A seconde chance : Between Land and Sea

Koby woke up, as he usually did, before dawn. His cabin, tucked away in the ship's hold, had not changed over the months. It was still the same dark, damp, and chilly room.

Yet, already used to it, he ignored the discomfort. He splashed his face with water, then paused in front of the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite him. For a brief moment, his current reflection overlapped with the one he had seen two and a half months earlier, when everything had started.

The Koby of that time—round-faced and frail—seemed to stare at him through the glass like a memory barely faded. His eyes, once uncertain, contrasted with the calm and soothing gaze of the person he had become. Grabbing the towel placed nearby, he wiped the water from his skin and let out a quiet sigh.

"However many times I see it, the change I've gone through these past months never stops amazing me," he murmured, turning away.

Paying it no further attention, he grabbed four sandbags of about twenty-five kilos each and fastened them to his body before hanging from a pull-up bar to begin his exercises.

The wood groaned under Koby's weight as he performed his pull-ups, his body weighted by the sandbags. Despite the dimness and the damp air, he carried out the motions with a steady rhythm and surprising ease. His arms trembled slightly, but his face remained impassive.

The sound of his breathing echoed softly in the hold, mingling with the creaking of the gently rocking ship. He was alone, and yet this one-on-one time with himself brought him a sense of serenity. A while ago, he would have been exhausted after just a handful of repetitions, but now he could complete whole sets without weakening. He briefly recalled his first days on board, when he feared collapsing under the slightest task. Today, the pain was still there, always, but it no longer paralyzed him—it simply pushed him to go further.

After a while, he let go of the bar and landed silently on the damp floor. With a measured gesture, he ran a hand across his shoulders, raw from exertion, before removing the sandbags. A slight shiver ran down his back as the hold's cool air contacted his sweaty skin.

Koby then moved on to a series of varied exercises, all weighted to increase difficulty, adapting each movement to the hold's cramped space. He started with push-ups, first on his fists to strengthen his wrists, then on his fingertips to work on control and concentration. Each flex and extension of his arms was done slowly and precisely, as though he were trying to synchronize his breathing with the ship's swaying.

Next, he moved on to squats. His back remained perfectly straight, and he sank down until he felt his thighs burn, then rose again, keeping his balance carefully. The hold's dampness sometimes made the floor slippery, but he saw it as one more challenge—not to let himself be caught off-guard by a merely slick plank or a slight roll of the ship.

He then headed to a clearer corner of the hold and dropped onto the floor for a set of planks. Elbows and forearms planted firmly, legs stretched out, he maintained the position as long as he could. His breathing, now steadier and more controlled, almost harmonized with the ship's creaks. Through the strain, he felt an inner peace settle in—his mind focused solely on posture, muscle tension, and the silent count he imposed on himself.

From time to time, he closed his eyes, as if to hear his own body more clearly. The beating of his heart, his inhalations, his exhalations… He felt sweat trickle down his temples, reflecting not just the effort he put in, but also the satisfaction of pushing himself a little further each day.

When he decided his session was over, he got up, gathered his things, and quickly wiped the floor where he had left a few traces of moisture. His arms and legs still protested, but he brushed off the discomfort with practiced ease.

Letting out a small sigh, he grabbed a towel and wiped his sweaty face. Outside, the very first hints of daylight peeked through a gap in the hull.

"One more day," he murmured, a note of resolve in his voice.

Then, with a calm yet resolute stride, Koby headed for the ladder leading to the upper deck, determined to continue his routine.

Reaching the ship's deck, he took a simple mop from a storage cupboard and began the morning's cleaning.

The moment his foot touched the deck, Koby inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. The atmosphere was different, more alive than in the shadowy hold. The day's first glimmers of dawn revealed a sky still tinged with pink, while out at sea, the gentle light of the rising sun began to reflect off the distant waters.

True to his habit, he retrieved a mop and a bucket of water from the storage closet. Without a word, he set to scrubbing the deck, moving almost mechanically from repeated practice.

