The holographic dojo stretched in every direction, an impossible space that should not have fit inside the submarine. Ancient wooden floors gleamed under soft lantern light, their surfaces worn smooth by generations of imagined feet. Cherry blossom petals drifted down from a ceiling that showed a pale blue sky, though the ship remained deep beneath the waves. The petals never touched the ground—they dissolved into golden light a foot above the polished wood, vanishing like morning mist.
Along the far wall, a row of children sat in seiza, their legs folded beneath them. They flickered at the edges, their faces soft and indistinct, their kendo armor shimmering with the faint telltale shimmer of hard-light constructs. Ghost students from a century long buried. They watched with empty eyes that held no judgment, no encouragement, just the patient stillness of recorded memory.
Marya sat on a low wooden platform near the shoji screens, her back against a carved pillar. Nisshoku lay across her lap, the obsidian blade's edge gleaming in ways that made the crimson runes pulse like a slow heartbeat. She ran a whetstone along the edge in long, deliberate strokes, the sound a steady rhythm beneath the sharp crack of bamboo striking bamboo.
Shink. Shink. Shink.
The stone kissed the blade.
Shink. Shink. Shink.
Sanza Kaplan Figarland stood in the center of the dojo, his small hands wrapped around a bamboo practice sword that looked too heavy for him. Sweat plastered his red hair to his forehead in dark, messy streaks. His cheeks burned the color of his father's coat. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps that he tried to hide by clenching his teeth.
One. Two. Three.
He raised the sword above his head, brought it down in a vertical arc.
Four. Five. Six.
He stepped forward, pivoted his hips, swung horizontal.
His arms shook. His knuckles had gone white around the bamboo grip.
Across from him, Eliane Anđel moved like water. Her silver ponytail swung behind her in a smooth arc as she flowed through the same forms, her bamboo sword cutting the air with soft whush sounds that barely disturbed the drifting cherry blossoms. Her olive skin glowed with warmth, but she did not pant. She did not tremble. Her blue eyes stayed calm, focused on an enemy only she could see.
Between them, bouncing on gelatinous legs, Jelly "Giggles" Squish waved a wooden spoon like a battle standard. His translucent blue body wobbled with every swing, his starry eyes wide with concentration. He raised the wooden spoon above his amorphous head.
"Bloop!"
Whack.
He brought it down on an imaginary opponent.
"Whack again!"
Whush.
He swung sideways, nearly lost his balance, and giggled.
Marya's whetstone paused mid-stroke. Her golden eyes—ringed with the same hawk-like intensity as her father's—flicked to Sanza. Watched his shoulders lift with every breath. Watched his jaw grind.
Sanza lowered his sword. His arms hung at his sides, trembling. "How long until we arrive at the next island?"
Marya raised one eyebrow. She did not stop sharpening. The whetstone resumed its song.
Shink. Shink. Shink.
"We should be there in about a week."
Sanza nodded, swallowed hard. His throat bobbed. "So how long do we need to practice these movements?"
Eliane's sword stopped mid-arc. She turned her head, her blue eyes sparkling with something that looked very much like mischief. Her lips curled.
"What's wrong? You getting tired?"
Sanza's head whipped toward her so fast his neck cracked. His face flushed deeper—whether from exertion or fury, hard to tell.
"NO!" His voice cracked on the word, shooting up an octave before settling back down. "I'm not tired! I can do this forever!"
Eliane tilted her head. Her ponytail swung. "You are looking pretty tired to me." She tapped her bamboo sword against her shoulder, casual as a farmer resting a hoe. "Sure you don't need a break?"
Sanza's hands tightened around his sword. His nostrils flared. He opened his mouth—
"Focus."
Marya's voice cut through the dojo like a blade. Not loud. Not sharp. Just... final.
Both children turned to look at her.
She lifted Nisshoku, turning the blade to catch the lantern light along its edge. The crimson runes pulsed once, slow and deep, before fading back to dark. Her golden eyes reflected off the obsidian surface.
"Both of you."
Sanza's shoulders sagged. Eliane's smirk faded into something closer to genuine attention.
Marya lowered the sword, inspected the edge one last time, then set it across her lap. She looked at Sanza directly, holding his gaze.
"The point of repeating the motion is to train your body to move by instinct. Without thought." She paused, letting the words settle. "Your muscles need to learn what your mind already knows. That takes time. That takes repetition. That takes patience."
Sanza's chest rose and fell. His jaw worked side to side.
"I can do it," he said.
Marya nodded once. "Then continue."
