The ancient doors of the Chamber of Deliberation eased shut with a groan, sealing in the sunlight, the fragrance of tea, and the chill that the Gorosei's words had left behind.
"Saint Warcury," Saint Mars said at length, voice even. "What do you believe he will do?"
The others turned to the Warrior God of Justice. They knew Warcury had invested an unusual hope in that arrogant Marine brat. Perhaps he saw a shadow of his long-ago youth in Darren; perhaps he simply admired the boy's talent, temperament, and ruthless method. Whatever the reason, Warcury's regard for him was real. It was why he had once put Darren on the North Blue Celestial Dragon murder case at all.
Letting the culprit investigate his own crime—on its face, absurd. And yet Topman Warcury was not a man known for misreading the board.
Warcury watched steam curl up from the kettle. "He's clever," he said finally. "I hope he chooses correctly."
A look passed between the others. Even you aren't certain.
"Regardless, we act," Saint Saturn said, face hardening. "The brat is growing too quickly."
"By our intelligence, he still lags behind Roger and Whitebeard, but he's crossed the threshold," Saturn continued. "Formidable combat power, ruthless execution, limitless ambition, and a rising star within the Marines. If we allow him a smooth ascent to Admiral, his insolence will become intolerable."
The four elders nodded.
Saint Peter, golden-haired, spoke mildly. "Rogers Darren is not Garp."
"Garp could abandon promotion and refuse our trials. This boy cannot."
"They are not the same kind."
Both were powerful and famed, but Garp lacked the ambition that made Darren dangerous. The World Government had long tolerated the hero's outbursts; God Valley had bought him that leash.
"For now, we watch," Saint Nusjuro rasped, head bowed as he polished his pitch-black, mesmerizing katana. "If he remembers his place, he remains useful."
"But if he is foolish enough to defy us, then, Warcury…"
Warcury drew a slow breath. Murderous light burned behind his eyes. "Rest easy. I will remove him myself."
The others closed their eyes in assent.
"And if he submits?" Saint Mars asked, gesturing toward the projection fading on the gray wall. "Do these two civilians live?"
"No," Saturn said, a cold smile cutting across his face. "They die."
He adjusted his flat black hat. "By the hand of the Marine who once saved them. Only then does he atone. Only then does he prove loyalty to the World Government, to us—and his…"
The smile deepened into something cruel. "…total subservience."
---
Silence pressed down like a lid.
Darren descended the Stairway to Heaven, step by measured step, his face unreadable, cigar smoke coiling around the cool geometry of his features.
The world lay bright and vast beneath a high sun, and yet a marrow-deep cold threaded the air.
CP0 specters shimmered at a distance, their masks tilted in private mockery, savoring the spectacle from beyond his aura's reach.
Darren walked on as if he hadn't seen them.
"Darren…"
Kong's hoarse call cut through the stillness. He strode forward from the base of the stair, relief and worry warring in his eyes.
"The Gorosei's trials are standard," he said quickly. "Their way of vetting those allowed into the inner circle."
"It's a tradition that's stood for centuries, unchanged…"
He was reaching for some further reassurance when Darren stopped him.
"Fleet Admiral Kong, I have a question."
Kong stiffened.
Darren turned to face him. His expression held no anger, no joy—only a distant curiosity. "Go on," Kong said after a beat.
"Because it has always been done," Darren asked quietly, "does that make it right?"
Kong flinched.
He drew breath to answer, but Darren didn't let him.
"So you—and Admiral Sengoku—you came up through the same rites?"
"At God Valley… was Sengoku the one who led the escort?"
Kong fell silent.
His silence said enough.
"I see," Darren murmured. "I understand."
He smiled—small, final. "Don't worry. I'll handle it."
He left Kong where he stood and headed for the harbor. The Gorosei had left him no room to linger; the moment he stepped out of Pangaea Castle, the orders were clear. The Government's vessel waited, Celestial Dragons for the Hunt already aboard. As escort commander, he would not be permitted to leave that ship once it set course for the North Blue.
"They're very careful," Darren said to himself, a slow smile creeping in. "So you're afraid of me… are you?"
Purupuru…
The Military Den Den Mushi vibrated in his pocket. He checked the surroundings, lifted the receiver.
"It's me," he said, voice cool.
"Darren," Momonga's voice came through, tense and low, "a Marine fleet entered North Blue waters fifteen minutes ago."
"The fleet commander is…"
Darren heard the swallow at the other end.
"…Marine Headquarters Admiral—'Buddha' Sengoku."
To be continued...