"Enjoy the Festival!!"
"Enjoy the Festival to you too!!"
On a neutral island somewhere in the New World, the night was alive with revelry. The streets bustled under lanterns and garlands, laughter and greetings echoing as people, dressed in every manner of festive clothing, exchanged holiday wishes in the crowded marketplace.
In the bathroom of an ordinary inn, Dragon stood beneath a scalding shower, head tilted back, letting the torrent of hot water wash away days of exhaustion.
Rivulets of blood traced down his battered body, mixing with the steam and water. After a moment, he turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower, walking to the mirror.
He wiped the condensation from the glass and stared at the reflection staring back—his lean, scarred body, and a face that seemed almost unfamiliar to him.
The fresh scar that cut across his left cheek had already begun to scab, the intricate pattern of it like a permanent brand. It erased the gentle air that had once been his hallmark, lending instead an edge of wildness, cold defiance, and a warrior's pride.
Looking into the mirror at this changed face, Dragon let out a long breath and forced a faint, wry smile.
He could see it clearly now. He had grown up.
"From now on... the road is yours alone, boy," he murmured softly.
He slipped into a loose bathrobe and left the bathroom.
In the suite beyond, a man stood in the shadows, dressed in a plain black suit that would have made him disappear in any crowd. When Dragon emerged, the man gave a small bow.
"Sir, you're safe now," he said respectfully. "This island lies within the New World. I've prepared the detailed sea charts and Eternal Poses for the surrounding islands—they're on the writing desk."
Dragon studied the man's unremarkable face, plain as a thousand others. Then he asked quietly:
"Do you know who I really am?"
The man's voice was calm, respectful.
"It's not important. My mission was to bring you to the New World safely—and it's done. But if you insist on the truth, then yes... I know you're Monkey D. Dragon. The son of the Marine 'Hero' Monkey D. Garp. Once a monster within the Marines. Now a world-class criminal, hunted by the World Government and the Marines with a bounty of two billion Berries."
Dragon was silent for a moment. Then he asked:
"Do you know what I did?"
"I know," the man said simply. "You killed a Celestial Dragon."
Dragon's brow furrowed.
"Then you understand... that by carrying out this mission, you're risking your life."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "Aren't you afraid I'll kill you to silence you?"
The man shook his head.
"To work for that man... it's the greatest honor of my life," he said quietly. "If it costs me everything, I have no regrets."
Dragon stared at him for a long moment.
"Darren's subordinate, then?"
The man did not deny it. He bowed deeply.
"Three years ago, Lord Darren saved my entire family's lives and gave them enough wealth to last generations... This is the least I can do in return."
He paused, then added:
"Also, Dragon—Lord Darren wanted me to pass along a message."
Dragon blinked in surprise. "What message?"
The man raised his head, a small smile flickering across his lips.
"He said... 'I understand how you felt better than anyone—after all, that Celestial Dragon in the North Blue wasn't the only one who died.'"
Dragon's eyes went wide, struck as if by lightning.
It clicked into place. His heart skipped a beat.
"Wait... you mean—" he stammered.
A complex mix of shock, confusion, realization, and a dozen other emotions surged across Dragon's face.
Suddenly everything made sense.
Why the incident with Saint Shaldes had been impossible to trace to its true source.
Why Darren had said he "understood" how it felt to kill a Celestial Dragon.
Why he'd looked at Dragon with that hint of frustration and pity in his eyes.
If that was true—everything made perfect sense.
He remembered how he'd boasted to Darren about the thrill of killing a Celestial Dragon, the satisfaction it had given him—and he felt a wave of embarrassment. His toes curled involuntarily in his slippers.
Another thought struck him like a hammer.
If it had really been Darren who'd killed Saint Shaldes... then with Admiral Sengoku's cunning, he would have surely noticed something.
After all, it had been Sengoku who oversaw that case at the start.
Yet if Sengoku had noticed, why had nothing happened to Darren? Why had he only risen higher and higher in rank?
There was only one answer.
Darren had left no trace.
He'd done it perfectly.
Dragon's thoughts sharpened. Everything was so clear now.
"So that's it..." he murmured.
A faint, self-deprecating smile curved his lips.
"Compared to Darren's meticulous planning, I must seem like a reckless fool to Admiral Sengoku," he muttered to himself.
But he didn't regret it.
Even if he could go back in time, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill that Celestial Dragon again.
He could never be like Darren—calculating every move, seeing every possibility.
But hearing this—feeling this—suddenly all the weight of loneliness and frustration lifted from his chest.
Because... there was someone else in this world who had dared to draw a blade against the "noble and great gods."
It felt like, in the endless darkness of night, he had been groping forward alone with a single flickering lamp. And then, in that deepest black, he discovered another soul also walking forward in the same night—also bearing that defiant light.
A warmth—no, a heat—rose in his chest, overwhelming and fierce.
"Darren..." Dragon whispered, his eyes stinging, his fists clenched tight.
"I thought we would drift apart forever... that we would part ways completely."
"I never imagined... that we might still be walking this path together."
He shook his head, remembering the stories of the North Blue Fleet and that calm, unshakable confidence in Darren's eyes.
"Perhaps... you've already walked further than me," he murmured, his voice so low only he could hear it.
"...then, Dragon, I'll take my leave now," the man said softly.
He gestured to the small cake on the table, offering a gentle smile.
"This is my humble gift to you," he said. "I didn't understand that song you sang... but I felt something in it—a power beyond words."
"I know the path ahead will be hard and sacred. May this small sweetness bring you a moment's comfort in that endless struggle."
He bowed low, his sincerity shining through.
"Enjoy the Festival, sir."
Outside, fireworks burst in the night sky—vivid bursts of color that bloomed and faded in dazzling splendor.
For a moment, Dragon's eyes went unfocused as he watched the festival fireworks. Only then did he realize—the new year had come.
A gentle smile softened his face.
"You too. Enjoy the Festival," he said.
"Go home. Be with your family. That's what truly matters, isn't it?"