As Darren followed the messenger into the highest-level conference room of the Fleet Admiral’s Office, flanked by Sakazuki and Borsalino, he was met with the weight of dozens of sharp, assessing gazes.
Save for Fleet Admiral Kong—currently in Mary Geoise reporting to the World Government—every Vice Admiral and high-ranking officer of Marine Headquarters was present.
They sat in solemn rows around a massive oval conference table, each man dressed in a crisp black suit beneath a flowing Marine justice cloak. Their eyes were flint, their expressions carved from stone.
Before every officer lay a slim, black file—each one marked with the names Darren, Sakazuki, and Borsalino.
Contained within were their full military records: their careers from enlistment to the present, their combat achievements, commendations, and disciplinary reports.
This hearing was, on paper, a routine formality.
In truth, it was something far more consequential.
Sakazuki and Borsalino’s qualifications were beyond dispute. Both were Headquarters Rear Admirals with military merits that vastly exceeded the norm for promotion to Vice Admiral. Their only obstacle had been age—and even that was no longer enough to hold them back.
The Battle of Marineford had settled any lingering doubts.
But Darren... Darren was the wild card.
He was younger than both, yet his performance in the war had eclipsed them all.
His actions—his power—had shaped the outcome of the battle. There was no denying his eligibility.
But his path to promotion had already been delayed once—thanks to the Dragon incident.
The atmosphere in the chamber was oppressive. The flags of the World Government and the Marine Justice Seagull flanked the walls, heavy with authority.
Among the crowd, Darren recognized familiar faces—officers he’d fought beside against the Golden Lion. Others, however, were unfamiliar... and unwelcoming. Their gazes ranged from skeptical to dismissive, some even openly sneering.
The Inspectorate, Darren thought, lips curling faintly.
The Marine system was vast.
Alongside its combat divisions were three parallel pillars: administration, military staff, and the Disciplinary Inspectorate.
The first two coordinated logistics and command flow. The third was different.
The Disciplinary Inspectorate was a separate beast. Answering only to the Fleet Admiral, it had the authority to monitor, report, and—if necessary—impeach Marines of any rank.
It was, essentially, a military watchdog.
And most of its members were government plants—loyal not to the Marines, but to the World Government itself.
If there are going to be objections... it’ll come from them.
A familiar voice cut through the tension.
"You’ve all arrived."
Admiral Sengoku, seated at the head of the table, offered them a wry smile.
"Take your seats, gentlemen. No need to be nervous."
He gestured toward the raised platform before the council—a long, narrow table, elevated like a press podium, facing the gathered commanders.
His eyes flicked toward them, carrying a silent message: Don’t start trouble.
Sakazuki didn’t hesitate. He stepped up and claimed the leftmost seat with the calm of a man expecting a battlefield.
Borsalino smiled faintly at Darren. "After you."
Darren chuckled, shook his head, and took the center seat.
Borsalino followed, settling into the right.
The three sat side by side, facing the room full of ranking officers—an audience of power and judgment. Gazes weighed on them like anchors.
And then, in perfect unison—
They crossed their legs.
A synchronized, unapologetic gesture of defiance.
Sengoku’s smile froze mid-expression.
Tsuru quietly covered her face with one hand.
Zephyr’s jaw twitched.
Garp, on the other hand, happily tore open a bag of senbei and began munching with enthusiasm.
Kuzan, seated against the wall, whispered, "So cool..."
Across the table, the Inspectorate officers exchanged dark, thunderous glares.
These upstarts are just as arrogant as the rumors claimed...
No respect for hierarchy...
Do they think we can’t bring them down?
Sengoku cleared his throat.
"Ahem. It seems our heroes from the battlefield are still recovering. Perhaps the walk from the hospital wore them out."
His forced chuckle was a desperate attempt to defuse the tension.
"Oh, not me," Borsalino said lazily. He removed his black bowler hat and lit a cigarette, lounging like he owned the place.
"Same here," Darren said with a grin, biting down on a fresh cigar. He casually tossed another to Sakazuki.
"I’m ready for deployment," Sakazuki replied flatly.
He caught the cigar, placed it between his teeth, and ignited it with a touch from his smoldering, black-gloved fingers.
Smoke curled into the air as the three men sat there—smirking, smoking, and utterly unbothered—gazing back at the highest echelons of the Marine command.
The air thickened with pressure.
Across the room, the Inspectorate officers bristled.
Several turned and glared at Sengoku and Zephyr.
Sengoku opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Zephyr... looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose.