Chapter 38

Everyone: “…”

Now, it’s clear that we have both good news and bad news in front of us. The good news is that this isn’t a ghost—it’s the captain’s mother. The bad news is that the captain’s mother was mistaken for a ghost, and everyone was wailing like wolves and ghosts.

So now we can pick up our scattered dignity and analyze the situation once more.

First, let’s emphasize again: on the Wind Fury fleet, the sailors fear three things the most—Caesar, ghosts, and being broke.

At the very beginning, they thought they’d seen a ghost. Now, they’ve finally realized that the woman across the sea, who looks even younger than the captain, is the captain’s mother—but before this realization, they were shouting about “blasting her head off with cannons.”

Blasting the captain’s mother’s head off with cannons?

Heh.

This likely led to Caesar’s displeasure—offending the captain.

And after offending the captain, given the captain’s temperament, the pirates are most likely to face—a pay cut.

In conclusion… forgive these poor, unruly brats for being so easily frightened.

As the entire crew stood frozen in a “=口=” expression, staring up at the ship next to them, they suddenly felt a soft, white, fragrant skirt brush past their faces. This was followed by a light, pleasant thud as Margarita landed gracefully on the Wind Fury’s third deck, her landing spot precise and elegant, right beside Captain Caesar.

Letting go of the rope, the beautiful woman pouted and patted the nonexistent dust off her skirt.

Her ocean-blue eyes narrowed as she tiptoed closer to Caesar, her lips curling into a smile.

The man paused, then clicked his tongue in annoyance, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it, and placing it between Margarita’s lips—her red lips parted, and she giggled as she took the lit cigarette.

“You’ve grown taller, son,” Margarita said around the cigarette, her words slightly muffled. She tiptoed again, patting Caesar’s shoulder.

“I’m thirty-two,” the man said gruffly. “Did my father grow taller at thirty-two?”

“No idea. He went to meet the King of Hell at thirty.”

She said this casually, as if she didn’t notice the momentary stiffness on Caesar’s face. Squinting, the female captain who had suddenly attacked the Wind Fury began looking around like a curious girl, her blue eyes scanning everything before finally landing on Miguel.

Caesar sighed silently and kicked the navigator. “Greet her.”

Miguel: “…Mom.”

Margarita: “…”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel: “…”

“It’s fine,” the beautiful woman said calmly, patting Miguel’s shoulder. “I’m so happy to have gained another son without even knowing it.”

Miguel: “…” Why does that sound a bit off?

“On the surface, he’s about your age,” the exhausted captain said, tapping the helm. “Don’t mess around.”

“So what? You look older than me.”

“…”

Margarita drew her knife.

Margarita stabbed.

As the only sane person present, Caesar was left bleeding internally in this battlefield of nonsensical logic and absurd developments.

Meanwhile, the scene of motherly (not really) and filial piety left Miguel, who considered himself inexperienced in such matters, utterly stunned.

In his shock, Miguel suddenly remembered that in that damned white handwritten journal, the Lady Lovibond was a ship from thirty-five years ago—conservatively estimating, Miss Margarita would have been twenty at the time. Twenty plus thirty-five—meaning this woman, who looked no older than twenty-five, was at least fifty-five years old by any earthly calculation.

Fifty-five years old.

Looking at that youthful, pretty face not far away, Miguel felt his world spinning.

Possibility one: She’s had a facelift.

Possibility two: She’s ridden Doraemon’s time machine.

Possibility three: Come to think of it, Big Dog seems to love playing that “adopted son” game.

And…

Who the hell tattoos their mom’s name on their back?! (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

As Miguel spiraled into a state of existential crisis, Margarita, holding her skirt, skipped lightly down to the first deck to mingle with the crew. The rough men were overwhelmed by her attention, almost ready to kneel in worship around this noblewoman who had suddenly descended upon the Wind Fury. Margarita seemed to enjoy the attention, happily touring the ship under the guidance of the crew.

