"How do you know he was Zephyr-sensei's student?!"
Magellan's voice cracked in terror, shattering the dead silence. His face twisted in shock as he stared at the pale-haired figure in the shadows.
The man's lips curled into a thin, sinister smile. "At first, it was a guess. Now I'm sure."
Magellan went rigid, the color draining from his face.
Darren: …
Clutching his chest like he'd been stabbed, Darren shot Magellan a look so wounded it might've killed. Magellan immediately flinched and shrank back.
With a weary shake of his head, Darren turned his attention to the figure deep inside the cell block.
The flickering lamplight seeped gradually into the darkness, painting the man's gaunt, pallid face in uneven strokes.
Though trapped in the deepest, most infamous level of the world's strongest prison—built to grind monsters into dust—he sat on the blackened stone with effortless poise, as if the filth and blood around him were beneath notice. A faint smile lingered at his lips, aristocratic and cold.
Darren recognized him at once.
Red the Aloof—Patrick Redfield.
A legendary pirate who had once stood alone against giants, a man said to rival even the Roger Pirates and the Whitebeard Pirates.
As Redfield spoke, the other prisoners fell silent, as if his voice itself carried authority. Even here, even like this, the cell block listened.
Darren exhaled smoke and smiled. "Zephyr-sensei taught me something: never underestimate an enemy. Crush them with the force of a lion hunting a rabbit."
His eyes darkened, a savage hunger stirring in their depths. "And that's exactly what I do."
Redfield's smile deepened slightly. The golden chain piercing his lip swayed with the movement, giving him an eerie, elegant air in the gloom.
"But if I remember correctly," he said softly, "you're no longer a Marine… are you, Rogers Darren?"
The words hit Eternal Hell like a cannon shot.
A wave of gasps rippled through the darkness.
"Rogers Darren?!"
"No way…"
"That's him?!"
"Rogers Darren—the one who fought the Gorosei and nearly tore them apart with his bare hands?!"
"Isn't his bounty five billion berries?"
"How the hell is he the Chief Guard of Impel Down?!"
"Does any of this make sense?!"
…
Dozens—hundreds—of eyes locked onto the young man in the bat helm, disbelief curdling into something like panic.
Even at the bottom of Impel Down, they weren't completely severed from the world. Newspapers still made their way down, delivered by specialized jailers meant to keep the inmates informed—and broken.
Lately, the news had been so outrageous it bordered on insanity.
Celestial Dragons slaughtered wholesale. The Gorosei brutalized. Mary Geoise bombarded by a flying fleet. The North Blue severing itself from the World Government's Member State system…
It had been one absurd headline after another, to the point these hardened criminals had started to wonder if the prison had been sent the wrong papers. Fake news, they'd scoffed. Delusions from above.
But a name was hard to fake.
Rogers Darren.
And a five-billion-berry bounty wasn't a rumor you could dismiss with a shrug.
Now he was here.
Not chained.
Not caged.
Wearing the uniform of authority.
If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, they would've sworn they were dreaming.
Seriously? We're the world's worst criminals. We're shackled in this lightless hell, starving like dogs—while you stroll in, casually flex your Haki, and look down on us?
Where is the justice in this world?!
For a brief, surreal moment, more than one inmate felt the urge to call the Marines and report him.
Darren sighed, shaking his head as if deeply disappointed in humanity. He reached up and removed the bat helm, forcing a crooked, helpless smile.
"Just as I suspected," he said. "This disguise only fools idiots."
Eternal Hell went dead silent.
Then—
"Damned brat!!"
"What the hell did you just say?!"
"You looking to die?!"
"Let me out! I'll twist your head off!"
…
Furious roars surged from every direction like a breaking tide.
Darren simply picked at his ear, bored.
Without any visible movement, a blue arc of electricity snapped through the air.
Whoosh.
Every voice died instantly.
Gulp.
In the hush, the sound of swallowing rang out—small, involuntary, terrified.
Metal spikes had sprung from the iron bars of each cell, razor-sharp points pressing coldly against throats.
The presence of death settled over them like frost. Cold sweat beaded across foreheads. No one dared so much as breathe too hard.
Only then did they remember who stood in front of them.
Not some petty Chief Guard enforcing rules.
A butcher in human form—one whose cruelty made even them look tame.
"Mm. That's better," Darren said, lifting a finger to his lips in a lazy shushing gesture. "Keep it down. I'm having a conversation."
His smile was mild. His eyes were not.
"I wouldn't want to kill you all too quickly."
The prisoners' pupils shrank, hearts pounding.
He's not joking.
That flicker of intent—so casual, so real—made it painfully clear: he'd considered it.
Darren turned back to the solitary figure wrapped in shadow and chain, smiling faintly.
"Marine. Criminal. Those are just labels the world likes to slap on you."
"And does 'loyalty' really mean anything… to people like us?"
Redfield chuckled, intrigued. "You see clearer than Garp… clearer even than Zephyr. He trained a fine disciple."
Slowly, he raised his hands. Heavy shackles clanked, cold iron biting into bone.
"So," Redfield said, voice calm as a knife sliding from its sheath, "before we fight… will you unlock these?"
To be continued...