"Jinbe?"
Darren blinked, momentarily taken aback. A stocky, blue-skinned Fish-Man flashed through his mind, and a satisfied smile tugged at his mouth.
Fisher Tiger really is a man of his word, he thought. Entrusting someone as reliable as Jinbe to me—that's real trust.
He was genuinely grateful. It meant Tiger truly recognized Darren's efforts, sending his most promising protégé to join the North Blue Fleet's undersea operations.
Others might not see Jinbe's potential yet, but Darren did.
In the original timeline, when Fisher Tiger was betrayed by humans and dying after the Marines' hunt, he handed leadership of the Sun Pirates to Jinbe with his own hands.
Jinbe never broke that trust. He led the crew well, shielded the Fish-Man race, and eventually struck a deal with the World Government to become one of the Shichibukai.
Judging by the current timeline, Jinbe was seventeen or eighteen—still not fully formed.
Good news for Darren.
Compared to Fisher Tiger—an adult with fixed convictions—Jinbe was young, his worldview still taking shape. A talent like that could be guided. Darren could already picture the blue-skinned youth in a yukata and wooden clogs, commanding the North Blue Fleet's underwater forces, sweeping the seas under his direction.
More than that, Jinbe's calm, steady nature—paired with courage, will, and at least vice-captain-level strength in a Yonko's court—made him a born commander.
Momonga would lead the Flying Fleet and rule the skies; Jinbe would lead the seabed forces—perfect coordination.
"From the way you speak, Tiger-san, Jinbe must be an exceptional young man," Darren said, smiling.
Fisher Tiger sighed. "He is, but the Fish-Man District dulled some of his gifts."
"I'd thought to place him with the Ryugu Palace guard for a while," he said, "let the discipline sand him smooth. Then I thought—if he's going to train anyway, send him to the North Blue."
"I've heard much about Mr. Darren's methods, and Mr. Momonga—the current Supreme Commander of the North Blue—has a reputation for leadership. Jinbe and those brats are lucky to train under him."
"I only fear imposing on you and Supreme Commander Momonga."
Darren waved it off with a smile. "Tiger-san, it's the right call."
"The Fish-Man race is blessed by the sea. You're born to it. You shouldn't be penned up in a place as small as Ryugu Palace."
"The ocean's vast and full of wonders. The young should go and learn."
Fisher Tiger's eyes warmed. He nodded, voice roughening. "Yes. That's why I chose to circumnavigate the world."
"Our race… we're warriors born to ride the greatest waves."
He clenched his fist.
---
Meanwhile, in the North Blue, a merchant ship flying the Flamingo skull flag cruised toward the 321st Marine Branch.
On deck, dozens of young Fish-Men in ragged clothes stared, wide-eyed, at the endless blue. They spread their arms, drinking in the honest heat of the sun.
"This is the world above?"
"It's beautiful!"
"The sun! The real sun! Just like the books said—a great ball of fire!"
"And this sea breeze… amazing!"
"The taste of freedom!"
They were all Fish-Men, but the differences between them were stark: serrated noses and shark fins, patterned skin and octopus tentacles in place of legs, wobbegong faces with mottled whiskers—one red-skinned giant squid who snorted ink from his nostrils.
However they looked, their faces shared the same open, unguarded wonder.
Everything was new.
Warm sunlight. Clear water. A fresh wind. Islands lifting out of the distance, with deep-green forests and rolling hills…
All of it utterly novel.
They had grown up in the Fish-Man District—a slum carved out inside Fish-Man Island. Most hadn't left the district in more than a decade, let alone the island itself.
Their days were trash, foul sewers, the reek of rot—no sun. Their only window to the human world had been tattered primers, thumbed to limp rags.
Curiosity outlives hardship.
Disease, poverty, ceaseless brawls—none of it smothered the longing to see the sun.
If any of them had felt reluctant when Boss Tiger ordered them to board and leave Fish-Man Island, that reluctance had completely burned away now.
Every one of them felt blessed to be chosen.
"This… this is the outside world!"
Jinbe, burlap hanging from his shoulders, clenched the mast with both hands. His eyes stung, his nose prickled.
He had never imagined the outside could be this magnificent.
"Ready yourselves. We're about to make landfall."
The voice rolled across the deck.
Ripples shivered through the planks—wood briefly behaving like water.
Senor Pink, immaculate in a black Italian suit, "floated" up through the deck's grain and set his shoes down as if he'd swum through the timber.
"Where… where are we going?"
Under the expectant eyes of the others, Jinbe stepped forward, chest out. "What's next?"
Senor Pink's smile barely moved. He drew a cigarette, bit it, kindled it with a casual flick. Smoke drifted as he said, "From here on, you'll train with the strongest, most elite military force in the world…"
He paused, as if remembering. "And remember this. It'll be the luckiest thing that ever happens to you. Nothing else will come close."
The Fish-Men traded glances. One couldn't help asking, "But isn't Marine Headquarters the strongest and most elite?"
Even from the Fish-Man District, they knew that much.
Senor Pink looked to the horizon, the smile still faint. "Not necessarily."
As the words faded, the youths turned—and what they saw stopped them cold, mouths falling open.
They stood rooted, stunned.
"W-what… what is that…?"
To be continued...