"You!"
The other Shichibukai froze, eyes snapping to Bullet.
Doflamingo smirked and flicked his fingers, as if invisible threads were unfurling through the air.
Moria flushed scarlet, the shadow behind him twisting like a demon's claw.
Crocodile's gaze narrowed to knives, sand whispering around his boots.
Fisher Tiger's expression went grave; his broad, fanlike hand closed over his teacup, the surface rippling once.
Even stoic Mihawk frowned at Bullet's brazen contempt.
Marine officers bristled by reflex—then remembered themselves and smoothed it over.
Oh, he's not talking about us? Never mind.
"Any of you… got a problem with that?"
Bullet's grin went feral. His presence swelled without restraint as he swept his peers, an unbroken torrent of raw power. Conqueror's Haki exploded from him; crimson-black lightning spiderwebbed the air, warping space into a wavering mirage.
Reporters recoiled in terror. Cameras shook in their hands; lens glass popped like ice, and one by one they dropped to their knees with a thud, clenching their teeth and fighting to stay conscious as their eyelids fluttered.
"Enough, Bullet," Darren said, the calm clean edge of his voice cutting through the pressure. "This isn't your rampage ground."
"Leave Marine Headquarters and hunt them to your heart's content," he added. "But if you make trouble here, don't blame the Marines for showing no mercy."
As his words faded, three figures blurred into place in front of him—perfectly in step.
Towering silhouettes in wide cloaks stood shoulder to shoulder. Red magma, eerie light, and soul-deep frost churned in their hands, an instant from release.
Sakazuki. Borsalino. Kuzan.
"The monsters from Headquarters!"
"This is rare—!"
"They almost never move together!"
…
Officers and journalists stared, stunned.
Douglas Bullet's eyes narrowed. He measured the four men in front of him—each radiating a different, lethal chill.
One second.
Two.
The pressure snapped off. The strange ripple in the room dissolved into silence.
Conqueror's Haki had arrived like a thunderclap and vanished like a dream, leaving Marines and reporters dazed, throats unclenched as if nothing had happened at all.
"Fine. I'll humor you this time, Darren." Bullet slouched back, crossed one leg over the other, and flashed a savage grin. "But don't think for a second I see these punks as my equals."
His lip curled. "What kind of second-rate trash calls itself Shichibukai?"
Darren: …
You stubborn bastard, Darren thought, glancing at him with a flicker of exasperation. Not afraid they'll all dog-pile you?
He couldn't deny it: Bullet's aura had grown since their last clash. His Conqueror's Haki had reached the advanced tier, like Darren's own—subtly biting into the physical world.
If Bullet cut loose—melding the Combination Fruit's insane versatility with the strength, speed, defense, and explosive power of his Demon Form—he could likely brawl the other five to a standstill. The most promising among them, Hawk-Eyes Mihawk, was still in his teens, far from his peak.
But theory was one thing; battle was another.
Moria hadn't yet curdled into the lazy shut-in he'd become. Crocodile… possessed that maddening "fifty-fifty plot armor" that dragged any fight to parity. Under Darren's hand, Doflamingo had spiked in strength; Mihawk's left-handed sword had gotten truly dangerous; and Fisher Tiger—the Fish-Man with a natural advantage over Devil Fruit users—tilted the field again. If those five actually worked together, they could bring Bullet down.
The question was whether the Shichibukai—each proud, unruly, and allergic to leashes—would ever choose to cooperate.
Darren smoothed his expression and turned back to the press, who were finally finding their breath.
"With that, today's Shichibukai induction concludes."
"Thank you for coming so far to witness this moment."
"Please proceed to the banquet hall. Marine Headquarters has prepared a simple reception. We hope you'll join us."
---
Half an hour later, the Headquarters banquet felt modest beside Ryugu Palace's splendor days ago.
In a corner, Darren lifted a glass and touched it gently to Fisher Tiger's. "Tiger-san. How have things been?"
Fisher Tiger's smile was warm. "Thanks to your concern, Darren-san, Fish-Man Island has grown more peaceful."
He felt the gratitude sincerely. Darren had not only dragged him from hell—he had shown him a path forward, and a seat among the Shichibukai. Under that banner's deterrence, the poaching and trafficking of Fish-Men worldwide had plunged. Life on the island itself was calmer by far. The Fish-Man race no longer lived every day in dread, and under Queen Otohime's policies, the Fish-Man District had begun to change.
"Peace between races is a long road," Darren said. "Something we all have to work for."
Fisher Tiger nodded, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. "By the way, Darren-san—the first group of more than fifty Fish-Man warriors has already left the island. They boarded a secret merchant ship of the Donquixote Family and should be headed for the North Blue now."
"Their leader is Jinbe," he added. "A remarkably composed young man. I've watched him since he was a child."
"He has a natural talent for Fish-Man Karate and the full trust of the others."
"I'm sure he'll be a great help to you."
To be continued...