She occasionally exclaimed things like, “Oh, this equipment is so new, my ship doesn’t have this!” Each time, a chorus of voices would eagerly respond, “Take it! Take it!” and “Please, Madam, don’t be shy, take it all!”

Miguel, lying on the third deck, watched the scene with a blank expression. The entire ship’s crew followed the beautiful woman, rushing to the left, then scrambling to the right—chaos ensued. This seemed to answer a long-standing question that had troubled the pirates: in the face of beauty, superstitions could go to hell.

Suddenly, a large hand ruffled his hair.

“Keep your thoughts clean, trash. She really is my mother.”

The man’s deep, magnetic voice sounded in his ear, as if it might be carried away by the night breeze at any moment. Miguel blinked and looked up instinctively at the man standing beside him. Under the moonlight, Big Dog’s profile was as perfect as ever—just then, Margarita turned around on the first deck and waved at them with a smile. Caesar clicked his tongue in annoyance, withdrew his hand from Miguel’s head, and strode downstairs without looking back.

Leaving Miguel alone on the third deck, lost in his own thoughts.

…

An hour later, Margarita, led by Caesar, had thoroughly ransacked the Wind Fury, collecting countless pieces of “advanced equipment,” even taking the stylish kerosene lamp Caesar had bought in Italy from his desk.

The miserly captain merely rolled his eyes and let her have it.

Finally, her blue eyes scanned the ship once more and landed on Miguel.

“?” Miguel pointed at himself.

Margarita gave him an approving look, nodding.

“Not this one,” Caesar said flatly, reaching out to pat the greedy woman’s smooth forehead. “I’m short on navigators as it is.”

Margarita pouted but let it go.

When the moon hung high in the night sky, around 1 a.m. according to Miguel’s internal clock, Rick’s ship finally caught up. Across the water, the red-haired first mate boldly took off his hat and waved, giving the beautiful woman a gentlemanly bow. “Good evening, Madam! You’ve gotten even younger!”

“Thank you, Red!” Margarita, leaning on the railing, smiled brightly. “You’ve grown taller too.”

Caesar: “Hey, is that the only thing you ever—”

Rick: “Thank you, Madam! I think so too! I’m still growing!”

Caesar: “…”

Margarita’s ship joined Caesar’s fleet, trailing leisurely behind the flagship Wind Fury. The female captain tiptoed to look back, but in the mist, she could only vaguely see the pirate flag and a swaying kerosene lamp on the Lady Lovibond.

She pouted, her sharp chin resting on her arm. “Son, want to come see my ship?”

“No,” Caesar refused coldly.

“How mean,” the rejected mother pouted, then asked as if remembering something, “I heard you’ve been butting heads with Leoza again.”

The captain frowned, clearly displeased with the topic. “He stole my cargo.”

“He’s your brother. He’s a bit spoiled, but you should let him have his way,” Margarita said slowly, counting on her fingers with a troubled expression.

Brother?

Brother…

Brother!!!!

Leoza? Caesar? Brothers!

Miguel, standing nearby, was struck by this bombshell and turned to ash.

“Is that why you came here?” Caesar shot a warning glance at the stunned fisherman, then turned to Margarita, his expression blank. “If so, you can leave now.”

“How heartless,” the beautiful woman said with a sidelong glance, her expression turning slightly dark. “I came to see you. Tsk, look at that scar on your eye—it’s quite manly, I’ll admit—but those damn Barbarossa brothers, daring to ambush you, they’ve got a death wish.”

“Good intel.”

“Of course. I’m always out at sea with nothing to do but gossip.”

“…”

“Besides, I missed you. You’re always avoiding me—even so, I could smell the stench of a traitor on your ship from miles away. I don’t know why you’re keeping someone like that around, but I won’t stand by and watch someone plot to take your life. The only one allowed to bully my son is me—”

Margarita paused, her expression suddenly brightening again as she reached out to pat Miguel’s shoulder. “But I suppose it’s fine to let you bully him occasionally.”