Chapter 14

When it comes to striptease, one must mention the best stage for it—the tavern. It’s not limited to just the small Djerba Island. If we’re talking about the entirety of Tunisia, Babatra is undoubtedly the best tavern, bar none—pure whiskey without a drop of water, the most flavorful malted black beer, and French wine that has traveled across the seas.

Of course, if it only had these, Babatra could never have defeated its numerous competitors in this era where taverns are rampant on every street and alley. In this world of pirates and desires, Babatra’s most sizzling and dedicated professionals in the special trade have become the ultimate reason for its triumph.

However, just because you hand over your gold coins doesn’t mean you can have it all—to enter here, you also need status—gold coins? Oh, sorry, that’s just the most superficial thing. In this era, anything that can be bought with your life isn’t worth much.

To step into this tavern, you might have to prove to the doorman, who earns only thirty gold coins a month, that you own a fleet, or perhaps, an army.

The summer in Djerba Island is unbearably hot. When the midday sun beats down, almost no one is willing to wander the scorching streets—normally, the tavern would be the best place to unwind. However, the esteemed captains and first mates found, unfortunately, that on this particular afternoon, Babatra in Djerba Island was closed to customers.

All because the special trade ladies had welcomed an unexpected guest—now let’s move the camera forward. Of course, the closed doors make it hard to see what’s happening inside—but no one knows that at this very moment, the backstage dressing room of the tavern is in complete chaos. What should have been a drowsy afternoon is now a scene of utter pandemonium.

Special Trade Lady A: “Oh, if it weren’t for your strong insistence, my dear Miguel, I can’t believe I’m about to give up on the ‘Black Sea Wolf.’ His muscles have already driven me crazy.”

Special Trade Lady B: “Move aside, Alice—try this dress, darling, and don’t forget this little shawl—”

Miguel: “…It’s summer, why do I need a shawl—this dress is too tight at the waist.”

Tavern Owner Fugar: “The dress is fine, Alice, go alter it so he can wear it.”

Special Trade Lady C: “The shawl is to cover the fact that you have no chest. Although if you’re performing a striptease, it means you’ll eventually take it off, but it’s fine, we’ll control the lighting so you don’t get exposed—”

Special Trade Lady A: “Don’t forget the petticoat, darling. Although puffing up skirts is the vulgar taste of Spanish prostitutes, if it can hide your strong thigh muscles, we’ll need to use it—”

Special Trade Lady B: “Oh, heavens—Lisa, can you bring your razor? I’m sure we don’t need a striptease dancer with leg hair—”

Tavern Owner Fugar: “Ahem, details determine success, Bailey.”

Miguel: “Fugar, you bastard, you’re just here to watch the show—no no no, Bailey, I’m not shaving my leg hair—hey—stop—I regret this, maybe there’s another way I can trick Rick into giving me the slave contract instead of—”

Special Trade Lady C: “Trust me, my dear Miguel, a man in bed is the easiest to deceive—and if he’s drunk, it’s even better.”

Tavern Owner Fugar: “As a man, I don’t disagree with that. That’s why Babatra is immortal, ladies, cheers to your professionalism.”

Special Trade Lady C: “Thank you, Fugar. Now come here, darling, let me see, hmm, this earring really suits your eyes, it makes you look like the most beautiful black pearl in the entire Mediterranean—”

Miguel: “…I don’t have pierced ears—ow ow ow ow!!!!!!!”

Special Trade Lady C: “Now you do. ╮(￣▽￣”)╭”

Miguel: “…It’s bleeding!”

Special Trade Lady C: “You’ll bleed more tonight. I hear Caesar is quite big.”

Miguel: “What?! Wait, are we misunderstanding something here? I just need to trick Rick into giving me the contract, get it, and leave. No one’s planning to go that far!”

Special Trade Lady A: “Oh, how far?”

Miguel said expressionlessly, “The part where I bleed.”

“I’ll let Rick know about your sacrifice,” the tavern owner lazily leaned against the mirror in the backstage dressing room, holding a glass of whiskey, watching his girls transform the young man before him into a striptease dancer who, apart from being a bit too tall and muscular, was otherwise quite passable. He smiled and raised his glass, “May your friendship live a hundred years.”

