The sun hung low in the sky as the days at sea stretched on. The Monster Island was only a few days away, and the mood aboard the Flying Turnip was deceptively light. Captain Veggieplank, weathered by years of salty winds and roaring waves, had somehow become a part of Niles's eccentric crew. He played cards with them, shared meals, and even indulged in their often ridiculous conversations.

But Niles had sharp instincts when it came to people. He noticed the way the old captain’s jovial demeanor had dimmed, like a lantern running low on oil. When the moment felt right, he cut through the pleasantries.

“Captain, what’s wrong?” Niles asked softly.

Captain Veggieplank hesitated, his eyes fixed on the endless stretch of ocean around them. He exhaled, the sound carrying more sadness than worry.

“These waters…” the captain finally said, his voice low, “are dangerous.”

Niles tilted his head, brows furrowing. “How so?”

“Pirates,” the captain muttered, his gaze scanning the horizon. The only thing visible was the shimmering expanse of blue, calm and deceitful. He tightened his grip on the helm. “We’re lucky we’re a small ship, but we’re not the fastest. The Flying Turnip used to be a fishing and trading vessel. She’s not built for outrunning the likes of them.”

Niles nodded, his eyes drifting upward to where Squeaky, his avian familiar, perched atop the main mast, unbothered by the captain’s concerns. Turning back to Veggieplank, he called out, “Squeaky!” The bird chirped and flitted down to him. “Can you scout the sea for us? Let us know if you see anything suspicious.”

Squeaky gave an acknowledging trill before soaring into the sky.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Niles said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. But the captain didn’t meet his gaze, his “aye” carrying the weight of unspoken regret.

As the hours passed, Niles strolled around the deck, chatting with his crew. He avoided Vulcan, who was fishing alongside Finn at the ship’s bow, their mutual silence suggesting either annoyance or bitterness. Felix was resting below deck, his health visibly declining despite Lina’s devoted care. Tesla and Winston, meanwhile, were deep in conversation, bonding over their shared love for local theater performances.

Niles overheard them and couldn’t resist grinning. Perfect—once we settle on Monster Island, I’ll set up a stand-up comedy show for them. They’ll love it!

The calm was shattered a few hours later when Squeaky returned, flapping frantically and chirping in alarm.

“Sir Niles!” Captain Veggieplank’s voice boomed from the helm. “COME QUICK!”

Niles sprinted to his side. “What is it?”

The captain pointed toward the horizon, where a flag was slowly growing larger and clearer. It was black, emblazoned with a white skull and crossed bones, the skull adorned with a massive, fiery orange beard.

“Pirates!” the captain bellowed. His voice trembled as he added, “And not just any pirates. That’s the flag of the most feared terror on the seas.”

“Who?” Niles demanded.

“Gingerbeard,” the captain replied, his face pale.

Niles froze, his expression shifting from concern to something closer to disdain. “Gingerbeard?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s the worst pirate name I’ve ever heard!”

The captain looked too terrified to respond, but Niles, undeterred, raised his voice. “I REFUSE to be plundered by someone called Gingerbeard! It’s a matter of principle!”

The deck below was a flurry of activity as his crew tried to process the situation. Niles wasted no time.

“WINSTON!” he shouted.

“Sir Niles!” Winston replied, already sounding frazzled.

“PREPARE OUR ARMY!” Niles ordered, his voice carrying the weight of impending doom—or delusion.

Winston blinked, unsure if this was a joke. “What… army? Do you mean… in terms of people who can fight, there’s you, me, Vulcan, and Tesla?”

Tesla’s voice shot up in panic. “ME?!”

“WELCOME TO THE ARMY, TESLA!” Niles declared without hesitation.

He turned back to Winston. “Now, clarify the strength of our forces!”

“You mean… levels?” Winston asked, still trying to keep up.

“I’d prefer the term power levels, but yes. What are they?”

Winston activated his skill, which let him see levels above everyone’s heads—a skill often mocked back in Xandria but now potentially useful. “We’re all level one!” he reported grimly. “Except Felix, but he’s in no condition to fight.”

Niles rushed down to stand beside Winston. “As our Minister of Defense, what are our odds of surviving this?”

“I really don’t have military experience—”

“The odds, man!” Niles interrupted, his tone desperate.

Winston glanced at their so-called “army.” A grieving blacksmith, a terrified Tesla, and a half-delirious strategist. He exhaled. “Not good.”

Niles’s face fell. “I can’t lose to someone called Gingerbeard. My honor, Winston! What’s left of it?”

