John wick in one piece

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The sloop rocked gently as Michael guided it through the calm waters toward the small island on the horizon. Lia sat on the deck, humming softly as she sorted through the tools Michael had taught her to use. Though she was still recovering from the horrors she'd endured, her resilience had surprised him. Her curiosity and determination were slowly growing into something more—a spark of strength that Michael knew would serve her well in this world.

As the island drew closer, it became clear that it was no bustling village or trade hub. It was small, with a thick canopy of trees stretching from the shoreline into the interior. A few smoke trails curled into the sky from scattered huts near the beach. Michael adjusted the sails and directed the sloop toward a rickety dock.

"We'll stop here to rest and see what we can learn," Michael said.

"Do you think it's safe?" Lia asked, standing beside him.

"Safe enough," Michael replied. "But we'll stay alert. This world doesn't give you second chances."

They tied the sloop to the dock and stepped onto the weathered planks. A few villagers glanced their way but quickly returned to their tasks. It wasn't a place filled with danger, but it wasn't exactly welcoming either. Michael stopped an older man selling dried fish near the shore.

"Anyone around here who knows their way around a fight?" Michael asked. "I'm looking for someone who can teach me."

The man squinted at him, then shrugged. "If you're looking for trouble, head into the forest. There's an old hermit out that way—a gunslinger. Been here for years, keeps to himself mostly. He's crazy, but if you're after lessons, he might be the one to ask."

Michael nodded. "Thanks."

As they made their way down the dirt path into the dense forest, Lia kept close to his side. The air was damp, the canopy above filtering the sunlight into dappled patches. Birds called out occasionally, but otherwise, the forest was eerily quiet.

The path ended at a clearing where a small wooden cabin stood. Its walls were patched with mismatched planks, and a rocking chair sat on the porch, occupied by a figure cloaked in shadow. As Michael and Lia approached, the figure shifted, revealing an old man with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. A battered revolver rested on his lap.

"What do you want?" the man growled, his voice gravelly and sharp.

"I heard you're a gunslinger," Michael said. "I'm looking for someone to teach me how to survive."

The old man tilted his head, studying Michael and then Lia. His eyes, sharp and piercing, seemed to see right through them. "You don't need me to teach you how to shoot. You've already got a killer's eyes."

Michael frowned but said nothing. The old man leaned forward in his chair, his hat tilting up to reveal a weathered face lined with scars and years of hard living.

"Why do you want to survive?" the gunslinger asked. "The seas are full of dead men walking. What makes you different?"

Michael met his gaze, unwavering. "Because I'm not done yet. I have things I need to do, people I need to protect."

The gunslinger chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Fair enough. Come inside."

The cabin's interior was cluttered but functional. Weapons, maps, and old books lined the walls. The air smelled of gun oil and tobacco. The old man gestured for them to sit at a rickety table, then poured himself a glass of amber liquid.

"You're not just after shooting lessons," he said, leaning back in his chair. "What is it you really want?"

"I need strength," Michael said. "But not just in my body. I've heard stories about people who can sense danger before it happens, who can react faster than anyone else. I want to learn how to do that."

The gunslinger's eyes narrowed. "Haki."

Michael nodded.

The old man was silent for a long moment, then sighed. "It's not something you can just pick up like a trick. It takes time, discipline, and a lot of pain. Most people don't have the patience for it."

"Try me," Michael said.

The gunslinger chuckled again. "Alright. I'll show you the first steps. But the rest is on you."

Over the next few hours, the gunslinger explained the basics of Observation Haki—the ability to sense the presence, emotions, and intent of others. He demonstrated by closing his eyes and pointing to where Lia was standing, despite her silent attempt to sneak behind him.

"You don't use your eyes," he said. "You use everything else. Your ears, your instincts, and a part of you that most people don't even know exists. It's like a sixth sense. When you can feel the world around you, you'll start to see things before they happen."

Michael's training began immediately. The old man set up a series of exercises designed to sharpen his awareness. He started simple, blindfolding Michael and throwing small objects at him to dodge. Lia watched intently, her face a mix of awe and determination.

"Can I try?" she asked.

The old man raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Why not? This kind of thing doesn't care about size or strength. It's all about focus."

Michael was surprised but didn't object. If Lia wanted to train, he wouldn't stop her. She had a right to grow stronger, just as he did.

The gunslinger set Lia up with a similar exercise, tossing small stones at her while she stood blindfolded. At first, she flinched with every hit, her small frame trembling. But as the hours went on, she began to improve, reacting to the stones even when she couldn't see them.

"You've got potential, kid," the gunslinger said, lighting a cigarette as the sun dipped low in the sky. "Both of you do. But this is just the beginning. If you really want to master Observation Haki, you'll need to practice every day, no matter how tired you are. It's a constant fight to stay sharp."

Michael nodded. "We'll do it."

As they prepared to leave, the old man handed Michael a battered notebook. "Everything I know is in here. Use it well."

Michael accepted the notebook, gratitude flashing in his eyes. "Thank you."

The gunslinger tipped his hat. "Don't thank me yet. If you make it to the Grand Line alive, then maybe you can say I helped."

Back on the sloop, Michael and Lia set up a routine. Every day, they practiced the techniques the gunslinger had taught them, throwing themselves into the grueling exercises with relentless focus. Lia's determination impressed Michael—despite her small size and inexperience, she pushed herself just as hard as he did.

As the sloop drifted into the vast blue horizon, Michael felt a flicker of hope. They were far from ready for the dangers ahead, but for the first time, they had a foundation to build on. Together, they would forge their own strength, one step at a time.

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