A seconde chance : Between Land and Sea

The sound of the waves was the first thing he heard—steady, almost soothing. And yet, something about it was strange, a dissonance. This sound had no place here. Where was he, again?

His eyelids felt heavy, but he managed to open them. An infinite blue sky stretched above him, dotted with a few clouds. He felt a rough surface beneath his back—wood, creaking slightly in time with a gentle swaying motion.

He struggled to sit up, his head heavy and his limbs aching. His gaze swept across the surroundings, and what he saw left him speechless: he was on a boat. Not a modern ferry or a cruise ship, but an old sailing vessel with worn-out sails and ropes everywhere.

"Where… where am I?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in days.

"Where do you think you are, you idiot?!" came a shrill, authoritative voice behind him.

He turned around to see a formidable-looking woman wearing an extravagant hat, glaring at him with contempt. She was surrounded by a group of roughly dressed thugs, armed with sabers and muskets.

His heart began to pound. Who were these people? Why were they dressed like that? He glanced down at himself and noticed that his hands were slender—too small—and that his body wasn't the one he remembered. A wave of panic overtook him.

"Hey, Coby!" one of the men barked. "Hurry up and clean the deck or Alvida will throw you overboard!"

"Coby?" he thought. That wasn't his name. This was a mistake… or a nightmare. Yet everything felt far too real.

He tried to stand, wobbling under the mocking gazes of the others. The stench of salt, wet wood, and rotting fish filled his nostrils. It all seemed tangible, alive.

"What am I doing here?" he stammered.

No one answered, and he quickly understood that asking questions would only cause more trouble. So, despite his muddled thoughts and his instinct to run, he set about cleaning, observing the others and trying to figure out where he had ended up.

He had memories. Another life. An apartment, a phone, a job. But all of that seemed blurry, as though a veil had been drawn over his mind.

Who was he now? And more importantly, why did he feel that if he didn't quickly find a way to understand this world, he wouldn't survive?

The only thing he was sure of was that he had to play along—at least until he found some answers.

So he cleaned, but he didn't forget to keep his eyes wide open and his ears alert. Every spoken word, every barked order, every move by the crew became a piece of a puzzle he was trying to put together.

He had already figured out that the imposing woman in the hat—Alvida, from what he'd heard—was the leader. Her authoritative tone, her constant threats, and the way the crew looked at her with both fear and servility left no doubt about her role.

As for him, he seemed to be nothing more than a subordinate—a mere cabin boy good only for scrubbing floors and taking insults. As humiliating as that position was, it had one advantage: discretion. No one paid attention to him, and nobody saw him as a threat. He fully intended to take advantage of that.

His mind was racing. "If I can gather enough information, the unknowns will start to become clearer," he thought. "And once I figure out what's going on, it'll just be a matter of personal choices: run, play along, or maybe even turn the tables."

But for now, he had to survive. The ache in his arms from scrubbing the deck and the pirates' jeers were nothing compared to what was at stake: staying alive long enough to figure out how to regain control of his destiny.

So he cleaned, wiping away grime underfoot while recording every word, every detail, every glance in his mind. This world could be cruel and merciless, but in the end, men were just men—flesh-and-bone beings, fallible and predictable. No matter how brutal, violent, or threatening they were, there was nothing they could do that was worse than what he had already endured.

He had known pain, despair, and helplessness in his previous life. He had survived all that, and no matter how hostile this world was, it wouldn't break what he had already rebuilt in himself.

So he kept scrubbing the floor, his gaze calm and steady. He scrubbed.

From there, things fell into a predictable pattern. A routine set in. Each day resembled the last, but he knew that it was in those monotonous moments that he would find the keys to move forward.

He rose before dawn, long before the rest of the crew emerged from their drunken slumber. In the stillness of the fading night, he kept to a vital ritual: strengthening his body. Though scrawny, he refused to remain weak. A sound mind in a sound body. Push-ups, stretches, anything he could improvise in the tight space while maintaining absolute silence.

Once his training was done, he had a frugal breakfast out of sight, taking advantage of the calm before the chaos of the day began. Then, he threw himself into his main task: cleaning the ship.

The rest of the crew gradually awoke, groaning and staggering, their faces marked by the excesses of the night before. Mornings were generally quiet, with the pirates still foggy from their hangovers. It wasn't until mid-afternoon that the ship came to life again, a cacophony of orders, arguments, and coarse laughter echoing in the salty air.

During that time, he stayed in the background, invisible. But his eyes, always sharp, missed nothing. Every habit, every weakness, every insignificant detail—he recorded them all with meticulous patience. He knew that sooner or later, it would all matter.

As time went by, he noticed a pattern:

When the ship encountered other vessels, they were often merchant ships that ended up being plundered. In those moments, he kept out of sight. Sometimes, the crew landed on an island to attack coastal villages. Koby used those opportunities to slip away discreetly and gather snippets of information. But most of the time, the ship drifted aimlessly at sea, with no target in sight. The idle crew spent their days drinking, fighting, or… far worse. Koby hated to remember the noises he had heard in that infamous room below deck…

When they were half-drunk, these pirates dropped their guard, revealing bits of gossip that Koby carefully stored away. It was his best way to learn more without drawing suspicion.

