Chapter 18

The next morning, the sunlight peeking through the gaps in the curtains signaled a bright and sunny morning on Djerba Island. After a long yawn, the black-haired young man struggled to lift his head from the soft blanket, his dark eyes slightly squinting. With a stretch of his long legs, he expressionlessly kicked the pillow that had been wedged between his thighs to the floor.

What a joke, naive Big Dog—did you really think I wouldn’t notice that it was your enticing waist I was clinging to last night just because you sneakily stuffed a pillow in its place?!

The other half of the bed was empty, though the crumpled sheets at least bore witness to the fact that it had been occupied by someone else. Miguel, who had been subjected to a pseudo-scam for the second time, maintained a stiff expression as he got out of bed and took a shower. When he opened the door and saw the clothes placed on the small table next to the bathroom, he paused for a moment, then smiled as he lifted the white shirt and held it between his fingers.

Fugar had never been a considerate boss.

So…

I wonder if wearing clothes personally prepared by the big boss would skyrocket my chances of getting the job…? ╮(￣▽￣”)╭…

The port was absolutely bustling with activity today, as the crowd had gathered here for the recruitment drive of the Black Sea Wolf fleet. The throng of people jostled and clamored, breathing in the already less-than-fresh air. The cool sea breeze blew in from the ocean, and seagulls skimmed the surface of the water, letting out cheerful cries. It should have been a beautiful morning—if not for the horde of stinking men gathered here collectively cursing.

“When does the recruitment start? I didn’t sleep a wink last night just to get here early and secure a good spot!—Screw you, who’s touching my ass!” A muscular man, tanned and drenched in sweat, shouted rudely.

“Watch your language, Wood! I heard Caesar has a rule against swearing on deck.”

“But someone’s touching my ass!” The muscular man glared at his companion, his hair practically standing on end.

“Get used to it. Months without women on the ship means there are a lot of gays—think about it, if Caesar wanted to touch your ass, would you let him?”

“—Uh, excuse me. Personally, I think the Black Sea Wolf is straighter than a telescope… Of course, that’s just my opinion.”

“…Telescopes can be pretty bendy sometimes.”

“Shut up, Jack!—And who the hell are you?” The burly muscular man grabbed the collar of the black-haired young man standing behind him, who smiled and swatted his hand away, rescuing his collar—

“I’m thrilled to see your lively, hopeful face, Wood. I’m Miguel,” Miguel said. “I’m the man who will become the Pirate King.”

……

Before we can fully process the audacity of Miguel’s shameless declaration, let’s rewind the scene—just a dozen or so minutes earlier, when Miguel arrived at the crowded port, the sun had already fully risen. The dock was packed with strong, young men—each one looking far more like a pirate recruit than he did.

These men, aggrieved and resentful, were crammed on one side of the dock, while the other side was surprisingly empty—Caesar’s fleet was moored at the dock, consisting of the usual galleys, single-masted ships, and the massive galleass warships that had almost been forgotten by history, as well as a few of the latest and fastest three-masted ships.

All of these ships proudly flew the German flag, which fluttered in the azure sky. And in the shadow of these ships, a handsome man lounged comfortably, his legs crossed, the sea breeze gently brushing against his bare chest. As Crazy Dog Rick stood in the center of the open space, loudly announcing the casualties and rewards, the man lazily placed a half-empty bottle of liquor on the ground beside him.

“Those who lost their right hand will receive one thousand gold coins or six slaves as compensation.

Those who lost their left hand will receive eight hundred gold coins or five slaves.

Those who lost their right foot will receive eight hundred gold coins or five slaves.

Those who lost their left foot will receive five hundred gold coins or four slaves.

Those who lost a finger or an eye will receive one hundred gold coins or one slave—”

Rick pursed his lips and snapped the list shut. “Prosthetics to replace lost limbs will be provided free of charge by the captain, installed and reinforced by the ship’s doctor, with maintenance every three months and free replacements within a year. If you have any complaints, you can take it up with the first mate—that’s me, Rick. This fleet respects the opinions and suggestions of all crew members.”

The noisy crowd finally quieted down.

Rick waited for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction.

