He's sucking it all up… Does he think this is a treat?!
Zephyr's lip twitched as he stared, dumbfounded.
This toxic gas—shunned by ordinary people and treated with caution even by a former Marine Admiral—was being smoked like a cigar by that brat Darren.
The room churned with purple miasma, visible strands twisting like ropes as Darren hauled them in with hard, gale-force breaths, turning himself into a human industrial fume extractor.
Zephyr gaped in silence before managing, "Y-Young Darren, what in the world are you doing?"
He edged inside, careful to slip past the drifting fumes, tamping down a surge of unease.
"I'm guiding Magellan's training, of course," Darren said matter-of-factly, nostrils flaring as he kept pulling the poison in, determined not to waste a wisp.
"Look, Zephyr-sensei," he added, nodding toward the toxicity meter from the Marine Science and Technology Department on the wall. "Magellan's output has more than doubled since last month."
He puffed his chest, pleased with himself.
Zephyr: …
I sent you to help him control the Venom-Venom Fruit—not to wring him out like a sponge!
The gauge needle was jammed near the limit, the panel glowing a murderous red, the mercury column threatening to burst. A chill crept up Zephyr's scalp.
If I weren't wearing this cutting-edge anti-toxin suit, I'd be stuck on a toilet for days at this density.
But the most baffling thing was—
That's lethal gas. Why are you dragging all of it into your lungs?!
A stab of pain shot across Zephyr's chest. The sheer absurdity made his head spin.
"Alright, that's enough for now, Magellan. Take a break," Darren said suddenly, waving a hand.
Magellan sagged, his power fading. He toppled onto the floor, gulping air, pale and wrung-out.
"F-finally… over…" he wheezed, as if he'd just dodged death.
Zephyr: …
---
"Out with it, kid. What happened to you?"
Outside the quarantine zone, in the Chief Instructor's Office, Zephyr paced in front of the restroom with a cigar clamped between his teeth, hands linked behind his back.
Inside, rushing water mingled with the Vice Admiral's muffled, teeth-gnashing growls.
"Zephyr-sensei, can't you wait a minute? I'm really… not in a position to talk right now… agh…!" Darren's strained voice came through, followed by a violent splash.
The steady stream made Zephyr's lip twitch. Dark lines creased his brow as old, unpleasant memories stirred.
"Damn it!"
He ground his teeth. The image from earlier flashed again—Darren inhaling poison like a lunatic. Curiosity and fury pinned him outside the door.
"Inhaling that much will wreck your organs… Magellan's venom is corrosive—hell on the nervous system…"
Zephyr's fist clenched.
"What are you thinking, you little brat?!" he roared. He couldn't stand by while Darren poisoned himself half to death.
"I… I was… cultivating…" Darren panted, as if straining with his last ounce of strength.
Cultivating?!
Cultivating what?!
"Have you lost your mind?!" Zephyr bellowed. "What kind of 'cultivation' is this? Trying to improve your lung capacity? Or toughen your rectum?!"
Flush!
The toilet roared.
The door creaked open and Darren shuffled out, face ashen and hollow. He forced a sickly grin. "Neither. I'm training my physique."
Before Zephyr could bark back, Darren crab-walked to the sofa, finessed the cushions into place, and lowered himself with excruciating care.
"Magellan's poison is undeniably potent," he said, "but it gave me an idea. What if I keep inhaling small doses, steadily increasing exposure to build resistance? Tolerance first, then immunity."
He propped his feet on the coffee table and lit a cigar.
"Doesn't it make sense, Zephyr-sensei?"
Zephyr nodded slowly, as if persuaded. "Hmm, it does make—like hell it does!" he exploded, spraying words. "You call this training? It's suicide!" His eyes rolled in exasperation as he dragged for breath.
Darren only chuckled.
It would look insane to anyone else, but after surviving that overalls-wearing glutton's viral gauntlet, the logic felt straightforward.
He shut his eyes and checked himself, senses dropping inward. His half-lidded gaze flickered with a hard, intermittent light.
Physique: 95.017 (Indestructible Body) Strength: 86.625 (Giant's Strength)
Speed: 86.730 (Soru—Divine Speed)
Devil Fruit: 86.186 (Island-Covering)] Armament Haki: 74.765 (Internal Destruction, Demon Form)
Observation Haki: 76.521 (Magnetic Field Sensing)
Conqueror's Haki: 81.469 (Influencing Reality)]
The growth in a single month was staggering.
His Physique had jumped from 92 to 95. A three-point rise at that tier meant at least a ten percent boost to overall defense and recovery.
His regeneration and toxin resistance alone had improved by a third over last month.
The Physique surge had ripple effects, too.
Strength climbed from 83 to 86, Speed from 84 to 86, even Armament Haki ticked up.
Without exaggeration, this was Darren's greatest leap since Kaido's "personal training"—bigger than anything he'd gained under Queen, that overalls-wearing brute.
At these heights, one point wasn't just one point. A gain in the 90s was a different world from the 60s—both in difficulty and in weight.
To be continued...