Marine Headquarters — Fleet Admiral’s Office
"Damn it, Sengoku, stop pacing already! You’re making my head spin," Kong growled, cigar clenched between his teeth as he watched Sengoku fidget for the hundredth time, hands locked behind his back, steps quick and erratic.
The desk in front of Kong was new—just delivered to replace the one shattered in an earlier outburst. He sat behind it now, brow furrowed, the weight of command pressing down on him harder than ever.
Sengoku chuckled, but the sound rang hollow. His gaze kept flicking toward Borsalino.
"How much longer?" he asked. "Why haven’t we heard anything from Darren yet?"
Borsalino didn’t even look up. He was busy trimming his fingernails, expression unreadable. "Even with Darren’s... impressive speed, it’d still take him nearly three hours to reach the island using the Eternal Pose from Marineford."
"I see..." Sengoku murmured. Cold sweat dampened his palms.
No one could fault his anxiety. Darren’s plan was madness—bold to the point of lunacy. And with every passing minute, the tension inside Marine Headquarters twisted tighter.
Zephyr sat in grim silence, arms folded across his chest. Tsuru’s fingers shuffled through papers she wasn’t reading. The ashtray at Kong’s elbow overflowed with cigar stubs.
The Visual Den Den Mushi perched on the table stirred to life, its soft glow casting ripples of light onto the large screen mounted on the wall.
A grainy image slowly came into focus:
The sky—wide and endless. Clouds curled like smoke over the sea. And far in the distance, an island flew a pink Jolly Roger, flapping gently in the wind.
A familiar voice echoed across the room, tinged with humor and steel.
Every head snapped toward the screen.
That flag—that absurd pink skull and crossbones—was unmistakable.
Kong took a long drag of his cigar. "Let’s see what this lunatic does now..."
Zephyr’s knuckles tightened. "If it’s him, he won’t lose."
Tsuru gave a silent nod.
Sakazuki said nothing. His jaw clenched, eyes fixed to the screen like a hawk watching prey.
"It’s finally happening! Bwahahaha!" Garp tore into a fresh bag of senbei and crossed his legs like a kid at the theater, practically vibrating with excitement.
Kuzan leaned forward, hands braced on his knees. "This is crazy... Darren actually made it into Totto Land!"
Even Sengoku—despite himself—felt his chest swell with something perilously close to hope.
Still, he had to ask. "Borsalino, are you absolutely sure the signal will hold?"
"Crystal clear," Borsalino replied, unfazed. "Unless something unexpected happens, every Marine Branch and base across the sea is already connected."
He gave a slow grin. "I also looped in the major newspapers. Most of the World Government’s Member Nations, too. As long as there’s Den Den Mushi coverage, they’re watching this live... or as Darren called it—his ’blitzkrieg.’"
Silence swept the room. No one dared breathe too loudly.
Everything—honor, glory, reputation—balanced on the edge of this broadcast.
Would Darren deliver? Could the Marines reclaim their pride? Or was this merely the first spark in a firestorm of humiliation?
Meanwhile, on the Sabaody Archipelago...
"What the hell is that?!"
"Look! A giant screen!"
"It’s from a Visual Den Den Mushi—live footage!"
"Wait... that island—don’t tell me—that’s Totto Land?!"
Crowds gathered in the plazas. Shouts and whispers tangled in the air like static. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the screens. Gasps spread like wildfire.
Then, a deep voice rang out, confident and clear:
"I am Rogers Darren, newly appointed Vice Admiral of Marine Headquarters."
"You might remember my name from the recent ceremony. If not, no matter. All I ask is that you stay calm... and enjoy the show."
A hand lifted on the screen, pointing toward the horizon.
"That’s Oven-Baked Snack Island—one of the territories under Big Mom’s flag."
"In the next three minutes..."
"...I will completely annihilate every pirate on that island."
Around the globe—on islands, in kingdoms, across towns and ports—people stared at the screens, stunned into silence. Faces turned pale. Jaws dropped.
A single Vice Admiral, storming into the Yonko’s territory... and declaring live that he would wipe it clean?
They couldn’t believe what they were hearing.
Across the Grand Line, Darren’s speech from earlier that day still lingered in the minds of the people—stirring, bold, defiant.
But most had laughed it off.
The Marines didn’t have the strength to invade the New World. If they did, they’d have done it already. Who waited until Marineford was nearly razed to declare war?
But now... this was reality.
And reality was far more terrifying than rhetoric.
He was actually doing it.
North Blue — Rubeck Island
Within the Donquixote Family’s stronghold, the grand hall was deathly silent.
A loud crash shattered it.
"Doffy! Something awful’s happened!"
Trebol burst through the door, snot streaming, slipping and landing flat on his face with a loud splat.
He scrambled up, horror painted across his features. "That Darren—the Godfather—he’s going after Totto Land! Now!"
The glowing screen above them flickered. The broadcast played on, casting eerie light across the stunned faces of the Donquixote Family.
Doflamingo sat hunched forward, elbows on knees. His sunglasses hid most of his expression, but not the bloodshot strain in his eyes. In one hand, his wine glass cracked from the pressure of his grip, crimson wine trickling down his fingers like blood.
North Blue — 321st Marine Branch
In the base commander’s office, Vice Admiral Momonga stood before the screen, face stone still. Blue sparks flickered between his fingers.
He reached for a Den Den Mushi, dialed, and spoke coldly.
"All personnel, listen up. The North Blue Fleet is now on full—"
Took a breath. Then exhaled slowly.
He placed the receiver down.
The flickering image on screen held his gaze.
He chuckled once, quietly. "What am I getting so worked up about?"
Momonga lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. Smoke curled upward.
"Carrying a grudge ... yeah. That’s just like you, Darren."