"Germa 66."
"Vinsmoke Judge."
"Take him to Branch 1. Remember, I want him alive."
Vice Admiral Rosen's command cut through the office like a drawn blade. His scarred face gave nothing away, but the slight narrowing of his eyes told Douglas Bullet all he needed to know—the Demon's Heir was being unleashed.
Bullet leaned forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the floorboards. His lips pulled into a wolfish grin, eager, restless, half-mad with the need to test his strength.
"Alive, huh? For the Navy… or for me?"
Rosen didn't flinch. "He's worth living. For the Navy, and for you."
That was enough. The tension in the air thickened instantly. Bullet's grin sharpened.
"Is he strong?"
Rosen shook his head once. "Not in the way that matters to you. I don't think he could withstand a single punch from you."
Bullet's grin faltered for a breath. Then Rosen added:
"But he's a scientist. A dangerous one. His inventions include clone soldiers, combat uniforms, and mechanized soldiers. His knowledge in weaponry can still teach you more than brute force ever will."
Bullet tilted his head, brow creasing. "Weapons, huh?"
The word landed. Something flickered in his eyes—interest, greed, ambition. Since he had followed Vice Admiral Rosen, he had learned to refine the way he used his Fusion Fruit. Rosen had drilled it into him: power without precision is wasted.
The Demon's Heir had once relied only on crude Raw, destructive, but nothing more than blunt hammers. Now? Now his arsenal was vast. With Rosen's guidance, he had rebuilt his techniques—blades, armaments, fortresses, even artillery forms. The Fusion Fruit had become a forge of endless possibilities.
But Rosen knew, and Bullet knew as well, that this was still only scratching the surface. To go further—to wield weapons beyond the reach of human imagination—he needed the mind of a scientist.
And in the Grand Line, few minds matched Vinsmoke Judge. Perhaps only Vegapunk surpassed him.
"Vinsmoke Judge's knowledge," Rosen said slowly, each word deliberate, "will push your Fusion Fruit to its next stage. That is why you will bring him back alive. Do you understand?"
Bullet's grin returned, wider now, carrying a dangerous excitement. "Then give me his position."
The North Sea stretched endlessly. Without direction, even the strongest man would waste his strength wandering. Bullet's eyes burned with impatience—he wanted a fight, not a goose chase.
Rosen didn't answer. Instead, his gaze slid toward Captain Doll, standing silent but alert at his side. She stepped forward and placed a folded map on the desk.
"Intelligence from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service," she reported crisply. "The Germa Kingdom is occupying the waters near the Kingdom of Nodis. A wealthy trading nation with constant supply lines to the Grand Line. Unless ordered to war, Vinsmoke Judge keeps Germa anchored there, convenient for purchasing rare materials and conducting research."
She spread the map. The red inked circles marked Germa's routes—snail ships forming their moving kingdom.
Bullet's eyes narrowed, scanning the paper. A country that floated. A fortress fleet. A war machine disguised as a nation. His grin widened.
Rosen's voice was calm. "How long?"
Bullet didn't answer immediately. He leaned over the desk, studying distances, measuring against his own ability, the beat of his heart syncing with the calculations.
Finally, he straightened.
"Six hours."
Rosen drew a small timer from his pocket and placed it on the desk. Its blank face ticked once as he pressed the switch.
"Six hours," Rosen repeated. "If you return with Judge in that time, I'll promote you to Second Lieutenant." His eyes narrowed slightly, and a thin smile crept across his face. "And I'll fight you myself."
That was the real bait. Rank, power, medals—meaningless to Bullet. But a fight with Rosen? That was something worth tearing the seas apart for.
Bullet's laughter thundered through the office. "That's settled then."
Without hesitation, he seized a Den Den Mushi from the corner table, as though already assembling a plan in his head, and strode for the exit.
Captain Doll frowned after him. "Vice Admiral, the distance from here to Nodis is over two thousand kilometers. Even with a return trip, and factoring in the time needed to locate and subdue Vinsmoke Judge—six hours is impossible. Not even with an airship."
Her skepticism was sharp, precise. Rosen only turned in his chair, gaze drifting to the vast square outside the headquarters. Beyond the glass, the base glittered with stockpiled steel, ores, and weapon parts—piles of raw materials for war.
"No," Rosen said evenly. "He can do it. Because he is Bullet. The Demon's Heir. The man of the Fusion Fruit."
As if on cue, a shadow passed across the square. Bullet had emerged, towering, his presence drawing stares from the gathered Marines.
He glanced back once, his eyes meeting Rosen's through the glass. His smile spread ear to ear, stretched with savage joy. "Six hours, huh?" His voice carried even through the thick walls. "Then I'll use it."
He opened his hands.
From his palms poured liquid light—purple, corrosive, alive. It surged across the square like a flood, racing over steel, weapons, and ores. The Marines stumbled back in alarm as their stockpiles melted into the shimmering tide, dragged screaming into Bullet's grip.
The square became a forge.
The purple tide rose, wrapped, devoured, and reshaped. Within minutes, the chaos stilled. The tide receded. And where once lay a yard of weapons and steel, there now stood a machine out of nightmare and memory: a sleek black bird of prey, wings spread wide, its body gleaming with unnatural polish.
A bomber.
Its silhouette was unmistakable. The B-2.
Vice Admiral Rosen's lips twitched—the faintest smile breaking through his hardened mask. "Hand-rubbing a B-2 bomber," he muttered under his breath.
"Truly unreasonable."
Marines gawked in silence. The devil fruit had once again spat in the face of common sense.
Rosen leaned back in his chair. So this is Bullet's confidence.
The B-2 was no ordinary construct. Its design was perfect—streamlined, deadly. No missiles or bombs hung beneath its wings, no nuclear arsenal, but in every other aspect it was flawless. Not technology, not engineering, but a creation of will, fruit, and madness.
Bullet leapt onto the fuselage, his boots ringing against the forged steel. His laughter echoed across the square, rolling thunder over the stunned Marines.
"Judge will be mine. And then—Rosen—you'll fight me until one of us breaks!"
The bomber's engines roared to life, purple light flaring beneath its wings as though it carried the fury of the Devil itself.
From the office, Rosen's gaze remained locked on him, cold and unflinching. "Then go. Show me what the Demon's Heir can do."
The bomber screamed as it tore down the runway, purple energy blasting from its engines, and then—it was airborne.
Six hours.
The timer ticked down.
And somewhere on the seas near Nodis, Vinsmoke Judge's floating kingdom waited.