The bonfire roared beneath the starlit sky, sparks spiraling upward like fleeting embers. The smell of roasted meat and spiced wine mingled with the sea breeze, laughter echoing across the clearing.
"Hahahaha! Newgate, it's been ages! Still as strong as ever, I see!" Roger slung an arm around Whitebeard's massive shoulders, his face flushed from drink. He leaned close, breathing hotly into his rival's ear. "But what's with that receding hairline of yours, eh?"
With a mischievous grin, Roger snatched Whitebeard's captain's hat and pretended to gape in mock horror.
The Whitebeard Pirates froze.
A vein bulged on Whitebeard's forehead as he ground his teeth. "After all this time, you're still the same insufferable bastard, Roger."
But then a sly grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Heard a rumor you got your pants pulled down?"
Roger's smile vanished.
"That was an accident! A total accident!" he barked, leaping to his feet, his face turning crimson.
Whitebeard's deep laughter boomed across the camp. "That's not what I heard. Word is, that little Marine brat nearly sank your whole fleet during the Edd War."
The Roger Pirates stiffened, mortified.
Whitebeard threw his head back and roared with laughter, his massive frame shaking.
"That Marine brat's a menace," Roger muttered darkly. "He's given me trouble more than once."
At the mention of that name, both crews fell silent.
Over decades of blood and sea spray, they had faced the strongest Marines alive—Garp, Sengoku, even Zephyr—but none had left such a bitter taste in their mouths as that one man: the so-called "King of the North Blue."
Roger took a deep swig from his flask, exhaling through his nose. "Forget about him."
Then, as if remembering something, his eyes glinted with mischief. "Hey, Newgate, I've got a favor to ask."
Whitebeard raised a brow, his tone flat. "I refuse."
Roger blinked. "I didn't even say what it was yet!"
Whitebeard gave him a long, unimpressed look. "Every time you 'ask a favor,' it ends in chaos."
"Don't be like that," Roger said, laughing awkwardly. "This one's small. Really."
Whitebeard crossed his arms. "Spit it out."
Roger grinned and pointed at the samurai sitting a few paces away, happily gnawing on a bone.
"I want to borrow Oden! Let him join my crew!"
Oden froze mid-bite, staring at Roger, the piece of meat hanging comically from his mouth.
"Impossible!" Whitebeard's voice boomed. His expression hardened instantly. "Roger, what the hell are you thinking? Oden is my brother!"
"I'd grant you any other request, but not this one!"
Roger's grin faltered. He knew Whitebeard's nature—once the man drew a line, nothing could move him.
But Roger didn't have time. His illness was eating him alive, and to reach the end of the Grand Line—to uncover the world's final secret—he needed someone who could read the ancient Poneglyphs.
He took a deep breath, then—
Thud!
Roger dropped to his knees.
The sudden sound rang louder than thunder. Both crews fell silent in disbelief.
"Newgate, I'm begging you."
Roger's voice was steady, but raw.
"Just for one year. I swear I'll return him safely."
"I'm dying, Newgate. I don't have much time left… All I want is to reach the ends of the world before I go. But I can't do it without him."
He bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the ground.
The King of the Pirates—the man who'd defied the world—now knelt before his rival, humbling himself for his dream.
The entire island held its breath.
---
New World – Pleasure District.
The moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, painting the room in silver and shadow.
The suite reeked faintly of perfume, wine, and sin.
A luxurious bed lay in disarray—sheets tangled, garments torn to ribbons.
A woman sprawled across the mattress, her skin slick with sweat, the faint shimmer of exhaustion in her flushed cheeks. Long golden hair, slightly damp, clung to her shoulders. Two black bat-like wings trembled weakly on her back before retracting into her body.
"Her Majesty doesn't last very long, huh?" Darren drawled lazily. "I thought Mythical Zoans had better endurance."
Lounging on a leather sofa, he wore a loose bathrobe, a cigar between his teeth and a glass of whiskey in hand. His gaze was amused, almost predatory.
From where he sat, he could see the graceful curve of her waist as she tugged the crumpled duvet up to cover herself. The way her back arched—delicate, pale, defiant—only deepened his smirk.
"The power of the Vampire Model isn't about brute strength," Stussy muttered through clenched teeth, glaring at him. "Even an awakened Zoan can't match your body."
The memory of her own surrender made her flush scarlet. She bit her lip and looked away, seething.
Darren chuckled softly, the sound low and amused. Seeing the famed "Queen of the Pleasure District" reduced to this—her poise shattered, her voice trembling—was almost too perfect.
Three days had passed since Bullet's capture.
After recovering, Bullet had salvaged the battleship's parts to rebuild a small submarine and vanished into the deep.
Darren didn't stop him. The Shichibukai had their freedoms—so long as they didn't cross the line.
Once Bullet left, Darren handed command of the fleet to Borsalino and headed straight for the Pleasure District.
"I'm here for intelligence," he said matter-of-factly, tapping his temple as if he'd only just remembered.
"Intelligence, huh?" Stussy echoed with an arched brow. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Her tone dripped with venom. She could still hear his earlier taunt—You wouldn't want your cipher-pol passcode getting out, would you?
He had her cornered. In every possible way.
"Right, right," Darren said lightly. "Almost forgot."
He reached into his uniform pocket, retrieving a folded piece of paper, and held it out to her.
"I want everything you can dig up on these people. Where they are, what they can do, their histories—everything."
Stussy took the list, her expression sharpening.
The more she learned about Rogers Darren, the more she realized how dangerous he truly was. His strength was terrifying, but his mind was far worse—methodical, patient, calculating. Every move he made had purpose.
She scanned the paper. Her brows furrowed. The names were unfamiliar.
Dracule Mihawk.
Fisher Tiger.
Gekko Moria.
Boa Hancock.
"Who... who are these people?" Stussy narrowed her eyes, fixing Darren with a sharp, questioning gaze.
To be continued...