And so, the Marines' top-secret countermeasure operation targeting Golden Lion Shiki was set in motion.
An hour later, deep within the underground network of the New World's black market, a classified fragment of information changed hands—sold at a staggering price to a pirate broker.
The bait had been cast.
And the gears of fate began to turn.
---
Marineford — Fleet Admiral's Office
The meeting had long since concluded. Sakazuki and the others had departed to oversee preparations for the coming storm. Garp, unusually energized, had leapt into action the moment he heard Roger was Darren's chosen bait. In his excitement, he'd even forgotten to finish the senbei he'd stolen from Sengoku.
Darren stood, finishing the last of his cigar, and turned to leave.
"If there's nothing else, Admirals, I'll take my leave."
"Wait, Darren," Sengoku called.
Darren turned, raising a brow. "Yes, Admiral Sengoku?"
Sengoku and Kong exchanged a glance. When Sengoku finally spoke, his voice was low and serious.
"If a war does break out between Roger and Shiki," he asked, "what are the chances Kaido gets involved?"
He paused.
"After all, the Flying Pirates get all their ammunition from him. A Shiki-Kaido alliance isn't impossible."
Darren considered the question for a moment, then broke into a wide grin. "Don't worry about Kaido, Admiral."
"I'll make sure he's... otherwise occupied."
Sengoku blinked. Kong frowned.
But as realization dawned, their eyes widened.
"You little brat... don't tell me—" Kong growled.
A blur of motion followed. Kong, no longer seated, appeared in front of Darren in a heartbeat. His massive arm, thick with corded muscle, swung forward with a punch—no Haki, no tricks, just brute force.
Darren met it head-on, his grin widening as he mirrored the motion.
BANG!
Fist met fist.
The shockwave cracked through the room. Coats flared behind them like wings. The floor groaned beneath the pressure. Neither man moved an inch.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the office floor and walls. The chandelier overhead swayed dangerously, throwing shadows across Kong's stern face.
He didn't look angry.
He looked stunned.
Darren, on the other hand, simply smiled.
"In... Indestructible..." Sengoku murmured from behind, eyes wide with disbelief.
"You actually did it," Kong said slowly, withdrawing his hand and studying Darren's. A faint, cold sheen clung to Darren's knuckles—bone glinting beneath skin, hard as steel. "You've cultivated the Indestructible Body."
Until now, only one man had accomplished it—Kaido, the so-called "Immortal Monster." Decades of torture, of execution methods and failed public deaths, had never pierced his hide.
Now, somehow, a Vice Admiral had joined that mythical tier.
And Kong could feel it—the sheer, raw strength Darren possessed now rivaled even his own.
No buildup. No preparation. No defense.
Just power.
Kong, once known as "Steel Bone," had crushed warlords with his bare hands. And here was this brat, matching him blow for blow.
"How did you train your body to this level?" Sengoku stepped forward, face lit with an almost manic curiosity. "At Marineford, during the Shiki battle, your physique wasn't nearly this monstrous!"
He reached for Darren's arm, pressing into the muscle—startled by its deceptive softness. Smooth, flexible... until pressure was applied. Then it was like steel coiled beneath silk.
Only under force could one feel the terrifying density packed beneath the surface.
Darren slipped back out of Sengoku's reach, dusting his sleeve. "Wano," he said simply. "My time there... gave me inspiration."
"Inspiration?" Sengoku repeated.
"You fought Kaido... and that helped?" he asked, incredulous. "You got beat up, and that turned you indestructible?"
Darren smiled faintly, saying nothing.
But Sengoku's mind raced.
If such a method could be replicated—even partially—it could change everything. A fleet of indestructible Marines charging headfirst into pirate ranks? Unstoppable.
Of course, he knew full well: between theories and results lay a chasm of death.
The Indestructible Body was powerful—especially in chaotic skirmishes, where bullets and blades came from every direction. But in high-level clashes, it wasn't everything.
It was just one piece of the puzzle.
True victory still relied on a dozen factors—Haki mastery, Devil Fruit control, terrain, stamina, and sheer will.
Still, Kong was intrigued.
Countless attempts had been made to recreate the Indestructible Body through training. All had failed. The general consensus among the old guard was that it was innate—Kaido's unique freak physiology.
But Darren's existence shattered that belief.
"So," Kong said, arms crossed, "what exactly did you do?"
Darren's chest puffed slightly, pride creeping into his tone.
"Simple," he declared. "I withstood dozens of Kaido's kanabo strikes—head-on."
"And I minimized my Haki usage while doing it."
Sengoku: ...
Kong: ...
You could've heard a pin drop.
"Wait... dozens?" Sengoku repeated slowly.
"Head-on?" Kong added, disbelieving.
You mean Kaido, the man who can flatten mountains with a casual swing?
You didn't use Haki?
What's the point of an Indestructible Body if you're already dead?!
The room fell into dumbfounded silence.
Darren, however, just smiled.
He wasn't exaggerating. He had truly endured Kaido's wrath—blow after blow, without reinforcement, without retreat.
That was the secret.
Not talent.
Not training.
But will.
Unflinching, stubborn, self-destructive will.
To be continued...