Only by becoming stronger can you survive…
Redfield fell silent after Darren's offhand, half-teasing line.
He wasn't the only one. Eternal Hell itself seemed to quiet down, the usual rasping breaths and low curses swallowed by a heavy, collective stillness.
Only people who had been hunted—truly hunted—could understand what Darren had just said.
They had all once carried bounties. They'd all known what it meant to be chased by Marines and Government hounds, to live with a knife pressed against your throat every day you woke up.
But Darren was different.
His "crimes" against the World Government dwarfed everything the rest of them had done put together. To put it bluntly, the number of Celestial Dragons who had died at his hands alone was higher than the total number killed by the rest of Level Six combined.
As that thought settled in, the way they looked at him shifted—admiration first, and then, buried deep under their cynicism, something close to pity.
This brat might be monstrously strong, but his life must be hell.
Otherwise, why change his name and sneak into a backwater like Impel Down? He'd been feeling the heat outside. He needed to lie low.
The more they turned it over, the more convinced they became. Their stares softened, almost against their will.
Truth was, they'd never hated him to begin with. He wasn't a Marine anymore, so there was no reason for factional spite. And to them, any man who'd butchered that many Celestial Dragon pigs had already earned a measure of respect.
Gutsy bastard.
And then another realization crept in, slow and undeniable:
Darren had no intention of killing them all.
If he'd wanted to, he could have slaughtered every last one of them in the ten minutes he'd been here.
Darren wasn't Redfield. He couldn't read hearts. He had no idea that this pack of wretches was, in its own twisted way, starting to see him as one of them.
All he noticed was the strange shift in their eyes.
Did I go too hard?
Did I beat them into a pulp?
The thought came and went like smoke.
So what if I did?
As long as they're not dead, who cares?
The World Government and the Marines hadn't stuffed the Sea's worst monsters into Level Six out of mercy or spare change.
In a world where decent, law-abiding people couldn't even count on basic fairness, criminals who threatened humanity had no right to talk about "human rights."
They were kept alive for a different reason.
Most of them were Devil Fruit users. If they died, their fruits would reappear somewhere in the world, and sooner or later they'd fall into someone else's hands and breed fresh disasters. Locking them away and dragging out the time before those powers could resurface was—at least for now—the most practical choice.
Even if Darren wasn't a Marine anymore, he couldn't be completely reckless.
When he'd "negotiated cooperation" with Sengoku, one of the conditions Sengoku had insisted on was simple:
No indiscriminate killing.
Of course… if these bastards really pushed him—
Who decides what counts as "indiscriminate," anyway? Me.
---
"So that's how it is…"
After a long moment, Redfield exhaled slowly. When he looked at Darren now, there was something complicated in his eyes.
"I judged too quickly. Thinking about it… you didn't become a monster like this for no reason. Not in such a short time."
Darren shrugged. "So what do you mean by the power of the heart?"
The instant he asked, everyone leaned in without meaning to. Even Magellan forgot to breathe.
Red the Aloof Redfield—one of the Sea's top-tier monsters, a man whose Observation Haki had been pushed to the edge of myth.
If they could steal even a scrap of what he knew…
"The true essence of Observation Haki," Redfield said evenly, "isn't 'seeing' or 'hearing.' It's feeling."
"Traditional training is crude. Blindfold yourself. Plug your ears. Run evasion drills. Zephyr likely had you do the same in the Marines, didn't he?"
Darren shook his head. "I wouldn't know. My Haki only awakens through real combat."
"Strict regimens are too slow," he added, casual as ever. "It's faster to find a renowned sensei—no, forget that. A worthy opponent—and fight a real life-or-death battle."
Redfield: "..."
"If you keep talking like that," Redfield said coldly, fingers tightening on his blood-red umbrella, "we'll just keep fighting. Either I kill you, or you kill me."
Darren fired back immediately, "But that's how everyone trains!"
Redfield's mouth twitched. He drew a slow breath and spoke as if forcing himself to stay patient.
"Observation Haki doesn't require sight or hearing."
"In fact, across the Sea, I've seen blind or deaf people awaken it more easily than ordinary men. Once they lose those senses, they're forced to perceive the world with their hearts much earlier."
He studied Darren for a beat.
"If I'm not mistaken… you've hit a bottleneck, haven't you?"
Darren "checked" his own status out of habit. Under Observation Haki, the number 89.887 stared back at him.
He nodded. "Yeah. I've been looking for a breakthrough these past few weeks."
"So you infiltrated Impel Down," Redfield said sharply, "because you wanted to use me. You thought a deadly fight against me would force that breakthrough."
Darren nodded again, unashamed. "Exactly."
"And has it worked?"
"It's helping," Darren admitted. "Slowly. But it's better than being stuck."
Redfield's lips curled into a faint, mocking sneer. He shook his head.
"That kind of gain won't last. It'll stop soon. Even if you kill me, you won't advance any further."
Darren froze. "Why not?"
Redfield's answer was unexpectedly direct.
"Because your state of mind is wrong. To break through and enter the realm of precognition, the first and most crucial requirement is absolute composure."
"And you, Little Brat Darren… in your current state, you can't maintain it."
His gaze sharpened.
"Your heart isn't pure."
To be continued...