The sea of clouds was hazy, and the wind howled fiercely.

A small metal ark soared smoothly through the sky at astonishing speed, slicing through the mist.

The Shichibukai were either standing or sitting, quietly tending to their wounds.

Doflamingo curled his fingers, and threads shimmered into existence, weaving through the air as they stitched the ghastly gashes on Daren's body.

Thanks to Daren's guidance, he had refined his seemingly simple Ito Ito no Mi into a versatile tool. Using threads to suture wounds and quickly stop bleeding—something Doflamingo had done many times—was now second nature.

But as his sunglasses reflected the deep, bone-exposing injuries of the Vice Admiral, even someone as brutal and cold-blooded as Doflamingo felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Wounds like these would've long since killed any ordinary person.

The more he stitched and examined, the more cold sweat gathered on Doflamingo's forehead.

Part of it was disbelief—Whitebeard's overwhelming power had actually inflicted such devastating injuries on Daren.

But what truly shook him was Daren's monstrous physique.

By all rights, the threads from his Devil Fruit ability could slice through rock, buildings, even the hardest steel with ease.

Yet now, just pushing the thread through Daren's flesh brought staggering resistance and sluggishness. Every single stitch demanded his full focus and strength.

And because the process had to be meticulous, the pressure weighed on him more heavily than a battle against the Whitebeard Pirates.

What's more, this was Daren deliberately lowering his muscle tension and defenses.

If he hadn't, Doflamingo's razor-sharp threads might not have even pierced his skin.

Behind his sunglasses, his eyes flickered with unease. Doflamingo kept stitching in silence, pushing away the thoughts brewing in the back of his mind.

"Almost done."

Daren suddenly smiled weakly and waved his hand.

"Thanks, Doflamingo."

"Patch up Douglas Bullet too, will you?"

Doflamingo paused, noticing that Daren's bleeding had mostly stopped. He tensed, then gave a silent nod.

"I don't need it!"

Bullet gritted his teeth, glaring fiercely as he growled at Doflamingo.

"Blond brat, keep your filthy threads away from me or I'll kill you!"

"Even Whitebeard, the so-called 'strongest in the world,' wasn't much. These little fatal wounds of mine—"

"If you end up with lingering damage, we won't be able to fight again," Daren said with a faint smirk.

"My back and abdomen are the worst!"

Bullet immediately rolled onto his side, striking a pose that screamed surrender.

Everyone: "..."

Watching the battle maniac who'd fought Whitebeard head-on now obediently lie down from a single line from Daren, Doflamingo's mouth twitched.

He gave Daren a subtle glance—Daren was pulling out a bloodstained cigar, lighting it with calm ease.

Shaking his head slightly, Doflamingo silently stepped forward and began treating Bullet's wounds.

The thread slipped through flesh effortlessly, dancing like embroidery along the surface. The bleeding slowly lessened.

And once again, Doflamingo was reminded of the terrifying strength of Daren's body.

"Daren-san, where to next?"

Mihawk walked over slowly, kneeling with a straight back and asking with keen anticipation.

His eyes gleamed with fighting spirit. Not a single wound marred his body—if anything, he looked unsatisfied.

Clearly, his clash with Vista of the Flower Swords hadn't been enough to sate him.

Daren exhaled a stream of smoke like a dragon, staring out at the endless sea and sky with a faint smile.

"We wait for news. The battle on the Miracle Island should be wrapping up soon."

Suddenly sensing something, he turned toward one side of the ship.

Crocodile sat there, back against the railing, eyes dark and focused on the horizon.

His usually slicked-back hair was now a bit disheveled.

A crimson claw mark slashed across his neck.

Just a bit deeper and it would've torn his throat open.

Daren narrowed his eyes. For some reason, the scar looked familiar. He couldn't help but ask,

"Crocodile, that wound of yours?"

Crocodile lifted his head, eyes flashing with cold, murderous intent.

"A sneaky little brat."

"He jumped me while I was tangled up in a fight with that Phoenix."

His voice was raspy, filled with shame and fury.

Even when battling Whitebeard's right-hand man, Marco the Phoenix, Crocodile had never taken such a hit. Yet here he was—brought low by some unremarkable, black-haired brat.

"A sneaky little brat?"

Daren frowned. A thought crossed his mind, and then he chuckled.

"The wound's not too bad, but I bet it still aches, doesn't it?"

Crocodile froze, staring at Daren with a look of stunned disbelief, as if to say, "How did you know?"

Daren smiled knowingly.

A certain redhead who preferred not to be named had said the same thing.

"Brr... brr..."

Just then, the sharp ring of a military Den Den Mushi echoed through the air, drawing everyone's attention.

Daren reached into his coat, pulled out the Den Den Mushi, and connected the line.

"Admiral Sengoku, this is Daren."

Heavy breathing came through the receiver, followed by a brief pause. Then Sengoku's voice rasped through, hoarse and worn.

"Daren... you did well this time."

"The Whitebeard Pirates didn't join the battle."

Daren smiled faintly.

"It was my duty, Admiral Sengoku."

"But... what's the situation on Miracle Island? Did we gain anything?"

At that, Crocodile and the others instinctively leaned in, eyes fixed on the Den Den Mushi in Daren's hand.

The battle on Miracle Island was likely the most chaotic, large-scale war in the history of the seas.

The Marine Headquarters had deployed nearly all its elite forces. On the pirate side, three of the great pirate crews had clashed in open war.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the outcome of this battle would drastically reshape the political landscape and power structure of the New World.

This was something that could determine all their futures.

But right after Daren's question—

Sengoku hesitated.

"Well... um... overall, we did achieve some results."

Daren raised an eyebrow. A bad feeling crept into his chest.

"What about Roger's crew?"

Sengoku's voice dropped.

"They got away."

Daren's mouth twitched. He shook his head in resignation.

He wasn't exactly surprised by the outcome. After all, Roger was wrapped in the kind of plot armor reserved for legends—the so-called "Child of Prophecy."

And sending Garp after Roger? That was basically letting him go.

Those two had always walked the line between enemies and allies. They'd even joined forces during the Battle of God Valley. All these years of chasing and fleeing had forged a bond between them far deeper than simple rivalry.

There was no way they'd ever really try to kill each other.

One chased, the other ran, and they'd been at it for years.

They were practically enjoying the game.

If Garp had actually caught Roger, now that would've been the real miracle.

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