Blessed with power, looks, and a rank that drew gravity around him, Darren was a natural center of attention wherever he stood. His handling of the Shichibukai ceremony had only sharpened the focus on his every move in the banquet hall.
As he approached Douglas Bullet—the self-proclaimed strongest among the Seven—conversations thinned to a hush. Reporters drifted closer, ears pricked for anything they could print.
Everyone knew the bad blood between Vice Admiral Darren and the "Demon Heir." When Bullet first made his name, a newly promoted Commodore Darren had teamed with Sakazuki in a near-fatal attempt to take him down. Later, a fleet under Vice Admiral Darren had even launched a Buster Call against him. Their feud was long, and it was bloody.
Which is why the question landed like a thrown dagger.
He asked it plainly.
Bullet, midway through another heaping plate, froze. He shot Darren a cold look and said, "…Probably chasing clues to reach the Final Island."
Crack.
The reporters who'd been straining to listen looked as if they'd been struck by lightning, jaws unhinged.
"He just said it—"
"Without hedging—"
"What is happening…?"
Pens scratched. Fingers flew. Final Island. Clues.
"Know where they are now?" Darren asked, offering a fresh cigar.
Bullet snatched it, lit up, and shook his head. "Did you forget? I left Roger's crew a long time ago." A savage grin curled his mouth. "And even if you did know, so what? You still can't match the Captain."
Darren exhaled a ring of smoke, the smile at his lips turning sly. "The Marines aren't just me."
Bullet's face tightened. He remembered the promotion ceremony—Darren, Sakazuki, Kuzan, Borsalino standing shoulder to shoulder—and ground his teeth. "Sometimes I think you Marines are more ruthless than pirates."
Darren chuckled, then as if recalling something, tipped his chin. "Right. That thing I mentioned last time… Kaido. You went?"
Ears pricked again along the press line.
Bullet's eyes lit with a fierce heat. "Thought you were bluffing. Turns out you weren't."
Darren laughed aloud. No wonder the man's aura had swelled since their last clash—he'd actually taken that "advice" and paid a visit to Kaido-sensei.
Before the reporters could puzzle it out, the heavy doors of the hall banged open. A breathless messenger staggered in, face white.
"Report! Admiral Sengoku! We have a major crisis!"
The words slashed the music dead.
"The Big Mom Pirates and the Beasts Pirates have formed an alliance and declared war on the Roger Pirates! Their first clash leveled an entire island!"
"Meanwhile, the Whitebeard Pirates have suddenly moved. The Moby Dick is heading toward the conflict zone—destination unknown!"
"Intelligence indicates the Four Great Pirate Crews are likely to engage in a decisive battle on Miracle Island in the New World!"
The air seemed to drop ten degrees. Kaido and Big Mom, aligned against Roger? Whitebeard on the move? A collective intake of breath rippled through the room; reporters blanched.
"…The Poneglyph," Tsuru murmured.
Sengoku's eyes hardened. He understood instantly. They were trying to choke Roger's path to the Final Island.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," Sengoku announced, voice clipped and ringing, "our banquet ends here. The situation in the New World has shifted. We'll postpone further events—thank you for your understanding."
A Marine squad swept in on his gesture, faces set, ushering the reporters out with quiet efficiency.
"Alert all senior officers," Sengoku ordered, already moving. "Emergency meeting in my office. One minute."
He strode out with Tsuru; the other Headquarters officers fell in behind him, step for step.
The Shichibukai watched the turn, each expression a different shade of interest.
"War's coming," Bullet muttered, cracking his knuckles, a predatory smile tugging at his mouth. "Now it gets fun."
"Kishishishi! All four crews on the board—let's see the Marines wriggle out of this," Moria cackled.
"Whitebeard couldn't sit still forever," Crocodile said softly, eyes fixed on the gleam of his hook.
"So this time… we might witness the clash of the strongest in the world?" Mihawk's calm gaze narrowed to a razor's edge.
"Heh heh heh… looks like it begins," Doflamingo murmured, fingers clawing across his face as a cold grin spread. "There's only one empty throne. This is a war to rule the New World. The victor's name gets etched into the sea's history."
"And us—the Shichibukai—where do we stand in this game?"
"Heh heh heh…"
To be continued...