Sanza raised his sword. His arms still shook, but he set his feet anyway, planted his stance, and swung.
One. Two. Three.
Eliane raised her own sword, fell into position across from him, and matched his rhythm. Her movements stayed smooth, fluid, but she softened her pace, slowed just enough that he did not have to chase her.
Four. Five. Six.
Jelly bounced between them, swinging his spoon.
"Bloop! Whack! Bloop! Whack!"
The holographic children watched with their empty eyes. The cherry blossoms drifted and dissolved. The lantern light held steady.
Shink. Shink. Shink.
Marya returned to sharpening.
---
The shoji screen door slid open with a soft rattle of wooden frames.
Jannali Bandler stepped through first, her athletic frame filling the doorway. Her their eye concealed by the headscarf wrapped tight around her forehead, corralling her full afro. Her large hoop earrings swung as she moved, catching the light.
"Bloody hell," she said, fanning her face with her hand. "It's like a furnace in here."
Marya's lips twitched. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."
Jannali shot her a look—equal parts exasperation and affection—and shook her head as she walked past. Her footsteps echoed on the wooden floor.
Atlas Acuta followed close behind, his rust-red fur bristling in the heat. The black spots across his back shifting as his shoulders rolled. His blue sapphire eyes swept the dojo once, taking in the children, the holograms, the floating cherry blossoms, before dismissing it all as uninteresting. His charcoal pants rustled. His feet left soft impressions in the wood.
Bō-Zak Kaminosukei brought up the rear, moving with that lazy, languid grace that made him look half-asleep. His dark brown hair hung in his face. His gold-flecked eyes swept the room with quiet amusement. His tattered awayo shawl hung loose over one shoulder, and his pipe smoldered in his hand, trailing fragrant smoke that smelled of herbs and corn liquor and something deeper, something older.
Atlas stopped beside Marya, his tail swishing once. "Boss." His voice carried that low, rumbling quality, like thunder from a distant storm. "You want to see what this—" he gestured toward Jannali with his chin "—can do?"
Marya paused. The whetstone went still. She looked over her shoulder at the three of them, her golden eyes narrowing.
"See what?"
Atlas's lips peeled back in a grin that showed too many teeth. "What her new ability can do."
Marya pushed to her feet in one smooth motion, Nisshoku sliding into its sheath across her back with a soft click. She glanced at Sanza and Eliane, still swinging their bamboo swords in the center of the dojo.
"You two keep practicing."
Sanza grunted in acknowledgment. Eliane nodded, her silver ponytail swinging.
Marya followed Jannali, Atlas, and Bō-Zak out of the dojo.
---
The training yard sprawled beyond the dojo's walls, another impossible space inside the submarine's hull. Wooden training dummies stood in rows, their surfaces scarred from countless strikes. A sand pit waited for grappling practice. Wooden weapons racks lined the fences, filled with practice swords, staves, and weighted training spears.
The sky above showed the same pale blue as the dojo, with soft clouds drifting past that did not exist. A gentle breeze carried the scent of hay and old wood and something floral, something that reminded Marya of the gardens on Kuraigana, of her father's castle, of mornings spent watching Mihawk cut down training dummies with Yoru.
She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest, and watched.
Jannali walked to the center of the yard, her heels sinking slightly into the packed dirt. She reached for the retracted spear on her hip—the compact cylinder that held Anhur's Whisper in its collapsed state. Her fingers brushed the dark metal.
Bō-Zak settled onto the porch steps, his pipe still smoldering. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles, and leaned back on his hand. His gold-flecked eyes tracked Jannali with lazy interest. A grin played at the corners of his mouth.
Atlas dropped down beside him, his rust-red fur settling. He pulled a dried fish snack from somewhere on his person and bit into it with a loud crunch.
Marya called out, "Should we do this in here?" She gestured to the yard, the holographic sky, the training dummies. "Maybe take it outside?"
Jannali looked over her shoulder, her brown eyes considering. "Hell if I know." She shrugged, her hoop earrings swinging. "But that would mean we'd have to surface and slow down."
Marya sighed. The logic landed solid, undeniable. They were already behind schedule, already dealing with the mess from Tosu Island, already trying to put distance between themselves and Shanks's grinning face.
"Fine." Marya shrugged. "But you will have to deal with Bianca's wrath if you break anything."
Jannali's face split into a wide grin. "No worries." She turned back to face the open yard. "She'll be right."
Marya shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. She settled against the door frame, arms still crossed, and watched. Ready to move if she needed to. Ready to cut if Gosan got out of control.
