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Chapter 20 - Chapter 20: News of the Rocks... and Seeds of Fire

Chapter 20: News of the Rocks... and Seeds of Fire

In the courtyard of the "Eternal Skies," the day was scorching, but laughter softened its heat.

Children ran barefoot on the hard ground, tossing around a worn-out cloth ball, stumbling and laughing.

Maya was in the outdoor kitchen, her green hair tied back, shouting at them as she stirred the soup in the big pot:

"Get out of here before I boil you with the carrots!"

The smell of food spread like a free invitation, tempting some shoppers from the nearby market.

A strange man, his clothes dirty, approached lightly extending a hand jokingly toward Maya's pot:

"Let me taste, I'm as hungry as they are!"

Maya hesitated for a second, took a half step back gripping her spoon.

But before she could speak, a calm voice came from behind.

Adam, sitting by the wooden door, was watching everything with an unwavering eye, resting his arm on his knee.

He didn't raise his voice, nor change his posture, simply stared at the man and said:

"Take your hand away. We don't want beggars without fingers."

His voice was calm but decisive.

After the strange man silently withdrew, the noise quieted somewhat.

Adam waved his hand lightly as if dispersing dust, and the children scattered. Maya muttered angrily as she continued cooking, but the smile never left her face.

Adam left the kitchen and walked confidently toward the dusty training yard.

There, Organ stood tall, his taut muscles glistening with sweat under the midday sun.

His booming voice shook the air:

"Stop! Raise your guard, Bram! Do you want to die in your first fight?!"

Bram, his red hair messy and face dripping with sweat, clenched his hands in anger.

"I told you not to shout at me!"

A strong slap from Organ sent his arm sideways.

"Shout at you? That's a small gift. The world out there stabs you in the stomach and you cry to your mother."

Adam stood watching silently, eyes narrowed.

He noticed how Bram, despite his stubbornness, started to change his stance; how the anger inside him hadn't faded but turned into a tool.

He approached quietly and said:

"Organ, enough. Give him a minute to catch his breath."

Organ pressed his lips together but nodded.

Bram spat a bit of blood and looked at Adam with glowing eyes.

Adam didn't smile nor grow harsh, just said softly:

"Your anger is good. Don't kill it; direct it. Those who don't get angry won't change the world, but those who are angry without reason burn themselves first."

Then he turned to Organ:

"Watch him. Teach him fighting, but also teach him to come out alive to fight tomorrow."

Organ struck his chest with a heavy fist in respect.

"Understood, Commander."

Away from the fighting yard, Serena stood under the shade of a tree, her small notebook in hand.

She was calmly explaining to Liana, the girl clutching the notebook as if her life depended on it:

"The daily price changes. Don't write a fixed number. Leave space for increase or discount. The market is like the sea, it never calms."

Adam approached them.

"Excellent. The market is our most important weapon."

He then looked straight at Liana:

"If you don't know how to sell, they will sell you."

Liana swallowed seriously and nodded.

Serena smiled lightly, hiding her relief inside her notebook.

In a wide corner of the base, Maya was busy cooking.

Steam rose from a huge pot, and the smell of cooked meat tempted even the tired trainees.

Maya waved a wooden ladle and scolded two children who tried to snatch a piece of meat:

"Stay away! That's for dinner, not for stealing!"

Laughter rose, and the atmosphere was filled with warmth and familiarity.

But beside the fire, a fighter sat pressing a wound on his arm.

Maya turned quickly to him, brought her small box, pulled out a bandage and some crushed herbs.

"Let me see."

He opened the wound hesitantly. Maya gently cleaned it, though the fighter's face tightened in pain.

"This will ease the pain. Don't move much today."

Adam passed by, glanced at Maya, and tossed a brief remark:

"Mistakes teach more than right actions."

Maya nodded as she carefully wrapped the bandage:

"I know. But I'd rather not try that on people here."

Then she turned to the pot, stirred the food, and said loudly enough for everyone to hear:

"Food in half an hour! Whoever approaches before then will be sent to clean the toilet!"

Adam smiled faintly as he continued his way, observing the balanced life in his base: food, laughter, treatment, discipline.

This was the "Eternal Skies" as he wished it to be.

In the rear corner of the base, Riko was hunched over his notebook, drawing lines and numbers.

Rick stood behind him, quietly reviewing names, merchants, and prices.

Adam passed by them, gave a quick glance and said:

"These maps are beautiful, but useless if you don't know the sea."

Riko looked up confused.

Adam pointed toward the door:

"Sheikh Ryo is waiting outside for you. Today, you'll learn navigation with him... and also how to repair a ship if its heart breaks in the middle of the sea."

