Finally—past ninety points.
Future Sight.
Staring at the "data" that mapped his attributes and abilities, even Darren—usually steady as stone—felt a surge of emotion rise in his chest.
He'd long since lost track of how many days his Observation Haki had been trapped at this bottleneck.
Ever since he began training, sharpening his natural "perception" into a weapon, Observation Haki had always been the hardest for him to master.
Part of it was exactly what Redfield had warned him about: improving Observation Haki wasn't about pushing the body—it was about the mind. Calm. Rationality. A clear, cool head. Without that, you couldn't sustain it at all.
And Darren's style… was the opposite.
He'd inherited the Marines' old-school, all-in temperament—the kind of "hit first, ask later" spirit you saw in monsters like Garp and Zephyr. He'd also absorbed the ruthless, kill-or-be-killed hunger of people like Shiki and Douglas Bullet. Then came his Devil Fruit Awakening, and with it, the full transformation into a magnetic-field madman.
How was he supposed to keep a tranquil mind with that many forces tearing at him?
On top of that, his physique gave him an absurd margin for error in life-and-death fights. Over time, he'd built a habit of trading blows instead of dodging—welcoming damage if it meant landing worse.
Those two things together had strangled his Observation Haki growth. Progress crawled. The ninety-point threshold might as well have been a wall.
But now, under the guidance of the legendary Redfield, he'd finally broken through.
Darren let out a long breath, the stale air leaving his lungs in a steady stream. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
He adjusted his breathing, steadied his heartbeat, and let his thoughts settle—layer by layer—until he slipped into a deep, tranquil focus.
A strange crimson shimmer flickered in his pupils. Even in the pitch-black corridor, everything around him took shape in his mind with unnerving clarity.
From within their cells, the prisoners watched with jittery caution, holding their breaths as if even a single exhale might draw his attention.
Magellan stood dutifully at the gate, eyes bright with curiosity as he studied Darren.
In the deepest cell, "Red the Aloof" Redfield leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. Then—almost as if he'd felt something brush past—he opened them a sliver, glanced toward Darren, and shut them again. A small, knowing smile curved at his lips.
Darren's Observation Haki continued to spread outward…
Level Five, Freezing Hell: prisoners frozen stiff as corpses, trembling in the snow and ice.
Level Four, Blazing Hell: Warden Borgess sprawled in his private office, snoring hard enough to shake the desk—an enormous snot bubble swelling and shrinking with each breath.
Level Three, Starvation Hell: emaciated inmates moaned weakly, hanging on by a thread.
Level Two, Beast Hell: the Sphinx strutted around with his pack, chasing down a group of prisoners who ran red-faced and gasping for air.
As Darren's perception unfolded, life inside Impel Down became a map in his head—every sound, every motion, every heartbeat.
And then came the most unsettling part.
When he emptied himself completely—when he slipped into that cold, detached stillness—he could "see" things that hadn't happened yet.
If time was a river, then what he glimpsed were small, glimmering snapshots pulled from its current.
He saw Borgess's snot bubble burst—then, a few seconds later, it actually popped.
He saw a prisoner being chased by the jailers stumble and collapse—and a few seconds later, the man hit the ground.
Moment after moment flashed through his mind like a flickering reel.
A heady sense of control surged up from somewhere deep and dark. The perspective itself was intoxicating—like he'd stepped outside the world and was looking down on it, all within his grasp.
So this was it.
Future Sight.
Darren exhaled sharply. His gaze snapped back into focus as he withdrew from that detached state.
"…Incredible."
He rubbed at his temples, savoring the aftertaste—and laughing under his breath despite himself.
That godlike vantage point was dangerously exhilarating. If he relied on it too often, it would be easy to start believing nothing could ever touch him.
"So that's why Katakuri's always so damn smug," Darren muttered.
With talent and relentless training, Charlotte Katakuri had honed his Observation Haki to this realm. Living with this sense of certainty… it would inflate anyone's pride.
But—
Darren pressed his fingers harder against his temples, easing the faint strain crawling through his nerves.
It really did tax the brain. The nervous system, too—like he'd forced his mind to run at a speed it wasn't used to sustaining.
Still, the drain wasn't the real problem. For Darren, the hardest part of Observation Haki would always be the same thing:
Staying calm. Staying rational.
…And yet.
His hands itched.
Darren lifted his gaze, instinctively looking toward the surrounding cells.
Swish, swish, swish—
The figures peeking out vanished instantly, recoiling into the shadows, backs pressed flat to the wall, faces turned away like obedient statues.
Darren: "..."
Well. So much for that.
He shrugged and grinned, turning his voice up just enough to carry.
"Then I'll thank you all for your kindness these past few days."
The responses came too fast—too eager.
"Not at all!"
"It was nothing, nothing!"
"Our honor!"
"Don't mention it!"
"…!"
Darren smiled and started toward the main gate.
"Then farewell for now. If I have the time, I'll come back and visit."
Inside their heads, the prisoners all answered in perfect unison:
Please. Never come back.
"Darren, boy… what are you planning?"
From the depths, Redfield's eyes opened. His voice cut through the corridor, sharp and intent.
Darren stopped and turned back, grinning.
"When a soldier gets a brand-new weapon, isn't it only natural to test it out?"
Redfield froze.
"…You're going to Mary Geoise?"
To be continued...