The momentary tension between them rippled beneath the storm.
Sengoku's growing agitation didn't go unnoticed. Darren frowned, eyeing the Marine Admiral with a flicker of concern.
"Admiral Sengoku," he said, voice calm but probing, "surely you realize that Golden Lion and Roger are locked in battle. Launching a premature assault now would be unwise."
Darren's words were measured, but the doubt in his eyes was not.
Even though this was still early in the timeline—when Sengoku was just a Headquarters Admiral, not yet the battle-hardened Fleet Admiral of the Summit War era—he was no fool. His strategic judgment, though not yet honed to its peak, should've kept him grounded.
Yet his behavior… was off.
"I know it's not the ideal time," Sengoku snapped, jaw clenched, his expression distorted by frustration. "In a perfect scenario, we'd let them destroy each other, then move in to finish what's left."
"But that's the ideal. And this? This is the real world."
A heaviness passed through his gaze.
"The longer we wait, the greater the chance we're discovered. One misstep, and we lose our advantage entirely."
He turned to Darren, voice dropping. "Marine Headquarters can't afford that gamble."
Darren's eyes narrowed slightly—then widened.
A faint red web of capillaries spread across Sengoku's bloodshot eyes. His face was drawn, sleepless.
It hit Darren all at once.
Political pressure.
Golden Lion's global rampage had thrown the balance of the seas into chaos. Governments were enraged. Citizens terrified. Reverie representatives were no doubt howling at the gates of the Holy Land. All that pressure? It fell on Sengoku.
The World Government wanted results.
Golden Lion had evaded them too many times, disappearing into the skies, mocking every attempt at pursuit. The longer this went on, the more Sengoku's credibility—and the Marines' authority—eroded.
If they waited too long and the Flying Pirates slipped away again… it could collapse the public's already fragile faith.
No wonder the man looked ready to snap.
Darren sighed quietly.
He'd been too focused on the battlefield. On tactical perfection. He'd forgotten that war wasn't just about weapons or strategy.
It was about timing.
And power.
"Admiral Sengoku," Darren said at last, lighting a fresh cigar, "I understand. I respect your position."
Sengoku's eyes flickered with hope.
"But I refuse."
Sengoku: …
This brat—!
Darren's voice rang cool and sure, unshaken by the wind or thunder.
"I'm just a Vice Admiral. I don't carry the burden of political expectations. That's your role."
"My only responsibility…"
He exhaled a long plume of smoke, eyes fixed on the distant battlefield, now choked with cannon fire and bloodied waves.
"...is to deliver victory."
A brutal smile played across his lips.
"Final victory."
Sengoku's pupils contracted.
Final victory...?
What the hell is this kid planning…?
He glanced at Darren's expression, so calm it was unnerving. Is he waiting for something? A signal? Reinforcements?
But that couldn't be—Marine Headquarters had already mobilized almost everything. Kong was back at Marineford. Zephyr was at the Training Camp. All elite combat power was here.
There was nothing left to play.
Sengoku's breath caught.
"Wait…"
"You… you plan to kill Golden Lion yourself?"
Darren gave him a sidelong glance. "Wasn't that the plan from the start?"
Sengoku reeled. "His ability is too dangerous. If he's cornered, he'll abandon his fleet and vanish."
"Fleet Admiral Kong and I agreed—our goal is to break his forces. Crush the Flying Pirates. Then, we deal with Roger."
"The Roger Pirates can't fly."
"But Golden Lion can."
Darren understood.
The Flying Pirates could be sacrificed. Easy to report. Easy to explain to the World Government.
But Golden Lion?
He was the true ghost. The myth. Too difficult. Too wild.
They weren't aiming to end him. Just clip his wings.
And Darren?
He scoffed softly.
"Pitiful."
"Admiral Sengoku," he said, voice turning colder, "our goals differ."
"I'll deal with Roger later."
"But Golden Lion… must die."
Sengoku's breath hitched.
In Darren's eyes, he saw no hunger for justice. No loyalty to the system. Not even the righteous conviction of a Marine.
Just one thing.
Hatred.
From the rumor Darren himself had seeded, to the shaping of this entire operation—everything had pointed in one direction.
Not to crush the pirates.
But to kill one man.
Golden Lion.
An involuntary shiver climbed Sengoku's spine.
Note to self: never get on Young Darren's bad side.
"Then…" he asked carefully, watching the sky erupt with fire and lightning, "how long do you intend to wait?"
Roger and Golden Lion were now streaks of red and gold, locked in mid-air combat. Every clash sent new shockwaves tearing across the storm.
"It's not about how long," Darren murmured, the wind tugging at his coat, "but what I'm waiting for."
"Trust me, Admiral Sengoku."
His voice was low and certain.
"Justice will prevail."
---
"Kill them!"
"Sink that ship!"
"If we get Roger, the whole world is ours!"
The pirates' laughter howled through the wind, joining the thunder and screams in an unholy chorus.
As Roger and Golden Lion clashed above, the Flying Pirates unleashed their full fury.
Cannon after cannon fired in synchronized rhythm, black iron shells screaming through the rain.
A wall of death descended upon the Oro Jackson.
"Protect the ship!" Rayleigh roared.
His eyes were sharp as blades.
He sprang from the deck, drawing his sword in a flash of silver.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Over a dozen shimmering arcs sliced through the storm. Cannonballs split mid-air, detonating harmlessly in bursts of fire and smoke.
But it wasn't enough.
More were coming.
The storm of war had fully begun.
To be continued...