Blood exploded through the air, scattering into a mist of crimson droplets.
The towering flame that had pierced the sky lasted only a second—then quickly died away.
Its embers crumbled one by one off the shattered blade, revealing cracks running deep across its surface.
Everyone on the field stood frozen in place.
Their eyes locked on the figure wreathed in fading smoke, still standing in silence.
And in their chests, a strange emotion rose—tight, aching, overwhelming.
Some felt tears sting their eyes.
"HAHAHAHA!! Well done!!"
Tokikake yelled, practically vibrating with adrenaline.
"That was epic!! So damn cool!!"
Kuzan's eyes sparkled like a kid watching fireworks.
All around them, fists clenched, and tension finally released in deep, satisfying exhales.
"That was one hell of a swing,"
His tone held more than respect—it held genuine satisfaction.
In front of him, Yamakaji, soaked in blood, was still upright.
The broken blade had buried itself deep in Darren's chest, wedged between his muscle like a red-hot stake. Blood flowed from the wound in steady streams.
It had been a magnificent strike.
The sheer force behind it—the rage, the refusal to bow, the reckless courage—all of it had become one with the blade.
The conviction behind it... was absolute.
That strike had already surpassed Gion's best, even after her training under him.
If any other Marine officer had taken that hit...
They'd be done. Organs shredded. Dead on arrival, even if the best doctors from Marine Headquarters were waiting.
And even he, with his body as close to invincible as a human could get...
...could feel the disruption in his own breath.
'At this rate... it'll take at least thirty minutes before this wound closes up.'
That was with the improvements to his body—after fighting Byrnndi World, after clashing with Roger.
Had this been the old him?
'Two hours, minimum.'
Yamakaji was future Marine HQ material—one of the pillars of Justice yet to be carved.
Yes, Darren had held back a bit. He wanted to give this kid a push. He liked his stubbornness, his grit, his sword.
The strength behind that slash was real. Deserved. Hard-earned.
Darren looked down as the weight shifted.
Yamakaji was smiling.
Bloody teeth. Split lip.
"I made it... to your front line."
He sounded... proud. Content.
Chest lifted high, even as his body was about to collapse.
"You're... strong..."
He murmured, and then—his eyes closed.
Darren caught him before he fell.
The others rushed forward. Someone grabbed a Den Den Mushi and urgently called the base medics.
Within minutes, uniformed medical staff arrived and carefully loaded Yamakaji onto a stretcher.
Zephyr hovered nearby, frowning with concern. "His injuries?"
The lead medic checked him over, then replied:
"Nothing fatal. Severe blood loss, three fractures in the arm. We'll begin transfusions immediately. No risk to life or function."
Everyone exhaled in relief.
Then they turned to Darren.
He'd held back. They all knew it now.
Darren ignored their looks.
He slowly turned around.
His eyes fell on Tokikake, who froze like a deer in headlights.
Darren's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile... but wasn't not a smile either.
"Quite the spirited cheering, Commander Tokikake."
"Heh... uh... atmosphere building, you know? Gotta keep the crowd fired up..."
Tokikake's face twitched. He took a step back. Then another.
Zephyr glared at the coward, then stepped forward.
"Doctor—check Darren's wound too."
"No need, Zephyr-sensei."
"No need!? You idiot, you just got out of critical care!"
Zephyr's voice cracked with frustration.
"If that hit leaves any lingering damage, you're gonna regret—"
Behind his sunglasses, his eyes widened.
Had already stopped bleeding.
Zephyr's mouth twitched.
He finally understood why Sengoku always looked like he'd seen a ghost whenever Darren's name came up.
What kind of monster was this kid?
"Zephyr-sensei!! Let's move on already!!"
Kuzan shoved his face into the conversation, flexing his arm and flashing a huge grin.
"I've been waiting forever!!"
"The winner of this duel..."
He looked to Darren again.
"The top four advancing to the semifinals of the Elite Officer Training Camp are: Kuzan, Tokikake, Gion, and Darren."
"But before that... we'll determine the fifth seat."
"The contenders are Onigumo and Yamakaji..."
"Given Yamakaji's current condition, he is unable to continue. Therefore, the winner is—"
He paused, about to declare it.
Onigumo rested a hand on his sword. Face calm.
"That last strike... I couldn't block it."
"That fifth seat—belongs to him."
Zephyr stared at him. Then nodded.
"...Very well. Then I officially declare—Yamakaji claims the Fifth Seat."
"Now, draw your lots."
Zephyr held out four crumpled slips of paper.
Kuzan rushed in first, practically bouncing, and grabbed one.
Darren and Gion followed in calm silence.
Tokikake stood frozen.
He looked at the last remaining paper like it was a live grenade.
He glanced at Darren.
"...Zephyr-sensei, can I just surrender now?"
Zephyr. Darren. Kuzan. Gion.
Unanimous. Cold. Final.
Trembling, he picked it up. Unfolded it.
"...Well, that's unfortunate."
A voice purred behind him.
Tokikake's face turned ghostly white.
Darren was standing right there.
Holding up his own slip of paper.
"Didn't you shout something earlier... about 'Beat that bastard Darren'?"
And this time, it was definitely not friendly.