And as days turned into weeks, he finally accepted the most logical conclusion: all evidence suggested he was in a parallel universe—an old pirate world, devoid of the laws he knew. A violent world where the idea of justice depended on the sharpest saber, the quickest pistol, or the strongest fist.

Along with that conclusion came a strange premonition. He just hoped he was wrong…

Despite everything, he held his head high, determined to make the most of the situation. He already knew fear; it was what kept him on guard, driving him to push his limits. One day, he would seize his chance.

That morning, just before dawn began to pale, Koby returned to the main deck, sponge in hand. As usual, he had risen before everyone else to do a few exercises out of sight, making sure not to wake anyone. His muscles still protested the efforts of the day before, but the routine he had imposed on himself made him more enduring every day.

It was really strange, actually. His previously chubby figure had slimmed down before his very eyes. He had grown a few centimeters taller and, more impressively, his strength had multiplied. Among all the oddities of this new world, that was undoubtedly the most apparent: each day, his body seemed to adapt to the constraints and laws of this universe, as if some invisible force helped him surpass himself.

He remembered perfectly well his first week on the ship, when he struggled to do even ten push-ups before running out of breath. Back then, every muscle burned after the slightest exertion, as if his entire body rebelled against the effort. But he didn't give up. Hard work, the will to survive, and perhaps the anger of wanting to one day reclaim his old life—those were what drove him to train relentlessly.

Now, two and a half months had passed—at least, that was his best guess, having no reliable way to mark time. His endurance had greatly increased, and he could chain push-ups, pull-ups, or squats for dozens of minutes. To make things even harder, he had begun adding extra weight to his workouts, using small sandbags or spare chains found in the hold.

It was actually quite amusing that he had to wear multiple layers of clothing to hide the increasingly obvious results of his training.

He resumed his task, sponge in hand, and began scrubbing the deck. As the rising sun glinted off the damp planks, he couldn't help wondering what lay ahead. This life on board, although harsh and uncertain, had become a sort of routine. Even so, the anxiety simmering inside him had never truly gone away.

He still remembered his first days, scrubbing the deck with trembling hands, fearing that even a single drop of dirty water on a pirate's boots would earn him a kick or a blow from a club. Now, his movements were sure. He had learned to handle the ship's constant rocking, and the pirates merely shrugged at the sight of "insignificant Coby" at work. Their indifference was his best ally.

Koby paused for a moment, his gaze drifting into the silvery shimmer of the waves.

Even though he now inhabited a younger body, everything he had experienced in his previous life —pain, loneliness, fleeting happiness, betrayal, loss— had left an indelible mark on him.

An old adage, whose origin he could no longer recall, often ran through his mind:

-A wise man sees a fall as an opportunity to rise stronger.-

Koby had put that saying into practice long before arriving in this hostile world. By falling again and again, he learned how to stand back up. By suffering countless failures, he realized that it was better to transform pain into wisdom rather than into despair.

There had been a time when, driven by ambition, he threw himself into grand ventures without weighing the risks. Each time he stumbled, he occasionally lost everything—dear friends, promising relationships, stable jobs. Yet these hardships had never destroyed him. He clung to those small moments of beauty, those glimmers of light in the darkness that you can only recognize once you've experienced the dark.

-People don't appreciate the value of a sunset when they see one every day. But when you've been deprived of it for a long time, you realize how precious it is.-

Those were the sorts of reflections he whispered to himself to overcome each new blow from fate. And he had taken a lot of blows. Enough to lose faith in certain friends he once thought infallible. Enough to watch loved ones slip away forever. But now, that past fueled a wisdom within him - a hidden treasure, unknown even to himself.

While the pirates roared with their thirst for blood, drank themselves into unconsciousness, looted, and slaughtered, he maintained a certain emotional distance. He didn't condone their actions, but he knew he needed to survive first in order to act later. Only a perceptive mind knew how to bide its time. Koby wasn't weak. Nor was he a coward. But he understood the importance of timing and strategy.

Every morning, as he worked through his exercises, he remembered the times when life had left him on his knees. He recalled the looks of pity, the helping hands he sometimes refused out of pride, and the friends' advice he had been too slow to heed. All of that, despite the pain it stirred up, gave him a sense of gratitude simply for being alive.

Aboard this ship, no one imagined the depth of his past. To them, he was just a flunky good for scrubbing floors—a silent, almost insignificant servant. But Koby held a different vision, rooted in what he had already faced before. He knew that no matter how violent the world might be, a man who refuses to be consumed by hatred can always find a path forward.

And then, in the middle of the night, while the crew sank into drunkenness, he sometimes found himself laughing alone in his cabin, deep in the ship. He laughed at this cruel life because he knew he was still standing, and that all the lessons learned—every tear shed—had led him to this point. He still had no idea how this adventure would end, or whether he would ever see his original world again. But he would meet any challenge with a smile.

For the moment, he remained discreet—quieter than a monk, a faint smile on his lips whenever they mocked him. The time would come when he would have to choose sides, to lift his saber or offer his hand. And when that day came, he already knew that his past failures, his present courage, and the love he still had for life would forge in him the strength needed to fully accept whatever would happen.

After all, what is a man if not one who fully accepts the consequences of his actions?