"One beer. One cherry pie."
Darren stepped into the tavern, shoulders relaxed beneath his Marine coat. He picked a seat without looking twice and called out to the barkeep as if this were any nameless inn in any nameless town.
The place was dim. Smoke hung low in the air. The smell of blood still clung to several of the men—some pirates, some bounty hunters—who were noisily tearing into their meat. But the moment Darren walked in, the noise dropped like a rock in water.
A few pale faces slipped out in silence, heads lowered.
The presence of a Marine commodore had unsettled the whole tavern.
This was the first half of the Grand Line—"Paradise" to some, but still a backwater to those who knew real power. Anyone who could sail here from the Four Blues wasn't stupid. And no one here was dumb enough to pick a fight with a Headquarters commodore.
Maybe in the New World, a commodore didn't count for much.
But here? He was a storm walking in uniform.
"Wait... that's him, right?"
"No doubt. That height, that face—"
"He's the one who took down Byrnndi World!"
"The King of the North Blue—Rogers Darren!"
"Shit... What's a man like him doing in Mock Town?"
"He's not gonna wipe us all out... is he?"
Whispers festered like rot, fear threading through every murmur. All eyes were drawn to Darren, watching, waiting.
But he ignored them all.
He lifted the mug, took a deep draught of frothy beer, and bit into the steaming cherry pie set before him.
Not the worst thing he'd eaten. Not the best, either.
He chewed slowly, letting the faint sweetness sit on his tongue. In his mind, the real feast was just beginning.
The Rumble-Rumble Fruit.
Nature-class. Logia-type. Called "invincible" for good reason. Every record in Marine history spoke of its wielders as beings of unstoppable force—living storms with the power of gods.
And it wasn't just myth.
The ability to cross space with lightning-speed movement.
The destructive force of a natural disaster.
Elemental intangibility, the hallmark of every Logia.
And then—there was the Heart Network.
A layer beyond mere Observation Haki. When enhanced by the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, it expanded one's sensory field to encompass entire islands, syncing mind and body with the flow of every living thing.
It was one of the most coveted powers among those who had crossed from other worlds.
In the original history, the Rumble-Rumble Fruit had ended up with Enel—the self-proclaimed "God" who ruled Skypiea.
But here and now? Enel was probably still just a child. The chances of him having eaten the fruit yet were close to none.
Which meant the fruit was likely still on Skypiea. Hidden. Waiting.
Darren was already a Devil Fruit user. The Magnet-Magnet Fruit was part of him now. He couldn't have another.
Without the Magnet-Magnet Fruit, he probably wouldn't have lived long enough to sit in this tavern today.
And with everything it had already given him—its versatility, its destructive potential—he didn't feel shortchanged. If anything, with further development, it might even surpass the Rumble-Rumble Fruit.
That kind of power couldn't be left lying around.
It had to be secured.
And entrusted—to someone with potential. Someone loyal. Someone he could control.
He already had a candidate in mind.
But the Rumble-Rumble Fruit wasn't the only treasure Skypiea held.
There was something else. Something more tangible. More immediate.
An entire city built of gold. Not metaphor. Not legend. Fact.
How much was it worth?
Even a fraction of what the Straw Hat Pirates had taken from it fetched two hundred million berries. And that was under a deflated currency, during the era of mass inflation that followed the rise of the great pirate fleets.
Darren did the math in his head.
If they could clean out the entire city—strip Shandora down to its bedrock—he could fund the North Blue Fleet for years. Decades, maybe.
He could expand it tenfold.
Hundreds of upgraded heavy warships. High-tech artillery. Advanced weapons systems. A standing fleet of thirty thousand elite marines, drilled and ready for total warfare.
The vision alone sent a rush through his blood.
Right now, the North Blue Fleet was efficient—but small.
He'd poured everything into it: gold, arms, science, manpower. Even with all the money he raked in, he was barely keeping ahead of costs. Salaries. Weapon maintenance. Ship repairs. R&D.
But if he got his hands on Shandora's hoard...
He wouldn't have to think about money for five years.
He'd be free to think bigger.
Things that didn't even exist in this world yet—things from the other world. Plans. Technologies. Military doctrines.
He could bring them all to life.
Let Marine Headquarters worry about their budget shortfalls.
Let Fleet Admiral Kong and Admiral Sengoku lose sleep over it.
The North Blue paid for itself.
North Blue – 321st Branch
The base commander's office was buried in reports.
"Are the gifts ready?"
Captain Momonga, Supreme Commander of the North Blue, didn't look up as he spoke. His voice was calm, but iron-threaded.
A young Marine stood at attention.
"Yes, sir. All prepared. Two hundred million berries in gold and silver, along with premium liquors, rare cigars, and other high-end gifts. Total value exceeds three hundred million. Transport has been secured—one warship escorting it directly to Rubeck Island."
He hesitated, then added carefully:
"Sir... if I may. The Donquixote Family is just an underground syndicate in the North Blue. Do we really need to go this far for them?"
Momonga's pen stilled. He glanced up—not with anger, but with a chill that silenced the room.
"Tell me. How has the North Blue Fleet treated you?"
The young officer blinked, then replied:
"Very well, sir. Exceptionally well."
"Our salary is more than three times the Headquarters standard. With bonuses, my family lives better than most nobles."
"Our food, our weapons, our instructors—everything is the best."
"And do you know why that is?"
The young man straightened.
"To carry out orders. Without hesitation."
He paused mid-sentence. Realized what he'd just said. Face flushed.
"Apologies, sir. I overstepped."
Momonga let out a soft breath that was almost a chuckle.
"This sea doesn't bend to logic. I once followed Commodore Darren's orders without a second thought. And I don't regret it."
"A soldier's worth isn't in his doubts. It's in his execution."
"Understood, sir. Thank you for the guidance."
The young Marine saluted crisply.
"One more thing, sir," he added, picking up a folder. "Over the next three days, there are three charity banquets, two poker games, and one auction event on your schedule. Should I confirm your attendance?"
Momonga waved a hand without looking.
This time, the Marine nodded without a word and quietly stepped out.
Momonga leaned back, exhausted. The chair creaked under him.
He lit a cigar, took a long draw, and pressed his fingers to his temples.
"This position... Supreme Commander of the North Blue... is far more of a headache than I expected."
His voice was dry, but not without humor.
Then came a voice—cool, amused, teasing.
"Is that so? Funny—Tokikake was begging me on his knees to send him here as your adjutant."
Momonga's hand instinctively dropped to the hilt at his waist. But when he turned—his eyes widened in surprise.