"The patient's vital signs are plummeting!"
"Damn it—has the bleeding stopped yet?"
"What's happening?! He was stable just a few minutes ago!"
"Could something have triggered this sudden decline?"
The cries overlapped in chaos. Inside the VIP ward of Marineford's military hospital, a dozen of the best doctors in the Marines were clustered around Vice Admiral Darren's bed. Sweat beaded on their foreheads as they scrambled to stabilize him. The vital monitors flashed wildly, their erratic rhythm reflecting the turmoil in the room.
Vice Admiral Darren wasn't just any patient—he was one of the pillars of the current Marine generation. If he died under their care, none of them would leave this room with their careers—or lives—intact.
Bang!
The door burst open.
The attending physician spun around, nerves stretched to breaking. "Can't you see we're in the middle of emergency treatment? Get the hell out—!" His voice died in his throat. "A-Admiral Sengoku?!"
Color drained from his face, replaced by a cold, trembling sweat.
Sengoku strode in quickly, his tone clipped. "How's Darren?"
His eyes darted to the bed. Darren lay pale and motionless, chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths, a streak of blood at the corner of his lips. His stillness chilled even Sengoku's seasoned heart.
Within moments, a flood of high-ranking officers crowded the doorway. The air grew suffocating.
The attending physician swallowed hard. "Vice Admiral Darren's condition had stabilized, but a few minutes ago his vitals suddenly collapsed. We're not sure why—he's in critical condition. We're doing everything we can."
Sengoku's jaw tightened. "I don't care what it takes—he must not die."
He turned sharply to the crowd of officers behind him. "Everyone out! You're crowding the room."
"Yes, Admiral Sengoku!"
The officers filed out at once. Sengoku's gaze flicked toward Borsalino, who was slouched casually against the wall. After a pause, he decided to let the man stay.
Crossing his arms, Sengoku took a seat on the sofa, his presence a silent weight pressing down on the entire room. The doctors worked faster, their hands shaking under that watchful stare.
Then—
Beep... beep... beep...
The erratic rhythm of the monitor began to steady. The sharp peaks softened, then leveled into a consistent pulse.
"It's stabilizing!"
"The bleeding's slowing down!"
"The medication's taking effect!"
Relief washed over the medical team. One by one, they exhaled, tension draining from their shoulders as color began to return to Darren's face. His breathing deepened, his pulse strengthened.
"It's incredible," one murmured. "He's recovering already…"
"His vitality's unbelievable," another whispered. "He's... he's out of danger."
Borsalino watched the miraculous turnaround with a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Sengoku rose immediately and strode to the bedside. "Let me see for myself."
As if on cue, Darren's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, his eyes opened, hazy but alive.
"Sengoku... Admiral?" His voice was hoarse, but steady.
Sengoku's stern expression melted into visible relief. "You little bastard," he muttered, half-laughing. "You nearly scared this old man to death."
...
Moments later, outside the ward, Sengoku stood facing the chief physician. His gaze was sharp, his tone measured. "Explain to me how this happened. He was stable even while unconscious. What caused such a sudden collapse?"
Under that commanding presence, none of the doctors dared breathe too loudly. After a tense pause, the chief physician stepped forward.
"Admiral Sengoku, Vice Admiral Darren's physical constitution is... exceptional. With injuries this severe, any ordinary man would already be dead. The only reason he's survived is his extraordinary endurance and physical recovery rate."
He adjusted his glasses nervously. "We believe his sudden deterioration was caused by a delayed reaction—his body finally succumbing to accumulated internal trauma that had been suppressed until now. But the emergency treatment seems to have worked. His life is no longer in danger."
Sengoku exhaled heavily, the lines in his face softening. "Good. I'll speak with him."
The doctors hesitated, exchanging helpless glances. Who could possibly stop him?
They nodded quickly. "Of course, Admiral. Please don't tire him out."
...
When Sengoku entered, he was greeted by a sight that nearly made his blood pressure spike.
There was Darren—already sitting upright, a cigar clenched between his teeth—while Tokikake fussed beside him, proudly lighting it.
Sengoku froze.
"You suicidal idiot!" he barked. "You almost died ten minutes ago, and now you're smoking?!"
Darren chuckled, unbothered. "My heart's racing. A cigar helps steady it." He exhaled twin plumes of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.
Sengoku's temple throbbed. But since the doctors had assured him Darren was stable, he let it go with a long sigh.
Behind him, Momonga and several Headquarters officers entered the ward.
"Vice Admiral Darren!" they greeted warmly.
Darren grinned, gesturing toward a mountain of gifts stacked on the sofa. "Thanks for coming, everyone. You're too kind."
"There's fruit, cigars, and good wine. Make yourselves at home. I'm afraid I can't play host properly."
The officers burst out laughing, taking his words as permission. In moments, half a dozen cigars were lit, filling the VIP ward with thick, rolling smoke.
By the time Sengoku took the tea Tokikake offered, the room was so hazy it looked like a battlefield after cannon fire. Outside the door, horrified nurses could only stare through the glass, too afraid to intervene.
"Darren," Sengoku began at last, his tone low and heavy, "I've already heard the broad account of your battle with Golden Lion from Captain Momonga. But there's one thing I can't make sense of."
Darren leaned back against his pillow, eyes calm. "Ask away, Admiral Sengoku."
Sengoku's gaze sharpened. "Knowing Shiki's nature, he would never choose to die in battle if escape were possible. So tell me—how did you manage to trap him?"
The question hung in the smoke-filled air like a drawn blade.
Momonga's fingers twitched slightly. They noticed…
For a long moment, Darren was silent, his expression unreadable. Then he said quietly, "Admiral Sengoku, I'd prefer to discuss that matter in private."
He glanced toward the other Marines in the room.
Sengoku frowned. "There's no need for secrecy here. These men are trusted Headquarters officers."
The officers straightened proudly, puffing out their chests.
Darren shrugged, unbothered. "Very well, then. But you should know—it wasn't just Captain Momonga who helped me."
A stir rippled through the room.
Sengoku's eyes glinted. I knew it. Someone else was involved.
The officers leaned forward, eager to hear the name. Whoever had assisted Darren in his battle with the Golden Lion must have been extraordinary.
Darren took a slow breath. "Admiral Sengoku, you might remember this individual from the Edd War Sea Incident. It was—"
"Wait."
Sengoku's hand shot up. His expression shifted slightly—something between caution and realization.
He turned to the others. "Since Vice Admiral Darren requests a private briefing, I'll honor that. All of you, wait outside."
The officers froze.
Wait—what?! Didn't you just say there was nothing to hide?!
But Sengoku's glare brooked no argument. One by one, they filed out, muttering in confusion as the door closed behind them.
To be continued...