"What's with that 'no wonder' crap?!" Bullet's furious roar rattled the walls of the brig. "Rayleigh—the Dark King—was the Vice-Captain of the Roger Pirates! His strength is unmatched on this sea! What's wrong with Mr. Rayleigh being my mentor?!"
The veins on his forehead bulged, his crimson eyes blazing. Even chained in Sea Stone, Bullet's rage felt suffocating, like a storm threatening to explode.
"Darren!" he barked, his voice echoing off the metal walls. "If you've got the guts, kill me right here and now! But if you dare insult the Roger Pirates, I'll never forgive you!"
His loyalty to the crew was absolute. Even after parting ways, even after walking a path soaked in blood, that ship—that family—remained sacred to him.
For all his arrogance, the Roger Pirates had treated him not as a monster, but as one of their own.
Gaban tossing him a cigar after yet another humiliating defeat.
Rayleigh's calm smile and gentle words: "Keep going. You'll grow stronger yet."
Shanks and Buggy, those noisy brats, throwing him a ridiculous birthday party on the deck.
Sanbell arm-wrestling him over and over, laughing even as his arm nearly broke.
Drinking terrible homemade rum that poisoned half the crew, then laughing about it for days.
Singing and brawling through freezing snowstorms, until laughter drowned out the cold.
Those were the memories that still burned bright in the ashes of his heart.
So no—he wouldn't tolerate anyone mocking them. Not even Darren.
"Calm down," Darren said, exhaling a lazy stream of smoke. "I didn't mean any disrespect to the Roger Pirates. Political lines aside, I respect their strength. After all, I couldn't beat Roger myself."
That line disarmed Bullet's fury for a moment. His heavy breathing slowed.
"What I meant was…" Darren's eyes narrowed slightly, an enigmatic smile tugging at his lips. "Don't you want to know how I got so strong so fast?"
Bullet froze.
"How you got so strong…?" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Strength came from training, discipline, and the endless grind of pushing beyond one's limits. There were no shortcuts. That was the one truth Bullet believed in.
Yet this man—this Marine—had gone from being his inferior to surpassing him in just a handful of years.
Worse still, he'd mastered Demon Form—a technique Bullet had spent a full year perfecting—in mere seconds.
The memory still burned.
Bullet ground his teeth, realizing with painful clarity that he'd brought this humiliation upon himself.
If he hadn't run his mouth, if he hadn't bragged about how his form worked—
No! Even then, he would've figured it out in twenty seconds instead of five!
Damn it! What difference does that even make?!
His shoulders slumped in defeat.
Darren chuckled softly, sensing the shift. "Don't feel bad. It wasn't because you let something slip."
Bullet glared at him. "Then what was it?!"
"…Because I'm just strong enough," Darren said simply, with a grin that somehow managed to be both casual and infuriating.
Bullet's lips twitched. He wanted to punch that smug face right off.
"Relax," Darren continued, his tone light. "It's not arrogance. It's truth. The reason I could master your technique so easily is because my body's already been pushed to its limits. Most people, even if they understood the method, couldn't handle it."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "You, at least, should know that. Strength comes with a cost. Most bodies would collapse before they even reached that stage."
Bullet said nothing.
Darren's smirk faded, replaced by something quieter—steadier. "Bullet… you've spent your life chasing the title of 'World's Strongest.' I get it. But if I hand you over to Impel Down, that dream dies."
Bullet's eyes darkened. The thought alone sent a cold shiver crawling up his spine.
He'd never been there, but he'd heard enough.
A pit of despair where sunlight never touched. Starvation, torture, madness—the kind of place that stripped even monsters of their will to fight.
A lifetime spent rotting in that hell would break any man. Even him.
And meanwhile, Darren would still be out there. Growing stronger. Leaving him behind forever.
His fist clenched so tight the chains creaked.
"Starting to see it now?" Darren's tone was almost gentle. "A man like you shouldn't waste away in a cage. This sea deserves a fighter like Douglas Bullet. Someone who stands tall, no matter the odds."
He smiled faintly. "Just as you see me as your rival, I see you as mine. The world would be a boring place without you, Bullet."
Bullet scoffed, his pride rearing back in defiance. "Save your pretty words, Darren. You think I'll be fooled that easily? This sea's overflowing with monsters—Kaido, Big Mom, Ochoku, John, Whitebeard, and above them all, the Captain himself! I don't need your pity or your invitation."
He spat the words like venom. "I'll never join your damn Shichibukai!"
Darren didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled—a slow, knowing smile that made Bullet's gut twist.
"No, Bullet. You still don't get it."
He rose from his stool, smoke coiling from the end of his cigar as his voice deepened.
"Yes, this sea is full of powerful people. But power alone doesn't make greatness."
"Kaido, that so-called 'Strongest Creature,' hides in Wano, drowning himself in sake and fantasies of conquest."
"Charlotte Linlin—consumed by gluttony, enslaved by her own cravings."
"Ochoku and John? Relics. Shadows of an age long gone."
"As for Whitebeard… a kind old man playing house, calling himself 'Father.' A titan who's forgotten what it means to conquer."
He exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke, his eyes gleaming like molten steel.
"And Roger…" His voice softened. "I don't mean to insult him. But he wasn't a true pirate, either."
Bullet's head snapped up, fury blazing anew. "Watch your mouth, Darren!"
Darren didn't look away. His tone, though calm, cut like a blade.
"He wasn't a conqueror," he said simply. "He didn't seek to rule or to dominate. He wanted to find something. A dreamer, not a ruler."
He took a slow step forward, his gaze locking with Bullet's. "And that's fine. The world needs dreamers. But you and I…"
The air thickened, his voice dropping to a low, resonant murmur.
"…We're not dreamers."
"We're conquerors."
He stood over Bullet now, shadow swallowing the dim lamplight, his presence almost suffocating.
"In this vast ocean," Darren said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, "there's only you and me."
"Only we, Douglas Bullet, are fit to stand at the summit."
"Only you and I are true conquerors!"
The air seemed to tremble with those words.
Bullet's breath hitched—somewhere between awe and rage. His pulse hammered in his ears, the weight of Darren's conviction pressing against his chest.
For the first time since his defeat, he couldn't bring himself to speak.
And deep within his heart, an ember that had long been smothered… flickered back to life.
To be continued...