Riko blinked in surprise:

"Ship repairs? But... I'm an artist!"

Adam smiled faintly:

"A ship is like a body, Riko. Whoever doesn't know how to fix it doesn't deserve to command it."

Riko swallowed and stood up, running toward the door.

Outside, Ryo was indeed waiting, tapping his staff on the sandy earth, smiling wisely as he heard the boy's footsteps.

At that moment, after Riko left, Adam turned his gaze around the place.

The base was quiet except for the pot noises in Maya's kitchen and faint laughter from the trainees.

Adam sighed deeply, moved toward an empty sandy corner, squatted, and rested his elbows on his knees.

He slowly closed his eyes. He felt the heat of the blood in his veins, the heaviness of iron merged with his bones.

(Inner dialogue)

"In my previous life, I had the greatest mind, but my body was a rusty shackle. Now I have this body... yet it still doesn't fully resemble me."

He clenched his fist slowly. Steel fingers under the skin responded, but heavy and rough in motion.

"I used to theoretically design the most violent martial arts, testing them on paper. Now I try to translate them into real movement... but my body resists me."

He opened his eyes slightly, stared at his hand as if threatening it:

"We will understand each other. Sooner or later."

He closed his eyes again, trying to summon that mysterious feeling — prediction, reading intentions.

A moment passed, and he felt a strange breath pass over his neck. He turned suddenly, but found the air still.

(Internal whisper)

"This is it... Haki. An inexplicable sensation. Fleeting. But I must capture it."

He exhaled slowly, accepting the frustration without anger.

"It doesn't matter. Slow progress is also progress. The important thing is that I am no longer confined to that cursed chair."

He then leaned forward, drawing combat sequences in the sand with his finger, committing them to memory.

The next morning, after a night of drawing and planning on the sand, Adam came out to the dusty yard behind the base.

He stood for a moment contemplating the faded drawings on the ground as if recalling the ideas he designed yesterday.

Then he turned to the corner of the yard where Jairo sat on an old barrel, quietly watching as he did every morning.

Adam called him with a low but clear voice, tinged with an irrefutable tone:

"Jairo, come."

Jairo came quickly, eyes glowing with enthusiasm but tinged with anxiety. He stood before Adam, waiting for orders.

Adam pointed toward the distant market where life was slowly awakening:

"Today you won't learn how to strike someone, but how to read them."

Jairo raised his eyebrows, questioning.

Adam continued calmly:

"Watch people. How they move. Who lies, who fears, who gets angry. Don't ask them anything. Just observe."

Jairo said hesitantly:

"And how do I know?"

Adam placed his hand on his shoulder, voice firm but warm:

"No one hides everything. Eyes, hands, stance. The body speaks what's unspoken. Learn to see it."

Then Adam stepped away and went to the other side of the yard.

There he stood quietly, took off his jacket, and started reviewing the combat moves he planned yesterday.

His hands moved slowly, disciplined. He trained control, patience.

From time to time, he looked at Jairo to make sure he was watching people attentively.

If he saw him distracted or mistaken, he would shout from afar:

"That man looks down too much — scared."

"Look at her hands, gripping her dress — lying."

"Watch his shoulders — angry, ready to strike."

Jairo frowned trying to understand, making mistakes and learning.

Adam gently corrected him and returned to his own moves.

It was not training strength or muscles. It was training the mind and the eye.

They worked together, each in his way, in a cold morning filled with silence and focus.

When night fell, and the campfire was lit, Adam and the "Eternal Skies" members gathered in an irregular circle around the flame.

The smoke curled and wrapped faces, sometimes obscuring features in darkness, but the eyes stayed bright, observing and calculating.

Adam sat first, silently, staring calmly with firm eyes, then said clearly:

"We need something that can neither be bought nor stolen. A way to understand each other without sound."

They exchanged glances, motivated yet puzzled at the same time.

Serena, the smuggler, was the first to frown and said with light sarcasm:

"Talking with eyes? This sounds like smuggler tricks."

Adam smiled coldly:

"Exactly. I want a language strangers don't understand."

Rick, the "Black Writer," nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the fire:

"It can be done... Lies and deals in the market started with a glance."

Adam pointed to him:

"Start. Show them that."

Rick looked at the others and gave a simple example: a quick glance to the ground then to the right.

Serena immediately understood and responded with a slight eyebrow raise, without speaking.

Then she turned to her apprentice Liana and said:

"Try."

Liana tried hesitantly, but her hand trembled a little.

