John wick in one piece

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The sloop creaked as it glided over the rolling waves, its patched sails barely holding against the wind. Michael stood at the helm, his eyes scanning the horizon. Lia sat near the bow, polishing the wooden practice knives they used for training. The sloop had carried them far, but its age was beginning to show. It was a small ship, barely fit for long journeys, and Michael knew they would need something better soon.

"Do you think we'll ever get a real ship?" Lia asked, glancing back at him.

Michael smirked faintly. "Real ships cost more than we have."

"Then we'll have to earn it," Lia said, her determination shining through.

Michael nodded. "One thing at a time."

As the hours passed, an island came into view. It was larger than the ones they'd visited recently, with a bustling port and a forested mountain rising behind it. Smoke from chimneys curled into the sky, and the sound of hammers striking metal echoed faintly across the water. Michael adjusted their course, guiding the sloop toward the docks.

As they docked, a loud crash drew their attention. Near the edge of the shipyard, a group of thugs surrounded a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His shirt was torn, and a small trail of blood trickled down his temple, but he stood defiantly, his eyes burning with resolve. Several half-finished ships loomed behind him, their skeletal frames propped up on supports.

Michael stepped off the sloop, motioning for Lia to stay behind. "Wait here."

He approached the scene cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife. The leader of the thugs, a burly man with a scar running down his neck, raised a fist at the injured man.

"You've had your warning, shipwright," the thug snarled. "Pay up, or we'll take what's ours."

The man wiped the blood from his face, his voice steady. "I told you—I don't have your money."

"Then we'll take it out of your hide," the thug growled, raising his fist again.

Before the blow could land, Michael's voice cut through the tension. "That's enough."

The group turned to him, their expressions shifting from surprise to annoyance. The leader stepped forward, sizing Michael up. "This doesn't concern you, stranger. Walk away."

Michael's gaze didn't waver. "You're making it my concern. Leave him alone."

The thug laughed, cracking his knuckles. "You've got guts. Let's see how far that gets you."

Michael didn't wait for them to make the first move. He stepped in quickly, using the narrow space between the buildings to his advantage. He deflected the thug's wild swing with ease, landing a sharp elbow to his ribs that sent him stumbling back. Another thug lunged at him, but Michael sidestepped, tripping the man and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The leader growled in frustration, drawing a heavy club from his belt. He swung it in a wide arc, but Michael ducked, countering with a precise kick to the man's knee. The leader crumpled, clutching his leg and cursing loudly.

"Still want to keep this up?" Michael asked, his voice calm but firm.

The leader glared at him, then barked a command to his men. "Let's go. This isn't worth it."

The group retreated, dragging their injured companions away. Michael turned to the shipwright, who was leaning against a wooden post, his breathing ragged.

"You alright?" Michael asked.

The man nodded, wiping his face again. "Thanks for stepping in. Those bastards have been harassing me for weeks."

Michael shrugged. "They won't bother you again."

The shipwright extended a hand. "Name's Declan. I owe you one."

"Michael," he replied, shaking his hand. "And you don't owe me anything."

Declan chuckled. "Don't be so sure about that. You're new here, right? What brings you to this port?"

Michael hesitated, then said, "Supplies. And… maybe a better ship, if I can afford it."

Declan's eyes lit up. "A better ship, huh? Well, you came to the right place. I'm one of the best shipwrights in East Blue—when I'm not busy dodging idiots like those guys."

Michael glanced at the half-finished ships around them, their frames sturdy and carefully crafted. "Looks like you know what you're doing."

Declan grinned. "I do. And I don't forget favors. Tell you what—if you've got a design in mind, I'll build you a ship. No charge. Call it payback for saving my hide."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "No charge?"

Declan nodded. "Well, you'll need to cover the materials. But the labor? On me."

Michael considered this for a moment. A proper ship would make all the difference in their journey, and Declan seemed genuine. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. I've got an idea for a design."

Declan gestured toward his workshop, a large wooden building filled with tools, planks, and schematics. "Let's hear it."

Michael spent the next few hours sketching out the ship he envisioned. Drawing from memories of his past life, he designed a vessel inspired by the Black Pearl—a sleek, black-hulled ship with towering masts and a sharp, menacing silhouette. Declan watched intently as Michael described every detail, nodding with approval.

"This is ambitious," Declan said, studying the design. "But I like it. With the right materials, it'll be the fastest, most durable ship in East Blue."

Michael nodded. "We'll need something strong enough to handle the Grand Line."

Declan grinned. "The Grand Line, huh? You've got big dreams, my friend."

"Something like that," Michael said. "How long will it take?"

"With the right help? A few weeks, maybe a month," Declan said. "But you'll need to source some of the materials. I can give you a list."

Michael nodded. "Consider it done."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Declan walked them back to the sloop. Lia, who had been watching from a distance, stepped forward, her curiosity evident.

"This your crew?" Declan asked, gesturing to Lia.

"She's part of it," Michael said. "We're building something bigger."

Declan laughed. "Well, with a ship like the one you've got in mind, you'll need a big crew to match. I'll start on the frame tomorrow."

Michael extended a hand. "Thanks, Declan."

"Don't mention it," Declan said, shaking his hand. "And don't worry. When I'm done, you'll have the ship of your dreams."

As they sailed away from the harbor, Michael felt a renewed sense of purpose. A proper ship was within reach, and with it, their journey could truly begin. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to imagine the possibilities ahead.

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