Chapter 436: Chapter 79: Further Planning
Tap, tap, tap...
A thunder of boots echoed down the shoreline as over a hundred Marines charged forward in formation, rifles drawn, bayonets gleaming.
They moved fast—disciplined, alert, ready to face a monster.
But as they crested the dunes and caught sight of the scene before them...
They froze.
Crocodile—the infamous sand-wielding warlord who had reportedly obliterated an entire elite unit in minutes—was pinned beneath the boot of Vice Admiral Darren, motionless and bloodied.
There was no battle.
No resistance.
Just... defeat.
And it had happened far too quickly.
"Let’s go," Darren muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he lifted his foot from Crocodile’s chest.
His voice was lazy, almost bored.
Behind him, a Marine rushed forward with a fresh uniform. Darren changed on the spot, then swung his white coat over his shoulders in one smooth motion.
He gazed up at the sky and chuckled. "Perfect weather today, don’t you think?"
Tokikake: Only you would say that...
Still recovering from his mummification, Tokikake took another gulp from his canteen, the water reviving the color in his cheeks. He staggered upright, legs still shaky.
"We’re just... leaving him here?" he asked under his breath, eyeing Crocodile warily.
"What else can we do?" Darren shrugged. "He’s a Shichibukai now. Until that title’s revoked, the Marines can’t touch him."
Tokikake grimaced.
"Hey, someone bandage up our new Shichibukai," Darren called out casually. "Be a shame if he bled out before doing anything useful."
And with that, he turned and walked toward the coast, his gait unhurried, confident.
Crocodile lay motionless for a long time, face twisted with humiliation.
It took nearly thirty minutes before he forced himself upright, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw trembled. His severed left arm had been hastily wrapped. The pain was still there—white-hot—but dulled by rage.
He stared at his stump.
Then let out a roar of fury.
"Damn you, Marines!!!"
BOOM!
Golden sand erupted into the sky, spiraling into the shape of a colossal crocodile that blocked out the sun, its maw opening wide as if to devour the world. It swallowed the ruined town whole.
---
The Marine warship had already set sail.
Winds were calm. The sea glistened.
At the bow, Darren stood alone—arms folded, coat billowing behind him, a cigar between his lips. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Behind him, the crew worked in silence. No one approached. No one dared.
Tokikake had long retreated to his quarters to sleep. Rehydration helped, but his body still needed rest. Only time would fully reverse the damage.
Darren exhaled slowly.
"The Shichibukai..."
He rolled the word across his tongue like smoke, then reached into his coat and pulled out a Den Den Mushi. With a twist of his fingers, he dialed a familiar number.
Pururu... Pururu...
Gacha.
"Godfather," came the raspy, familiar voice—velvety and dangerous.
Doflamingo.
A slow smile curled Darren’s lips. "Doffy. Still alive, I see."
Thousands of miles away, inside the Donquixote Family’s fortress on Rubeck Island, Doflamingo leaned back in his chair. His sunglasses reflected the candlelight, hiding his shifting expression.
"I saw what you did to Totto Land," he said. "Quite the show, Godfather."
Darren chuckled. "A bit of noise. Nothing more."
"What do you want?" Doflamingo asked, voice low and amused.
"I have an opportunity," Darren said. "A golden one."
"Have you heard of the Shichibukai Project?"
Doflamingo paused, then frowned. "No."
Darren laid out the plan—brief, blunt, exact.
A new system. Legalized piracy. Government-sanctioned authority. A title reserved for monsters who couldn’t be controlled—only harnessed.
By the time Darren finished speaking, Doflamingo’s knuckles were white.
This was it.
Legitimacy. Power. A stage to operate openly.
And all he had to do... was claim it.
"What do I need to do?" Doflamingo asked, barely hiding the eagerness in his voice.
Darren smiled. "I already submitted your name."
Doflamingo’s heart skipped.
"But," Darren added, "the Gorosei rejected it."
Silence.
The Gorosei?
Doflamingo’s jaw clenched.
So Darren could speak directly to them now?
A cold sweat trickled down his back.
"They said you were just a small-time thug from the North Blue. Lacking the strength or fame for such a title."
The words were calculated. Each syllable dipped in acid.
Doflamingo’s hands trembled. Blood welled beneath his fingernails as he clenched his fists harder, nails digging into flesh.
He could see their faces. Those five bastards. The ones who stole everything from him. The ones who scorned him as filth.
"What must I do, Godfather?" he growled. "Tell me."
Darren’s smile deepened.
Yes. That’s it.
That fury.
That hunger.
"That rejection had nothing to do with strength," Darren said, voice colder now. "You know that, don’t you?"
Doflamingo said nothing.
He didn’t have to.
He knew exactly what Darren meant.
They didn’t deny him because he was weak.
They denied him because they hated him.
Because he was one of them—and yet wasn’t.
A fallen Celestial Dragon.
A stain on their legacy.
"You were cast out," Darren said. "They won’t ever accept you."
"But that doesn’t mean you can’t force your way back in."
The silence on the other end was electric.
Then—
"I’m listening."
Darren’s voice dropped to a whisper.
"Doflamingo... it’s time we started moving our pieces."
To be continued...