The Pleasure District.
A luxury suite atop a hotel.
Darren leafed through the updated Shichibukai roster in Stussy's hand, a faint smile touching his mouth.
The list had grown—Gecko Moria and Dracule Mihawk now appeared. Everything was tracking with his plan.
Only Fisher Tiger was missing.
Understandable. At this point Fisher Tiger wasn't a pirate at all, but a legitimate adventurer. The Shichibukai were chosen from among the great pirates whose names alone deterred rivals. Tiger's reputation and feats hadn't yet crossed that threshold, so the Government overlooked him.
Should I pay a visit to Fish-Man Island?
The thought flickered.
Anyone else, he wouldn't care. But Fisher Tiger commanded deep respect among the Fish-Men, and Fish-Man Island was the crucial gate to the New World.
In the tales people liked to tell, the Fish-Men were the oppressed. Strip away the mythmaking and you still had warriors of formidable strength.
Darren had coveted their power for a long time. The North Blue Flying Fleet had secured the skies, but the deep sea remained unconquered.
On an endless ocean, naval dominance was everything.
Imagine a submarine force built around Fish-Man warriors, striking in tandem with the Flying Fleet's bombardments. No power on the sea would dare challenge him.
He could see it: the Flying Fleet hammering from above while the Submarine Fleet hit from below, the enemy crushed between sky and abyss. Boarding actions would be obsolete—warships would vanish before their crews registered the threat, and the rest would be a clean sweep.
Even against overwhelming odds, the two fleets could disappear into the blue, a silent deterrent.
That was the blueprint of Darren's maritime hegemony.
"I should look in on Fisher Tiger first," he murmured.
He set the folder aside and looked up, chuckling.
Stussy was perched on the leather sofa, chain-smoking, a cloud hanging over her head. The crystal ashtray beside her overflowed.
"You look awfully worried," Darren said, lighting a cigar, a thread of amusement in his tone.
She cut him a glance but didn't answer. Her posture said everything.
The Gorosei's suspicion could be fatal. Stussy had burrowed into the World Government and CP0 to win the trust of its highest circles—and to better shield Dr. Vegapunk in secret. Now those same leaders doubted her loyalty. Mishandled, it could cost her life—and put Vegapunk at risk.
"I don't see why you're so tense," Darren went on. "For people like the Gorosei, distrust is standard."
"This might even be good for you," he added with a grin. He rose, walked over, and slipped an arm around her waist.
Stussy flinched but didn't shove him off as she usually did. "What do you mean?" she asked sharply, voice tight. Somewhere in her eyes a small, desperate light stirred.
Her hand found his forearm and held, the way a drowning person finds a spar. She knew too well: if anyone could pull her out of this, it was this shameless man. He lived on politics. He bent even the unfathomable Gorosei to his cadence.
Feeling the pressure of her fingers, Darren smiled inwardly. Normally, nothing rattled her. But the thought of Vegapunk had cracked her guard and blinded her to the obvious.
"Don't worry," he said, fingers brushing her cheek as he laid it out. His voice was steady, conviction threaded through it. "This is one of their routine tests. As long as no one on that new list meets the same fate as before, you're fine—more than fine."
"Once the Gorosei confirm the previous leak didn't come from you, their trust will deepen. They'll lean on you more."
"Which means more access. More secrets."
"A crisis, yes. But also an opening."
His gaze fixed on the consummate professional before him. He tucked a loose strand behind her ear, almost tender.
"An opening to climb further—past CP0, into the marrow of the World Government's power."
"And from there, you'll be even better placed to protect Dr. Vegapunk."
Stussy's eyes brightened.
Right.
If she rode out this squall, the Gorosei's faith in her would only grow.
"Then what do I have to do?!" she blurted.
The words hung. Color rushed to her cheeks. She caught the malicious curve of his smile.
Bastard.
The only way to earn that trust was to keep everyone on the list alive—and the man who controlled those "accidents" was standing in front of her.
She ground her teeth, anger warring with resignation. At last she sank back into the sofa, shut her eyes, and threw up her hands.
"Do whatever you want!"
To be continued...