"Interesting!! Too damn interesting!! Kahahaha!!"
Bullet's eyes burned as he stared at the Marine before him, laughing wildly.
"You're a hell of a lot more fun than your average Marine!"
Darren smiled faintly.
"You heard him—I'm not your average Marine."
As he spoke, he pressed one hand against the dark, soot-stained wall and began forcing himself to stand.
With the high-purity seastone shackles weighing him down, every motion was agonizingly slow and strained.
It felt like a mountain had been dropped onto his back. Just standing up brought a sheen of cold sweat to his forehead, his breathing ragged.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Save your strength. What the hell are you trying to do?"
Bullet frowned, eyeing him warily.
"In this state, I'm not in the mood for a deathmatch."
"Who said anything about a deathmatch?"
Darren's voice was flat, sweat dripping from his brow and sliding down onto his unshaven chin.
"Then what are you trying to do?"
Bullet couldn't help asking.
Then, suddenly, his eyes widened—he seemed to be witnessing something absurd.
In the flickering torchlight of the dim prison...
The bloodied Marine, dragging the weight of his seastone shackles, looked up and flashed a beast-like grin.
Darren's eyes gleamed with savage intensity.
Gritting his teeth, his bare upper body rippled with strain. Thick veins bulged like coiled snakes across his skin. His joints cracked audibly as he lowered his stance—feet shoulder-width apart...
Twin jets of steam blasted from Darren's nostrils. He let out a low, growling roar as his body dropped down—
And rose—steady and precise.
A textbook-perfect squat.
Bullet's pupils contracted into slits.
Even under the intense weakening effects of high-purity seastone... wounded and exhausted to the bone... he chose now to start training!?
The thought had barely flashed through his mind when Darren squatted again.
This time, it was even harder. His spine looked as if it might snap under the invisible weight. Bullet swore he could almost see a mountain crushing down on him.
Darren's growl echoed like a beast's roar from deep in his chest.
"Hey, hey, you keep going , your body's going to give out."
Bullet twitched at the eye, unable to hold back.
Darren didn't seem to hear. His blood surged through every muscle with each heartbeat. His skin flushed visibly red under the strain.
"Bullet, if you're that bored, you could help me count."
Bullet's expression changed. He grit his teeth and roared,
"You little bastard—don't you mock me!!"
With that, he too leaned against the wall, groaning through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright—and began training!
Two blood-covered figures, beneath the swaying torches, eyes bloodshot and snarling, began a hellish regime. Despite the seastone's suppression, they fought back, refusing to yield.
With every motion, their lungs and hearts screamed like they were about to explode.
The pain was blinding.
Their faces twisted like demons, veins bulging wildly.
The seastone shackles rattled with each motion, clear and sharp.
Each squat, simple in any normal state, now became a battle against their own limits.
As Bullet kept moving alongside Darren, a strange feeling crept into his chest.
Raised in war, hardened by battlefields and brutal training, Bullet always believed no one could surpass him in ruthlessness toward his own body.
His obsession with becoming "the strongest" forged a mind as hard as steel.
He found himself shaken.
This Marine—Darren—his resilience, his thirst for self-discipline, his will...
They were in no way inferior to Bullet's own.
No—he refused to believe anyone could outdo him.
At least when it came to training, Douglas Bullet would not be outdone!
Blood burst from his nostrils, streaking down his face, but his eyes burned bright with madness.
Unknowingly, both men had locked eyes—recognizing the competitive spark in the other.
Both collapsed heavily to the floor, panting like beasts.
"T-twenty-five... I-I didn't lose..."
Bullet gasped, chest rising and falling like a bellows.
Darren's face had gone paper white, but he still licked his cracked lips and chuckled.
"Didn't expect you to keep up with my pace..."
Bullet scoffed between ragged breaths.
"So... that's your l-limit, huh...? I could keep going for days... huff huff... easy stuff... cough cough!!"
He suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, face turning red from the strain.
Darren didn't reply, just focused on breathing.
His chest felt like it was about to explode.
Truth was, he'd long wanted to try seastone resistance training.
But seastone was rare—especially in the North Blue.
And with his heavy Marine schedule, the chance never came.
He'd planned to request low-purity shackles for gradual training once the camp ended.
But instead, Kaido captured him.
Now, ironically, he was getting the highest purity "treatment" available.
As he caught his breath, Darren realized he couldn't even lift a finger.
He smiled bitterly and said,
"You were right. Once Kaido realizes we can't be tamed, he'll kill us without a second thought."
"Doesn't matter. The Marines will come for you."
Darren exhaled deeply, eyes narrowing.
"Maybe. But staking my life on someone else showing up... that's not my style."
Bullet blinked, suddenly alert.
"What are you planning?"
Darren turned toward him with great effort, took a deep breath, and said,
"Let's work together."
He stared deep into Darren's eyes—then slowly grinned with wild abandon.
This time, it was Darren's turn to be surprised.
He hadn't expected such a quick answer.
"Don't look so shocked. It's just one arm."
As if reading his mind, Bullet sneered.
"Once we survive this... we'll tear into each other properly."
Their eyes met—sparks flying invisibly in the air between them.
The prison door slowly creaked open.
"Muhahaha, well now... you both look lively today..."
A pudgy man in suspenders strolled in, cigar clamped in his teeth, leering shamelessly.
"Very nice. Then let's begin today's experiment—hmm?"
Queen froze mid-step.
He had just noticed that both prisoners were staring at him... with glowing eyes, like they'd been waiting for him.