Chapter 11

When the person you’ve been thinking about day and night, even in your dreams and while squatting in the outhouse, suddenly appears before you, you might strangely find that you don’t miss them as much as you thought you did—this feeling is subtle. Your heart gives a slight twitch, swelling and beginning to secrete some unknown chemical substance. This chemical makes you feel a bit sad, yet also a bit happy.

At this moment, Miguel was in this exact state.

When he tried to lift his head to get a good look at Big Dog, Miguel was surprised to realize that throughout all the time they had spent together, he had never actually noticed what Big Dog’s eyes looked like—those dog eyes were beautiful. Even though half of the man’s face was splattered with the blood of some unfortunate soul, the amber-colored pupils still shone bright and spirited against the crimson backdrop. With the rising sun behind him, the man squinted down at Miguel with impatience, like a smug Persian cat.

Tsk, this guy’s still alive…

Old Fante was right. It seems there’s no simple character in Caesar’s crew.

“Cat got your tongue?” the man rasped, his grip tightening. With a flick of his wrist, he yanked Miguel up. Bound at the feet, Miguel stumbled unsteadily on the rocking ship, colliding heavily against Big Dog before lazily steadying himself.

The black-haired young man raised an eyebrow, casually sizing up the man before him. The Barbarossa brothers had left a shallow scar on Big Dog’s right eye—a scar that had now fully healed. They had paid an unimaginably heavy price for that slash. The man was wearing breeches and a black leather cuirass, topped with a feathered hat likely snatched from some unfortunate naval officer. At his left hip hung a saber adorned with blue gemstones, and on his right, a diamond-studded short musket—he looked like a walking treasure chest.

A booted foot kicked at his calf impatiently, and Miguel sneered, recalling the man’s midnight escape. He had no intention of answering properly.

“Where’s Old Fante?”

The man scoffed, looking at Miguel as if he were a joke. “You won’t answer my question, so don’t expect me to answer yours.”

“You’re so petty,” Miguel said lazily, not at all surprised by the man’s ungrateful nature. He leaned against the side of the ship in a rather inelegant pose and continued, “If you want answers, go ask Mrs. Reese next door to Old Fante’s place.”

“Have you lost your mind? That whole slum of a neighborhood doesn’t have a single house with a backyard. The only thing next to Old Fante’s place is a young preg—”

Miguel raised the corner of his lips, leaning closer. “Hmm?”

“…”

Big Dog swallowed his words.

Silently glancing at the black-haired young man who was tied up and grinning brightly, the man seemed to realize something. His face turned red, then pale, then red again. Clenching his fist, he averted his gaze and scanned the crew, who were staring at him in confusion. Remembering his reputation as the “Gentleman of the Sea” (which didn’t exist), he… still couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Grabbing Miguel’s chin roughly, the handsome man smiled coldly and said softly, “I’ll remember this.”

All the crew of the Wind Fury watched as their captain, for some reason, turned ashen-faced and gritted his teeth. He spat out the words “Count the slaves,” released the captive, and strode away without a second glance.

Rick lazily followed, immediately clinging to his captain like a leech, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Not bad, Captain. Eastern goods are rare around here. Tsk, just think how much a piece of Eastern silk could fetch—and now we’ve got a living, breathing piece—wow, that’s walking silk right there!”

The man frowned impatiently. “Shut up, trash. Are you that desperate for money? That guy’s not from the Barbarossa brothers. He’s a dockworker from Djerba Island.”

“But he’s on your ship now. What he is is up to you.”

“Hmph.”

“And I didn’t say I wanted to sell him,” Rick said with a rogue-like grin. “Just having him on board to look at makes me happy.”

The man unceremoniously took Rick’s seat in the cabin, stretching his long legs onto the table. Hearing his first mate’s words, he snorted indifferently.

“You just met him recently, huh? Missing for so many days, and it turns out you were hiding such a treasure on Djerba Island.”

“…Rick.”

“What can I do for you, esteemed Captain?”

“You’re so annoying. Get out.”

“Take a look out the window with those noble eyes of yours—aside from the blue sky, white clouds, and the rising sun, do you see the ‘Jolly Roger’ flying on the mast, my dear Captain? This seems to be my ship, and the chair you’re sitting on is my exclusive seat.”

“Tch, so annoying. Get lost.”

Rick laughed cheerfully. “Alright, I’ll go chat with that Eastern guy.”

“Go ahead, be my guest.” The man leaned back, closing his eyes without so much as a twitch. “But when I remember to settle the score with you, don’t come crying to me.”

Rick studied his captain’s face carefully and regretfully realized that the man wasn’t joking.

The sea breeze drifted in through the slightly open window, and the man’s face relaxed completely. His hands rested naturally on his stomach, and his breathing was so even it seemed he had genuinely fallen asleep. Rick stood there, feeling awkward—if he stayed, the only comfortable chair in the room had been shamelessly taken; if he left, the shameless man had just seriously threatened him.

Just as the cabin door creaked open, a fat pirate with an eyepatch cautiously poked his head in. He gave Rick a respectful glance, then, not daring to look directly at the captain, bowed his head and said timidly, “Captain, that Eastern guy is asking to be untied.”

“Hmm.” The man lounging comfortably in the chair responded, “No.”

Rick: “…”

“He, he also said!” The fat pirate grew even more nervous, not quite understanding his moody captain. “He said he’s seasick!”

“Then give him a barrel to puke into,” the man said lazily. “Do I have to teach you everything?”

Fat pirate: “…”

“He won’t fill it before we reach the port anyway.”

Fat pirate: “…”

Rick: “Captain, you’re such a scumbag.”

“Hmm,” the man nodded, quite pleased. “I suppose so.”

Outside the cabin.

After the sun had fully risen, the waves grew rougher even as the ship sped forward. Miguel leaned against a mast, feeling dizzy—just thinking about how he had rushed to become a slave the moment he woke up made him want to slap himself.

He closed his eyes and twitched his lips. “Can you stop staring at me, Berry?”

“You’ll take care of me from now on, right?”

Fuck… The boy’s words made Miguel roll his eyes inwardly. He wriggled his tightly bound wrists and sneered at Berry: How about I cover you with my underwear?

“I’m serious!” Berry leaned in, his face almost touching Miguel’s. Uncomfortably, Miguel shifted away slightly, summoning all his patience to endure the boy’s incessant chatter—

“You actually know Caesar—how do you know Caesar?—a dockworker like you actually knows Caesar!”

“…” Miguel turned his head to look at the chattering boy and asked expressionlessly, “Who’s Caesar?”

“Caesar, of course!” Berry’s face was filled with admiration. “‘Black Sea Wolf’ Caesar! ‘Gentleman of the Sea’ Caesar!”

Miguel: “Huh?”

Berry: “It’s Caesar!”

Miguel: “What?”

Berry: “He actually talked to you so kindly!”

Miguel: “I… wait… since when was he ‘kind’?”

Berry: “I’m so jealous!”

Miguel: “…Fuck me!!!!!!!!”

Berry: “W-what’s wrong?”

Miguel: “I’m heartbroken!!!! Damn it!!!!”

…

Where’s Big Dog?!!!!

Why did he turn into Caesar!!!!

What happened to my rural farming romance?!!!!

Why did it turn into a high-society dog blood drama!!!!

Damn it! Change the director!!!! The script wasn’t supposed to go like this!!!!!!