Sengoku stared at the figures printed on the procurement list, his fingers stiffening around the paper. The numbers blurred slightly—either from his aging eyesight or from sheer disbelief.
Line after line of tiny, precise digits filled the page. But it wasn't the quantity that rattled him—it was the number of zeroes trailing behind each item.
"This... this has to be a mistake..."
He pulled off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put them back on—surely, he was just exhausted, sleep-deprived.
But the numbers hadn't changed.
Every single item... carried a price tag that made his skin crawl.
High-voltage stun rifle: 500,000 Berries.
Portable rocket launcher: 1,000,000 Berries.
Flamethrower: 800,000 Berries.
Ship-mounted medium ballistic missile—the same type that sank Byrnndi World's final pirate ship: 8,000,000 Berries. Each.
That's right. Eight million per missile.
And the ship upgrades?
Sengoku nearly fell out of his chair.
Hundred million Berries just to modify the keel of a single medium-class warship!?
Hundred million! You could build two ships from scratch with that!
(And at this point in time, Berries were worth even more than in the present day.)
He did some quick mental math—and the final figure made his jaw clench.
Ten ships. Two thousand elite North Blue Marines.
Factoring in the tech, ammo, and equipment, the total cost of the North Blue Fleet deployed to subdue Byrnndi World came to at least two billion Berries.
And that didn't even include combat losses, destroyed weapons, or supplies.
But Byrnndi World's bounty?
Four hundred million.
Sengoku slumped forward and cradled his face in one hand.
To put it bluntly—that victory had been bought with pure, unapologetic gold.
"That damn brat... where the hell did Darren get this kind of money?!"
He was gritting his teeth now.
He refused to admit that jealousy had twisted his face.
As an Admiral and one of the leading candidates for Fleet Admiral, Sengoku had complete oversight of Marineford's finances.
Two billion Berries was... unfathomable.
That was nearly an entire quarter's operating budget for Marine Headquarters.
That money didn't just pay for warships—it funded the bases, fortress maintenance, weapon upkeep, soldier wages, and everything in between.
When you subtracted the essentials, Marineford only had about 300 million Berries left in flexible funds each quarter.
And Darren? He blew through two billion like it was pocket change—and sounded like he still planned to expand the North Blue Fleet.
"...He's lost his mind. Completely insane..."
Sengoku muttered into his hands.
Back in the 321st Branch – Base Commander's Office
As the door clicked shut, Dragon's warm, easygoing smile vanished.
His gaze sharpened into something razor-edged, voice low and serious.
"So it's true, then?"
"You've got Doflamingo—Donquixote Doflamingo, the head of the underworld in the North Blue—working for you."
Darren raised an eyebrow... and grinned.
"Not exactly," he said, lighting a cigar. "Doffy's my godson."
"Your... godson?" Dragon frowned.
Darren hopped onto the desk casually, blowing out a thin trail of smoke.
"It's a North Blue thing. We have a saying up here:
'This world's too dangerous—every kid should have two fathers.'"
"Doffy lost his real parents young. No guidance, no discipline. When he came to the North, he made a lot of mistakes. Bad ones."
"I punished him. He learned. He's changing now—trying to do better."
"As Marines, we can't just let gifted kids rot, right?"
"We're supposed to offer them a path back."
Dragon's brow tightened.
"You're telling me... Doflamingo accepted you as his... godfather?"
Darren spread his arms.
Dragon's eyes narrowed. "You do realize who he is, don't you?"
"He's more than just 'a gifted kid.'"
Darren smiled but didn't answer.
He wasn't trying to hide the truth. Not really.
After the operation against Byrnndi World, anyone with half a brain could probably piece together the real relationship between Darren and the Donquixote Family.
Hell, Sengoku definitely knew.
The old fox was sharp.
But instead of confronting Darren before leaving the North Blue, he'd sent Dragon.
That alone said something.
Dragon wasn't a senior officer. This wasn't an interrogation.
But as the son of Garp, the Hero of the Marines, Dragon had... weight.
His presence alone was a sign of respect.
If HQ wanted someone's head, they'd have sent Vice Admiral Tsuru, not Dragon.
And so... the office fell into silence.
The kind of silence where you could hear a pin drop.
Dragon suddenly burst out laughing and threw an arm around Darren's shoulders, clapping him hard on the back.
"You're insane, Darren!!"
"Godfather to a Celestial Dragon's spawn?! Only you would pull that off!"
"Bahahaha!! That's brilliant!!"
Darren stared, blinking.
Why the hell are you excited!?
"I've hated those pompous bastards for years!"
Dragon waved his fists in the air like a schoolkid on a sugar rush.
"Ah—wait, nope. Didn't say that. You heard nothing."
Darren squinted at him.
Just seconds ago, this man had radiated leadership, calm authority, charm, and discipline.
Now he looked like a dumbass.
An oddly familiar kind of dumbass.
"...Rear Admiral Dragon."
"You really are Garp's son."