Starlight laid a cool sheen over the quiet Marine Academy dormitory.
Vergo stood rigid, hands trembling beyond his control. A chill climbed his spine and settled at the base of his skull.
The man in front of him didn't project a lick of Haki—just stood there with a faint smile—yet Vergo felt an invisible hand close around his throat, weight pressing down on every breath.
He was freezing.
"Godfather, the Young Master sends his regards," Vergo whispered, eyes downcast.
Darren leisurely bit the end off a cigar and lit it. A sinister red ember flickered in the dim room.
"Hmm. I'm quite pleased with Doffy's recent performance," he said. "But you still haven't answered my question."
Cold sweat beaded on Vergo's brow. "Yes, Godfather. Choosing Vice Admiral Borsalino as Special Instructor was the Young Master's order."
Satisfied, Darren's mouth curved into a faint, unreadable smile.
"That Doffy kid has a good head on his shoulders."
Vergo's identity wouldn't withstand a hard look. Anyone tugging the thread would find the connection to Doflamingo soon enough. A pirate and underworld man planted inside the Marines—placed in the Elite Officer Training Camp, no less—the so-called Cradle of Future Admirals. If the mask slipped, Vergo's end wrote itself.
Choosing Borsalino was the safest cover. The man was a joker; even if he suspected, he'd likely pretend not to notice and watch the show.
"A smart move," Darren said with a mild nod. "Now that you're a Marine, I'll give you some advice."
Vergo dipped his head even lower. "Please."
"Forget your past," Darren said, smiling lightly. "Then pour everything into climbing as high as you can."
Vergo flinched.
"That's all."
Darren exhaled a slow plume of smoke. As if remembering something, he glanced at the man who had meticulously wiped his mouth yet still wore half a steak on his cheek. A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Oh, right. This is for daring to raise your hand against me earlier."
The words had barely left him when—
Thwack!
The knife and fork hanging in midair snapped forward and buried themselves in Vergo's thigh. Scarlet bled through the fabric at once.
Vergo strangled a groan. His body shook; he clenched his teeth and refused to cry out.
"Thank you for the lesson, Godfather," he rasped, eyes bloodshot, posture sinking even lower.
No answer came.
One second.
Two.
Three…
Silence pooled in the room.
Only then did Vergo lift his head. The space was empty. He dragged in a breath like a drowning man.
His shaking hands gripped the utensils and wrenched them free. Blood spurted.
A "minor lesson" like that was something he could have dodged easily.
But he hadn't dared.
---
Marine Headquarters, Marine Academy.
Chief Instructor's Office.
"Zephyr-sensei, you wanted to see me?" Darren knocked and pushed the door open.
"Ah, Young Darren, you're here," Zephyr said, looking up from the mountain of paperwork. Weariness softened into a smile. "How was your first day as a Special Instructor?"
Darren's eyes flicked to the freshly renovated restroom at the end of the office; he cut back with a quick smile. "Not bad."
He dropped onto the sofa, crossed one leg over the other, and lit a cigar.
Zephyr's lip twitched at the practiced ease of it.
"I wanted to discuss Magellan's assignment," he began. "You know his Devil Fruit is rather—"
"No need," Darren waved it away. "I'll take Magellan."
Zephyr blinked. He hadn't even finished, and Darren had agreed? All those carefully prepared arguments…
"You've met him already?" he asked, and the picture formed.
"Hmm. The boy's ability is indeed frighteningly strong," Zephyr mused.
Darren nodded, a mysterious smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Just one hour of Magellan's "toxicity training" had raised his Physique by 0.3.
The process… stung. Venom gnawed at organs and nerves like a thousand tiny blades. But the gains were worth it.
What's a little poison? he thought. I've suffered worse under that overalls-wearing glutton.
"Indeed…" Zephyr went on, missing the smile. "The Venom-Venom Fruit is too much for ordinary people. I nearly succumbed, myself. Fortunately my strength carried me through." He said it without shame, pride glinting in his eyes.
"Is that so, Zephyr-sensei?" Darren grinned. "Magellan told me you inhaled a bit of gas by accident and were stuck on the toilet for three days."
Zephyr's face froze.
"Ahem… ahem…" He cleared his throat and changed course. "Are you certain you can withstand his poison?"
"I know your constitution is extraordinary, but toxins go straight for the organs and nerves. Toughness won't help much there."
"And that boy's poison has a delayed effect…"
"Relax, Zephyr-sensei," Darren said with a shrug. "Don't forget—I'm Indestructible… hmm?"
Gurgle…
His face tightened at the same instant a muffled rumble rose from his gut.
Zephyr stared.
Darren: "..."
Zephyr: "..."
They locked eyes: Zephyr wide, Darren increasingly alarmed.
No way…
Darren's stomach knotted and heaved; cold sweat broke across his brow. Oh no…
"Heh."
Zephyr's knowing look slid toward the restroom. "Go on. It's been renovated."
He hadn't finished before the Vice Admiral launched from the sofa and bolted for the door.
A moment later, firecracker bursts rattled from within—punctuated by clenched-jaw grunts and… small, pitiful whimpers.
"Indestructible? Hehe…"
A smug smile spread across Zephyr's face. He lifted his teacup, took a sip, and shook his head with weary, veteran fondness.
"Still too young…"
To be continued...