---
Jannali gripped the spear at her hip.
The metal clicked.
The spear expanded in her hand, segments sliding and locking into place with a series of sharp clack-clack-clack sounds. The dark stone tip caught the light as the spear grew to its full length, the shaft gleaming with that strange oily sheen that all high-tensile alloys seemed to have.
Jannali planted the butt of the spear against the dirt. Her chest rose. Her eyes closed.
"Gosan," she said. Soft. Almost a whisper.
The spear began to change.
It started as a vibration, a hum that Marya felt through the soles of her boots. The air around Jannali shimmered, heat waves rising from nothing. Then the spear grew, the metal flowing like water, reshaping itself, expanding outward in a cascade of organic curves that should not have been possible.
Jannali stepped back, throwing one arm over her eyes.
The Hatzegopteryx unfolded into the training yard like a nightmare given flesh.
Its body towered, massive and thick, built like a mountain had decided to grow wings. The creature's neck was a pillar of muscle, thicker than Marya's waist, thicker than Atlas's torso. Its head was the size of a small cart, a beak that could crush stone, eyes that burned with ancient hunger. The wings—gods, the wings—stretched wide, a span that blotted out the false sky, sending shadows racing across the yard.
Gosan flapped once.
The gust of wind hit Marya like a physical wall, shoving her back against the door frame. Her hair whipped around her face, raven strands tangling in her eyes. She squinted, planted her feet, and held her ground.
Across the yard, the training dummies toppled like dominos. Sand exploded from the pit, a brown cloud that rolled across the ground. The wooden weapons racks rattled, spears and staves clattering to the dirt.
Jannali cursed. Her voice came out muffled, swallowed by the wind. "Bloody—Gosan! Stop!"
The dinosaur squawked, a sound like grinding stone and tearing metal, and flapped again.
WHUMP.
More sand. More toppled dummies. More chaos.
Bō-Zak's pipe went out. He didn't seem to notice. He leaned forward, his gold-flecked eyes wide, his grin spreading across his face like a crack in dry earth. "What now?" he called out, his voice somehow cutting through the noise.
Jannali lowered her arm, squinting against the wind. "Hell if I know!"
Bō-Zak cupped his hands around his mouth. "Maybe tell it to do something!"
Jannali's head whipped toward him, her expression a mixture of panic and fury. "Like what?"
Bō-Zak shrugged, that lazy, maddening shrug that made everything feel like a joke. "Like stop flapping your damn wings and look at me!"
Jannali blinked at him. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Bō-Zak raised his eyebrows. The expression said well as clearly as any words.
Atlas crunched his dried fish, completely unbothered. "I can always electrocute it for you," he called out, his blue eyes glinting.
Marya pushed off the door frame, her hand drifting toward Nisshoku's hilt. "I can cut it if you want."
Jannali's head snapped toward them, her glare sharp enough to draw blood. "That is not helpful!"
She turned back to face Gosan. The dinosaur had stopped flapping, but its head swung side to side, those ancient eyes scanning the yard, the dummies, the sky. Its beak clicked open and closed, making a sound like boulders grinding together.
Jannali planted her feet. Her chest rose. Her voice came out hard, commanding, a whip-crack of sound.
"Stop flapping your bloody wings and look at me!"
Gosan froze.
The creature's head turned, slow, deliberate, until those burning eyes locked onto Jannali's face. The beak clicked once. The wings folded against its sides, settling into place with a soft rustle of leather and bone.
The wind died.
The sand settled.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Jannali blinked. Her mouth fell open. She turned to look at Bō-Zak, her expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
"Mate." Her voice came out faint. "How did you—"
Bō-Zak sucked on his pipe, found it cold, and reached for his lighter. He flicked it once, twice, three times until a small flame caught. He puffed until smoke curled from the bowl, then leaned back on his hands again.
"I am a zoan type." He shrugged, the motion lazy, easy. "You have to sink your will into the creature. Then it will respond to you." He blew out a plume of smoke, watching it drift up toward the false sky. "Right now you have to use your voice. But the more you practice, the less you will need to rely on it." His gold-flecked eyes found Jannali's. "Eventually, it will respond to your will alone."
Jannali stood very still, processing.
---
"Really?"
Sanza's voice cut through the moment like a blade.
Everyone turned.
The boy stood in the doorway of the dojo, his bamboo sword still clutched in one hand, his red hair plastered to his forehead. Sweat still stained his cheeks. His chest still heaved.