Winston struggled to maintain his composure. “There… wasn’t much to begin with.”

Niles’s expression turned even more tragic, as if eternal shame had already claimed him.

The ship's captain, Veggieplank, bellowed across the deck, his voice sharp and commanding. “HIDE THE WOMAN!” he roared. His wooden leg thumped against the planks as he descended from the helm, issuing orders with the air of someone who’d weathered this storm before. “Pirates don’t care about us; they want goods, drink, and… company,” he growled, the rasp of his voice heavy with grim experience. He gestured toward his quarters. “There’s a secret stash of alcohol in my chamber. Make it easy for them to find. Let them think they’ve hit the jackpot.”

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Pausing mid-step, he turned to face the crew, his gaze steady. “And after that…” He crossed his arms and sank onto the deck. “We surrender.”

The declaration hit Niles like a slap. “Just like THAT?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising. “We’re giving up without a fight?”

Veggieplank puffed calmly on his long pipe, a plume of smoke curling into the air. “It’s bad business for pirates to murder,” he replied flatly.

Niles plopped down beside him, the indignation still raw on his face. “They almost sound like merchants,” he muttered, bitterness laced in his tone.

The captain exhaled another smoky cloud. “Aye.”

Winston, who had been observing from the sidelines, cautiously interjected. “It’s the best option for now,” he said, siding with the captain.

Finn had been listening nearby, his youthful energy ignited by the tension. Without wasting a second, he sprinted toward the captain’s quarters.

Inside, Lina was pacing nervously. “Finn!” she said, her voice tight with worry. “What’s happening out there?”

Finn’s words came out in a hurried rush. “Pirates. You need to hide!” He scanned the room, rummaging through drawers and shelves until he found a few dusty bottles of alcohol. Placing them prominently on a table, he nodded, satisfied they’d be easy for the pirates to find.

Felix, pale and struggling to stay upright, pushed himself off the cot. His voice was weak but steady. “Try hiding under the bed,” he suggested. “They might spot you if you’re out in the open.”

Lina’s eyes filled with tears. “But what about you? You’re still recovering!”

Forcing a faint smile, Felix replied, “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

He staggered out onto the deck, gripping the doorframe for support. The pirate ship loomed closer, its tall masts and billowing white sails cutting through the waves like a predator closing in on its prey. The fiery orange beard painted beneath the skull on their flag seemed to mock him as it flapped in the wind.

“What is THAT?” Felix asked, squinting at the ominous symbol.

Niles crossed his arms, his indignation undiminished. “More like, who designed that thing?” he quipped. Turning to Felix, he gestured toward Winston. “Can you believe what our so-called minister of defense just agreed to? Surrender! To someone named Gingerbeard!?”

Felix smirked, the corners of his lips curling upward despite his exhaustion. “Pretty weak start for a minister of defense,” he teased, glancing at Winston.

Winston blinked, flustered and lost for words.

Felix lowered himself onto the deck beside them, his tone softening. “But you know,” he said thoughtfully, “I agree with him. It’s the right call.”

His calm demeanor seemed to soothe the tension in the group. “Good decision, Winston. It’s not easy trying to think clearly when someone”—he gestured to Niles—“interrupts every two seconds.”

Winston’s eyes welled up with emotion. “It’s been so hard,” he sniffled, wiping at his tears.

Felix placed a reassuring hand on Winston’s shoulder, nodding solemnly. They embraced, a silent moment of solidarity.

Niles, however, remained unamused. “Oi! I can’t help but feel a bit offended here.”

The others ignored him.

Tesla, meanwhile, sat huddled in a corner, trembling as he muttered to himself, “I never should’ve come here. I didn’t sign up for this.”

Vulcan, oblivious to the chaos, continued fishing at the edge of the deck as though nothing unusual was happening.

Finn, standing nearby, watched the scene unfold. The young boy’s eyes darted from one adult to the next, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. “They’re all insane,” he thought to himself.

“Finn!” Vulcan barked, breaking his train of thought. “Get back here and help me fish! The fish aren’t going to jump aboard by themselves!”

Finn hesitated, unimpressed by the gruff smith’s nonchalance.

Vulcan growled through his thick beard. “Back in my day—”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Finn interrupted, trudging back to the rail. He dropped down beside Vulcan and grabbed his fishing rod.

The older man glanced at the boy, noting his trembling hands and pale face. Lowering his voice, Vulcan leaned in and said, “If anything happens, I’ve got your back. Best thing we can do right now is keep fishing and look the other way.”

Finn bit his lip, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Tears spilled over, and his small shoulders shook with fear.