When Lisa placed a black wig on Miguel’s head and tied a peach-colored ribbon with a large bow at the top—oh, who was it that said black and peach are the perfect official combination? Fugar shook his glass, the ice cubes clinking crisply in the empty glass. The young and successful, wealthiest tavern owner on Djerba Island squinted as he circled Miguel.

“If you were a girl…” he said slowly.

“I’d blush,” Miguel said calmly, looking at himself in the mirror, “But I’m a man. Guess what I’ll do?”

Fugar: “What?”

“Beat you up so badly you won’t be able to entertain guests tonight.”

Fugar laughed, gently placing his glass beside a box of powder, and cheekily patted the strong “striptease dancer” who was as tall as him, “As far as I know, I’m the tavern owner. And the one who’ll be twisting their not-so-flexible waist to entertain guests tonight isn’t me…” He whispered in Miguel’s ear, “It’s you.”

“…”

Fugar’s words made Miguel suddenly realize he was a fool.

But it was too late. In fact, he was already in too deep.

Because Fugar wouldn’t allow him to back out and ruin his reputation.

And the worst part was… the invitation to the “Black Sea Wolf Caesar” for tonight’s Hongmen Banquet had already been delivered to the recipient.

Now let’s see what the great Captain Caesar’s response is to the most tempting invitation in the entire Mediterranean—

“No.”

Tossing the invitation letter, which still reeked of cheap French perfume, onto the table, Caesar propped his feet up on the desk, casually unbuttoning the top two silver buttons of his white shirt. He closed his eyes, not bothering to look at his red-haired first mate, who was eagerly awaiting his answer, and frowned impatiently—

“This sweltering weather has killed any interest I have in rolling around in bed with anyone, Rick. You can go ask those dancers if any of them are willing to do it with me in the water, then I might consider agreeing.”

“I can answer you right now, no sane person would want to do that with you in the sea, Captain,” the famous first mate of the Wind Fury said helplessly.

Leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, the man snorted, “So my answer is no.”

“You’ll want to go, Captain,” Rick grabbed the invitation from the table, “I heard Fugar got his hands on a remarkable new addition.”

“Oh? Does it have a tail?”

“Hey!”

“You know I won’t play along, so stop trying to be mysterious, trash.”

“Alright, alright, you bastard,” Rick sighed, raising his hands in surrender, “I heard Fugar got his hands on an Eastern striptease dancer from somewhere—”

“Hmm?” The man opened one eye to glance at his first mate, lazily curling the corner of his lips, a hint of interest appearing on his handsome face, “At this time?”

“Do you think goods need to follow seasons? Do you think this is selling fruit?” Rick asked irritably.

“Ah, go on,” the captain waved his hand magnanimously, signaling his subordinate to continue.

“She’s said to be a beautiful catch,” Rick said expressionlessly, “That’s it.”

Interlacing his fingers and placing them on his abdomen, Caesar let out a long, sigh-like sound, “An Easterner—”

“Don’t you want to try the feeling of pinning down our future navigator? Oh, the fairy tale of the mermaid princess is about to unfold, how can you miss this—come on, Caesar! You said it yourself, in the dark, it’s all the same. Just imagine the dancer has short hair—”

“I don’t have those kinds of thoughts about my savior, Rick,” Caesar chuckled lowly, “I want him on my ship because he’ll definitely be an excellent navigator—not like you, you perverted first mate, your existence drags down the overall quality of my fleet.”

“Oh really, Captain, when you dumped the entire command of the battle on me and went off to cut off Barbarossa’s head, why didn’t you say that?—Cut the crap, are you going or not?”

Taking his feet off the table, the heavy thud of his riding boots echoed on the wooden floor of the cabin. The tall man swiftly stood up from his soft captain’s chair, snatching the pungent invitation from his red-haired first mate’s hand. The Black Sea Wolf curled his lips into a smile that was most anticipated—

“Tell the charge captains and above to keep their pants in check. We’re opening for business tonight.”