Hearing Darren's brazen words, Stussy felt her composure falter for the first time. Beneath her mask, her alluring eyes widened in disbelief.
Is this man even human?
The Queen of the Pleasure District, Stussy, and CP0's Senior Agent, Fox—aren't they the same person?!
That insufferable bastard!
"You… you can't do this…"
The Marine Vice Admiral leaned closer, his sheer presence overwhelming her. His scent, his shadow, the heat rolling off him—it all pressed in, stirring an involuntary flush beneath her mask.
"Don't…"
Her voice trembled. She tried to retreat, but her limbs refused to obey. Before she could react, glints of metal whipped out from the darkness—thin steel tendrils slithering like serpents, coiling around her wrists and ankles. In an instant, she was bound to a cold wooden table.
Stussy's breath quickened, her body pinned, her heartbeat echoing in the hollow silence of the abandoned warehouse.
"You damned bastard…" she hissed—but then her voice caught. Her pupils widened slightly, as if she'd sensed something far more dangerous than shackles.
"Heh. Miss Fox," Darren murmured near her ear, his tone light but edged with mockery, "your body seems to disagree with your mouth."
Her cheeks flamed. "N-no way…"
The Sea Stone restraints sapped her strength, leaving her body oddly numb yet excruciatingly sensitive. Every touch, every shift in the air, sent ripples through her nerves. The strange mixture of weakness and awareness twisted her composure into something dangerously close to confusion.
The cold warehouse. The chains. The suffocating presence of the man beside her. The humiliation of being restrained, her mask concealing her expression from view—all of it mixed into something she couldn't quite name.
Under Darren's calm, taunting gaze, something deep inside her burned to life, making her feel as though she'd lost control of her own body.
"Oh? Really?" Darren drawled, amusement flickering across his face. "Then perhaps we should stop here?"
Stussy bit down hard on her lip, refusing to answer. Her eyes shimmered, the fire behind them fighting to stay hidden.
It's fine. I'm not Stussy right now. I'm Fox—Agent of CP0.
...That doesn't count.
---
Time trickled by in silence.
Marine Headquarters, Marineford — Military Port.
"Why hasn't Fox returned yet? Something's wrong…"
Lone Wolf, another CP0 agent, paced restlessly on the deck of the World Government's official vessel, hands clasped behind his back. Beneath his mask, anxiety creased his brow.
Fox had been gone an hour on her intelligence mission, and still no sign of her return. Unease gnawed at him, cold and relentless.
"Could something have happened to her?" he muttered under his breath.
He couldn't deny it—his feelings for Fox ran deep. It was the reason he had volunteered to accompany her to Marine Headquarters, hoping proximity might win him favor in her eyes.
That same pride had driven his arrogance earlier, during their audience with Sengoku.
Their orders had been simple: press the Fleet Admiral to expedite the investigation into the assassination of a Shichibukai candidate. But Lone Wolf had let his ego and jealousy take the lead.
With Fox standing beside him, he had wanted to impress her—to wield the authority of CP0 and the World Government as a weapon of pride, humiliating Sengoku in front of his own Marines.
It had all gone perfectly—until that Marine appeared.
Without warning, without pretense, without even the restraint of protocol, he'd simply drawn his blades and attacked.
The memory of those three legendary Meito blades flashing before his eyes sent a cold shiver down Lone Wolf's spine.
He knew, beyond doubt, that if Sengoku hadn't intervened, he would have been cut down where he stood.
The Marine's madness, his killing intent—it was absolute.
"Should I… go back and check?" Lone Wolf murmured, the thought creeping in despite himself. But the moment he remembered that man's bloodthirsty grin, his courage faltered.
Then—a flicker of motion on the horizon. A small, familiar silhouette leapt lightly aboard the vessel.
"Fox! You're back!" Lone Wolf rushed forward in relief, though his joy quickly shifted to alarm. "Are you hurt?"
Even beneath her mask, he could sense her fatigue—her aura flickering weakly, her movements sluggish, her breath uneven.
"I ran into that Marine," she rasped. "We fought."
"That bastard!" Lone Wolf's voice erupted with fury. "He dared—!" He cut himself off, teeth grinding in rage. "I'll report this the moment we return!"
Fox shot him a cool glance. "No need. I'm just tired. I'll rest in my cabin."
"Of course, of course. Rest well—I'll have the cook bring you something hot later." His tone softened, dripping with concern.
She gave a curt nod and disappeared into the cabin.
As the door shut, Lone Wolf's polite façade melted into a snarl. "Rogers Darren… you'll pay for this," he muttered, venom thick in his voice.
He steadied himself and ordered his men to set sail. But just as he turned, a faint scent pricked at his senses.
"…Blood?" he murmured, frowning beneath his mask. His eyes flicked toward the cabin door. "So she really was hurt. Damn that Marine… he'll regret this."
His fist clenched tightly.
---
Inside the dim cabin, an oil lamp flickered weakly, casting trembling shadows across the wooden walls.
Stussy leaned against the door, her strength finally gone. Slowly, she slid down until she sat on the floor, the exhaustion of body and spirit catching up all at once.
With trembling fingers, she reached up and removed the fox mask. Her flushed, tear-dampened face emerged into the light—seductive, yes, but softened now by fatigue and frustration. Her lips parted, drawing in uneven breaths that clouded faintly in the cool air.
Her gaze drifted, unfocused, before narrowing in anger.
Through clenched teeth, she whispered, "He told me not to take off the mask… that despicable, shameless bastard."
To be continued...