"Looks like Admiral Sengoku is taking this seriously," Borsalino drawled, strolling lazily across the deck with his usual languid gait. His golden coat fluttered in the salty wind. "He's actually given you the authority to initiate a Buster Call, Darren-kun. That's no small thing."
At the prow of the flagship, Darren stood with his arms folded, gazing at the endless sea. The wind carried the scent of gunpowder and brine, stinging faintly against his skin. He exhaled a thin plume of smoke, a wry smile curving his lips.
"Admiral Sengoku's just being overly cautious," he said lightly. "A Buster Call against Douglas Bullet? That's overkill."
He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping across the horizon.
Beyond the flagship, nine colossal warships sailed in formation, their steel hulls glinting beneath the sun. Each one was a leviathan—towering twenty to thirty meters above the waves, their hulls plated with reinforced steel and heavy oak, bristling with rivets and gunports. They moved as one, their shadows devouring the sea.
Even for Darren, who had personally built the North Blue Fleet from scratch, the sight was staggering.
Each ship was a floating fortress, armed to the teeth. Three massive gun turrets stood upon every deck, each mounting triple cannons the size of sea kings' jaws. Twelve broadside cannons—six armored above, six unarmored below—lined the flanks. Giant paddle wheels churned ceaselessly at their sides, driving them forward with thunderous rhythm.
Layered deck structures rose like pagodas, brimming with rows of uniformed Marines, their weapons gleaming under the sunlight, their eyes sharp with readiness.
This was the Buster Call—Marine Headquarters' most terrifying military sanction, a manifestation of absolute authority and annihilation.
Each ship carried over a thousand elite Marines, handpicked from Headquarters' finest divisions. Ten ships—over ten thousand troops. Among them were a hundred high-ranking officers and five Vice Admirals. It was enough firepower to erase nations, to flatten islands, to scour entire seas of life.
The Buster Call was not designed for precision. It was designed to obliterate.
Authorized by the World Government, it existed to crush anything deemed a threat to their rule. When these ten war beasts sailed together, the sea itself seemed to retreat in fear.
Even Darren, hardened by countless battles, could not deny the awe that stirred in him.
Still, he thought, sending such a force after Douglas Bullet was like using a guillotine to cut a thread.
Borsalino tilted his head, watching him with lazy amusement. "You really think it's just caution?" he said. "Old man Sengoku's not only being careful—he's putting on a show. Flexing Headquarters' muscle a little."
He grinned faintly. "After all, the Marines came out of the Edd War with nothing to brag about. You were the only one who managed to bring home a trophy."
Darren raised an eyebrow, surprised at Borsalino's uncharacteristic candor.
"What's that look for?" Borsalino shrugged. "I'm just a government employee, remember? I've got no secrets worth keeping."
Darren chuckled under his breath.
He wasn't wrong. The Battle of Edd War had been a bitter pill for the Marines. On paper, they had "triumphed," but the truth was far murkier. The storm that destroyed the Flying Pirates had been Dragon's doing—officially written off as a "natural disaster." It couldn't be claimed as a Marine victory.
And the follow-up pursuit under Sengoku's command? That had failed too. Roger's crew slipped through their fingers.
So now, Sengoku was hungry for a clear, undeniable win.
Bullet had simply drawn the short straw.
"It makes sense," Darren murmured. "Sengoku's trying to build momentum—to pave the way for his promotion to Fleet Admiral."
With his rank, experience, and Kong's backing, Sengoku was qualified. But among the Marine legends of his era, he was also the least decorated.
Garp had ended Rocks at God Valley and captured Redfield, earning him eternal glory as the Marines' strongest hero. Zephyr, though he never felled a Great Pirate, had accumulated countless honors and trained generations of Marines who worshiped him.
Sengoku, meanwhile, had strategy and composure—but fewer victories that stirred hearts. His path to Fleet Admiral relied not on his sword or his fists, but on politics.
Darren smiled faintly. No wonder he's taking risks now.
Still, it wasn't a job he envied. To sit at the very top meant endless compromise—juggling egos, politics, and the ever-watchful eye of the World Government. Garp and Zephyr were too proud for that life. Sengoku, for all his brilliance, would spend the rest of his career enduring the weight of that crown.
"So," Borsalino said suddenly, his tone deceptively casual, "I hear you and Bullet were… close."
Darren didn't bother denying it. "We shared a cell in Impel Down once. Fought side by side against Kaido."
"Ahh," Borsalino drawled. "So that's why Sengoku sent you. The Buster Call's just the leash, but you're the one meant to tame the beast."
Darren smirked. "Recruiting Bullet would be far more useful than killing him."
Borsalino grinned, his eyes half-lidded behind his tinted glasses. "If you pull it off, Vice Admiral Darren, that'll make two Shichibukai you've personally recruited. Quite the résumé."
Darren's expression barely changed, though his gaze drifted toward the sea. "Just coincidence," he said quietly. "And they're not my subordinates."
The wind picked up, carrying the smell of smoke.
He turned his head.
Far on the horizon, the dark silhouette of an island loomed beneath a rising pall of gunpowder and fire.
"We're here," Darren said.
Borsalino tipped his head lazily. "I'll hold down the fort."
Darren's boots scraped against the deck as he crouched, then his body blurred. In an instant, he launched skyward, slicing through the air like a black comet.
Borsalino watched him go, a faint smile curling his lips.
"So that's your play, huh..." he murmured softly, sunlight glinting off his glasses. "You've already chosen your next Shichibukai... haven't you, Darren?"
To be continued...