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[A DAY LATER]
. . . .
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While Benimaru waited to recover, the medic room had become his prison for the next month.
Recovery was slow...
Agonizingly slow to say the least...
The doctors were clear about it when they told him his wound needed more time to heal properly, or he'd risk tearing the stitches and setting himself back even further. So he was stuck in the medical room, confined to his bed while his body gradually recovered.
The first week was hell. The pain medication he took from the doctors kept Benimaru drowsy and numb all the time, but in a way, that was good as it helped him sleep through most of the days. Because whenever he tried to sleep without the medications, he'd get severe nightmares. Flashes of faces filled with terror, mouths open in screams for help that no matter how he tried he couldn't help. Even Yuki reaching out to him as blood poured from her chest. Villagers running through burning streets. And especially the pirates cruel laughter as they echoed constantly through his head.
All his dreams were haunted by what he'd witnessed, images of blood and murder that played on repeat behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.
By the second week, the pain in his stomach had faded to a dull, constant ache. He could sit up without feeling like his insides were being ripped apart. But he was taken off the pain medication, and it made sleeping even harder most nights during the second week and the weeks that followed.
And while he couldn't sleep, he was incredibly bored. Without a phone or anything to binge-watch, which was one of the things he was starting to hate about this world, Benimaru found himself desperate for some sort of distraction. So he asked for a piece of paper, remembering the origami swan Tomoe had given him. He had no idea how to make one, but he figured he'd try anyway. Anything to keep his hands busy and stop himself from going mentally insane.
His first attempts were disasters. The paper crumpled and tore under his clumsy fingers. Whatever shape he was trying to create looked more like crumpled garbage than anything resembling a swan.
But he kept trying.
By the end of the second week, his attempts looked slightly less pathetic. The paper didn't tear as much, but they still didn't look like proper swans, and just looked barely recognizable.
Ryota visited every day, checking on his progress and bringing updates that never amounted to anything useful. But then he would leave shortly after, giving Benimaru time to rest. Ryota only had a little time each day to relax before he had to get back to work.
The Marine ship was still docked on the island and hadn't left yet. Ryota was using his investigation time on the mysterious pirate raid case to mostly just catch up on other work and relax a little.
During the third week, the doctors finally let him walk around the ship, but he still needed his cane and couldn't go far before he got tired and went back to bed, but at least it was he was getting his walk in. He'd shuffle up to the deck, stare at the ocean for a while, then return to his room and fold more paper.
His technique was improving. The swans actually looked like swans now, even if they were still rough and imperfect. He'd figured out the basic pattern through trial and error.
By the fourth week, Benimaru could move without the cane, though his stomach still pulled uncomfortably when he stretched too far. The nightmares hadn't stopped, but he'd gotten better at shoving them aside when he woke up. His origami had improved by a satisfying amount as the swans lined up on his windowsill.
He didn't know why he wanted to make origami swans specifically. Maybe it was because Tomoe had made them, or maybe it was just something to do because he was bored. But he found it relaxing, and it took his mind off thinking too much about everything he'd lost.
And then the month was over.
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[A FEW DAYS LATER]
. . . .
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The sparring room on the Marine ship was sparse, with just padded floors, a few wooden training dummies, and weapons mounted on the walls. Ryota and Benimaru sat across from each other, cross-legged on the floor.
"Are you sure you're okay to start training? A month is barely enough time to recover properly..." Ryota asked worriedly, clearly hoping to find an excuse not to do this. His nephew still looked too thin, and still looked like he needed more time to recover.
Benimaru still felt some pain in his stomach and his fractured hand, but it wasn't bad enough that he couldn't push through it. Plus, he'd have to bear it anyway since this was the last month left before Ryota would leave for the Grand Line.
"Yeah, I am. I already told you I'm good... stop worrying, I'm fine," Benimaru said, his tone firm despite the dull ache in his stomach.
Ryota sighed but decided not to push the matter further. "Ahem..." He cleared his throat before getting straight into the lesson. "Since there's not a lot I can teach you in one month, I'll focus on the basics of fighting and things you'll need to know... but first, get up and show me your fighting stance."
Benimaru stood up, wincing slightly at his stomach wound. He raised his fists in what he thought was a decent fighting position, the way he'd seen it done in movies and anime from his past life.
Ryota's expression immediately shifted to something between disappointment and concern. He walked over and circled Benimaru slowly, examining every aspect of his posture.
"Drop your hands," Ryota said flatly.
Benimaru lowered them, confused.
"What you just showed me? That's how you get yourself killed." Ryota positioned himself in front of Benimaru. "Look at how you were standing. Your feet were too close together, your weight was on your heels, and your hands were up by your face like you were boxing. That might work in some street brawl, but out on the sea? Against pirates with weapons and where everything goes?" He shook his head. "You'd be dead in seconds."
