John wick in one piece

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The early morning sun painted the ocean with streaks of gold and crimson as Michael adjusted the sloop's sails. Lia stood on the deck, wiping the sweat from her brow after another grueling practice session. Her small frame belied the strength and determination she had begun to cultivate under Michael's guidance.

Michael stepped toward her, holding two small wooden rods he had fashioned to mimic knives. "You've been getting better with dodging," he said. "But it's time to teach you how to fight back."

Lia's eyes widened. "Fight back? You mean, like… actually attack someone?"

"Exactly," Michael said. "Dodging will only get you so far. Sooner or later, you'll have to stand your ground."

Lia hesitated, her hands fidgeting. "But I've never—"

Michael interrupted her gently. "You'll learn. One step at a time. We'll start slow."

He handed her one of the wooden rods and stepped back, holding the other loosely in his hand. "First lesson: how to hold your weapon. A knife isn't a sword or a gun. It's up close, personal, and messy. But it can save your life if you use it right."

Lia gripped the rod awkwardly, her fingers wrapping around it too tightly. Michael shook his head and adjusted her grip, guiding her fingers into the correct position. "Relax your hand. You need control, not brute force."

She nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. Michael took a defensive stance, raising his rod. "Now, try to hit me."

"What? I can't—"

"Try," Michael said firmly. "Don't think about hurting me. Think about defending yourself."

Lia hesitated, then swung the rod in a wide arc. Michael sidestepped easily, tapping her arm with his rod. "Too slow. And don't swing like you're chopping wood. It's about precision."

They continued for hours, Lia attacking while Michael countered and corrected her form. By midday, her strikes had grown faster and more focused. Though she was far from perfect, Michael could see the beginnings of real potential.

As they paused for a break, Michael handed Lia a canteen of water. She drank deeply, her face flushed from exertion.

"You're doing well," Michael said. "Better than I expected."

Lia looked up at him, a hint of pride in her expression. "Really?"

"Really," Michael replied. "But we've got a long way to go."

After their break, Michael shifted the focus of their training to firearms. He retrieved the revolver from his belt and handed it to Lia. "This is a last-resort weapon. It's loud, it's deadly, and it doesn't leave room for mistakes. If you pull the trigger, you have to mean it."

Lia held the revolver gingerly, her hands trembling slightly. Michael guided her through the basics—loading the cylinder, aiming, and maintaining a steady grip. They set up a makeshift target using an empty crate tied to the mast.

"Take your time," Michael said as Lia raised the revolver. "Breathe. Line up the sights. And when you're ready, squeeze the trigger."

The shot rang out, startling a flock of seagulls nearby. The bullet missed the crate entirely, splashing harmlessly into the water. Lia frowned, lowering the revolver.

"I missed."

"You will for a while," Michael said. "It's not about hitting the target right away. It's about building the muscle memory and focus. Try again."

Lia nodded, raising the revolver once more. The next shot came closer, nicking the edge of the crate. She smiled faintly, her confidence growing with each attempt. By the time they ran out of bullets, she was consistently hitting the target, though her aim was still shaky.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Michael called an end to the day's training. Lia collapsed onto the deck, her energy spent but her spirits high.

"Do you think I'll ever be as good as you?" she asked, staring up at the darkening sky.

Michael sat beside her, leaning back against the mast. "You've got something I didn't have when I started: someone to teach you. If you keep working, you'll be better than me one day."

Lia looked at him, her expression softening. "Thanks, Michael. For… everything."

Michael smiled faintly. "Get some rest. We start again tomorrow."

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The days turned into weeks as their training continued. Michael pushed Lia hard but always balanced her physical training with moments of encouragement and patience. Her strikes became sharper, her aim more precise, and her confidence grew with every small victory.

One evening, as they practiced on a remote beach of a small, uninhabited island, Lia managed to disarm Michael during a knife exercise. She stepped back, clutching the wooden rod and staring at him in shock.

"I… I did it!" she exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across her face.

Michael rubbed his wrist, chuckling. "You did. Not bad, Lia. Not bad at all."

They sat around a small fire that night, their spirits high after a successful day of training. Lia leaned back, staring at the stars.

"Do you think I'll ever be strong enough to take on pirates?" she asked.

Michael poked the fire with a stick, watching the embers dance. "You already are. Strength isn't just about muscles or skill. It's about having the courage to fight back, no matter how scared you are. You've got that."

Lia smiled, her eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. For the first time, she felt like she could face the dangers of the world without fear.

Michael gazed into the fire, his mind already turning toward the next steps. They were making progress, but it wasn't enough. If they were going to survive the Grand Line, they needed more than just basic skills. Haki. Advanced techniques. Allies.

The journey ahead was long and dangerous, but Michael felt a growing sense of hope. Together, he and Lia were becoming more than just a pair of survivors. They were becoming a team.

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