At that familiar voice, a grin tugged at Darren's mouth.
"Think commanding this fleet is a walk in the park?"
He turned to find Momonga coming toward him, pale and unsteady on his feet. Darren chuckled.
"You really need to work on your constitution. Strongest Logia around with the Rumble–Rumble Fruit, and still this frail… Tsk, tsk. You must spend all your time in the Pleasure District…"
Momonga rolled his eyes. "Aren't you describing yourself?"
"If you'd spend less time there, you might have wiped out the Gorosei and dragged me straight to Mary Geoise. Instead, I'm stuck leading this fleet, skittering around like a coward."
Darren spread his hands in mock helplessness. "What can I say? Sometimes my irresistible charm gets away from me."
He winked and offered a gold–leaf cigar.
"Besides, didn't you just pull off the little stunt of storming Mary Geoise?"
Momonga took the cigar and met Darren's eyes.
A heartbeat later, both men laughed.
Only true friends could trade barbs so mercilessly.
Clamping the cigar between his teeth, Momonga lit up, took a long pull, then moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Darren at the flagship's bow. They smoked in silence for a stretch, watching sky and sea unroll forever.
"So," Darren asked, grinning, "how did it feel to storm Mary Geoise?"
"To be honest," Momonga said, a complicated smile on his face, "damn good."
"Even now, when I remember giving the order to fire, I shudder with excitement."
"It was like every pore opened at once. Like I finally saw the world as it is, brushed the shadow from my eyes, and caught a glimpse of this boundless blue."
"Now you know how I felt when I killed Saint Shaldes in the North Blue," Darren said, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.
"That's different. Worlds apart." He shook his head. "When I killed him, it was a covert job. I had to silence everyone to cover myself. You know that itch you can't scratch? Doing something colossal with no one to see it—pure torment."
"Back then I'd have given anything for a Visual Den Den Mushi to broadcast it live."
"But you—" He clapped Momonga's shoulder, winking. "Your first Celestial Dragon kill, slaying those so-called gods—done under the eyes of the world."
"Under everyone's gaze, you bombarded the Land of the Gods."
"That's why my bounty's two billion now," Momonga said dryly.
"Relax," Darren said. "Headquarters can't afford it."
He tilted his head, a grin tugging again. "So, was my hunch right?"
Momonga's face turned oddly stiff. He gave Darren a look—and then:
Boom.
A crushing aura erupted off him, a hellish gale ripping across the sky. Color bled from the world, leaving only black and white.
Wind tore at Darren's suit until it snapped like a banner. He froze for an instant—then burst into unguarded laughter.
My guess was right after all.
Even as triumph flared, a jolt of surprise went through him. By his instinctive reading, Momonga's Conqueror's Haki was already at a staggering intensity—sixty.
Barely awakened, yet the force of it rivaled seasoned New World monsters who had honed theirs for years.
If he compared only spiritual might—setting aside control, craft, or overall battle power—Momonga might even rival Fleet Admiral Sengoku.
If Darren hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he'd never have believed it.
A "newcomer" to Conqueror's Haki, yet his will stood shoulder to shoulder with Sengoku the Buddha—a pillar of the Marines, a former Headquarters admiral? How?
But of course it made sense.
Conqueror's Haki isn't measured by muscle, nor built by training reps. It's born of spirit. The higher the spirit—the steadier the will, the broader the horizon—the more fearsome the Haki at the moment of awakening.
It is, at its core, a power of the self.
Physical strength lays a base, but it does not set the ceiling.
Sengoku—"Supreme Military Power" of the Government, peer to legends like Roger and Whitebeard—carried too many chains. A Marine who placed Government orders above all else is bound by rules upon rules. Under that weight, the will lacks the root it needs to chase true freedom and true strength.
So even if he proclaimed "Justice that Reigns Over the World," the intensity of his Haki never reached the height of his slogan.
Momonga, by contrast, awakened in opposition to the World Government itself. A man who finds the resolve to stand against the Government, the Celestial Dragons, even Pangaea Castle—whatever his raw might—cannot have a weak spirit.
"I didn't think your odd theory would actually work," Momonga said at last, letting the pressure recede on a sigh. He shook his head. "The Celestial Dragons… what a bunch of scum."
Darren laughed.
He could see the strain in Momonga's face—the unfamiliar tug-of-war of a power not yet fully in hand. Normal enough. After awakening, it takes time to learn to release and rein it back at will.
The fact that Momonga had come this far in just days spoke to rare talent.
Darren was certain: with this step taken, Momonga had shattered the ceiling that once limited him.
Coupled with the Rumble–Rumble Fruit…
Admiral-class power was only a matter of time.
To be continued...