Chapter 27: Sparring Under the Moon
The celebration after their escape from Garp lasted well into the night.
Lanterns swung from the rigging of the Oro Jackson, casting warm light across the deck. Miller had produced a barrel of rum from somewhere, and the crew was deep into a drinking contest that had already claimed Nozdon as its first casualty. Spencer was arguing with Bluemarine about the merits of different naval tactics. Mu Gulian sat apart, cleaning his pistols, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Kyle sat on a coil of rope near the bow, nursing a cup of juice and watching the moon rise over the water. His body still ached from the day's exertion, but the exhaustion felt good—earned.
A shadow fell over him. Jabba, shirtless, his axes strapped across his back, his grin wide.
"You're not drinking," Jabba said.
"I'm eight."
"You're never too young to celebrate surviving Garp." Jabba settled onto a crate across from him. "You did good today. That thing with the cannonballs—smart."
Kyle shrugged. "I barely deflected one."
"You deflected one from Garp. That's more than most do." Jabba stretched, cracking his neck. "Speaking of which—you've been training with Rayleigh on Haki. And your fruit work is getting sharper. You want to test it?"
Kyle's heart beat faster. "You want to spar?"
"Deck's clear enough. And I'm curious how much you've grown." Jabba stood, pulling one axe free. "I'll go easy."
Kyle grinned, setting down his juice. "Don't."
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Word spread fast. Within minutes, the crew had formed a loose circle around the main deck. Nozdon was suddenly awake, waving a handful of coins. Miller was shouting odds. Even Rayleigh had put down his book to watch.
Roger vaulted onto a crate, a bottle in hand. "Kuhahaha! This I have to see!"
Kyle faced Jabba across the open deck. He'd learned to respect the man's strength—Jabba's axes had carved paths through Marine ships, his Haki was solid, and he had years of experience Kyle couldn't match.
But experience wasn't everything.
Jabba raised his axe. "Ready when you are, kid."
Kyle didn't wait. He sent a shockwave from his palm, aiming not at Jabba but at the deck between them. The planks bucked, throwing Jabba's footing off for just a second.
Kyle closed the distance, naginata sweeping low.
Jabba laughed, recovering fast. His axe came down, not to strike, but to block. The impact rattled Kyle's arms, but he used it—pushed off, pivoted, sent another shockwave from the butt of his naginata to keep Jabba from pressing the advantage.
"Fast," Jabba said. "Good. But you're relying on your fruit too much."
He swung. Kyle dodged, but the wind from the axe caught him, threw him off balance. Jabba followed with a kick that Kyle barely blocked with his weapon's shaft.
He slid back, gasping. Jabba was holding back—Kyle could tell. But even holding back, the man was relentless.
Think. Don't try to overpower him. Outmaneuver.
Kyle changed tactics. He stopped trying to close the distance and instead kept Jabba at range, using the naginata's length to strike and retreat. Shockwaves came in bursts, not to hurt, just to push Jabba back, to test his guard.
Jabba took a step forward. Kyle sent a low vibration through the deck, destabilizing the planks beneath Jabba's feet. The big man stumbled—just a fraction—and Kyle moved.
He was inside Jabba's guard in a heartbeat, the flat of his blade pressing toward Jabba's chest.
Jabba's hand caught the shaft an inch from his skin. His grin was wide.
"Not bad."
He twisted. The naginata was ripped from Kyle's hands. Before Kyle could retreat, Jabba's other hand closed on his collar, lifting him off the deck.
Kyle hung there, feet dangling, his weapon on the deck between them.
The crew went quiet.
Jabba held him for a moment, then set him down gently. "You got close. That's the important part."
Kyle bent, picking up his naginata. His hands were steady. "I still lost."
"You made me work for it." Jabba clapped him on the shoulder. "Six months ago, you'd have been on the deck in the first exchange. You're faster. Smarter. And you're learning to mix your fruit with your weapon."
Roger appeared beside them, still laughing. "Kuhahaha! A good fight! Drink up, both of you!"
Kyle shook his head. "Juice."
"Juice for the victor—well, for the one who lasted longest!"
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Later, when the celebration had quieted and most of the crew had stumbled to their bunks, Kyle sat on the bow, the naginata across his knees. Jabba found him there, a cup in each hand. He passed one to Kyle. Juice.
"You're thinking about the fight," Jabba said.
Kyle took the cup. "You let me get that close."
"I let you get close to see what you'd do when you got there." Jabba leaned against the rail. "You hesitated."
Kyle frowned. "I didn't—"
"You had the blade at my chest. You could have pushed. You could have put a shockwave through it. You didn't." Jabba's voice was calm. "That's not a bad thing. Knowing when not to strike is part of fighting. But you need to know when to strike, too."
Kyle stared at the moon's reflection on the water. "I didn't want to hurt you."
"I know." Jabba grinned. "And you couldn't have. My Haki would've stopped you. But the hesitation—that's what I was watching for."
Kyle turned to him. "What did you see?"
Jabba's grin softened. "Someone who's learning. You're not just swinging your weapon or throwing power at problems. You're thinking. You're adapting. That's more important than any move you could learn."
He pushed off from the rail. "Rayleigh's teaching you Haki. I'll teach you how to fight someone who doesn't give you space to breathe. Deal?"
Kyle smiled. "Deal."
Jabba walked toward the galley, pausing at the door. "Next time, I won't hold back as much."
"Next time, you won't need to."
Jabba laughed and disappeared below deck.
Kyle sat alone on the bow, the naginata across his knees, the juice growing warm in his hands. The moon was high, the sea quiet. He thought about the fight—about the moment he'd gotten close, about the hesitation Jabba had seen.
Next time, he promised himself.
He finished his juice and went below to find his bunk.
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End of Chapter 27
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