Beside him, Eliane leaned against the door frame, her silver ponytail hanging over one shoulder. Her blue eyes were wide, fixed on the massive dinosaur that filled the training yard.
"That's how it works?" Sanza's voice cracked again, but he didn't notice. He stared at Bō-Zak with an intensity that bordered on desperate. "That's really how it works?"
Bō-Zak sucked on his pipe. Let the silence stretch. Then shrugged.
"That is how it works for me."
Sanza swallowed. His throat bobbed. He looked at Gosan, at the massive creature standing motionless in the yard, at Jannali standing in front of it.
Then he moved.
His feet carried him across the porch in a rush, bamboo sword swinging at his side, his sandals slapping against the bamboo floor. He stopped in front of Bō-Zak, close enough that his shadow fell across the older man's face.
"Help me," Sanza said. "Help me with my power."
Bō-Zak raised one eyebrow. His pipe stopped mid-puff. His gold-flecked eyes traveled up and down the boy's small frame, taking in the sweat, the trembling hands, the desperate set of his jaw.
Sanza's tone hung in the air—demanding, sharp, the voice of a Celestial Dragon who had never needed to ask for anything.
Behind him, Marya cleared her throat.
The sound was soft. Barely a sound at all.
But Sanza heard it.
His shoulders went rigid. His jaw clenched. For a moment, something flickered across his face—frustration, embarrassment, the bitter taste of a lesson learned too many times.
Then he bowed.
His body folded at the waist, his red hair falling forward, his bamboo sword pressed against his thigh. His voice came out strained, forced through a throat tight with pride.
"Please." The word scraped on the way out. "Will you help me learn how to control my power?"
Bō-Zak's eyes shifted to Marya.
She shrugged.
Bō-Zak blew out a long stream of smoke, watching it curl and twist in the air between them. The smell of herbs and corn liquor filled the space, warm and sharp and strangely comforting.
"Well." He tapped ash from his pipe against the porch step. "I don't have anything else to do." His lips curled. "Sure."
Sanza's head snapped up. His eyes went wide, red-rimmed from exhaustion, bright with something that looked almost like hope.
"Thank you." The words tumbled out, fast and breathless. "Thank you so much." He straightened, his small fists clenching at his sides. "When can we start?"
Bō-Zak considered the question. His gaze drifted to Gosan, still standing motionless in the yard, still watching Jannali with those ancient burning eyes.
"Well." He pushed to his feet, brushing dirt from his trousers. "Now, I guess." He gestured with his pipe toward the dinosaur. "Since we have that thing to deal with too."
Jannali muttered something under her breath that sounded like "bloody wonderful."
Atlas crunched the last of his dried fish and grinned.
---
Eliane pushed off from the door frame, stretching her arms above her head. Her chef's jacket pulled tight across her shoulders, and she let out a soft sigh.
"I'm going to start preparing dinner." She glanced at Sanza, still standing in front of Bō-Zak, still vibrating with barely contained energy. "Try not to set anything on fire."
Sanza's head whipped toward her. "I don't—I wouldn't—"
Eliane was already walking away, her ponytail swinging.
Jelly bounced after her, his gelatinous body rippling with every step. His wooden spoon waved like a banner.
"Dinner time! Bloop! Dinner time!"
The door to the dojo slid shut behind them.
Marya watched them go, her golden eyes softening for just a moment before she turned back to the yard.
Gosan stood like a statue, its burning eyes fixed on Jannali. The woman stood before it, her jaw set, her brown eyes narrowed.
Bō-Zak walked past her, pipe smoke trailing behind him, and stopped in front of the dinosaur. He tilted his head back, looking up at the massive beak, the thick neck, the wings folded against its sides.
"Right then." He took a long drag from his pipe, let the smoke curl from his nostrils. "Let's see what you can do."
Sanza rushed to stand beside him, bamboo sword raised, his small face set in an expression of fierce determination.
Atlas settled onto the porch steps, pulled out another dried fish, and settled in to watch.
Marya leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and let the smallest of smiles touch her lips.
The training yard hummed with potential energy, with the promise of chaos, with the sharp edge of something new beginning.
Outside the submarine, the deep sea pressed against the hull, dark and cold and full of secrets.
But inside the Aegis Mirage, under a sky that did not exist, surrounded by walls that should not fit, the crew of the submarine trained and bickered and laughed and learned.
And somewhere below decks, in a kitchen filled with the smell of spices and simmering sauce, Eliane Anđel tied back her silver hair, rolled up her sleeves, and began to cook.
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