"I still can't get used to you calling that guy 'Godfather,' no matter how many times I hear it," Momonga said with a wry smile as he shook Senor Pink's hand. The idea that Darren would play Mafia games with Doflamingo always struck him as absurd.
Senor Pink let it pass and turned to the Fish-Man youths. "These are promising recruits selected from the Fish-Man District by Fisher Tiger-san. We did preliminary health checks on the way. Aside from some malnutrition, they're in good shape."
Momonga's gaze softened at the row of wide-eyed teenagers. "Welcome," he said, smiling. "I'm Momonga, Supreme Commander of the North Blue. You'll spend an unforgettable stretch with us at the 321st Branch. The training will be rigorous, but I'll see that your living conditions are comfortable."
He waved, and several Marines trotted up with bundled kits. "Your training uniforms. A light banquet has also been prepared."
The youths queued without fuss—overawed by the place, perhaps—and changed on the spot. Coarse rags fell away; clean uniforms went on.
"So soft!"
"This feels amazing!"
They marveled at the light, breathable fabric—so different from the stiff, scratchy cloth they'd always worn. Grins spread from face to face.
Watching those expressions, Momonga felt a brief ache. They'd had hard beginnings.
Senor Pink stepped forward. "This is Jinbe, their informal leader."
Momonga beckoned. Jinbe, nervous before the commander's presence, took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders. "Momonga-san, it's an honor to meet you!"
"No need for formalities," Momonga said easily. "It's your first time here—any questions?"
Necks craned. Curiosity pricked the air.
Jinbe hesitated, then asked, cautious, "The ability you used earlier… are you a Devil Fruit User?"
Momonga chuckled. "Logia-type—Rumble-Rumble Fruit. Lightning. Allow me."
He raised a hand.
BOOM.
A blue-white bolt, thick as a barrel, ripped from the sky and hammered a seven-meter artillery turret. Fire blossomed; smoke rolled upward in a black plume.
"Lightning…!"
"So strong…"
"That could sink a ship!"
They'd grown up in the Fish-Man District; they had never seen power like this.
Even Senor Pink's pupils tightened. He'd learned Haki under Doflamingo's tutelage and stood second only to the Young Master within the Family, but he doubted he could avoid that strike. Even guarding with Haki, he'd be hurt. And this still didn't feel like Momonga's full strength. After all, the Godfather had trained Momonga personally—and Doflamingo's own rise had come from the same hand.
"Any more questions?" Momonga asked.
A timid octopus Fish-Man lifted a tentacle. "Um… Senor Pink said the 321st is one of the world's most powerful military installations, but when we arrived we only saw a few patrol ships. And there aren't any battleships inside the base—"
Thud.
Jinbe punched him in the ribs. "Don't ask what isn't your business."
Momonga only laughed. "It's fine. You'll learn soon enough." He leaned in, conspiratorial. "Here's a secret: the North Blue Fleet's battleships aren't on the sea at all."
Not on the sea?
The youths froze, baffled.
Momonga gestured toward the sky, about to continue, when a Den Den Mushi began to ring. He frowned, drew the snail from his coat, and answered.
A deep voice cut through wind-noise. "Admiral Momonga, Ship Three. A pirate vessel is attempting to breach the blockade in Sector A62, heading for Reverse Mountain. Requesting orders."
Momonga's eyes chilled; the pressure rolling off his brow made Jinbe flinch. "Eliminate it immediately, according to regulations."
"Understood!"
Three seconds later, a distant thud rolled across the water.
"Report: Target annihilated, Admiral."
"Acknowledged. Continue patrol."
He closed the line and turned back with a smile. "Now then, it's about time for that banquet. You must be hungry. Everything's ready—enjoy yourselves."
He signaled for the Marines to lead them out. Moments later, delighted cries echoed from the hall.
"So much food!"
"Look at all this!"
"This is amazing!"
"I don't miss home at all!"
Momonga chuckled.
Senor Pink watched him, expression layered. The youths didn't grasp what had just occurred. He did.
He remembered perfectly: more than six months ago, when he'd brought Donquixote ships into the North Blue under false flags, he'd seen it—an all-metal battleship, sleek and merciless, easing out of the sea of clouds above. When its flank-mounted laser cannons fired their golden lances, he could have sworn he smelled death.
This was the North Blue. Rogers Darren's North Blue. The realm of the "King of the North Blue."
"Supreme Commander, I'll return and report," Senor Pink said, letting out a slow breath.
"Not staying for the banquet?" Momonga asked.
"Another time. The New World calls."
"Understood." Momonga offered his hand. They shook, and Senor Pink reboarded with mixed feelings.
As the merchantman pulled away, Momonga recalled the reverent glance the man had given him and felt his mood lift.
"Supreme Commander Momonga!" A messenger rushed up and saluted.
"What is it?" Momonga asked, lighting a cigar.
"Ship Seven has returned and needs resupply."
Momonga's smile vanished. "Damn it, this energy drain is too fast," he growled—and turned into lightning, flashing out of sight.
To be continued...