"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-rimmed glasses, an afro that looked ready to explode, and that familiar sharp, booming voice.
"Hmm, you haven't disappointed me, 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 shameless bastard!
Sengoku chuckled, clearly pleased by the flattery. "Good. That's the kind of teamwork I like to hear about. Now tell me — 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 mean to tell me not a single man died?"
"That's right," Darren confirmed calmly.
For several seconds, the only sound over the line was the soft hiss of the Den Den Mushi's static. Then Sengoku sighed — somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
"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 shamelessness knows no limits!
Sengoku chuckled anyway, the Den Den Mushi's cheeks puffing with laughter. "Don't give me 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 recruitment 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 government 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 moment'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 metal 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 moment he saw that familiar figure seated in the corner, his fury reignited.
"Darren!!"
His bloodshot eyes gleamed 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 me!" 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 plume of smoke. "Besides, you really think you can win now?"
Bullet's jaw clenched until his teeth ground audibly. "Then kill me! I'll never join your pathetic government!"
His voice dripped with venom. "I'd rather die than become 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 me of our old cell back under Kaido."
Bullet fell silent. His fury simmered, but his eyes flickered with recognition. Memories 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 something." He leaned forward, elbows resting casually on his knees. "Back then, you were stronger than me. 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 some incredible teachers aboard the Oro Jackson," Darren said thoughtfully. "Top-tier mentors, legendary fighters… plenty of people to learn from."
He tilted his head. "And yet, despite that, you came up with something 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 gleamed with quiet amusement.
"I see. That explains a lot."
To be continued...