It was faint, almost a whisper of a feeling, but Momonga had learned to trust his instincts.
As he deepened his mastery of the Rumble–Rumble Fruit, he realized its reach extended far beyond raw devastation. Thunder yielded a thousand derivatives: electromagnetic senses, static induction, and more—each amplifying his abilities. Electromagnetic waves, in particular, sharpened his Observation Haki.
With that amplification, the range and precision of his Observation stretched to a scope he'd never imagined. When he pushed it to the limit, he could blanket an entire small island—feeling every heartbeat, tracking each movement, even catching snatches of conversation.
That terrifying reach let him coordinate the fleet's formation, heading, and speed with surgical efficiency, wringing every advantage from the Flying Fleet's design.
Annihilating power, self-enhancement, and battlefield support—this was why the Rumble–Rumble Fruit was hailed as the strongest Logia.
Yet even armed with the "world's strongest" element, he'd felt helpless before the chill radiating from the depths of Pangaea Castle.
"…Do you know what that is?"
Darren's calm drew the question out of him. Momonga took a slow breath to tamp down the unease and asked, "You're not rattled. Do you know what we're dealing with?"
Darren shook his head. Wariness flickered in his eyes. "Not exactly. But one thing is clear: the World Government shelters a power beyond measure."
"…A power even the Gorosei bow to."
Silence settled between them.
With Darren's current strength, there were precious few beings on the sea that could put steel in his voice. Not Whitebeard. Not Roger. Not even when he'd stalked the Golden Lion while feigning weakness had Momonga seen him this grave.
"Don't worry," Darren said suddenly, smiling. "We still hold the better hand. Fish-Man Island is sealed. And our trump card—the Seven Warlords—remains hidden."
He clapped Momonga's shoulder.
"Take the fleet back to the North Blue. Keep it in the air as much as possible. Erase every trace. Remember, the better you hide—"
"—the safer we are," Momonga finished.
Darren blinked, then they both smiled. After years shoulder to shoulder, words were often redundant.
---
Once the next steps were settled, Darren didn't linger.
He escorted Stussy back to Coin Island, then turned to leave alone.
"You're just going to leave me here?" Stussy snapped, glaring at his retreating back, her teeth sinking into her crimson lip.
Darren paused and turned, genuinely puzzled. "Is there a problem?"
"We're close to the Pleasure District, and the merchant ship that brought us is about to depart. Taking it back would be perfect."
That face—earnest, matter-of-fact—fanned her anger.
"No problem at all," she said sweetly through clenched teeth, a dangerous smile blooming. "Excellency Rogers Darren is far too busy to waste time on me—"
"Well then, farewell!" Darren grinned, waved, and in the next breath a violent magnetic field wrapped him. He rocketed into the sky with a thunderous crack, vanishing to a pinprick.
The Queen of the Pleasure District stood alone in the wind, her silhouette swaying.
For a beat, disbelief froze her features.
Then—
"That bastard!"
She slammed her silver teeth together, the sound sharp enough to cut.
I risked everything to shelter him in the Pleasure District and patch him up. I leveraged my network to reach Morgans, vouched for the meeting, pulled every string—and after it's all tied up, he smiles, pulls up his pants, and bolts, leaving me to ride a cargo ship home?!
When has Stussy ever been treated like this?
Worse—she understood him now. She'd seen his mind turn.
He'd rushed that world broadcast before his wounds had even fully closed. And the moment Morgans was secured, he left again. He was going to find that pregnant woman.
Just picturing the beauty described in the reports sent a tight pain through Stussy's chest.
Wait.
She slapped her own cheeks hard, as if to jolt herself awake.
"What am I doing?"
"What's there to be angry about?"
She shook her head and forced the chaos down, breathing until her pulse steadied.
"We're only allies," she muttered. "If he hadn't found my most vital secret, I'd have delivered his head to the Government already."
She drew in a long breath and set her shoulders. Hood tugged low to hide her face, heels clicking, she moved toward the port with the cool poise she wore like a crown.
She'd barely gone a dozen steps when—
"Even allies don't excuse that kind of treachery," she hissed, fists clenching.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Her peep-toe heels hammered the stone hard enough to threaten the cobbles.
At the secret quay, she stopped short. Not a single ship bobbed in the berth.
"Hm?"
Something felt off. She tilted her chin skyward.
From the white surf of clouds above, a silhouette slid into view—a sleek steel warship easing out of concealment.
"What…?"
Her eyes widened. For no good reason, her heart gave a lurch.
The battleship sank to a hover just above the waterline. A specialized gangway unfolded with smooth precision.
Dozens of North Blue elites marched out in step, weapons slung, uniforms whipping in the wind.
A young officer stepped forward and snapped a salute, voice clipped and dead serious:
"By order of Supreme Commander Darren, we are to escort Ms. Stussy back to port."
Stussy stilled. Her fist loosened a fraction.
For a heartbeat, her pulse raced.
Then she smiled.
"Darren-san is far too courteous. There's no need to trouble the fleet over a trifle."
Under the Marines' steady stares, she fought—and lost—the upward curl at the corner of her lips.
Her smile unfolded like a flower.
Like a queen, she took the gangway and ascended the battleship with regal grace.
To be continued...