Chapter 49: Red Hair vs. The Clown
Months had passed since Kyle began training Shanks and Buggy. The deck of the Oro Jackson had become their proving ground.
The changes were visible. Shanks had grown taller, his frame filling out, his movements taking on a deliberate strength that had not been there before. He carried his saber with the easy confidence of a boy who had found his weapon. Buggy remained smaller, but his speed had sharpened, his reflexes honed. He moved like someone who had learned that the best way to win was to be where the enemy was not.
The crew had watched their progress, but no one had seen them fight each other. Not seriously.
Jabba leaned against the rail, a grin splitting his face. "You two have been training for months. Let's see what you've learned."
The deck stirred. Nozdon stopped polishing the cannon. Doringer leaned out from the crow's nest. Even Rayleigh, at the helm, turned to watch.
Roger appeared from nowhere, a bottle in hand, settling onto a crate. "Kuhahaha! A match! This I have to see."
Kyle remained against the mast, a cup of juice in his hand, watching.
Shanks stepped forward, drawing his saber. Buggy followed, a dagger in each hand. They faced each other across the deck, and for a moment, they were not children. They were fighters.
"Ready to lose, red nose?" Shanks called.
"When pigs fly, red hair," Buggy shot back.
They moved.
Shanks attacked first. His style was Roger's—broad, direct, overwhelming. His saber came down in an arc that should have been too heavy for a boy his size, but he had learned to put his whole body behind it. Buggy did not meet it. He sidestepped, close, his dagger flicking toward Shanks's wrist.
Shanks's blade turned, deflecting the thrust. He followed with a low sweep, forcing Buggy back. The crew murmured approval. The boys were fast, precise, nothing like the clumsy brawlers who had first come aboard.
Buggy gave ground, but he was waiting. When Shanks overcommitted, Buggy dropped low, his foot kicking a cloud of deck dust toward Shanks's face. Shanks turned his head, eyes closing—a mistake. Buggy was already inside his guard, daggers crossing toward his throat.
But Shanks did not retreat. He stepped forward, driving his shoulder into Buggy's chest, trading space for impact. Buggy stumbled, his grip loosening.
"Idiot!" Buggy gasped, but he was smiling.
They separated, circling. The crew was silent now, watching. The boys had learned more than technique. They had learned patience.
Shanks feinted left, drove right. Buggy parried, his daggers moving in a blur. They locked, blade to blade, neither giving ground. For a moment, they stood frozen, faces inches apart.
"You've gotten stronger," Buggy said.
"So have you."
Shanks pushed, breaking the lock. He stepped back, raised his saber in a stance the crew knew—Roger's stance. The air around him seemed to thicken.
Buggy's eyes widened. He crossed his daggers, bracing.
Shanks swung. The blade came down with everything he had. It met Buggy's crossed daggers, and for a moment, they held. Then the daggers bent, and Buggy's guard broke.
The saber stopped a hair's breadth from Buggy's face. He stared at it, breathing hard. Slowly, he lowered his arms.
"I lost," he said. His voice was steady, though his hands were shaking.
The crew erupted. Roger was laughing, slapping his knee. Jabba was cheering. Shanks lowered his saber, his own breath coming in gasps. He reached out a hand to Buggy, who took it after a moment.
"Next time," Buggy said.
"Next time," Shanks agreed.
Roger swept them both up, one under each arm. "Kuhahaha! My boys! Fighting like real pirates!"
"Captain, put me down!" Buggy squirmed. "I'm not a sack of potatoes!"
Rayleigh appeared beside Kyle, a cup of tea in his hand. "They've come far."
Kyle nodded. He watched Shanks and Buggy being passed between the crew, laughing despite their exhaustion. The training had been hard—harder than either boy had expected. But they had not broken.
"They have good teachers," Kyle said.
Rayleigh smiled. "They have you."
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The celebration that followed was not the wild feasts of old, but something quieter. The crew gathered around, telling stories, passing food. Shanks and Buggy sat at the center of it, still flushed from their match, answering questions about their training.
Kyle kept to the edge, his cup in his hand. Roger found him there.
"You're not celebrating," Roger said.
"I'm watching."
Roger looked at the boys, at the crew gathered around them. "They'll be something, won't they?"
Kyle thought about the future. Shanks, standing at the end of a war, ending it with a word. Buggy, falling into greatness despite every attempt to avoid it. They would carry pieces of this ship with them, always.
"They already are," Kyle said.
Roger laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."
He went back to the celebration, leaving Kyle alone with his thoughts and the sea.
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End of Chapter 49