Swish, swish, swish!
Magellan scrubbed the toilet bowl with meticulous care, cleanser foaming thickly under his brush.
Watching the enormous man work with such earnest diligence, Marutai—the bald jailer—couldn't help but ask, curiosity slipping into his voice. "You're a real oddball, you know that? With power like yours, why would you come to a hellhole like Impel Down?"
Slouching against the wall, Marutai kept a healthy distance. He cracked the visor of his gas mask just enough to light a cigarette and muttered, "With your ability, you could have diarrhea eight hours a day and it wouldn't even matter."
Hunched over the bowl, Magellan let out a heavy sigh, the sound muffled through his mask. "I'm nothing but a burden. Someone as unlucky as me… should live in the shadows forever."
Marutai scratched his head, baffled. "That doesn't track. Didn't you say you graduated from the Marine Academy?"
"I heard Headquarters Academy grads are groomed as the Marines' officer reserves. Hard to believe they'd stick someone like you in Impel Down."
Magellan didn't answer. He only sighed again, deeper this time.
Marutai shrugged and changed gears. "Oh, right. Headquarters transferred a new Chief Guard today."
Then, as if he'd remembered something juicy, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "And get this—he's weird as hell. Always wears a mask. Nobody's seen his face."
Marutai's eyes flickered with a strange, uneasy awe. "I caught a glimpse from a distance. The pressure coming off him… it's suffocating. Like you can't breathe."
Magellan's interest stirred despite himself. "What happened to the old Chief Guard?"
"Old Will?" Marutai snorted. "Rumor says he hit the lottery and quit on the spot. Went home smiling."
Envy seeped into his voice as he grumbled, "Lucky bastard. How many years would a lowly jailer like us have to work to see that kind of money?"
Magellan's expression hardened. "We didn't join the Marines for money."
"Maybe you didn't." Marutai shrugged, unimpressed. "For me, it's a job."
He exhaled smoke and scoffed. "What do we even make in a month? You really going to risk your life for that? Besides, I heard Headquarters might not even be able to pay wages soon. If that's true, I'd better start looking for a way out."
Magellan fell silent.
He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Marutai he was wrong—but no words came that felt strong enough. Everyone carried a different idea of what "Justice" meant. Some clung to it like a vow. Others treated it like a uniform they wore for a paycheck.
"Hey! Magellan! The new Chief Guard wants to see you!"
A voice echoed from the far end of the corridor. A uniformed jailer waved him over from a distance, gas mask on, refusing to approach as if Magellan were some kind of specter.
The new Chief Guard… wants me?
Magellan froze.
"Did you piss someone off?" Marutai muttered, frowning. "That shouldn't even be possible. The new Chief Guard shouldn't know you."
Then his expression sharpened. "But watch yourself. From what I've seen, anyone who becomes Chief Guard is usually… not right in the head."
He tapped his temple and lowered his voice even more. "You remember Old Will, don't you?"
Magellan's mouth tightened.
The previous Chief Guard had been a warped fiend—obsessed with money, delighted by torture.
"I understand," Magellan said quietly.
With dread knotting in his stomach, he peeled off his gloves and left the jailers' quarters on the first underground level, heading for the Chief Guard's office.
Impel Down—the Deep Sea Prison—was built inside the Calm Belt, where Sea Kings swarmed like living walls. No pirate ship could ever get through. Only Marine battleships could cross those waters.
The prison itself was a colossal tower driven into the ocean. Aside from the platform above the waves on the first level, every other floor lay submerged beneath the surface. With Marine warships patrolling the perimeter, its defenses had earned it a name feared across the world:
The Ironclad Fortress.
The world's number one prison.
Magellan still remembered his first day here—his superior giving the tour, puffed up with pride, repeating the same line at least five times in under ten minutes:
"No one has ever successfully escaped Impel Down!"
Magellan's jurisdiction covered the first underground level, Crimson Hell, and the second, Beast Hell. Crimson Hell held the least severe offenders in the entire prison, and their strength was pitiful—most couldn't even overpower the patrolling Blugori.
Beyond the cells sprawled a forest of twisted trees. Their leaves were sharp as blades—Sword Trees. The ground was choked with Needle Grass, so jagged it could pierce flesh with every step.
At set times, prisoners were "released," then driven screaming through that forest by Poison Spiders and jailers, chased until their bodies gave out.
But the moment Magellan appeared, everything froze.
Poison Spiders. Jailers. Even the prisoners who'd been running—every one of them scrambled behind Sword Trees as if hiding could save them.
Magellan walked past with a blank face, a quiet sigh slipping out of him.
He crossed Crimson Hell, descended the long staircase, and arrived at Beast Hell on the second underground level.
Venomous snakes and feral beasts prowled the shadows. Their leader, the Sphinx, took one look at Magellan, trembled, and bolted—vanishing into a corner in the blink of an eye.
Then came the third level—Starvation Hell—where prisoners were tortured by thirst and hunger until their bodies hollowed out. Half-dead shapes lay motionless behind bars, some shriveled like mummies.
After passing more than a dozen cells, Magellan stopped before an office door. He hesitated, then raised his hand and knocked.
"Chief Guard Excellency… Jailer Magellan, reporting."
"Enter," a deep voice rumbled from inside.
For some reason, it sounded strangely familiar—close enough to make Magellan's skin prickle. He shoved the thought aside, pushed the door open, and stepped in.
He froze, eyes snapping wide.
"Darren-sensei?!"
To be continued...