Yet, despite the routine, he never tired of it. Each sweep of the mop glided in a fluid motion, like a slow dance. He noticed slight signs of wear left by time and sea battles: grooves in the planks, places where the wood's finish had faded a bit.

As he cleaned, his mind wandered, recalling his first days on board. Back then, just the thought of wielding a mop, surrounded by such dangerous and unpredictable pirates, used to make him tremble. Now, he found something almost soothing in these simple chores.

He wasn't being watched, at least not at that moment. Alvida's crew, still groggy from the previous night's drinking, slept soundly below deck. Only a few dull groans rose from below, hinting at the drunken stupor they found themselves in.

Today, however, would not be another day of boredom and booze as usual. He had overheard the pirates talking among themselves.

For a few days now, Alvida's ship had been pursuing a luxurious cruise liner. The pirates had already celebrated their victory the previous night, before even securing it, convinced their prey would offer no real resistance.

The promise of riches, bloodshed, and women had blinded them. Yet Koby, with his lowly status as a cabin boy, was no fool. He had spent two long months observing these men, listening to their boasts after every success. Up to now, they had never faced serious opposition, which explained their blind confidence. But Koby was certain this sea was far more dangerous than they could imagine. The few newspapers he'd managed to swipe had made that clear: the world was full of pirates far more formidable than Alvida and her henchmen, not to mention the tough Marines who sometimes prowled these waters.

"They have no idea," he murmured, letting his gaze drift across the still-quiet deck.

Time ticked by slowly, and the first sounds rising from the hold announced that the crew was gradually waking up. Sporadic groans broke the silence, followed by loud yawns and heavy footsteps on the boards. The pirates, stiff from a night of revelry, came up on deck one by one, still half-asleep, but already charged with the excitement of the day to come.

Koby, crouched near a bucket he was carefully emptying, watched them out of the corner of his eye. These men, brawny and arrogant, never seemed to suspect the slightest hint of danger. Their blind confidence and contempt for their victims were plain on their faces.

A pirate with a raspy voice, still in the process of buttoning his shirt, made a mocking remark:

"Hey, guys, did you see the size of that tub yesterday? A real floating palace! I bet we'll stuff our pockets with gold and gorge ourselves tonight!"

Another, shorter and stockier, replied with a laugh:

"And the women, huh? I wonder if those fancy ladies still smell like roses when they cry!"

Koby watched the scene, his eyes still calm but carrying a quiet thoughtfulness. The coarse laughter, the crude words, the promises of violence… It was always the same story with them—a never-ending cycle that fueled their brutality and arrogance.

He stood up slowly, setting the mop in the bucket, his fingers gripping the wooden handle. Could he stop them? His body had changed; his strength had grown through grueling training. He was far from the old Koby, the frail boy who couldn't even make eye contact. Now, he knew he could fight. At least for a while, he might break their blind confidence.

But would he do it?

No. He averted his gaze, refocusing on some trivial task—adjusting the bucket or wiping away an imaginary stain on the deck. He wouldn't intervene. He'd already weighed that question too many times. He was no hero.

"I'm not going to dive into battle for people who haven't asked me," he thought, his face impassive.

Koby knew that any noble move he made could put him in danger or, worse, worsen the situation for potential victims. If those people asked for his help, then maybe… But he would never act without a call, without a spark of willingness on their part. He was not there to impose a justice they had not sought.

He exhaled a long sigh and calmly returned to his work. There was no point in agonizing over these thoughts. For now, all he could do was wait and observe.

Their coarse laughs and chatter carried on around him, yet Koby, quiet and poised, remained anchored in his reflections, once more promising himself never to let his strength override the will of others. He was no hero, but he could become something else. Someone who watches, who guides.

Putting those reflections aside, Koby's gaze swept the horizon, where he could make out a dark speck in the distance—most likely the target ship.

