Golden morning light streamed through the glass window, casting dappled patterns of leaves on the wall—a scene of calm and quiet ease.
Darren opened his eyes and slowly sat up from bed.
The room was small, but impeccably clean.
He instinctively ran a check over his condition. As his finely tuned bodily awareness kicked in, his personal status panel surfaced in his mind:
All four stats had improved significantly since the last time.
Physique had seen the biggest leap—proof that taking Roger's nearly fatal Divine Avoidance head-on wasn't in vain. That single strike alone had pushed his endurance (physique) up by at least two points.
The other three—Strength, Speed, and Devil Fruit—had each increased by just over one point.
Hard to believe it was all from a single fight.
Darren quietly estimated: if he'd relied on his old training methods from the North Blue, even pushing his body to the absolute limit, it would've taken at least three months to achieve the same gains.
And yet this came from nothing more than a brief skirmish.
Then again, it made perfect sense.
A hundred simulations couldn't match a single real battle.
That surge of adrenaline on the brink of death, the way every cell, every muscle, every nerve was pushed to the limit—it created a suffocating pressure that no regular training could reproduce.
Only by clashing with the strong could he push his body to its fullest potential and break past his limits.
"If only I could go through a few more of those..."
The thought crossed his mind, and Darren chuckled to himself.
One swing had nearly killed him. The only reason he was still breathing was pure dumb luck... not to mention, Roger hadn't even gone all out.
If that had been a real duel to the death, he wouldn't have lasted a second.
That slash—the one so fearsome even demons would flee before it...
Darren's hand unconsciously clenched into a fist.
He let out a long breath several seconds later and got up to wash.
After the training camp's duel tournament, the cadets were given three days of free activity.
Part of it was to give the injured time to heal. But it was also meant to help these recruits, drawn from all over the world, get used to life in Marineford.
After a quick wash and putting on his uniform, Darren draped his Marine coat over his shoulders and stepped outside.
Autumn had quietly arrived. Leaves drifted across the yard, and even the trees seemed tinged with gold.
On a nearby beach chair lay Dragon, limbs sprawled in every direction, a bubble rising and falling from his nose as he snored.
Darren rubbed his temples.
"You really are hopeless..."
He shook his head and walked out of the courtyard.
A stiff-looking young man was already waiting outside, holding a fresh fruit basket with both hands. As soon as he saw Darren, he jogged over and saluted smartly.
"Commodore Darren! Here's the fruit basket you requested!"
The young Marine was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, clearly taking great care with the delivery.
Darren accepted the basket with a smile.
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
"N-no trouble at all!" the officer stammered, waving his hands quickly.
Darren then handed him a thick wad of Berries.
"Commodore, you already paid! I haven't even used up the last amount yet..."
The officer instinctively stepped back.
"Take it. And go get me breakfast."
His tone left no room for argument as he shoved the money into the officer's hands.
Then he pointed back at the still-sleeping Dragon and smiled faintly.
"Nothing lifts the spirit like a warm breakfast, right?"
Without waiting for a response, Darren turned and walked off, the fruit basket swinging from one hand, leaving the young Lieutenant Junior Grade behind—holding a fat stack of colorful Berries, utterly stunned.
"This... this is way too much..."
The morning fog had cleared. A cool breeze brushed against his cheek—crisp and soothing.
Darren walked down the street at an unhurried pace, looking calm and composed.
He never liked making people do things for free—especially not those outside his core circle.
Back in the North Blue, where mafia influence ran deep, he'd seen too many so-called bosses end up dead in a ditch, betrayed by the very underlings they used to order around like dogs.
It was always the ones they looked down on—the grunts, the errand boys—who stabbed them in the back when things turned sour.
People were complicated.
That wad of cash meant nothing to Darren.
But to that young Marine, it was a fortune.
Real wealth wasn't the mountains of gold you hoarded, or the digits in your bank account, or your fancy villas and private yachts—
It was the hearts you'd bought.
Maybe Darren would never need that Lieutenant Junior Grade.
But having someone you might never use was always better than needing someone you didn't have.
For just a few hundred thousand Berries, he'd won the gratitude of the officer in charge of training camp logistics.
As for directly handing over the cash?
No, no—that would be inappropriate.
Bribery? Violating regulations? Darren would never stoop to something so underhanded.
All he did was ask the Lieutenant to buy him a fruit basket.
Following the directions, Darren soon reached his destination.
He hadn't even reached the gate when he heard a storm of yelling from inside—mixed with the sound of something being swung and rapid footsteps.
"You little brat! You're still covered in injuries and you brought home a stray cat!? We've already got a whole zoo in here! Those damn animals eat better than we do!"
"Aaahhh! Pops, stop chasing me! You can't even see! What if you trip!?"
"Just 'cause I can't see doesn't mean I can't hear, you brat! Stop running!"
Darren couldn't help but laugh.
He stepped forward and pushed open the courtyard gate.
The two figures inside froze on the spot.
One of them had a buzz cut and was completely wrapped in bandages, stuck mid-stride in a fleeing pose.
Behind him stood a middle-aged man with cloudy eyes, breathing heavily and gripping a wooden stick.
Both men turned their heads stiffly toward Darren.
Darren raised the fruit basket.
"Looks like you're recovering well, Captain Yamakaji."