Stussy's alluring face flickered through Dragon's mind, and his jaw tightened almost on its own.
He wasn't the lecherous type, but beauty was beauty—and Stussy's reputation as the most bewitching woman in the New World was infamous for a reason.
Since when did Darren start getting involved with her?
Darren ignored the storm on Dragon's face and merely glanced at the Den Den Mushi with a wry smile. "Her calling on her own… that's rare," he said.
A sharp hiss crackled through the line. "Just tell me—are you coming or not?" Stussy snapped.
"Of course." Darren grinned. "How could I refuse an invitation from such a beautiful woman?"
He hung up. When he looked up again, Dragon's face—still bearing the "slipper mark"—was right there, far too close.
"…Didn't you say you weren't keeping any secrets from me?" Dragon asked flatly, his stare unblinking.
Darren: "..."
Do I really have to report my personal relationships to you?
He rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed.
"You're not seriously going to meet her, are you?" Dragon pressed, concern creeping into his voice. "With everything that's happened, can you really trust that woman?"
Darren shifted as if to stand, and Dragon's worry sharpened.
They had just killed the Commander of the Knights of God—mostly Darren, but still. The Gorosei would be furious. Retaliation was inevitable.
Staying in Wano until Darren fully recovered was the smartest option.
Wano's terrain was brutal to invade and easy to defend. Its isolationist policy made information leaks unlikely, and the World Government would never suspect Darren was recovering here.
Even if something did leak, Kaido and the Beasts Pirates ruled Wano. The Government wouldn't dare move lightly under the shadow of his strength.
And there were medical and research teams here—ready at a moment's notice.
If not for the crushing workload waiting for the Freedom Fighters, Dragon would've wanted to stay a few more days himself.
"Relax," Darren said with a chuckle, waving the Den Den Mushi. "The Government's too busy right now to come looking for trouble with me."
Then he added, grinning, "Besides. Turning down a lady's invitation would be rude."
---
The New World.
Pleasure District.
Top-floor suite of a luxurious hotel.
Stussy sat perfectly still, watching the Den Den Mushi slowly fall asleep in her palm, lost in thought.
A slender cigarette burned down in the ashtray. Its faint mint-scented smoke curled around her mature, captivating face, wrapping her in something quiet and dangerous.
But her eyebrows were drawn tight, her expression shifting in small, restless waves.
After a long silence, she reached out with pale, delicate fingers, picked up the cigarette—nearly finished—and took a deep, harsh drag.
The Commander of the Knights of God was dead by Darren's hand, and the Gorosei had just issued her a final ultimatum.
On one side: securing the trust of the highest authorities in the World Government—so she could keep protecting Dr. Vegapunk.
On the other: that bastard, who had used secrets to tug her around again and again, leaving her so furious she ground her teeth in the dark.
Two choices. Both in front of her.
The answer should have been simple. Obvious, even.
And yet—somehow—Stussy found herself snagged on a hesitation she'd never known before. A tight, unfamiliar unease.
Because choosing meant deciding to… betray him.
That lecherous, vulgar, despicable, shameless bastard whose lips always curved into a confident, wicked smirk.
The smoke in front of her eyes blurred her vision. Even her gaze felt unsteady.
And then, without warning, memories spilled through her—swift as a carousel, sharp as glass.
Their first meeting, the reckless provocation and banter.
The wild, unrestrained night in that abandoned warehouse at Marine Headquarters.
The absurd shock when the outcome of their gamble was revealed.
The secret thrill as the North Blue Fleet's flying battleships descended from the sky to escort her away…
The images surged, overlapping, snapping into place—until they formed a single face: handsome, youthful, framed by messy black hair.
Almost without thinking, Stussy lifted the hem of her dress slightly, her eyes locking on the strange black symbols etched above.
Four characters in total—or rather, three and a fragment.
Compared to the three complete characters before it, the last one was missing its final horizontal stroke.
Stussy couldn't understand why she hadn't scrubbed those damned marks away.
Was she afraid of him?
No.
That wasn't it.
She had never truly feared Darren.
So then why had she followed him—again and again—without protest?
Could it be—
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Stussy's expression shifted violently. She bit down hard on her arm.
Pain snapped through her, and panic flared in her eyes.
This is madness.
"Impossible!"
She shook her head like she could shake the thought loose.
"How could I possibly be in love with that bastard?!"
"Stussy, snap out of it!"
"This is your best chance to break free from him!"
Her palm cracked against her own cheeks—once, twice—leaving a faint flush as she forced the chaos back down.
But as she steadied herself, her gaze drifted—unbidden—to her thigh.
Her expression flickered. Then her hand clenched into a fist.
"This is the last time," she muttered, as if the words could serve as an excuse, as if saying it made it true.
"It's not because I'm attached… it's just my OCD. That character is missing a stroke. It looks wrong."
The moment she made the decision, the weight in her chest seemed to lift. Her mood brightened. She rose with sudden, brisk purpose.
She crossed to the walk-in closet and pulled open the glass doors. Rows of custom-tailored gowns and evening dresses lined up with obsessive neatness. A vertical cabinet beside them displayed jewelry and accessories like a private exhibition.
Stussy chose carefully—an elegant pale-purple gown, a black cut-out belt, a diamond necklace, black onyx earrings.
Then she moved to the shoe cabinet. Her gaze swept past row after row before settling on a pair of black peep-toe stilettos.
"This is… the last time," she murmured again, after a few seconds of silence.
Finally, she picked up the shoes.
To be continued...