"Crocus… that guy actually became a pirate?" Dr. Kureha stared at Darren, disbelief written across her lined face.
Even after all these years, she still remembered him clearly—the calm, quiet man who hated chaos, who preferred the stillness of sea winds and the company of his patients. He was the last person she'd ever imagine joining a pirate crew, let alone that one.
"To think he'd throw in with the Roger Pirates…" she murmured. "That fool always said he'd rather tend a garden than chase legends."
Her sharp eyes flicked back to Darren. "If I'm not mistaken, boy, you've crossed blades with the Roger Pirates more than once, haven't you?"
Darren's expression darkened. He gave a slow nod.
He took a long drag from his cigar, exhaled, and then crushed it out with deliberate calm. "Thank you, Dr. Kureha," he said, bowing deeply. "I'll take my leave now. I know the rules—you'll have your fee delivered soon."
Everyone on the Grand Line knew the Witch's terms: her skill came at a price high enough to make even kings hesitate.
But Kureha waved a hand, smiling faintly. "No need, brat. I'm not treating him for money. And not because you threatened to blow up my castle, either."
She gestured lazily toward the room behind her. "I'm doing it for him."
Darren blinked. "For Zephyr-sensei?"
Kureha chuckled, lighting her pipe. Smoke curled lazily through the air as she spoke. "Ten years ago, this kingdom was on its knees. Pirates raided every month, and the local Marine branches were useless. Then one day, a Marine Admiral came. He destroyed that entire fleet with his own hands."
She looked out the window, her gaze distant. "We all slept peacefully that night for the first time in years. This country still owes him."
She smiled—a rare, genuine smile. "Black Arm Zephyr… he was a real Marine. A good man."
Turning on her heel, she waved him off as if brushing away an insect. "Now go. You're wasting time standing here."
Darren stood silently as her figure disappeared down the corridor. Then, with quiet reverence, he bowed again. "Thank you, Dr. Kureha."
Without looking back, she lifted a hand in dismissal. "Make sure he doesn't die," she called over her shoulder. "He's not like you—a good-for-nothing brat. He's a real Marine. And good men…"
Her voice softened. "…Good men deserve a good end."
The words echoed faintly in the corridor.
Good men deserve a good end.
Darren's jaw tightened. His hands clenched at his sides as he reentered the room.
Zephyr lay motionless on the bed, color slowly returning to his face. His fever had broken; his breathing had steadied. Relief washed through Darren like a wave.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a gilded business card and a Military Den Den Mushi. Matching the number, he dialed.
Purupuru… purupuru…
The snail rang into the silence.
Since the massive naval pursuit over half a month ago, the Roger Pirates had vanished without a trace. Darren had no idea where they'd gone—or if Crocus would even listen to him.
But no matter the cost, he would save Zephyr-sensei.
Purupuru!
The call connected.
"Morgans—" Darren began sharply.
"Darren! Big news!" Morgans' voice crackled with manic excitement, cutting him off. "You were right to keep eyes on the Roger Pirates! This is huge!"
"What happened?" Darren asked, brow furrowing.
"The Roger Pirates—" Morgans' voice trembled with glee. "They've found it! The legendary Final Island!"
He practically shouted through the line, "Roger himself announced it! He named it Laugh Tale—the end of the Grand Line!"
The world seemed to go still. Darren's pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
They really found it…
Even though he had expected this outcome somewhere deep inside, hearing it aloud still struck like thunder.
Roger had done it. He had reached the end of the world.
---
Marineford, Marine Headquarters.
In the Admiral's Office—
Crack!
The sharp sound of teeth on something brittle broke the silence.
Sengoku's pen froze mid-stroke. A vein pulsed on his temple.
Crack.
"Garp! You damn bastard!"
He shot to his feet, eyes blazing at the dog-headed Vice Admiral sprawled across the sofa, cheerfully munching on senbei crackers.
"Can't you stay out of my office for one day?!" Sengoku bellowed.
Garp snorted, utterly unfazed. "Where else am I supposed to go?" he said around a mouthful. "I was chasing Roger across the New World, remember? You're the one who dragged me back here. Otherwise, I'd have caught him by now."
The last line nearly made Sengoku's forehead explode.
If you could have caught him, you would have done it ten years ago!
As Garp continued crunching away, Sengoku's patience evaporated. Ever since Darren's worldwide broadcast, Marineford had been drowning in chaos.
Criticism poured in from every corner of the world. Even among their own ranks, whispers of doubt corroded the meaning of Justice.
Add to that the collapsing budget—and now, Garp lounging here like an overgrown stray dog. Sengoku's sanity was hanging by a thread.
"Report! Report!"
A young Marine burst through the door, gasping for breath.
"What now?!" Sengoku barked. "Why are you panicking like the world's ending? It's not as if Rogers Darren is attacking Marineford!"
The messenger flinched. "N-no, it's not him…"
"Then get out!" Sengoku waved dismissively. "Unless it involves that brat, I don't care!"
"B-but, Admiral Sengoku," the Marine stammered, sweat dripping down his face, "it's not the world's number one criminal this time…"
He swallowed hard. "…It's the world's number two."
The room went dead silent.
Sengoku and Garp blinked in unison.
"…The what?"
"The world's number two criminal," the messenger repeated nervously.
They stared at him, thunderstruck.
Number two? Since when did that exist?
Then, realization struck like lightning.
Both men shot to their feet, scattering papers and senbei crumbs alike.
Their eyes locked on the trembling messenger—wide, sharp, and blazing.
To be continued...