Alvida finally appeared on deck, her massive silhouette outlined by the morning light. She wore her usual flamboyant hat, and her expression displayed the satisfaction of a predator certain of its prey. With a single kick, she knocked over a nearby bucket to get everyone's attention.

"Ya bunch of slugs!" she roared. "Are you ready to show these rich snobs what it means to cross Alvida?!"

The pirates answered with wild howls, some raising their arms in challenge. Alvida glanced around the deck, pausing briefly on Koby, who was pretending to scrub a plank.

"You there, shrimpy," she growled, pointing at him. "Hurry up and finish that before we set off. I want you on the assault team this time. You've lazed around enough already."

"Yes, Captain," he replied, his voice controlled, almost void of emotion.

Alvida, content with what she believed to be his submission, shifted her attention to bark more orders at the crew. The pirates bustled about, readying their weapons and preparing the ship for the imminent attack. Tension on deck, already high, grew heavier still, a mix of excitement and brute force.

It didn't surprise him. He knew that sooner or later, she would force him to take part directly in their atrocities. Up until now, he had managed to remain in the background, playing the role of an insignificant underling, unseen among these violence-hungry brutes. But today, Alvida had chosen to test him.

"'Lazed around,' huh?" he muttered under his breath, a bitter smile flickering on his lips.

He wiped the mop on the bucket absentmindedly, taking as much time as his lowly position allowed. Around him, the pirates were already in a frenzy. Metallic sounds rang out on the deck as sabers were sharpened, muskets checked, and ropes tightened.

"Hey, shrimpy," called a scar-faced pirate passing by. "Don't chicken out, or I'll be the one to deal with you."

Koby lifted his gaze briefly, meeting the man's mocking stare. He didn't answer, offering just a small nod. He was used to threats by now. They slid off him like water on wood. He wasn't here to fight them—not yet, anyway.

He cast another look toward the horizon. The target ship was now clearly visible—white and gold, almost surreal in the vast blue. The passengers, presumably steeped in luxury, likely had no idea of the horrors about to unfold.

Alvida's voice rang out once more, drowning out the final preparations:

"Move it, you worthless lot! I want us ready to board the moment we're in range. We can't afford to waste time—this is a big haul!"

The pirates' raucous cheers carried through the air, their voices thick with excitement and the promise of carnage.

He knew the day would be long. Not only because of the chaos on the way, but also because he would be required to take an active part in the assault under Alvida's command. Yet that didn't mean he would completely give in to their expectations. There was always a way to act from the shadows, to slip through the net's holes.

The ships were drawing close enough that one could already see the strained faces of the cruise liner's sailors. They scrambled in all directions, frantically preparing for what was clearly an unavoidable clash. On Alvida's old galleon, excitement rose, an almost tangible tension in the salted air—powder and fear intermingled.

"Fire!" Alvida shouted.

A few seconds later, a deep roar shattered the silence: the cannons spat their iron projectiles, and a harsh smoke spread across the entire deck. The cannonballs tore through the distance in a flash, slamming into the enemy ship's hull with a metallic crash. Repeated detonations filled the scene, echoing over the water.

Koby, stationed at the front line as Alvida had demanded, felt his heart pound. Even though he was prepared for violence, he couldn't suppress a shiver when he saw the first sparks erupt from the cannons. The enemy deck was shaken; shards of wood flew in all directions. Alarmed cries rose from the target vessel, where they were struggling to return fire as best they could.

Koby waited a few seconds, his eyes fixed on the growing turmoil. Then, without a word, he grabbed a long, six-foot staff in one hand—the weapon he had chosen for its balance of reach and discretion—and, with the other, clutched one of the ropes already thrown toward the opposing ship. His heart beat steadily, and his gaze remained strangely calm.

He leaped, sliding down the rope to land in the midst of the fighting. The pirates' screams, the clash of blades, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with the stench of fear made for a dizzying cocktail. On the cruise liner's deck, the crew was already trying to fend off Alvida's ruthless horde, but panic reigned.