Serena leaned toward her and whispered:

"Make it fleeting, but intentional."

Liana shyly nodded, trying again.

Maya, the "Green Witch," sat near the fire warming her hands, her keen eyes watching them.

She commented with a playful but sharp tone:

"You're like patients lying to me. Your looks betray you more than your mouths."

Some laughed quietly, but Adam turned to her seriously:

"Teach them how to see lies."

Maya leaned forward, smiling mischievously, and said:

"Look well into the eye. The fearful blink faster. The liar looks away or stares too much. The angry's pupils dilate. Their bodies say it all."

She paused and added:

"And if the opponent is smart, he'll try to hide it. So beware."

On the other side, Organ frowned, gripping his wooden staff and shaking his head:

"I fight, I don't send messages with eyes."

Bram, his disciple known as "Bloody Hand," growled:

"I break bones, I don't have patience for that."

Adam shot them a hard look:

"That's exactly why you need it more than anyone."

The exercise began: silent gazes, trying to say "Watch out," "Reject," "Go," "Danger" without sound.

Mistakes were many, and confusion obvious.

Serena was quick to understand, mastered hiding her intent, easily reading Rick's looks.

Rick excelled at narrowing his eyes, sending a short glance loaded with meaning.

Riko, the young writer, frowned, heart pounding fearful of mistakes:

"I don't understand! How do I say 'No' with my eyes?"

Adam nodded reassuringly:

"Train. Make it natural. It's not done in one night."

Organ and Bram were slower, annoyed by repetition.

Each time they erred, they sighed or looked away.

Adam approached quietly controlling his tone:

"Don't attack with your gaze. Show them what you want them to see."

Bram growled:

"That's stupid."

Adam replied with a cold smile:

"A fool sometimes escapes traps where the smart fall."

Jairo, on the other side, was the quietest.

He remembered his morning with Adam teaching him to read faces and movements.

He sat watching carefully, eyes shining with focus, trying, correcting, testing his way.

Adam noticed him from the corner of his eye, didn't praise openly, but gave a brief look of appreciation.

The night passed with funny, serious, sometimes noisy attempts, and other times silent.

Adam corrected them with strange patience, gesturing with his eyebrow, closing his eyes, moving his hand slightly:

"Like this. Simple. Understood."

The lesson was not finished that night.

It was clear this would be a long beginning to establish a "language" just for them, secret, silent, frightening the ignorant and reassuring the knowledgeable.

In the glow of the blazing fire, reflected in their eyes, was the seed of this silent pact — a promise to be more than just a gang: to be a team who understands each other even in silence.

When the fire dimmed and glowing embers gathered in the sand pit, silence grew heavy over the circle.

Most were tired from training and arguing; they retreated backward resting backs on crates or cloth bags, catching their breath.

Maya, who had collected some dry wood, tossed it over the embers, sparks flew lightly, reviving the flame.

Organ, with a grim face, simply stirred his staff in the dirt, while Bram wiped sweat from his brow, glancing at Adam from the corner of his eye.

Jairo, the quietest, sat squatting, staring at the flame as if reading faces no one else saw.

Serena and Rick exchanged some awkward silent signals, testing what they had learned.

Amid this, a tattered old paper with burnt edges rolled out from a worn burlap sack.

Riko, the "little writer," noticed it first, picked it up, and blew the ash off.

He whispered:

"Sir Adam, I found it in the old sacks... a navy newspaper."

And handed it to him.

Adam took the paper slowly.

It crumpled between his fingers, some words were burned, but what remained was enough:

"Rocks D. Zigbeck spotted in a remote archipelago outside government maps."

"Vice Admiral Garp pursuing Roger in the Northern Sea."

"Emergency government meeting to appoint new leaders."

He looked up from the paper.

He didn't speak immediately.

He let a heavy silence fall over them.

The fire shone in his eyes, reflecting a thought he didn't say yet.

Then with the voice they had come to know well — calm, sharp, dividing things in two:

"Even monsters change."

He slowly scanned them one by one, confirming:

"We must keep up with them. Or they will devour us like cheap bait."

No one responded, but their eyes widened, fixed on the flickering sparks.

As if the tongues of flame had turned into small daggers dancing in the air.

Adam carefully folded the old paper.

He put it aside, then stood, his voice quieter yet clearer than ever:

"Tomorrow we follow up. Tonight is for rest, but don't forget what we agreed upon."

The f

ire kept glowing, illuminating tired faces, watchful eyes.

Above them, night was drawing in slowly, its sky heavy with clouds — as if the world itself was holding its breath, ready for a new storm.

End of Chapter 20

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