Chapter 371: Chapter 14: Two Devil Fruits
Ah... so that’s it.
Tsuru gazed at Gion and Tokikake, their eyes fierce with determination, and a soft, knowing smile spread across her face.
They’re afraid of being left behind by Darren’s meteoric rise...
In that moment, she finally understood why Zephyr had been so adamant about establishing the "seat ranking" system at the Training Camp.
Even among the Golden Generation—brilliant, bold, and destined for greatness—there needed to be someone at the forefront. A pace-setter. A rival worth chasing.
That’s what it means to be number one.
"I see now," Tsuru murmured.
She reached into her drawer, retrieving an old brass key, and crossed the room to a secured safe nestled in the corner. With practiced movements, she unlocked it and input a long-forgotten code.
Two polished wooden boxes emerged from the depths, each humming faintly with something old and powerful.
She set them gently on the coffee table.
Under Gion and Tokikake’s unwavering stares, Tsuru slowly opened the lids.
Within each box lay a Devil Fruit—quiet, still, yet radiating a living energy that filled the air with tension.
The one on the left was a snow-white fruit, shaped like a delicate peach with crystalline skin that shimmered in the light. The other, darker and more ominous, was banana-shaped, covered in brown scales like hardened armor.
Even dormant, they exuded overwhelming power.
Gion and Tokikake couldn’t look away.
"You’re both fully aware of what it means to eat one of these," Tsuru said, her voice gentle but firm.
They nodded.
No second chances. No second fruits. And a lifetime cursed by the sea.
Two years ago, Tsuru had prepared these very fruits for them.
Back then, both had chosen to wait. To build themselves first—master the blade, strengthen their bodies, forge unshakable foundations.
But everything had changed.
In the wake of the Marineford War, after enduring the rigorous crucible of the Training Camp, both had undergone a quiet, profound transformation. They were no longer the brash prodigies they once were.
Now they were warriors—armed with Rokushiki, disciplined in Haki, and ready to wield their Devil Fruits not as shortcuts, but as weapons honed by earned strength.
Urgency now gripped them like a vice.
The war had exposed a gap—a vast, cold chasm between them and the strongest in the world. And more than anything... they could feel Darren slipping out of reach.
This time, there was no hesitation.
Gion stepped forward first.
With delicate fingers, she picked up the snow-white fruit, peeled off a sliver of its skin, and placed it on her tongue.
Her face stiffened immediately. Her brows knitted, and a grimace took hold.
Watching her reaction, Tokikake burst into laughter.
"Pfft—! That bad, huh?"
He swaggered forward, eyes glinting with anticipation, steam practically whistling from his nose.
Rolling up his sleeves, he locked eyes with the scaled fruit, grinning like a wolf.
"Oh-ho, little darling. You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?"
He cackled.
"Once I eat you, that bastard Darren’s not gonna be so smug anymore!"
"Heheheh... From this moment on..."
He seized the fruit, opened his jaw wide, and shoved the entire thing in.
"I, Tokikake, the genius of Marine Headquarters, will—"
The words cut off.
Tokikake froze.
The color drained from his face, replaced by a sickly, ashen pallor. A violet tinge spread across his cheeks like poison blooming beneath the skin.
Gulp.
He swallowed.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
He doubled over, hacking violently, tears and mucus streaming down his face like a broken faucet.
"IT TASTES LIKE FUCKING DEATH!!"
He wheezed between gags, his voice ragged with betrayal.
Tsuru and Gion stared at him, unmoving.
Their expressions slowly... changed.
—
Several days later.
Marine Headquarters. The old port, long abandoned but still echoing with ghosts of training past.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Fist after fist slammed into battered marine ship hulls, each impact unleashing a quake of compressed air that rippled outward like thunder.
Two towering figures stood in the sun, facing down rusted warships like titans in a sparring match with mountains.
Their sweat hit the ground in heavy drops. Their breathing came in ragged bursts.
But their eyes were locked forward. Unyielding.
"HAH! Darren! I’m catching up, you bastard!"
Kuzan let out a roar of laughter as his punch punched a crater into steel, shattered splinters of hull raining down like shrapnel.
But Darren didn’t respond. He was too focused.
Locked in. Breathing steady. His eyes saw only the target in front of him.
Nearby, beneath a wide sun umbrella:
Garp lounged in a beach chair, floral shirt fluttering in the breeze, legs crossed comfortably. He crunched loudly on a bag of Senbei rice crackers, each bite echoing in the silence like gunfire.
"Honestly, Garp, this is the height of irresponsibility."
Zephyr’s sharp voice rang out behind him.
Arms crossed, brow furrowed, Zephyr marched up beside the umbrella and glared down at the older man.
"You’re really just lying there watching?"
Garp let out a booming laugh. "You wouldn’t get it! This is my secret training method!"
"Secret training—?" Zephyr gave him a long, skeptical look.
Then a memory stirred.
The battle on Coin Island. Sengoku’s report had mentioned something odd—how Darren, in the heat of battle, had thrown a punch eerily similar to Garp’s.
Not just raw power, but something deeper. Refined. Signature.
Even after taking a critical wound from the Golden Lion’s blade, Darren had managed to land that one earthshaking blow.
Could it be...? This old man really did teach him something?
"Hah! You’re damn right I did!" Garp said proudly, catching the look on Zephyr’s face.
"Well? What is it?" Zephyr leaned in, genuinely intrigued.
He wasn’t a frontline fighter anymore. His heart now lay in training the next generation. If Garp had a method—even a crazy one—he wanted it.
Garp leaned over conspiratorially.
"It’s simple..."
Zephyr leaned closer.
"...You let ’em experience it firsthand."
Zephyr blinked. "...Meaning?"
Then realization dawned.
Wait—doesn’t that just mean punching them until they figure it out themselves?!
A dark line slid down Zephyr’s temple.
I should’ve known better than to take this geezer seriously...!
Just then, Darren and Kuzan returned, sweat-drenched but smiling, their muscles still twitching from exertion.
"Zephyr-sensei, you’re here!" Kuzan said sheepishly, scratching his head.
"Zephyr-sensei," Darren greeted, calm and composed.
Zephyr’s eyes flicked between the two. "You’ve both come a long way lately."
He clapped Kuzan on the shoulder, then turned to Darren.
"Darren, I came to ask about tomorrow’s Training Camp graduation. Are you prepared for the ceremony?"
Darren’s lips curled into a faint smile.
"I’ve been ready for a long time, Zephyr-sensei."
Zephyr blinked, momentarily taken aback.
There was something about that smile—easy, quiet, but carrying an undercurrent of danger. A sense of mischief. Like the calm before a storm.
A bad feeling tugged at Zephyr’s gut, but he couldn’t quite place why.
To be continued...