No sooner had he set foot on the boards than a terrified sailor charged him, a trembling saber in his hands.

Holding his staff firmly, Koby swung it horizontally without restraint.

The staff, moving at eye-blurring speed, struck the sailor full in the chest.

For an instant, Koby thought he heard bones crack before the poor man was flung backward, twice as fast as he had approached. His body slammed into one of the ship's walls, shattering it in the process.

The seaman's fate remained unknown. Koby stood there, staring blankly in the direction the man had flown, then looked at his own hand, still clutching his staff.

Koby froze for a moment, his mind empty. The echo of the impact still rang in his ears. Everything had happened so fast: the sailor's headlong rush, Koby's almost instinctive reaction, the sickening sound that had accompanied the strike…

He slowly lowered the arm holding the staff, his fingers still curled around the handle. The relative silence that followed this brief moment of violence stood out oddly against the surrounding tumult. All around him, shouts, blasts, and the din of combat persisted, and his skirmish went completely unnoticed in the chaos.

Was that really me? he wondered, still staring at his hand. The shockwave he had felt at the moment of impact still coursed through his muscles. He'd never imagined he possessed such power.

He turned slightly toward where the unfortunate sailor had been thrown. The gaping hole testified to the force of the blow. Half the man's body was visible, either unconscious or worse—Koby could not tell.

Slipping inside the ship, he followed a dimly lit corridor with a few oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. The atmosphere there was surprisingly calm, as though it were a different world from the one behind the shattered wall he'd passed through. Only the muffled echoes of the battle reached him, reminding him that outside, violence and chaos still reigned.

His footsteps sounded faintly on the pristine wooden boards, hinting at the cruise liner's luxurious nature. Tapestries and ornate decorations on the walls revealed the owners' wealth. Yet Koby paid them only passing attention. His mind was focused on one detail in particular.

The kitchen… Where is it? he asked himself, glancing at each door in turn. He passed cabins without stopping, sometimes sidestepping an overturned piece of furniture or an item fallen to the floor. Curiously, there was no sign of a fight here—no panicked sailors, no drunken pirates—as if this part of the ship had been spared.

In his mind, vague recollections surfaced: memories from before. Nothing clear or vivid—just impressions, blurry images. He remembered reading somewhere—or perhaps seeing?—a similar situation to the one he was living now. A certain wine barrel with something truly special that might be found in this ship's kitchen.

I don't even know if what I'm looking for is real, he reminded himself. Maybe his recollections were misleading him. But it was worth trying, if only to turn away from the slaughter on the deck. The pounding of cannons seemed to have eased somewhat, as if the battle had shifted or slowed.

Finally, he reached a door with a large sign reading "Kitchens."

Pushing it open, he found himself in a spacious area equipped with stoves, wide counters, and cupboards. The place was in disarray, but bore no trace of combat either.

A quick glance let him spot, at the back of the kitchen, several wine barrels stacked on top of each other. Some were already opened; others still sealed. Koby advanced, looking around. The floor was slippery in places—likely spilled wine or sauce. He approached the barrels, still gripping his staff firmly in his right hand.

"Now… which one?" he murmured, giving the barrels a few light kicks.

Koby stopped short, halting his motion just as he was about to nudge the last barrel with his foot. He already felt a bit foolish searching—he wasn't even sure what—for something in these wooden casks. Yet, barely had his foot tapped the lid with a gentle blow than the wood split with a sharp crack, sending fragments flying.

"Wh—?!"

Before he could step back, a young man with black hair and a straw hat burst out of the barrel, springing up like a coiled jack-in-the-box. His entry was so abrupt that Koby nearly stumbled backward in surprise. The newcomer, sporting a broad, content grin, stretched like a man who'd just had a long nap.

"Aaaaaah, that felt good !!!!!" he exclaimed, yawning widely. Then he turned his head and spotted Koby, who was rooted to the spot, foot still raised, eyes wide.