Back at Marineford, Kuzan was still buzzing.
He looked like he'd just stumbled upon the lost secrets of the Void Century.
"So that's Darren's secret to getting stronger," he murmured in awe. "The Pleasure District…"
His eyes gleamed.
"Of course! A few drinks, a few dancers… it's the perfect recovery strategy! Why didn't I think of this before?"
He immediately pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket, ready to immortalize his so-called revelation.
But just as his pen touched paper—
Snatch.
The notebook vanished.
Standing before him was Vice Admiral Tsuru, her expression as blank as freshly ironed linen.
"…Vice Admiral Tsuru?"
She didn't answer at first. Instead, she gave him a long, cold stare before tucking the notebook under her arm like contraband.
"Kuzan," she said wearily, "this isn't some mystical training method."
"That damned Darren is just a pervert."
Kuzan blinked. "Isn't that the same thing?"
He turned hopefully to his mentor, Garp, who had just refilled his mouth with senbei.
Garp chuckled. "Well, if you really want to… the occasional break to, y'know, unwind…"
He trailed off.
Tsuru's glare shifted to him, sharper than any blade.
Garp stiffened instantly. The smile drained from his face.
"…is absolutely forbidden, of course!" he corrected, striking a heroic pose. "You must resist temptation at all costs! Protect your spirit! Guard your virtue!"
Kuzan stared, utterly bewildered.
"But… isn't that what Darren does all the time?"
Garp's mouth twitched.
The Vice Admirals nearby looked as if they'd just swallowed vinegar.
"Ahem. Let me put it this way," Garp said, scrambling for a lifeline. "If Darren hadn't spent so much time… relaxing, he'd probably have reached Admiral-level strength long ago."
"…Ahh." Kuzan nodded slowly, finally piecing together the flawed logic in Darren's so-called "training method."
Across the room, Sengoku stood in complete silence, his eye twitching violently.
They had spent the past twenty-four hours on high alert, preparing for the worst. They'd mobilized fleets, readied the warships, activated covert surveillance—all for Darren.
And where had that bastard been?
In the Pleasure District.
Eating oysters and sipping red wine.
Sengoku's expression darkened, veins rising on his forehead. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. His jaw worked furiously, as if chewing invisible gravel.
He looked ready to explode.
Realizing this, several officers scrambled to diffuse the situation.
"W-well, it's understandable," one mumbled. "He's young. Still full of energy."
"Exactly! Vice Admiral Darren has been non-stop—fighting, raiding, executing high-risk missions. He's earned a little rest!"
"Right! Just a… bit of healthy release. Keeps the mind sharp!"
"Absolutely! Very important… for morale."
Sengoku inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply, and forced a rictus smile.
"Since Vice Admiral Darren has been confirmed safe, we'll… stand down from wartime readiness."
He turned to Kong.
Kong sighed like someone who had aged ten years in five minutes.
"Meeting adjourned."
The officers snapped to attention, saluting in unison before filing out.
At the back of the room, a shadow lingered.
Commodore Gion stood silently, head bowed as she wiped down her golden katana. Her movements were smooth, meticulous—but her narrowed eyes glinted with something darker.
New World — Pleasure District.
A lavish private dining suite.
A long banquet table stretched between them, heavy with delicacies: East Blue steak, South Blue red wine, freshly harvested oysters from Fish-Man Island, and a rainbow of sashimi platters that shimmered under the golden lights.
Darren and Stussy sat on opposite ends of the table, impeccably dressed once more, each wearing a composed expression that masked the maelstrom beneath.
Silver cutlery gleamed. Porcelain plates clinked softly.
But Darren barely touched his food.
He stared at the array before him with a vacant expression, as if trying to understand the very nature of reality.
Who the hell would believe this?
Stussy—the Queen of the Pleasure District. CP0 agent. Seductress extraordinaire.
A virgin?
Darren's mind reeled.
He'd seen the proof with his own eyes. But it still refused to compute.
She was too composed. Too practiced. Her charm was effortless. Every glance, every shift of her posture, every word that slipped from her lips—it all screamed expert. Even noblewomen from North Blue couldn't match her level of finesse.
And yet…
There it was.
A truth that defied logic.
Across the table, Stussy ate with graceful, precise movements. She hadn't said a word since the meal began.
Darren squirmed in his seat.
How the hell am I supposed to eat like this?
If she had been a practiced courtesan, he wouldn't have blinked. He could've accepted the situation like any other conquest—cool, confident, unaffected.
But a virgin?!
Now every chew of steak tasted like guilt.
A clatter broke the silence.
Stussy set down her utensils.
"What's wrong, Mr. Darren?" Her voice was gentle, teasing. "Regretting your decision?"
She picked up a napkin, dabbed the corners of her mouth with elegant poise, and met his gaze with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"This is quite the surprise. Didn't you call yourself the Marine's greatest disgrace?"
Darren coughed. "I… uh…"
He glanced around, as if the gilded wallpaper could offer him a lifeline.
"You… how could you possibly be…"
"Be what?" Stussy tilted her head, eyes gleaming with deliberate innocence.
Darren's eyelid twitched.
"…First time."
"Hehehe." Stussy chuckled, her dimples deepening. "What else would it be?"
She reached for a tall glass of milk and pulled the straw between her lips, sipping slowly—deliberately—with just enough emphasis to make Darren's composure crack.
He could practically hear the gears grinding in his brain.
She's doing this on purpose!
How is she this skilled?! Even princesses from the North Blue weren't this seductive!
Darren forced himself to breathe.
Stussy glanced at him from beneath her lashes, amused.
She was still angry—furious, even—over how recklessly he had handled things earlier. But now…
Now it was her turn to regain some ground.
What irked her most, however, was something she couldn't admit aloud:
Even now, half an hour later, her body still tingled faintly. That maddening energy he unleashed—wild, overwhelming—still echoed in her nerves like aftershocks.
It left her flushed. And furious.
And worst of all…
She wasn't entirely sure she hated it.
To be continued...