Marines is so boring."

Mihawk said nothing. He set the Black Blade at his back; his gaze burned across the distance to Darren, heavy with unsaid words.

Crocodile’s face went iron. "The Shichibukai don’t answer to Marine orders," he rasped.

Darren spared him a dismissive glance, then flashed a wolfish grin. "You seem attached to that golden hook. Need to forge you another?"

Crocodile’s expression locked.

The remark rippled through the ranks. Marines stared, breath catching, at the gleam of that hook.

Could it be...? Was it Vice Admiral Darren who took Crocodile’s hand? And Crocodile wasn’t the only Warlord missing a limb...

"Wait—you too?!" Moria turned on Crocodile, voice sinking to a stunned whisper.

Crocodile didn’t answer. Veins stood out along his temple; rage twisted his features.

The Marines finally drew the line between the points. Had Darren—alone—left all these scars?

Up on the wall, senior officers traded looks thick with resignation—and a hint of helpless amusent. They’d already had this conversation.

"Hey. Team up," Moria snarled suddenly, eyes bloodshot, stare knifing into Darren. "He’s getting too full of himself. Together, we can take him."

The words seed to jolt Crocodile. He took a long breath, shot Moria a withering look, forced the fury down—and turned away.

Moria: ...

"Fine! I’ll let it go this ti!" Moria spat, retreating as well.

"Excellent," Darren said, satisfaction warm in his voice. "The Shichibukai are allies of the Marines. Let’s aim for peaceful cooperation going forward."

And then—

Clap.

Clap clap.

Clap clap clap!!

Applause spread in concentric waves, Marines flushing with excitent as the sound swelled into a rolling thunder.

"Looks like Vice Admiral Darren has more pull than I thought..." Borsalino drawled, stretching lazily, as if speaking only to himself.

Tsuru: ...

Sengoku’s face darkened like a pot gone sooty on the fire.

To be continued...