“No objections? Good, because I hate haggling. Now we’ll start distributing the spoils of war in order of the list—First up… Caesar. Lukdel. Elijah Hoff—Wait, what the hell, Caesar, what are you doing here?!” The red-haired first mate turned to the man drinking in the shade and yelled, “The reason is ‘lost an eye,’ damn it, you just got a scar!”

“I almost lost an eye,” the man in the shade lazily replied. “The fact that I kept it is my own doing. Trash, do you know what divine luck is?”

“Fine, okay. One hundred gold coins or one slave—” Rick’s temple throbbed with a vein. “Congratulations, now you can either take one hundred gold coins from the right box in your treasury and put them in the left box, or you can check off any name on the slave list under ‘Caesar’—”

Thud—

The sound of a bottle falling into the sea.

With a grunt, the tall man stood up, grabbed the slave list from the wide-eyed crew member in charge of personnel, and casually checked a name. Then he held up the list and scanned it—

“Stop looking, even if you’re the captain, you only get one check! Unless you want a matching scar on your other eye—” Rick barked, “If you don’t mind, you can go back to lounging now, and I’ll continue my work—Bellick! Bellick, where are you? You can start recruiting now—and if you’re brave enough, recruit a new captain while you’re at it, I’ll put in a request for a raise!”

“Heh.” Faced with his subordinate’s blatant challenge, the man just curled his lips into a cold smile, then lazily rolled over on the lounge chair.

The recruitment process took place in front of Caesar—the captain had a duty to know what new species would be joining the deck this year—even though the most capricious and unreliable captain in the Mediterranean clearly had no interest in this task. However, the rowdy sailors waiting in line all obediently formed a long queue in front of him.

Miguel and the muscular man Wood, whom he had spoken to earlier, were pushed to the back of the line.

Looking at the long, crooked line—Miguel stood at the end of the queue, baking in the sun, while the pet he had fished out of the sea was currently lounging in the shade at the front of the line, eyes closed, casually judging them.

A straight boss and a perverted subordinate—what a perfect script for a role-playing pervert.

Completely forgetting how reluctant he had been the day before, Miguel’s passion burned as the long line slowly shortened… When it was finally nearing lunchtime, Rick also finished distributing the spoils on his end. He walked over to Caesar and unceremoniously shook his boss, who had fallen into a deep sleep, forcing him to dutifully evaluate every sailor who came forward to apply.

…

“Too fat, takes up too much tonnage.”

“Too skinny, can you even pull the rope for the flag?”

“Nice body, and a nice face too. Tell me, young man, are you afraid someone might attack your chrysanthemum while you’re scrubbing the deck?—Afraid? Oh, what a pity. Next.”

“—Captain!”

“…Don’t shout in my ear, I’m getting tinnitus, trash.”

“Screw you! Take this seriously! We’re recruiting! We need new crew!”

“Deducted wages, five gold coins. I said no swearing when I’m in a bad mood, trash—next.”

After Caesar had eaten three fruits and drunk half a bottle of liquor, and as he took a cup of sour jujube juice from a crew member, Miguel finally stood before him.

Rick was startled and jumped up—so abruptly that he almost spilled the sour jujube juice on Caesar’s face: “What are you doing here?!”

Miguel: “Applying for the job.”

Rick: “You’re hired. Next.”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar: “Be responsible, Rick.”

Rick gave Caesar a meaningful glance, then waved his hand. Someone below immediately nodded and brought over a thick tropical tree trunk.

Rick touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb and grinned mischievously: “Chop this tree down, and you’re on the ship.”

Miguel: “…”

The black-haired young man stared blankly, his calm gaze fixed on the face of the man on the lounge chair beside Rick. At this moment, those amber eyes were also staring unblinkingly at him.

Eye contact.

Calm eye contact.

However, no one knew that at this moment, Miguel was screaming in his heart—

What the hell is chopping a tree?! Damn you, bastard!! Do you want me to perform chest-shattering rocks in public?!

—What about the backdoor you promised?!

…Captain! Do you remember Miguel from the shores of the Mediterranean that year?!

Caesar’s gaze drifted over Miguel’s face like a floating cloud, then he turned his head and expressionlessly whispered something to Rick, the red-haired first mate beside him.

…Well, Captain, it seems you don’t remember.