"Ah, kid, if you have any last wishes, tell me.
Or if there's anything you want to say to Zephyr or Christa, I'll pass it on.
As for Christa, don't worry. We'll all treat her well.
Ah..."
Sengoku sighed with every sentence, his face dark and solemn.
But just as he was sinking into gloom, a strangely inflected voice came from beside him.
"Uh, Fleet Admiral Sengoku, have you just given up on me?
Don't you think I'm worth trying to save...?"
Sengoku jolted inwardly. What the hell?
He quickly looked up. Randall looked like the perfect atmospheric prop for a horror game—a shattered porcelain man.
Yet his voice was still strong, and his eyes lacked the unfocused look of someone on the verge of death.
What was going on? Had he come back from the dead?
Only then did Sengoku remember to check Randall's condition with Observation Haki.
And that check left him utterly stunned.
Randall was indeed injured, but he was nowhere near death.
Even calling his injuries severe would be a stretch!
Randall gave Sengoku an odd look. Was this scheming old bastard trying to curse me to death?
Sengoku froze for a second before raising a hand to point at Randall, his voice laden with conflicting emotions.
"You're all right? Then what's with your body...?"
Randall looked down at himself, then replied nonchalantly.
"Oh, this? It's just the outer layer cracking."
As soon as he finished speaking, Randall gave his body a vigorous shake. The fragments fell to the ground, revealing the smooth skin beneath.
Sengoku's expression grew even more complicated.
"How did you do that?"
He wondered whether the defensive power Randall had displayed earlier still wasn't his limit.
That was just ridiculous!
That had been the ultimate move of a top-tier fighter!
Yet after