CHAPTER 618: CHAPTER 137: I’VE WON!

Time passed.

Several days slipped by.

Marine Headquarters, Marine Academy Isolation Zone.

Inside a sealed chamber swamped with toxic violet gas, a deep inhale sounded.

Then the impossible happened.

The poison thick enough to etch stone began to churn, as if a still lake had been set to boil. The vapor pulled into a spinning column, condensing into a visible purple tornado—and in seconds it funneled straight into a pair of nostrils.

The air snapped back to normal. Vents kicked on, flooding the room with fresh oxygen until the haze was gone.

Darren sat cross-legged on the cold steel floor, a purplish-blue sheen flickering across his face before fading.

"Progress is slowing..." he murmured.

He opened his eyes, resignation in the set of his gaze, and exhaled.

Physique: up by 0.03...

At 96.111, his body had reached the point where "guiding Magellan’s training" returned almost nothing.

"B-but Instructor Darren, I’ve really been trying..."

Magellan huddled in the corner, panting, arms locked around his knees, misery pooling in his eyes.

Darren shot him a look. "Spare me. I know you’re holding back."

"H-how did you know?" Magellan blurted, stunned.

Darren let the silence bite for a beat.

"Why?" he asked at last, voice hardening. "My time’s limited. I can’t babysit you at Headquarters forever."

He was angry—plainly.

Magellan flinched, then whispered, "I... I don’t want to hurt my classmates."

Darren frowned.

Magellan swallowed. "After your training, I thought I had better control. T-Bone invited me to dinner—we’re good friends, and he was worried about me. It was fine at first, but then... I don’t know if I got too excited or what, but I... I..."

"What happened?" Darren asked, scowl deepening.

Magellan buried his face, eyes red. "...I farted."

Darren: ...

His mouth twitched.

"I didn’t mean to!" Magellan’s voice broke. "I couldn’t stop it. Then T-Bone dropped, and the whole restaurant went down. Luckily it was just... y’know, so the toxin wasn’t too high. They all recovered after treatment."

His head sank. "Maybe I should give up, Instructor Darren. Someone like me should be locked away. Maybe my heart, too."

"I’m grateful for your guidance... but I don’t want to get stronger."

"I’m scared. I’m scared—"

"—that one day your power will outrun your control and you’ll hurt your friends," Darren finished, watching the small, knotted shape on the floor. "Or that they’ll drift away because of it, and you won’t be able to bear it."

Magellan bit his lip and nodded, eyes swimming.

Kid...

Darren’s chuckle was soft. "Magellan, I respect your kindness."

"But as your instructor, I won’t let that make you hate your power."

"What happened at dinner was an accident. I can’t promise that with my guidance and your effort you’ll control your Devil Fruit perfectly."

"But you shouldn’t shoulder it alone."

He rose. "You won’t be the only one growing. Your friends and comrades will push themselves, too."

"Anyone who truly values you won’t shun you."

"R-really?" Magellan peered up, hope and doubt fighting in his voice.

"Absolutely." Darren clapped his shoulder. "Aren’t we friends?"

"And besides..." He tipped his chin toward the window. "Looks like yours haven’t abandoned you."

Magellan followed his gaze.

Beyond the reinforced glass, a man in a protective suit stood in sunlight, waving. Pale-faced, gaunt—but his eyes were warm, and he balanced a basket piled high with fruit and food.

"T-Bone..." Magellan breathed, eyes lighting.

"Go on," Darren said, grinning. "Looks like you’ve got a lunch date."

"Thank you, Instructor Darren!" Magellan said, nodding hard.

---

Darren stepped out of the isolation wing and wandered the Academy grounds.

Magellan’s biggest hurdle lived inside. Darren could nudge him, encourage him—but the last step would be his alone.

Everyone walks their own road.

A flock of gulls wheeled overhead, their cries skimming the sky.

A bundled newspaper dropped from above; Darren plucked it from the air.

Hot off the press.

He unfolded it. Ten Days Until Shichibukai Investiture: Preview screamed the headline.

The finalized roster sprawled beneath.

Familiar faces—cocky smiles and iron gazes—came into focus. Darren’s eyes lingered on the final name and photo: the newly added sixth.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth.

---

The New World, an island.

The Donquixote Family’s headquarters.

"Doffy!!"

Trebol lurched into the hall, twin ropes of snot swinging, face flushed. Diamante and the other executives crowded in behind him, barely containing their glee.

"Y-you... you did it!" Trebol wheezed, waving a newspaper as the blond youth sprawled on a sofa lowered his book. "Shichibukai!!"

Doflamingo sat up, snatched the paper, and scanned it.

Silence. No change in his face. He set it aside and walked to the window.

The executives stared, baffled by his restraint.

He paused at the glass, as if drawing in a breath.

The window swung open. Clean sea wind and sun flooded in, kicking up his pink feathers.

Bathed in light, sunglasses slanting on his nose, he looked out at towns and islands, the endless sea, the great wide sky.

His shoulders began to tremble.

He covered his face, tilted his head back. A smile broke, slow as dawn.

"Hehahahaha..."

Sunlight poured like golden rain, crowning his short blond hair with a regal blaze.

Trebol and the others dropped to one knee, faces rapt with awe and fanatic devotion.

---

The New World.

The Pleasure District.

A penthouse suite atop a glittering hotel.

Stussy, sheathed in black lace, lowered her paper and dialed. "Issue an invitation," she said, voice cool and crisp. "In the name of the Queen of the Pleasure District. Invite Vice Admiral Rogers Darren and the newly appointed Shichibukai, Donquixote Doflamingo, to a gathering here tomorrow evening."

She hung up, swiveled her chair, and gazed over the decadent sprawl below.

She lifted a glass of blood-red wine, pale fingers toying with the stem, swirling the liquid.

Mournful jazz threaded through the suite.

Stussy closed her eyes, as if savoring a picture only she could see. A sly curve touched her crimson lips.

Her toes flexed, lacquer bright under the warm light.

At her feet, a pair of diamond-peppered peep-toes waited, their ten-centimeter heels sculpted like art.

Her smile deepened.

A flush rose in her cheeks; two sharp fangs slid longer. Behind her, sleek black bat wings unfurled with predatory grace.

---

Here and now, there and then.

At Marine Headquarters, a Vice Admiral;

At the Donquixote estate, a young Celestial Dragon;

In the Pleasure District, the Bat Queen.

Three places, three faces—one same, certain smile.

"I’ve won!" they declared in unison.

To be continued...