Mobius braced himself before the iron frame. A wooden stake was clamped upright, ready to take his strikes. He hooked his feet against the frame's front legs to steady it.
Both arms still ached from the brutal dislocations Teach had given him, the joints pulled apart like a puppet's. The sharpest pain had dulled, but every movement was still a knife through his nerves.
He forced his right arm up. Pain shot to his brain, and he hissed, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. Instinct told him to swing from his shoulders, but he froze.
That wouldn't train the technique. He had to whip the arm itself, no matter how much it burned.
His goal was clear; master Snake Hand within a month. Not just for Teach's approval, for himself.
Mobius gritted his teeth and snapped his arm forward.
Bang!
The motion was clumsy, but the image of Teach's strike flashed in his mind, crisp and perfect. Mobius's eyes watered from pain, but his movements didn't stop. Left to right. Right to left. Over and over.
His tears dried. His skin split. Blood seeped across his forearms in thin red threads.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The rhythm carried on, time blurring until nothing existed except pain and the sound of wood taking blow after blow. At last, cracks spidered across the stake. Mobius's heart raced. With a final strike, the stake split in two.
Breath ragged, he lowered his arm and glanced at Teach.
The man hadn't stopped once. Face flushed, jaw locked, Teach was still grinding out push-ups, each rep slow and punishing.
Mobius swallowed hard. If even Boss Teach hasn't stopped, how can I?
He swapped the broken stake for another, this time using his left arm. Pain flared fresh, but he swung anyway.
Unseen by him, Teach looked up mid-rep. For a moment, a smile touched his lips.
The day bled from morning into dusk. Teach swung his iron blade ceaselessly. Mobius kept hammering away at the stakes. Hours blurred, their only company the sound of impacts and the groan of the ship.
By the time another stake cracked apart, eight hours had passed. Mobius collapsed to the floor, exhausted tears streaking his face. He had done it.
"Alright," Teach said, rising at last. "I'll set your joints back. Then we eat."
Mobius's stomach growled violently. He had been so consumed by training he hadn't even noticed the hunger until now.
Clack. Clack. Clack!
Teach's hands worked fast, popping Mobius's arms back into place.
Mobius grunted through clenched teeth, then flexed experimentally.
His arms felt stiff, heavy, almost foreign, but also stronger. He swung once, and the air split with a faint whoosh. The illusion thrilled him.
Dinner was brief and simple, a rare pause in the grind. But afterward, Teach picked up his sword again, training deep into the night. Mobius joined, pushing his own limits.
Life aboard the ship was monotonous; training, eating, training again. No pirates on this route, no distractions, just the endless sea. Teach never slept.
Mobius tried to match him, but eventually, fatigue dragged him into deep unconsciousness.
When he woke, Teach was already training.
The second day was the same. And the third.
Finally, over a meal, Mobius asked, "Boss Teach… why don't you ever sleep? Aren't you tired?"
Teach didn't pause. His voice was steady, almost casual. "I can't sleep. Been that way since I was born. When I'm tired, I just rest a little."
Mobius nearly dropped his spoon. "What? You can't sleep? Then… then you get way more training time than anyone else!"
"Zehahahaha!" Teach laughed. "In my eyes, it's a cursed body. I can train twenty-three hours a day, sure, but I lost the right to sleep. That's the price."
Mobius's skin prickled.
The thought of being bone-tired yet never able to sleep… it chilled him. But Teach endured it without bitterness. He had turned a curse into strength. That resilience, that refusal to yield, it was what made him destined for greatness.
Mobius clenched his fists. I can't slack off. If I don't keep up, I'll never even see his back.
And so he pushed harder. By the second day, he shaved half an hour off his training. By the third, another half hour. By the fourth, down to six hours. He tied stones to his wrists and ankles to mimic Teach's weighted training. His body screamed, but progress drove him on.
Teach noticed. He said nothing, no praise, no encouragement. Training was only beginning. If Mobius faltered, the one-month deadline would break him. But for now, the boy's spirit impressed even him.
Days later, the sea turned violent.
The ship rocked. Kerosene lamps flickered. Teach straightened mid-swing. Something was wrong.
The captain's shout boomed across the deck: "Everyone ready! A giant waterspout ahead! We'll circle wide... brace yourselves!"
Feet pounded above as sailors scrambled. Through the window, Mobius saw it; a tornado of seawater and wind, a hundred meters tall, thirty wide, grinding the sea into a churning whirlpool.
"Whoa! That's huge!" He pressed against the window, eyes wide.
"Idiot, stay back before you get sucked out!" Teach snapped, slamming the shutters closed. Mobius staggered back, pulse racing.
The ship tilted sharply as the helmsman fought to turn her. The whirlpool roared beneath the waterspout, a death trap waiting to swallow them whole.
"Captain, the tornado's moving! It's coming this way!" Teach's voice cut through the storm.
The captain paled, then barked orders without hesitation. "Full speed! Unfurl the sails! Starboard course, now!"
Sailors leapt into motion. The vessel strained, timbers groaning, but the old captain's instincts were true. The ship angled right, cutting around the tornado's path.
Mobius clung to the railing. "Boss Teach… are we gonna be okay?"
"Zehahaha! Relax, kid! This captain's a seasoned old dog. A little New World weather won't sink him!"
And Teach was right. Slowly, agonizingly, the tornado drifted away behind them. The ship creaked and bled from new cracks, seawater leaking in, but they had survived.
Sailors collapsed on deck, drained but alive. Repairs would have to wait for land.
"Captain, an island ahead!" someone cried.
All eyes turned forward, and relief swept through the crew.