Vulcan sighed, his gruff exterior softening as he cast his line into the sea. “We’ll be all right, kid,” he muttered. “Just keep your eyes on the water.”

"Captain Gingerbeard!" a pirate called down from the crow's nest of their ship, his voice sharp against the ocean breeze. "We're closing in on the target!"

Below, a figure of imposing stature emerged. Broad-shouldered and towering, the man’s fiery orange beard jutted out in every direction, thick as a bramble bush. Freckles dotted his rugged face, complementing his piercing amber-green eyes and soft pink lips—a face as provocative as it was memorable. Over his shoulder, he carried a formidable boarding axe: one side a razor-sharp blade for cutting ropes, the other a pick-like spike designed for grappling onto enemy vessels.

His outfit was no less striking. A brown leather pirate hat, adorned with his jolly roger sewn into the brim, sat snugly atop his head. Around his waist, a series of belts carried an assortment of tools and weapons, while a long brown jacket and crisp white waistcoat completed his look. Even among pirates, first impressions mattered, and Captain Gingerbeard had mastered the art of style.

His voice boomed across the deck. "Prepare to board!" he commanded.

His crew, numbering about two dozen, scrambled to one side of the ship, readying themselves for action. Among them stood Zane, a wiry man with slitted eyes and a menacing tattoo of a spider etched onto his forehead. He carried two wickedly sharp warscythes at his belt. As they neared their prey, he unsheathed the weapons, one in each hand, their edges gleaming in the sunlight.

Gingerbeard glanced at him. "Zane," he growled, his tone heavy with warning. "Remember the agreement."

Zane’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling fervor. "Of course, Captain," he replied smoothly, a broad grin splitting his face as his eyes closed in faux contentment.

Gingerbeard grunted in acknowledgment, his focus already shifting.

"Captain!" the lookout yelled again, urgency sharpening his voice.

"What is it now?" Gingerbeard barked, turning his gaze toward the crow’s nest.

"There’s a fight happening on the ship!"

Gingerbeard frowned. "A fight?" he muttered, stepping closer to the edge of his ship. As their vessel docked alongside The Flying Turnip, the scene came into full view.

On the deck of the Turnip, a chaotic brawl had broken out. Niles was dancing around Tesla, who was red-faced and furious.

"You tricked me!" Tesla shouted, lunging toward Niles with clumsy aggression.

Niles sidestepped with a grin. "No, I just overpromised and underdelivered! Happens all the time!"

Tesla swiped again, missing by a mile as Niles tripped over a bucket, still laughing uncontrollably.

From the foredeck, Vulcan watched with a bemused expression, his fishing pole in hand. "Keep your knees bent and your shoulders relaxed!" he hollered, offering unsolicited coaching like a boxing trainer.

Tesla wasn’t having it. "YOU SAID YOUR TRIP WAS PAID BY THE XANDRIAN CROWN ITSELF!" he bellowed, throwing another wild swing.

Niles, still dodging, called out to Winston. "Winston! Tell him!"

Winston, who had been trying to stay as far from the commotion as possible, sighed heavily. Reluctantly, he spoke. "It’s actually true."

Tesla froze mid-swing, his expression brightening. "Really?" he asked, his anger briefly forgotten.

Seizing the moment, Niles darted forward and gave Tesla a playful slap on the back of his head. "Gotcha!"

Tesla stumbled, rubbing his head, still processing. "So… is the part about Niles being a superhuman true as well?"

Before Winston could answer, Niles chimed in with mock sincerity. "Yes."

Tesla’s face lit up. "Really??"

This time, Niles snuck up again and delivered another slap, sending Tesla reeling sideways. Spit flew from Tesla’s mouth as he staggered.

Winston, exasperated, exploded. "WHY WOULD YOU BELIEVE THE SAME LIE TWICE?!"

Niles jogged away, clutching his stomach as he burst into laughter. "Tesla," he wheezed, tears streaming down his face, "I officially promote you to Minister of Gullibility! Hahaha!"

Tesla, now recovered, took up the chase. "You’re RUDE!" he shouted, shaking a fist as he ran after Niles.

Meanwhile, the crew of the Gingerbeard pirates stood frozen on their deck, watching the bizarre spectacle unfold.

"Uh," Gingerbeard finally muttered, scratching his beard. "Would it… be okay if we boarded you now?" His tone was surprisingly polite, as though he didn’t want to interrupt.

Captain Veggieplank, who had been sitting calmly on the deck, nodded. "Welcome to the Flying Turnip. Make yourselves at home."