Dragon moved swiftly, half-crouched, and picked up the crumpled newspaper lying on the cold stone floor.
The issue was dated the day before—likely brought in by one of the poor souls who frequented the church seeking healing or prayer. For them, reading the news was one of the few pleasures they could still afford.
But it wasn’t the date that caught Dragon’s eye. It was the blaring headline stamped across the front page in bold, aggressive type:
LIVE BROADCAST!! INVASION OF TOTTO LAND!! Newly Appointed Marine Vice Admiral Rogers Darren Single-Handedly Storms Snack Island, Defeats Charlotte Oven—Senior Executive of the Big Mom Pirates!
Below the headline, a long article detailed the incident, complete with transcripts from Darren’s live Den Den Mushi broadcast.
Dragon stared at the paper, frozen in place.
"This... this is the latest news?" he muttered. "We’ve been holed up in this church for days. Something major must’ve gone down."
Kuma, sluggish from fatigue, trudged over. His gaze swept the page—and stopped cold.
"...This is a warning," Dragon said, his eyes locked onto the paper. His hands began to tremble as a spark lit behind his eyes, a quiet thrill spreading across his face.
"I never imagined Darren would pull off something ... storming into Totto Land!"
"Declaring war on pirates—all over the world—live on air!"
Kuma blinked, stunned. "Other than you... I didn’t think there was anyone in the Marines reckless enough to try something . Wait—Dragon, isn’t this the ’close friend’ you used to talk about?"
Dragon puffed up with pride and gave a nod, smiling faintly. "That’s right. When he was transferred from North Blue to Marine Headquarters for training, I escorted him the whole way myself. Never expected he’d climb this high..."
His voice trailed off, touched by a vague wistfulness.
To see his old friend blazing a trail, rising steadily down the very path he himself had once dreamed of—it stirred something complex in him. Something raw.
He remembered the grand promises he used to make to Darren, bold and full of fire. And now... here he was, still lurking in the shadows, living hand-to-mouth, drifting aimlessly across the seas like a ship with no mast. The contrast hollowed out his expression, left it unreadable.
Kuma, watching him closely, placed a large hand gently on his shoulder.
"I believe in you, Dragon."
Then, after a pause, he added in a low voice, "I’ll start saving up. From now on."
Dragon gave a hoarse laugh. "Hold on..."
A sudden thought struck him. He rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
"...Maybe we won’t have to worry about money anymore."
Kuma looked at him in surprise. "Huh? You’ve found a way?"
Becoming pirate hunters wasn’t exactly a lucrative profession. Before the Great Pirate Era began, there were barely any pirates out at sea. With so few bounties to claim and too many hunters fighting over scraps, building their own force through bounty hunting had always felt like an impossible dream.
Dragon glanced down at the newspaper again.
The photo of Vice Admiral Darren stared back at him, a confident smirk frozen in print.
"We’re broke," Dragon said, "but someone else isn’t..."
The bed beneath him was soft, almost absurdly so, but the moment he opened his eyes, a crushing wave of pain surged through his body like a tsunami.
His muscles screamed. His breath tasted of blood. His vision blurred, swimming in shades of red and gray.
He didn’t panic. He was no stranger to pain.
He assessed the damage instantly: critical condition.
Torn muscles. Ruptured organs. Dozens of broken bones. Two teeth gone. Dangerous blood loss. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⟡𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵
Wounds would’ve killed a normal man twenty times over.
Even with his "Indestructible" physique and unnatural regenerative power, this was no minor injury. He estimated he’d need at least five full days to heal.
A slow breath escaped him.
He pushed himself upright with one trembling hand. The movement alone triggered a cold sweat that drenched his back. His chest heaved with every ragged breath.
His hand shook as he propped himself against the headboard. His face was white as paper, a faint, unhealthy flush creeping into his cheeks.
His chest was tightly bound in bandages—simple but clean. The room surrounding him was unmistakably high-class: a private suite with an attached bath, a lounge, and furnishings of refined luxury. The air was thick with the scent of perfume—fiery, provocative, with a hint of danger.
He knew that fragrance.
The velvet-soft bedding, the genuine leather sofa, the wine cabinet stocked with rare vintage liquor... Darren had spent enough time in hotels to recognize first-rate indulgence when he saw it.
"Why am I here?" he muttered, frowning.
His memory was hazy. The last thing he recalled was fleeing Wano, his strength drained to the last drop. He’d seen an island in the distance—then passed out midair, falling like a stone.
That "special training" in Wano had pushed him to the edge. Even with his breakthroughs, he wouldn’t have lasted much longer. One misstep in a battle against a monster like Kaido—and he’d have died, plain and simple.
But he’d survived. And the reward...
The reward had been worth it.
He’d shed the last layer of shackles. Pushed past the threshold that had held him back for so long.
Once his wounds healed, there wouldn’t be anything left in this world that could stand in his way.
As the thought passed through his mind, the cabin door swung open.
Her every step was a study in grace.
Golden hair curled loosely down her back. Her legs were long, her waist narrow, and her white dress clung tightly to every curve. Her phoenix eyes gleamed with mischief, and the click of her red heels echoed through the room like a challenge.
Dimples danced on her cheeks, her gaze sultry and unhurried.
With a casual elegance, she sank into the sofa across from him—deliberately tugging up her skirt just enough to reveal a flash of red beneath.
She’s doing it on purpose.
"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Darren," she said lazily, her voice a velvet drawl. "I’ve heard so much about you."
He chuckled, that familiar charm slipping effortlessly into his tone.
"My apologies, beautiful lady," he said, "if I were in better shape, I’d have kissed the back of your hand by now."