His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was wrestling with words that refused to come out. For a long moment. Finally, he let out a long breath and spoke.
"You know, kid… if you'd asked me this question last week—back when you first got tossed in here—my answer would've been simple: train until you're strong enough to win. No hesitation, no second-guessing. That's the rule of survival here. But…" He paused, his gaze studying me with a weight that felt heavier than his words. "After meeting you, after watching you fight and refuse to bow even when you're broken and bleeding, I see it now. You've got an unyielding spirit. An unchained soul that doesn't belong in chains, no matter how strong the one holding them."
He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the thoughts gnawing at him. "And because of that, I can't give you a clear answer. I don't want you to go through the kind of punishment you suffered yesterday ever again. But becoming an exclusive slave to a Celestial Dragon?" His tone hardened, eyes narrowing with something close to anger. "That's a fate worse than death, for reasons you don't need me to explain. It's a gilded cage that will close around you until you forget who you are—and I know you're the kind of person who'd burn the whole damn world before letting that happen."
"But whatever path you choose—whether it's training yourself to the bone to win and end up as that bastard's prized possession, or throwing a fight to cling to what little illusion of freedom you think you've got left—I'll be there with you." His eyes locked onto mine, unwavering, burning with a conviction so fierce it felt like it could scorch my very soul. It wasn't just a promise—it was a vow carved into the marrow of his being, one that nothing and no one could break.
I held his gaze, saying nothing. I didn't need words; the look in my eyes was enough. It was the look of someone who refused to bow, who would rather shatter than be shackled.
"Darius," I said at last, my voice cutting through the silence, steady despite the storm raging inside me. "I won't win. Not yet. But that doesn't mean I can't get stronger. One day—me, you, and the Boa sisters—we're walking out of this hell. And when that day comes, I'll need power to make it happen. So, Darius…" I took a step forward, my fists curling tight, every muscle in my body screaming with intent. "Make me stronger."
I could see the flicker in his eyes—pride, worry, maybe even a spark of hope—but I kept going. "And even if I throw the fight against those bastard slaves, I won't lose because I'm weak. I'll lose because I choose to let them win. Because I'll be in control, not them." The words felt heavy, like each syllable was hammered into iron, and I wanted him to understand that this wasn't about pride—it was about taking ownership of my fate, even in defeat.
And when I said we'd get out of here, it wasn't just some desperate dream. I'll carve a path if I have to, but I also know something they don't—that one day, a certain fishman will tear this place apart. It's not an empty promise. It's a truth waiting a few years down the line… and I'll be ready when it comes.
Darius threw his head back and burst into a deep, booming laugh, the kind that seemed to shake the very air. It wasn't the polite chuckle of someone amused—it was raw, unrestrained, almost disbelieving, like he'd just been told the greatest joke in history.
"Hah! Hahahaha! You'd rather let them carve up your face than let them own you," he said between breaths, slapping his knee as if the thought alone was pure madness. "And you—" he pointed at me, eyes gleaming with a strange mixture of pride and disbelief, "you'd let them win when they're losing? Hah! You're a lunatic, kid… and I like that."
His laughter faded into a crooked grin, the kind that promised pain and lessons measured in bruises. "Alright then. If that's how you want it, I'll train you harder than ever before. No more just fighting to survive. From now on, it's to win. And not just win—win on your terms."
He leaned forward, voice dropping low, almost a growl. "I'll break you down, rebuild you, make every muscle, every breath, every strike sharper than a blade. You won't just be ready for the arena—you'll own it. Even if you decide to hand over victory, they'll know, deep down, that they never truly beat you."
The promise in his tone was dangerous… and exactly what I needed.
*clank* *clank* *clank*
Our talk was cut short by the sound of rattling metal from the front of the cell. The guard stood there, shadow stretching long under the dim light, sliding the key into the lock with slow, deliberate turns. The mechanism clicked, and the door groaned open.
Darius and I exchanged a glance—then a smile. Whatever mine looked like with the wire stitching pulling at my right cheek, it didn't matter. Whatever they had planned for us next, I… no, we would face it. Side by side. Without another word, we rose to our feet and stepped out, heading toward yet another day of back-breaking labor.
—
That evening, during the rare sliver of rest carved between endless hours of work, Darius began shaping me in earnest. His training was merciless—no wasted motion, no sloppy form. He taught me how to throw a punch that mattered, how to feint just enough to draw an opponent in, how to slip past a strike like water avoiding a blade. Every lesson was stripped to its essence, every movement forged for efficiency. And in the filthy corner, my body began its slow transformation—not for survival alone, but for the day we'd take everything back.
--
When night finally fell, my body felt like it had been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. A full day of back-breaking labor, followed by Darius' relentless training during our scarce breaks, was enough to grind anyone down to the bone. By the time we were herded back into our cramped little cell, my legs simply gave out, and I slumped against the cold wall, letting the rough stone hold me upright.
I tilted my head toward the other side of the cell, where a few familiar voices usually kept the darkness at bay.
"Hancock, you there?" I called out. She was the one I spoke to most—closer to me than her two sisters. The younger ones rarely interrupted our conversations unless I was telling them a story. Then they'd jump right in, arguing over which one I should tell, their bickering often ending in a quick round of rock-paper-scissors to settle the matter.
