Physique: 0.04!
Darren felt a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his body. Heat flashed through his eyes as his heartbeat climbed.
It's moving!
After so long stuck in place, even a hairline uptick was progress. Tiny as 0.04 was, it was a start.
And that was from a stray breath. If Magellan really cut loose—if Darren let concentrated venom scour him—his Physique gains would soar.
Breathing toxic mist…
Bathing in lethal venom…
Even ingesting poison directly…
A path opened. Darren's gaze flicked to Magellan, carrying a strange, deep gleam.
That awkward kid… a real treasure.
And one with long-term potential. Magellan was still weak, his Venom-Venom Fruit control rough. Under Darren's hand, both power and mastery would rise—so would the potency of Darren's "training."
As the thought settled, the smile on Darren's lips warped, a shade too hungry.
Magellan flinched, a chill running down his back. Vice Admiral Darren's smile is terrifying…
Darren smoothed his face at once. "So, Magellan—what do you say? Will you accept?"
"Your situation is unique. I doubt anyone else can guide you properly."
"But I'm different. You saw it—your venom is potent, but it barely touches me."
As he spoke, he eased a fraction closer, nostrils twitching as he drew in a thin wisp of purple vapor.
Magellan: ...
"I can make you stronger. With my guidance, you might even learn to curb the side effects of your Devil Fruit and live like a normal person."
"R-really?!"
Strength alone didn't move him, but that last promise lit a spark in his tired eyes.
"Instructor Darren… can I really live like a normal person?"
Hope brightened his face as he gripped Darren's hand, forgetting the odd looks and sniffing from moments before.
For Magellan, power wasn't the goal. He wanted control—training and guidance that would keep his venom in check so he could finally live like everyone else. To stop being shunned by comrades and friends—and, most of all, to stop accidentally poisoning anyone he cared about.
No closeness, no friends, not even sharing a meal at the same table—those were wounds no sixteen-year-old should carry.
Beneath the horns and wings, he was just a lonely kid, watching others train and laugh from afar.
Poor kid, Darren thought.
"I can't promise," he said, then gave a gentle smile. "But I'll do my best."
"I promise you, Darren-sensei!" Magellan burst out, face flushed like a drowning man seizing a lifeline.
In that rush, the hand gripping Darren's arm sagged into viscous purple. It hissed and ate into skin.
Darren's smile froze. His face darkened to a deep violet; thin curls of white smoke seeped from his nostrils and ears.
"Ah?!" Magellan reeled, bowing again and again. "I'm so sorry, Darren-sensei! I got too excited! I didn't mean—!"
Darren toppled with a thud, body jerking. Magellan went ice-cold.
It's over… Darren-sensei is going to die again…
Wild with panic, he spun, snatched a military saber from the ground, and set his jaw.
"I'll commit seppuku to atone!"
He flipped the blade and drove it toward his belly.
"Wait—!"
A hand slammed down on the steel.
Magellan stared, stunned, then looked up.
Vice Admiral Darren—foam flecking his lips—bared his teeth in a pained grin. His face was purplish; his voice shook. "I… I'm fine," he rasped.
"N-no, don't stop… keep going…"
What the hell?
Magellan's thoughts buckled.
Foam and blood trailed from Darren's mouth; dark veins knotted on his brow. But his eyes burned, fever-bright, a fierce red.
Physique: 0.07!!
---
Dusk thinned into night. Stars stitched themselves across a velvet sky.
Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
A dormitory at the Marine Academy.
Vergo set down his knife and fork, then lifted a napkin to dab the grease from his lips with practiced grace.
"So… Doffy made you choose Borsalino as your instructor?"
A deep, amused voice spoke from behind him.
Vergo's pupils pinpricked. In one motion he snatched up the utensils and hurled them blind.
A sharp crack split the air. The silverware struck an unseen barrier and hung, quivering.
"Good reflexes. You've improved, Vergo."
The familiarity in the voice drained the color from his face.
Moonlight poured through the window, etching a cold smirk as a figure stepped out of shadow.
"You…"
Recognition flashed—and with it, a flicker of fear.
Teeth clenched, he dropped to one knee.
"Godfather."
His voice was flat, betraying no emotion.
To be continued...