Loguetown – East Blue
A dim tavern tucked behind the bustling market square.
The lights were low, the tables sticky with spilled beer, and the scent of smoke and salt clung to every surface.
"Hahahahaha! This is too much!"
Roger slammed his tankard onto the table, sloshing ale across the wood. He threw his head back and let loose a booming laugh that shook the rafters.
They’d only meant to stop briefly in Loguetown—to restock supplies, stretch their legs. But Roger, unable to resist the pull of a good drink, had dragged his crew into the first tavern he could find.
He hadn’t expected a show.
The Den Den Mushi screen in the corner had lit up just as they sat down, broadcasting a "live performance" from the New World—Vice Admiral Darren’s ruthless assault on Totto Land.
And now Roger was howling.
"Captain," one crew member muttered, shrinking behind his mug. "We are still wanted men, y’know... Might not be smart to laugh at the Marines."
Roger waved him off between guffaws. "So what? The kid’s got style!"
Gaban leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "He did pull your pants down, y’know."
A hush fell over the table.
Then, a barely suppressed snort. A stifled chuckle.
"GABAN!" Roger’s face went crimson. He slammed his fist on the table and pointed furiously. "I told you never to bring that up again!"
Laughter erupted from the crew.
Even Rayleigh smirked, sipping his sake.
Off to the side, in a dim corner booth, two red-nosed teenagers watched the screen in grim silence.
Buggy swallowed hard.
The images flashing across the Den Den Mushi had stirred something deep and visceral—memories of that madman’s terrifying aura, of the brush with death they’d barely escaped.
"He’s getting even stronger..." Buggy muttered.
"Too strong," Shanks added under his breath.
At the bar, Douglas Bullet sat with a scowl, drinking heavily.
He hadn’t touched his food.
The images on the screen replayed in his mind—over and over—each one more infuriating than the last.
"That bastard Darren..." Bullet growled. "He’s evolving."
He thought his training with Captain Roger had pushed him close to mastery. He’d improved—he knew he had.
But watching Darren’s performance... it didn’t feel like watching a fellow warrior.
It felt like watching a wall he couldn’t break through.
A flawless, brutal execution of hand-to-hand combat—without even relying on Devil Fruit tricks or high-level Haki. Just pure, terrifying efficiency.
Bullet clenched his mug until the handle cracked.
He’s better than me at the thing I’m best at...
"Don’t let it get to you," someone said behind him.
"Yeah," another added. "You’re already crazy strong."
"Once your Haki catches up, you’ll outmatch him."
Bullet didn’t respond.
He just stared at the screen.
Rayleigh watched him for a moment, then turned to the crew.
"That Marine," he said, voice calm, "isn’t just strong. He’s calculating."
Rayleigh’s tone sobered the table.
"That livestream wasn’t just a spectacle—it was a message. A declaration."
The others nodded slowly.
"After this, no one will touch G-5 without thinking twice," he said. "Not unless they’re ready to lose everything."
That was the real point.
Darren had put the world on notice.
He hadn’t just destroyed a pirate stronghold—he’d shown the New World’s heavyweights what would happen if they crossed him.
And unlike Golden Lion, Darren had targets. He had a base, a rising faction, a vision—and now, a very real deterrent.
Because even pirates had weaknesses.
Families. Friends. Territory. Fortresses. Dreams.
And Darren had just demonstrated he was willing—and able—to burn those things to ash.
Gaban’s face darkened.
"What makes him dangerous isn’t his strength. It’s that he doesn’t believe in anything."
"No rules. No honor. Just instinct."
"Justice by whim..." Rayleigh murmured.
Roger suddenly threw his arms wide and leaned back in his chair with a massive grin. "Hahaha! What’s that got to do with us?"
"We’re broke! We’ve got no base, no land, no ties!"
He puffed out his chest proudly.
"Nothing to lose—so there’s nothing for him to burn!"
...Did this guy just flex about being broke?
Behind the bar, the tavern owner’s face turned green.
You’re broke and you still dragged thirty pirates in here to drink?!
Across the world, similar scenes played out.
In kingdoms, on ships, in slums and palaces—people watched the replay with wide eyes and open mouths.
"Vice Admiral Rogers Darren... What is that mobility?!"
"He crushed Big Mom’s island in minutes...!"
"Does this mean the Marines can respond to pirate attacks instantly now?"
Panic gripped some. Others cheered.
Fleet Admiral’s Office
Five minutes had passed since Darren’s final words.
But the high command still hadn’t moved.
Sengoku slowly lowered the military Den Den Mushi, his hands oddly still. The image of Darren emerging from the fire remained vivid in his mind.
"Fleet Admiral Kong..."
He turned to speak—but before he could finish, the door burst open.
A breathless messenger stumbled in, sweat streaming down his brow.
Kong scowled. "I said no interruptions during a command debrief."
"I—I know, sir," the young man stammered, "but—this can’t wait!"
"Three minutes ago, we started receiving direct calls from royal families, high-level officials, and leaders across the world."
"Every last one of them is congratulating us... on the success of the graduation ceremony."
The room fell silent.
Kong, Sengoku, Garp, Tsuru, Zephyr, Borsalino—every officer glanced at each other, confusion slowly giving way to understanding.
These calls had nothing to do with the graduation.
If that were the case, the calls would’ve come much earlier.
These were not congratulations.
They were concessions.
Darren’s attack had sent a message, and the world had received it loud and clear.
Opportunistic cowards.
The messenger gulped again. "Also—uh—many of the Member States have pledged voluntary donations to assist with the reconstruction of Marineford."
At that, Kong and Sengoku’s eyes lit up.