But tonight, the voice that answered wasn't hers.
"Sorry, Vincent-nii," came Sandersonia's voice—soft, but firm enough to tell me Hancock wouldn't be joining us. "My sister's not in the mood to talk right now."
They'd always called me Vincent-nii. "Nii" being short for onii-san—older brother. It was their way to show how close I am to them. But her words made my brow furrow.
"What happened, Sandy? Is something wrong with Hancock?" I asked, leaning my head back against the wall.
Yeah, Sandy—my personal shorthand for Sandersonia. Easier to say, easier to type. Same with Marigold—she's just Mari to me. But Hancock? That one's untouchable. What am I supposed to call her? Han sounds like some grumpy old man, and the other possible abbreviation… well, let's just say it's the kind of word you don't yell across a slave cell unless you want every head turning for all the wrong reasons.
Ehem 'c*ck' ehem, sorry my throat is itchy.
"She… she is…" Sandy's voice wavered, as if the words themselves were too heavy to push out. Then, from their side of the cell, I caught muffled noises—whispers, the faint edge of Hancock's voice. It sounded like they were debating whether to tell me or keep it locked away.
"Hancock," I called, letting my voice carry despite the sharp sting in my stitched cheek, "whatever happened to you, I'll be by your side." It hurt more than just speaking normally, but she needed to hear it—clear and certain.
"Vincent-nii," Sandy finally said, "my sister said I can tell you."
So it wouldn't be Hancock speaking, but Sandy. Whatever had happened today… it must've been a hell of a day for her to stay silent.
"Uh… today, me and my sisters were assigned to clean the stables," Sandy began, her voice low and tight. "But then… one of the Celestial Dragons saw my sister. He decided to take her somewhere. From what she told us later, he led her to the basement of one of the mansions—where he kept a… collection of women slaves."
Sandy's words trembled as she continued. "He gave her a Devil Fruit. She didn't know what kind it was, but… he forced her to swallow it. After that, he ordered the women to pose like a throne… and told Hancock to use her new power on them. The moment she did, they turned into stone—perfectly frozen, their bodies shaped into a throne for him to sit on."
She paused, swallowing hard. "Then he told her he had other… 'art' planned, and that she shouldn't worry, because no one would kill her now. But… that just made it worse. She can't stop feeling guilty, over and over, for what she was made to do to those poor women."
Those bastards… their twisted hobbies. First it was me, now it's Hancock. Just thinking about what they've done to us made my stomach churn. My fist clenched so tight my nails bit into my palm—hard enough that a thin trickle of blood slid down through my fingers.
Then, suddenly, a hand closed around mine. I looked up to see Darius, wearing that infuriatingly calm smirk of his.
"Calm down, kid," he said, voice low but steady. "I don't know exactly what those girls from the other cell told you, but… I can guess. Celestial Dragons again, huh?"
He wasn't wrong. It's always them—the self-proclaimed 'gods' with minds and morals lower than the filth under their boots.
"Remember," Darius went on, his grip firm, "their days are numbered. One of these days, you'll get your shot at them. So quit wasting energy on rage you can't use right now… instead use it to get stronger, faster. That way, when the time comes, you can pay them back for everything they've done to you—and to those girls."
He was right. My anger, as it was now, couldn't hurt them—it would only burn me from the inside out. I needed to tame it, to forge it into something sharp and disciplined, something I could wield when the time came. My fury wasn't a weakness—it was fuel, and I had to pour every drop of it into my training, my ambition, and my will to survive.
I gave Darius a firm nod, letting him know I understood. But this fire shouldn't burn in me alone. It had to spread—to Hancock, to Mari, to Sandy. They needed to feel it too, not to consume them, but to keep them standing when everything around us tried to break us.
"Sandy," I said, turning toward her cell, "can you tell Hancock and Mari to listen to me? They don't have to say anything—just listen." My voice was low but steady. I wanted to take some of the weight off Hancock's shoulders, even if it was only a little. More than that, I wanted them to carry this promise with them, to draw strength from it when their own hope began to fade.
"My sisters said they'll listen," Sandy replied after a moment. The words felt heavier than they should. I knew Hancock and Mari weren't going to speak, not now—but their silence didn't mean they weren't listening.
I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "Listen, you three… can you hold on for a few years? I know it's a long time, and it's going to hurt—bad—but you have to stay strong. Because I swear to you, I will get us out of here. No matter what happens, no matter what it costs me—you can trust me on this."
The quiet that followed was thick, the kind of silence that presses against your chest. Then, through it, I heard it—the faint, cracked sound of Hancock's voice, trembling from hours of crying. "Really…?" It was just one word, but the hope in it was real, fragile yet burning.
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "Even if it breaks me, I'll make sure the three of you escape. I don't care if I'm the one who doesn't make it—when the day comes, you will be free."
I meant every word. But deep inside, I knew there was always a chance that things wouldn't play out the same way they once did—that my presence here had already changed the flow of events. The butterfly effect was real, and I was the butterfly. My wings might be small, but they could stir a storm. And when that storm finally came, I'd make sure it swept them to freedom… even if it swallowed me whole.