Chapter 48: Teacher
The sparring match between Kyle and Roger had ended, but its effect lingered. Shanks and Buggy, who had watched from the edge of the deck, now stood before Kyle with the kind of fierce determination that only children can muster.
"Brother Kyle!" Shanks's voice was loud, his red hair bright in the afternoon light. "That move you did—the shockwave. Can you teach me?"
Buggy was right beside him, nodding. "Me too!"
Kyle leaned against the mast, his naginata across his knees. He studied them for a long moment. They were young—Shanks barely five, Buggy a little older—but their eyes held the same hunger he had seen in his own reflection when he first stood before Roger.
"Why do you want to become stronger?" he asked.
Shanks answered first. "I want to be strong enough to sail anywhere. Like Captain Roger."
Buggy's answer was different. "I want to find treasure. Real treasure. And I don't want anyone to take it from me."
Kyle nodded slowly. "Roger and Rayleigh won't train you. Not the way you need."
Shanks opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. They had both tried to learn from the captain before. Roger's lessons tended to end with him laughing, slapping them on the back, and forgetting what he was teaching. Rayleigh's lessons were patient, but they were lectures, not drills.
"So you'll teach us?" Shanks asked.
"I'll teach you," Kyle said. "But it won't be easy."
"We're not afraid!" Buggy declared.
Kyle's smile was faint. "Good."
---
He took them to the armory.
Shanks went straight to the swords, running his fingers along the hilts until he found one that felt right. It was a saber, lighter than Roger's Ace but balanced well for a child's hand. He swung it twice, his face serious.
Buggy bypassed the swords, the axes, the heavy weapons. He tested a few daggers before settling on a matched pair—short, quick, easy to hide. He weighed them in his hands and grinned.
"You've chosen," Kyle said. It was not a question.
"Yes." Two voices, one eager, one certain.
"Tomorrow, training begins."
---
The next morning came before the sun.
Shanks and Buggy were dragged from sleep by a vibration that bypassed their ears and lodged itself in their skulls. It was not loud, but it was impossible to ignore. Buggy sat up, rubbing his head. Shanks blinked, already reaching for his saber.
Kyle stood in the doorway of their cabin, holding a lantern. "Deck. Five minutes."
He was gone before either of them could protest.
---
The deck was cold, the sky still dark. Shanks and Buggy stood side by side, shivering, their weapons strapped to their backs.
"You want to be strong," Kyle said. "Strength starts here." He pointed at their legs, their arms, their chests. "Not in the blade. Not in the fruit. In the body."
He set a simple task. "Run the deck. A hundred laps."
Buggy's face went pale. "A hundred? That's impossible!"
Kyle did not argue. He gestured toward the deck. "Then you'd better start."
They ran.
It was ugly at first. Buggy tripped twice, cursed, got up. Shanks paced himself, breathing hard but steady. Kyle stood at the bow, arms crossed, watching. When Buggy slowed, a focused vibration nudged him forward—not painful, but insistent. When Shanks's pace faltered, Kyle's voice cut through the dark. "Keep going."
By the time the sun rose, both boys were sprawled on the deck, chests heaving, faces red. The crew had begun to stir, gathering around, watching with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.
Roger leaned against the mast, a bottle in his hand. "Kyle, they're children."
"The sea doesn't care," Kyle said. He looked at Shanks and Buggy. "Five minutes. Then fifty frog jumps."
Buggy made a sound that might have been a whimper. Shanks pushed himself up, already counting the seconds.
---
The day passed in a blur of drills.
Laps, jumps, push‑ups, holds. Kyle did not shout. He did not threaten. He simply set the tasks and ensured they were completed. When Buggy tried to argue, a light shockwave redirected his attention. When Shanks pushed too hard and stumbled, Kyle was there to catch him, steady him, set him back on course.
By evening, both boys could barely lift their arms. They sat in the galley, their hands shaking as they tried to eat. Spencer had prepared a meal rich in protein, the kind of food meant for recovery. No one spoke much.
Roger sat with them, a plate of his own. "Hard day?"
Shanks nodded, chewing. Buggy glared at Kyle, who was at the far end of the table, playing chess with Rayleigh.
"It gets easier," Roger said. "Not the training. The understanding that you can do more than you thought."
Shanks looked at his hands, raw and red. "Kyle did this?"
"Kyle did worse." Roger's voice was quiet. "When he came aboard, he was your age. He'd survived three years alone on an island. He already knew how to fight, how to kill. But he didn't know what he could become." He tapped Shanks's chest. "That's what the training is for."
Buggy set down his spoon. "Does he hate us?"
Roger laughed. "If he hated you, he wouldn't bother."
---
Later, when the deck was quiet and the stars were out, Kyle found Shanks at the bow. The boy was sitting cross‑legged, his saber across his knees, watching the horizon.
"You should be asleep," Kyle said.
"I'm thinking."
Kyle sat beside him. "About?"
"Buggy says you're a demon."
Kyle's mouth twitched. "He's not wrong."
Shanks was quiet for a moment. "Why are you training us? Really."
Kyle thought about the future. The boy beside him would one day be one of the strongest men in the world. He would lose an arm for a child he believed in. He would carry Roger's legacy in his own way. And Buggy would find his own path, stumbling into greatness despite himself.
"Because someone trained me," Kyle said. "And because you'll need it."
Shanks looked at him. "For what?"
"For what comes next."
The boy nodded slowly, as if he understood. Perhaps, in his way, he did.
---
The next morning, before dawn, two small figures were already on the deck, running.
Kyle watched from the mast, a cup of juice in his hand. Rayleigh appeared beside him.
"You're pushing them hard."
"They can take it."
"You sound like Roger."
Kyle smiled. "He was right about me."
Rayleigh was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled too. "Yes. He was."
The sun rose over the Oro Jackson, and the boys kept running.
---
End of Chapter 48