"Lady Fox?"
Sengoku felt a strange unease under the masked woman's lingering stare and couldn't help asking, "…Is something the matter?"
Stussy seemed to realize she'd stared too long. She recomposed herself at once and offered a faint smile. "Nothing at all, Admiral Sengoku. You truly live up to your reputation as the Marines' 'Master Strategist.' You saw straight to the heart of it."
"In the North Blue, Excellency Doflamingo clashed with Rogers Darren repeatedly. They're oil and water."
"He maintained a neutral position while he was a Shichibukai. But once he assumes the role of Commander of the Knights of God, Rogers Darren will almost certainly make a move against him."
Sengoku's chest puffed out a touch at the praise. He chuckled. "You flatter me, Lady Fox. I just know Darren's temperament."
Insight? Stussy's lips twitched beneath the mask.
"My duties require me back in the Holy Land," she said smoothly. "I'm returning to Mary Geoise now. Red Port is in your hands, Admiral Sengoku."
Without further pleasantries, she excused herself—before she laughed out loud.
"Understood," Sengoku nodded.
---
Red Line—Holy Land Mary Geoise.
Carriages, bright and ornate, rolled along wide, paved avenues. Fresh flowers ran in long, deliberate lines on both sides of the road. Colorful ribbons and balloons bobbed in the sunlight, turning the air itself festive.
"They're taking this inauguration ceremony seriously," King Cobra murmured.
Inside a carriage bearing the flag of Alabasta, Cobra drew the curtain aside and looked out at the streets. New buildings gleamed. Street lamps were polished bright. Fountains spilled sparkling water with theatrical flourish. His expression held a mix of awe and wariness.
Alabasta was a World Government member nation—one of the stronger ones, militarily and economically. Its lands were largely desert, its people hard-edged and proud, and its standing army numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Within the Government's political machinery, Alabasta carried real weight.
Nefertari Cobra himself was in his thirties, with medium-length black hair, a sun-touched complexion, and a steady face. He wore Alabastan noble robes, formal and traditional.
"Didn't they say the World Government was strapped for funds?" Igaram muttered beside him. "Because this doesn't look like poverty."
Igaram—Cobra's right-hand man and the captain of Alabasta's royal guard—was unmistakable with his distinctive curly hair. He stared at the city's brand-new sheen and clicked his tongue.
It had only been two or three months since the Mary Geoise assault that shook the world.
And yet, from Red Port to the inner districts of the Holy Land, Cobra saw almost no trace of ruin.
White walls. Blue roofs. Clean brick streets. Flowerbeds in full bloom. Shops doing brisk business as if nothing had happened. Mary Geoise looked exactly like Mary Geoise was supposed to look—serene, immaculate, untouchable. As though the bombing that had nearly torn half the Holy Land apart had been a fever dream.
"The Government's eight-century foundation isn't something a single Rogers Darren can shake," Cobra said quietly, shaking his head.
His gaze wandered past the window. In the distance, mountain ridges rose in rolling green. Farther still, half-swallowed by clouds, the Stairway to Heaven cut its way upward.
"Is that so?"
The voice came from nowhere—casual, wrong, perfectly timed to ruin his composure.
Cobra froze.
Igaram went rigid, pupils snapping tight as his blood drained from his face.
They turned at the same time.
Someone was in the carriage with them.
Short black hair. A rugged military coat over black trousers. Polished black boots. A cigar between his teeth that hadn't been lit. His eyes were sharp—bright with intelligence, arrogant in the way only the truly dangerous could afford.
"You—!?"
Cobra and Igaram both jerked, instinct flashing toward action—
—and the man's hands settled on their shoulders.
The pressure that followed wasn't merely strength. It was the kind of force that erased resistance at the root, pinning them back into their seats as if gravity itself had doubled.
"No need to get so tense, King Cobra," Darren said, mouth quirking. "I'm not here to harm you."
Cobra's expression tightened, shock curdling into anger. He flicked his eyes toward the carriage windows, checking for any sign they'd drawn attention. After a few seconds—once he was certain no one outside had noticed—he lowered his voice into a harsh whisper.
"Are you trying to get this old man killed, you brat?"
He'd met Darren briefly during King Neptune's grand wedding on Fish-Man Island. Back then, the boy had been all polished charm—smooth, respectful, eager to ingratiate himself.
Cobra had never imagined that same ambitious upstart would one day declare war on the World Government.
And now, at a moment like this, Darren had slipped into his carriage.
This wasn't Alabasta. This was Mary Geoise—the Celestial Dragons' Holy Land, the World Government's throat.
If anyone saw them together, the fallout would be catastrophic.
"Relax," Darren said, shrugging as if they were discussing the weather. "No one will notice. And if we do get caught, just say I threatened you."
Cobra's jaw clenched. "Do you honestly think they'd believe that?"
Darren paused, considering. "Fair point. If we're going to sell it, we should make it convincing."
"Exactly," Cobra snapped. "So you understand—"
Darren's eyes lit with sudden inspiration. "Great. Then let's cut off one of your arms. If someone walks in on us, they'll buy the coercion immediately."
Cobra's face locked into a flawless, polite smile.
"I'm sure," he said carefully, "we won't be discovered, Darren."
Igaram stood beside them, silent as stone.
To be continued...