The smile froze on Sengoku's face.
Cigarettes and meat, fine. But cigars and hard liquor? That was beyond excessive.
Is that damned brat Darren throwing a party inside Impel Down?!
A dark vein throbbed at Sengoku's temple.
The aide saw the silence and felt his heart jump. Carefully, he said, "Following your order from a few days ago to loosen departmental budget allocations, those additional supply requests were approved… Admiral Sengoku, should I contact Administration and have them stopped?"
Within the Marines' hierarchy, Impel Down—despite being called the "World's Strongest Prison"—sat at the very bottom in terms of status.
Not authority. Atmosphere.
It was a place built to grind people down: one "Hell" after another, designed not just to imprison criminals, but to break them. Anyone stationed there long-term, surrounded by cruelty, blood, filth, and despair, inevitably came away twisted—one way or another.
And with the Calm Belt as a natural moat, layers of warships on patrol, and a record of "no successful escapes," it was also a dead end. No glory. No pressure. No promotion.
So the ones who ended up there were either born odd, or troublesome types shipped off as punishment for violations.
For all its importance, Impel Down's standing inside Marine Headquarters—and within the World Government—remained low.
The aide swallowed and assumed Sengoku was about to deny the request outright.
"No. No need," Sengoku said, waving a hand.
He had no idea what Darren was doing down there, but the request wasn't outrageous in scale. Besides, the funds had come from that brat in the first place.
The aide hesitated. "Are you sure, sir? This request does exceed the standard allotment. We could deny it easily—"
"Exceed the standard allotment?" Sengoku's tone sharpened. "What, exactly, is excessive about it?"
His eyes hardened, voice rising with righteous indignation.
"Impel Down is the world's strongest prison. It bears the critical responsibility of containing countless criminals. Their request is perfectly justified."
He snorted.
"From where I'm standing, it isn't excessive at all."
The aide stared, expression carefully neutral.
A few days ago, you were singing a very different song.
Back when Headquarters was broke, you were the first one suggesting Impel Down's budget get cut.
But he kept that thought where it belonged—locked behind his teeth.
"Yes, sir. I'll follow your instructions and expedite delivery of the supplies to Impel Down."
He didn't know why Sengoku was suddenly concerned about the garrison's quality of life. He also didn't intend to ask. Being close to Sengoku meant learning, fast, which questions shortened your career.
Sengoku nodded curtly. After the aide left, unease still gnawed at him. He pulled a Military Den Den Mushi from his pocket and dialed.
Purupuru…
It rang once, then connected.
A voice drenched in syrupy flattery burst through the receiver.
"Admiral Sengoku! Receiving your call is the greatest honor of my life! You wouldn't believe it—these years at Impel Down, I've tossed and turned every night, waiting for the day this Den Den Mushi would ring—"
"Enough, Borgess. Cut the act."
Sengoku chopped the air with his hand, impatience bleeding into his voice.
"You're the Warden of Impel Down—the world's strongest prison. You have ultimate authority there. Stop embarrassing yourself in front of me."
Even so, the corner of Sengoku's mouth twitched—barely.
"I have something important to ask."
Borgess immediately shifted into a posture of obedient awe.
"Admiral Sengoku, please speak. I'll agree to anything… as long as it doesn't involve cutting my budget!"
"And of course," Borgess added quickly, "if you could arrange for my transfer to Headquarters—even as a Vice Admiral—this humble servant wouldn't complain one bit."
Sengoku: "..."
"We'll talk about your transfer later," Sengoku said flatly. "I want to know about Dar—"
He caught himself.
"About the new Chief Guard. Bruce Wayne. What's his status at Impel Down?"
"Bruce Wayne?"
Borgess paused, clearly startled.
So that mysterious Bat Boy really does have connections… Admiral Sengoku himself is asking.
"Well… Admiral Sengoku, I can't say I know the details. The moment that kid arrived, he went straight to Level Six—Eternal Hell—and he hasn't come back up since."
Borgess lowered his voice, as if the walls might listen.
"He… hasn't come out?"
Sengoku stared, disbelief tightening his face.
"And," Borgess added, shuddering as if recalling something deeply unpleasant, "the guards stationed on Level Five reported… faint, miserable screaming from below. And sometimes… heavy booming sounds."
Sengoku's eyebrow snapped.
"And you didn't think to investigate?"
"What? Me?" Borgess practically squeaked. "Of course not! Ahem—what I mean is, I trust our executives' capabilities!"
He straightened his tone into something almost righteous.
"Besides, Chief Guard Wayne said he'd take full responsibility for whatever happens down there. He said even if he dies inside, we are not to interfere."
Sengoku's frown deepened. "You're not worried the prisoners in Eternal Hell might escape?"
Borgess chuckled nervously. "Not really. Chief Guard Wayne seems like a smart guy. He doesn't strike me as someone who'd do something that foolish."
You clearly don't know him at all, Sengoku thought, a pulse forming behind his eye.
"Oh—and one more thing," Borgess said quickly, eager to please.
"Chief Guard Wayne said, on his first day, that if anything goes wrong… Admiral Sengoku, you'll bear full responsibility."
Borgess's voice shifted into shameless worship.
"And knowing your strategic foresight, Admiral Sengoku, I'm sure you had a plan when you appointed him."
Sengoku felt something twist in his chest.
"…Fine," he growled. "If you get any new information about that brat Wayne, report it immediately."
He snapped the call off with a contemptuous snort.
That damned Darren… he'd better not cause trouble in Impel Down.
Sengoku rubbed at his temples, exhaustion creeping into his bones.
"How terrifying…"
A long, lazy voice drifted from behind him—drawling and infuriating.
Sengoku went still.
Damn it.
"Now that's some truly special news, Admiral Sengoku…"
He turned stiffly.
Borsalino stood there as if he'd always been there—tall, languid, wearing that careless smile that made you want to punch him.
He stroked the stubble on his chin, eyes faintly amused.
"So… Darren's at Impel Down?"
To be continued...