He moved behind Benimaru and tapped the back of his knee. "Bend this slightly. Not too much...you're not sitting. Just enough that you can move quickly in any direction." He pushed Benimaru's shoulder forward. "Weight on the balls of your feet. Always. If your weight is on your heels, you can't move forward fast enough. You'll be flat-footed, and easy to knock down."
Benimaru adjusted, but it felt awkward and unnatural.
"Wider stance," Ryota continued, using his foot to nudge Benimaru's feet further apart. "Shoulder-width minimum. This gives you balance. Balance is everything. You can't hit hard if you're off-balance. You can't dodge if you're off-balance. You can't defend if you're off-balance. Every single technique you'll ever learn starts with proper balance."
Benimaru nodded, trying to commit the corrections to memory.
Ryota stepped back and dropped into his own stance. "Watch me. Feet shoulder-width, knees slightly bent, weight forward. Hands up, but not guarding my face like a boxer..I keep them lower, around chest level. You know why?"
"To protect your body?"
"Partially. But more importantly for mobility and reaction time." Ryota's hands moved in small circles. "From this position, I can block high or low equally fast. I can grab, strike, deflect, or redirect. If my hands are locked up by my face, I've limited my options. Fighting isn't just about hitting, it's about controlling space and reacting to threats from any angle."
He gestured for Benimaru to copy the stance. Benimaru did his best, and Ryota walked around him again, making micro-adjustments.
"Good. Better. Now, tell me...why do you think stance matters so much?"
Benimaru thought for a moment. "Because... it helps you move better?"
"Close, but think deeper. What does movement give you in a fight?"
"Uh... the ability to dodge?"
"Options," Ryota corrected. "Movement gives you options. Every fight is about limiting your opponent's options while maximizing your own. A proper stance means you can advance, retreat, sidestep, duck, or counter at a moment's notice. A bad stance locks you in place. And being locked in place means your opponent controls the fight."
He picked up a wooden training sword from the wall and handed it to Benimaru, then grabbed one for himself. "Now, even if you never use a sword in real combat, understanding weapon dynamics teaches you critical lessons. Hold it."
Benimaru gripped it like he would a baseball bat.
Ryota immediately reached over and adjusted his grip. "Not so tight. You're strangling it. A death grip means your forearm tenses up, which slows your reaction time and tires you out faster. Firm, but relaxed. Think of it like holding a bird...tight enough that it can't escape, loose enough that you don't crush it."
Benimaru relaxed his grip.
"Better. Now, swing it at me."
Benimaru hesitated, then took a wide, sweeping swing.
Ryota didn't even move his feet. He simply angled his body slightly and let the wooden blade pass harmlessly in front of him. "See what you did wrong?"
"I... missed?"
"You telegraphed. That big wind-up told me exactly what you were going to do and gave me all the time in the world to react. In a real fight, that hesitation is death." He demonstrated a quick, compact swing with no wind-up, just an explosive swing from a ready position. "Economy of motion... No wasted movement... Every action should flow directly into the next without pause."
He reset his stance. "Try again. Smaller movements. Don't pull back before you strike."
Benimaru tried again, this time with less wind-up. Ryota blocked it easily with his own wooden sword, but nodded approvingly.
Benimaru and Ryota continued to train for the rest of the day, with Ryota constantly advising him and correcting his stance, training him to the best of his abilities.
. . . .
Every morning, Benimaru would wake before dawn to stretch and work through the soreness that never quite left his body. His stomach wound had healed significantly, the red scar tissue had faded to a lighter pink, and the sharp stabbing pain had dulled to a manageable ache. His fractured hand had mended well enough that he could make a proper fist again, though it still throbbed if he hit something too hard.
Ryota's training was relentless but measured. He pushed Benimaru hard enough to improve but never so hard that he'd re-injure himself. The first week focused entirely on stance work and footwork, drilling the same movements over and over until Benimaru's legs burned and his feet moved almost automatically into proper position.
The second week introduced basic strikes and blocks. Ryota taught him how to throw proper punches not, block, and how to parry an attack and create an opening for a counter. Simple combinations that could be executed quickly and reliably.
The third week was grappling and ground fighting. Ryota showed him basic holds, how to escape when someone grabbed you, and how to take someone down.The final week tied everything together and included situational awareness, multiple opponent tactics, and weapon defense.
But despite all the training, Benimaru's progress was minimal. A month simply wasn't enough time, especially while still recovering from serious injuries. His techniques were still sloppy, and his reaction time was incredibly slow. He could execute the basics if he thought about them, but the moment pressure was applied he'd fall back into bad habits. His stamina was also terrible; after fifteen minutes of hard sparring, he'd be gasping for air while Ryota barely looked winded.
And just like that, a month had passed...
. . . . .
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