CHAPTER 373: CHAPTER 16: THEY CAN WAIT

Steam curled from the open bathroom door as Darren stepped out, towel slung low around his waist. He moved with unhurried ease, droplets trailing down his skin like fading echoes of battle.

He stopped at the mirror, wiped the fog away with a swipe of his hand, and met the eyes staring back at him.

Sharp, calculating. Alive with fire.

His face was striking—handsome in a way that defied polish. His features were all angles and tension: hawk-like eyes beneath blade-thin brows, a high nose, and a mouth that curved in something between a smirk and a challenge. Damp black hair jutted upward in untamed spikes, giving him the look of a man forever poised to rebel.

His bare torso was a sculpture of raw, tempered strength—broad chest, lean waist, muscle honed by war. Scars ran like quiet rivers across his skin, marking the stories he no longer needed to tell.

A predator’s body. A fighter’s stillness.

"Finally," Darren murmured to his reflection, lips curling as he lit a cigarette. "The moment’s here."

Today was the day.

The graduation ceremony for Marine Headquarters’ Elite Officer Training Camp.

And with it, his formal promotion to Vice Admiral.

In the original story of this world, Vice Admirals often felt like mere footnotes—standard-bearers of justice who rarely left much of an impression. But after living in this world, Darren understood the truth.

A Vice Admiral wasn’t a prop.

A Marine Vice Admiral was a fortress.

They wielded both Armament and Observation Haki with precision, mastered advanced combat techniques that bordered on the supernatural, and often stood toe-to-toe with the most dangerous criminals alive. The best of them could even challenge the Shichibukai.

And that was only their power.

Their authority? A personal fleet. Thousands of elite soldiers under command. The right to suppress whole regions in the name of the World Government.

They were the guardians of the seas. The teeth of justice.

And now, after years of clawing his way up from the gutters of Marine life—literally scrubbing toilets when he first arrived—Darren had earned it.

Every scar, every loss, every silent decision made in the dark...

It had all led to this.

"Husband."

The soft voice behind him was warm and melodic.

Toki stepped into the room, barefoot, a fresh uniform folded in her arms. She wore a loose, flowing kimono that fluttered gently around her frame, her hair pinned up, her eyes radiant with affection.

"I brought your uniform," she said with a tender smile.

Darren took the cigarette from his lips and nodded. "Thanks, Toki."

She shook her head softly. "Today is your day. I’m proud of you."

Then, hesitantly, she asked, "Are you nervous?"

Darren gave a low chuckle.

"Nervousness is for those who wonder if they deserve the moment. I don’t."

He stepped forward, snuffed out the cigarette, and slid one arm around her waist. His hand fit easily around her slender frame. With a gentle pull, the sash of her kimono slipped loose, the fabric falling away like silk off porcelain.

Toki let out a soft gasp, blushing.

"H-husband... the ceremony—it’s starting soon. Everyone’s waiting..."

She bit her lip, flustered, breath catching in her throat.

Darren’s eyes darkened with desire.

"They can wait," he whispered. "But I can’t."

He leaned in.

She didn’t resist.

---

Marineford Plaza overflowed with bodies.

The crimson carpet that stretched from the ceremonial dais gleamed under the noonday sun. Elite Marines in full dress uniform lined its path with stoic discipline, creating a corridor of honor that split the crowd like a knife.

At the head of the plaza stood the dais, surrounded by the highest echelons of Marine power:

Fleet Admiral Kong, the Iron Backbone of the organization.

Admiral Sengoku, the Buddha, master strategist and living legend.

Zephyr, the former admiral now revered as the hammer who shaped generations.

Vice Admiral Tsuru, the sharp-eyed tactician known for her unflinching resolve.

And Vice Admiral Garp, the Hero of the Marines, seated with arms folded and expression unreadable.

Beyond them, the audience was a vast sea of rank and file: Commodores and Rear Admirals, commanders from bases across the Blues, and elite officers gathered from around the Grand Line.

Officials from the World Government filled the front-row seats. Royal dignitaries and nobles from member nations sat in silken luxury nearby.

And further back, journalists from every corner of the world waved microphones and jostled for position, desperate to catch every word, every shift of expression.

The graduation ceremony of the Elite Officer Training Camp had become a global event.

Under Zephyr’s leadership, the camp had become legendary. First, it gave the world Sakazuki and Borsalino—monsters who rose swiftly to prominence. Then came Kuzan and Darren, two more prodigies who had proved their might in the fires of the Marineford War.

Some called them the "Golden Generation." Others whispered that they were the future.

Today, they would step into the light.

Ranks would be confirmed. Assignments unveiled. Medals awarded for the Marineford War.

It was everything the world wanted to see.

And yet...

In the front row, Fleet Admiral Kong’s brow twitched.

He turned slowly to glare at Sengoku and Zephyr.

"Where the hell is that Darren brat?" he growled.

"He was notified, wasn’t he?! What’s he doing?!"

Neither Sengoku nor Zephyr spoke at first.

Because the truth, perhaps, was better left unsaid.

To be continued...