"Donquixote Doflamingo?"
Hearing that name, Darren froze.
A peculiar expression surfaced on his face—half amused, half serious.
As a transmigrator, that name was anything but unfamiliar. In fact, it was practically legendary.
One of the future Seven Warlords of the Sea.
The flamboyant "Heavenly Yaksha."
The infamous underground broker known only as Joker, controlling over half the world's illegal trade routes.
King of Dressrosa in public, Kaido's shadowy partner in private.
But that was the future.
Right now, there were no Warlords. Kaido hadn't yet risen as one of the Four Emperors. And Doflamingo…
…was just a brat, newly arrived in the North Blue, trying to gather influence with a ragtag crew.
"That's right," Momonga confirmed, face troubled. "But this kid's background…"
He trailed off.
Darren smirked and said it outright:
"Just a discarded Celestial Dragon. A mutt without a home, now in the North Blue biting at whoever's closest."
Momonga glanced at him with a look of helplessness.
He'd worked with Darren long enough to know the man didn't care for rules—or consequences.
But this level of contempt for a Celestial Dragon… it still gave him pause.
"You're calm for someone poking a hornet's nest," Momonga muttered with a sigh. "Even if he's been exiled from Mary Geoise, the blood of the Celestial Dragons still flows in his veins."
"He's flying the Donquixote Pirates' flag now, clearly aiming to plant roots and expand in the North Blue. If we engage him, it might unravel everything we've built over the years."
He hesitated, then added:
"…Should we report this to Marineford?"
By protocol, any pirate flag meant open hostility. They should launch a mission immediately.
But Doflamingo's lineage… complicated things.
Darren fell silent.
Doflamingo really was a tricky bastard.
In canon, this lunatic dared to rob the Heavenly Tribute. He blackmailed the World Government into giving him a Warlord seat using his bloodline as leverage.
Even the Marines couldn't touch him.
Sure, Vice Admiral Tsuru had chased him down multiple times, giving him quite a few beatings. The guy started fleeing the moment he saw her ship.
But the point remained:
He was never caught.
And it wasn't because she couldn't.
Tsuru wasn't quite at Garp or Sengoku's level, but someone of her caliber could've crushed a half-baked Doflamingo easily.
She let him go because of politics.
Because of that wretched "bloodline."
"…No," Darren finally said. "Leave that little punk to me."
"As for HQ, I'm sure that old man Sengoku won't be able to sit still for long."
Momonga nodded and left.
Darren reclined in the freezing bath, falling deep into thought.
Then, almost lazily, he lifted a hand.
A faint electric arc shimmered at his fingertips. An invisible field rippled outward.
And then—
Clink.
A metal coin floated up from the pocket of his uniform trousers, hovering above his palm, spinning slowly in the air.
If someone else had witnessed this scene, they'd be stunned.
Because the coin wasn't just floating—it was dancing.
Gliding through the air like a butterfly, flipping with uncanny grace around his fingers.
The Jiki Jiki no Mi.
The Magnet-Magnet Fruit.
The very Devil Fruit that, in canon, belonged to Supernova Eustass Kid.
It allowed the user to generate magnetic fields, turning metal into projectiles, controlling magnetism and electricity—all metal was subject to the user's will.
Darren had confiscated the fruit during a Mafia purge operation.
Once he confirmed its identity, he ate it on the spot. No hesitation.
In his view, the Magnet-Magnet Fruit was a broken-level, god-tier Devil Fruit with nearly limitless potential.
Only one problem:
Kid was an idiot.
He could've been a charismatic, elegant Magneto-type battlefield controller…
But no. He went for cheap gimmicks.
Junk bots. Lego armors. Shouting and smashing.
A waste of a masterpiece.
Darren, however, had other plans.
In his hands, the Magnet-Magnet Fruit became his ultimate trump card.
He closed his eyes.
The floating coin spun steadily above his hand. Faint purple sparks flickered along its edge.
The magnetic field intensified.
His body, submerged in ice water, became wrapped in a living web of electromagnetic current.
Under this biomagnetic field, his wounds began to heal at accelerated speeds.
His muscles twitched and flexed rhythmically, gradually strengthening with each pulse.
This was a technique he'd only recently developed—
Biomagnetic Body Reinforcement.
By surrounding himself in a carefully controlled field, he could enhance cellular recovery and stimulate physical growth.
It wasn't without limits.
Even with his freakish durability, Darren could only maintain this state for about three hours.
Any longer, and the pressure would start damaging his internal organs irreversibly.
Still… every ten minutes, he could feel his stats rising.
Constitution +0.01
Strength +0.01
Speed +0.01
Tick.
By.
Tick.
---
The next morning.
Darren stepped into the base commander's office, dressed in a crisp new uniform and flowing Marine cloak.
There, slumped on the couch with giant bags under his eyes, was Tokikake.
He was yawning like a bear, clearly drained.
Darren couldn't help but laugh.
Looks like he really did traumatize the poor guy.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Commander Tokikake."
"'Mornin'…" Tokikake muttered half-asleep.
Then, as if struck by lightning, he suddenly bolted upright:
"DON'T HIT MY FACE!"
He threw his arms up in front of him.
Specifically, in front of his face.
Darren raised an eyebrow. "Relax. I know your face is your moneymaker."
Tokikake peeked between his fingers, still wary.
After a moment, he lowered his hands and huffed:
"Hmph. You'd better."
He puffed his chest and added, with forced bravado:
"Anyway, that spar yesterday—you know I wasn't going all-out, right?"
"I mean, you're the top dog here in the North Blue. It wouldn't look good if I beat you bloody in front of all your subordinates."
Darren nodded solemnly.
"Of course. A prodigy from HQ like you? I wouldn't stand a chance."
He reached for his cigar box and passed one to Tokikake.
Tokikake beamed, taking the cigar proudly.
"That's right!"
He struck a pose—one hand on hip, one hand lighting the cigar.
But then he frowned.
"Say… where'd you even get these? This brand's rare, even in Marineford."
As he puffed happily, Darren crossed one leg over the other and lit his own cigar.
"Oh, I've got plenty. If you like them, I'll have a whole box delivered."
"…A box?"
Tokikake's hand froze mid-puff.
His eyes widened like saucers.
This wasn't some bumpkin's stash.
These cigars were noble-grade, sourced from the Belman Islands in the West Blue—just one cost over 50,000 Berry.
A box held 20 packs, 10 cigars each.
That was over 10 million Berry!
And his entire annual salary as a Lieutenant Commander was barely 2 million.
Just who the hell was this Darren guy, really…?
---
To be continued…