A misty drizzle fell over the New World three days later.
Two figures—one tall, one slight—stepped off a merchant ship in succession, black hooded cloaks hiding their faces and forms.
"I didn't expect that birdman to be bold enough to pick this place… It does bring back memories," the taller one said, lifting his head just enough for a cold, sharply cut profile to show beneath the hood. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
Rogers Darren, the world's most notorious criminal.
"It means he intends to treat the discussion seriously," Stussy murmured, falling into step behind him.
Her eyes swept the bustling street, taking in everything. The cloak hid her curves completely; only the hem parted at her stride to show a flash of snowy calf and black suede heels—elegant, poised, dangerous.
"Even I didn't imagine the island you nearly reduced to rubble could be rebuilt in secret in under two years," she said.
Darren chuckled. "He is the Underworld Emperor—the most inscrutable man in the shadows. This is par for him. Information is power."
As he walked the avenue paved with countless metal coins, the Magnet-Magnet Fruit inside him seemed to stir on its own. Faint blue sparks pricked at his fingertips, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Stussy saw the flicker. Her pupils tightened.
Information is power?
Perhaps.
But on this island, you wield the absolute kind.
The past three days had felt like walking through a fever dream. She'd thought she knew how twisted and terrifying Darren was; reality had torn those assumptions to shreds.
Day One.
He lit a cigar, picked up a dining knife, and methodically pared away the festering flesh and crystal-burnt skin the battle had left behind. Slabs of putrid tissue slid off him like mud, blood splashing in obscene red arcs. Even Stussy—CP0's queen interrogator—felt her skin crawl.
What unmoored her most was his composure. Half an hour of self-surgery, and he didn't so much as flinch. He even had the gall to flirt.
By the time she finished dressing him, his body looked like a battlefield of holes, and they had gone through box after box of bandages and supplies to stanch the bleeding.
Day Two.
While changing his dressings, she found every ragged wound—from the smallest tear to the worst gouges—already scabbed over. Had she not seen it, she would never have believed it.
Day Three.
He was moving like nothing had happened—insisting on keeping the appointment.
Remembering his antics on the ship, Stussy bit her crimson lip. Heat rippled through her eyes, anger smoldering.
"Two guests—my boss has been expecting you," a man in a black suit said with a deep bow, cutting through her thoughts.
"Lead on," Darren said.
They were ushered to a lavish hotel, through the lobby, and into a small conference room lit by the soft breath of oil lamps.
A peculiar figure sat on a plush sofa within.
Darren smiled at the birdman in a black tailcoat and top hat. "Mr. Morgans. An honor."
"The pleasure is mine." Morgans rose, swept off his hat with a courteous dip of his head, and bowed like a gentleman out of a storybook. "Mr. Rogers Darren—do the surroundings suit you?"
Darren bit and lit a cigar, smiling. "To think Coin Island, once rubble, could rise again under President Morgans… and regain its old brilliance."
Morgans chuckled and flapped his wings modestly. "Coin Island thrived because it sits at the junction of many routes. Its resurrection isn't mine alone."
"It is also where Darren-san made his name. From the chaos of the North Blue to the Grand Line, your most dazzling debut happened right here—when you single-handedly crushed Golden Lion Shiki's Flying Fleet."
"No one then could have imagined the fall of one Flying Fleet would clear the way for the rise of another."
He glanced sidelong at Stussy, his smile unreadable.
"And who would have guessed the Queen of the Pleasure District, famed across the New World, would be such… close friends with Darren-san?"
Stussy lifted her chin, her voice turning to ice. "Say one more word and you'll beg for death."
Morgans raised both wings with a nervous laugh. "Apologies, apologies! Professional hazard. You understand, Stussy—we vultures live on gossip and the hoarding of tidbits."
She scoffed and claimed a sofa without looking at him.
Morgans shrugged theatrically and turned back to Darren. "So, Darren-san, we finally meet. I may look odd, but surely you didn't come simply to admire the view. This 'Big News' you promised—what is it?"
"My existence is Big News," Darren said lightly.
"Indeed." Morgans nodded. "Still, I hope for something… exceptional. I pulled many strings to make this possible."
He gestured toward a heavy door at the far end. "Behind that, a live broadcast is ready. Representatives and reporters from over a hundred outlets are waiting."
"Darren-san," he said, eyes gleaming, "given the risk you're taking to speak publicly, what do you intend to say—or rather, what do you intend to do?"
Darren only smiled. He took his time, drawing on the cigar, eyes half-lidded, the room quiet but for the soft tick of flame.
Ten minutes later, he ground out the stub, shrugged off the hooded cloak, and stood in a dark gray suit tailored with ruthless precision.
"As everyone knows," he said, "Rogers Darren isn't the kind to swallow losses—or let grudges go unanswered."
Morgans' eyes lit. "So—revenge?"
"No. More than that."
Darren walked toward the door, fingers straightening his black tie. He raked his dark hair back, and an edge crept into his gaze—sharp, hungry.
"I never resented the Gorosei. The weak bow to the strong—that law doesn't care about justice or sin."
"If they were stronger than me—if their power truly eclipsed the North Blue Fleet—I'd have died as I should."
"But I lived. Which means the World Government may not be as invincible as the world believes."
"It also means…"
He paused at the door, as if hearing the clamor beyond it—the propaganda engines already whining to life, the world hungry for the "World's Greatest Criminal" to speak.
He looked back over his shoulder.
"I hold the greater power now. This time…"
He grinned, feral, under the stunned stares of Morgans and Stussy.
"…I get to set the rules."
"What I want is—a declaration of war!"
To be continued...