Chapter 2

After finishing his beer, Miguel dragged the only small stool in the room over and sat down on it. He then propped his chin on his hands, staring intently at the man sleeping on his bed. There was no TV or computer here, and before this man appeared, Miguel’s only entertainment after dark was sleep. Now that the bed was occupied, he reluctantly changed his entertainment to watching the handsome man.

Speaking of which, this guy was really good-looking.

Even with his bad attitude and a naturally cold-hearted demeanor, it didn’t diminish his handsomeness.

He was so handsome that Miguel was willing to share the last piece of hardtack from his breakfast with him.

After staring for a while, Miguel’s black eyes narrowed slightly with a hint of mischief as he thought of something inappropriate. He reached out and flipped the damp towel on the man’s forehead, checking his temperature—it was just a slight fever. Miguel sighed in relief. Last night, this guy had been burning up with a high fever, keeping Miguel awake all night—he was afraid that if things went south, this guy might die from an infected wound right in his bed.

Die? Ha, as if! This was his only bed!

“What’s your name?” Miguel muttered.

No response.

Obviously, the other man didn’t understand him… Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t bother to answer.

Extending his index finger, as he often did, Miguel poked the man’s temple lightly. The force wasn’t strong, but it was enough to make his head sway slightly. The man, disturbed in his sleep, made a soft tsk sound, pursed his lips, and seemed to want to get angry but held back. After a moment of tension, he finally gave in, turning over to face the wall, his back now toward the bored man in the room.

“I can’t just keep calling you ‘Hey,’ can I?” Ignoring the man’s attitude, Miguel continued with a smile, resting his chin on one hand. “How about Gou Sheng(Leftover Dog)?”

“…”

“Don’t look down on rustic names. Simple names are lucky—perfect for someone half-dead like you… If you don’t like ‘Leftover Dog,’ how about ‘Gou Dan(Dog Balls)?”

“…”

“Or Er Gou(Dog Two)?”

“…”

“You’re so picky. How can someone with one foot in the grave still be so picky?” Miguel complained. After some hesitation, he finally said, “Alright, since you’re such a big lump, I’ll call you Da Gou (Big Dog).”

Still no response. The man’s strong and sturdy back remained resolutely turned toward Miguel, showing no intention of turning back. Feeling bored from talking to himself, Miguel stood up and poured himself another cup of small beer—he was a man of taste, so he decided to bring up a topic that might interest both of them.

After a moment of contemplation, Miguel switched to Arabic. From his observations over the past few days, he knew Big Dog could understand Arabic.

He leaned close to Big Dog’s back, his cheek almost touching the man’s skin, and with a low voice, he said, “I heard Caesar is dead.”

Miguel’s pronunciation of “Caesar” was strange—he had imitated it from a burly man shouting at the dock earlier that day. The man was probably from Italy, and his Arabic had an Italian accent. But Miguel knew Big Dog understood him because the previously motionless man slightly twitched his fingers—the movement was quick, and if one wasn’t paying close attention, it would be missed. But Miguel had been staring intently at the man the whole time and didn’t miss it.

Miguel admitted he was a little bastard who liked poking at others’ sore spots ╮(￣▽￣”)╭.

He smiled with satisfaction, feeling a subtle sense of triumph.

He had guessed correctly—Big Dog was indeed a pirate.

…

Miguel had found Big Dog by the wreckage of a German ship.

It was three days ago, on a sunny weekend.

The bustling dock was busy with people unloading butter and cheese shipped from northern Italy. Miguel was wobbling as he tossed a crate of butter onto a merchant’s cart when suddenly, a deafening explosion sounded from the nearby shore.

The noise was so loud that even the seawater seemed to tremble.

After the explosion, there was a brief moment of silence. Everyone on the dock stopped what they were doing and turned to look out at the sea—

Then, they heard thunderous cheers.

A dockworker came running, stumbling and shouting something—he spoke too quickly for Miguel to catch most of it, but the gist was that a group of Arab pirates had defeated the German pirates.

However, one sentence Miguel did understand—the Arab pirates were now dividing the spoils.

The people on the dock grew restless, rubbing their hands together with a look of eager anticipation.

Dividing the spoils? What did that mean? It meant that after the Arab pirates took their share, whatever was left would be up for grabs—they might find leftover clothes, food, fresh water, or even weapons.

If they were lucky, they might even get their hands on a dilapidated ship—though that wouldn’t be for the average worker. According to the unwritten rules of Djerba Island, the more senior foremen would get first pick. The first layer of spoils was always theirs to plunder.

Old Fante’s son was one of those lucky ones.

As for Miguel? He was the type who would go scavenging after dark with a kerosene lamp—though by the time it was his turn, there was usually nothing left. Judging by the habits of those assholes, even the clothes on the pirates’ corpses might not be spared—it was said that German pirates were rich, so their clothes must be good too.

So, to avoid coming up empty-handed, Miguel brought along an axe… If he couldn’t find anything else, he decided to chop some wood from the ship to use as firewood—a thief never leaves empty-handed, and kerosene wasn’t free, after all.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Miguel sneaked onto the half-burnt three-masted ship stranded on the beach—this was the latest and most advanced ship of the time, not very large but with a particularly sharp hull, making it the fastest type of ship around. Caesar was quite capable; according to the dockworkers, his fleet had the most three-masted ships among all the pirates at the time.

If the ship hadn’t been so badly damaged that it was beyond repair, the Barbarossa brothers wouldn’t have left it there.

It took Miguel half an hour to find a relatively intact low stool (the one he was sitting on now), a tin box containing what looked like a pirate’s private stash of tea, and a few scattered metal buttons.

The tea was probably imported from China. In this era, even the lowest quality tea could fetch a good price.

Miguel was in a good mood and, adhering to the principle of quitting while he was ahead, decided to call it a day and head home. As he was leaving the ship, he accidentally stepped on a soft, lifeless body.

The body actually groaned.

“!”

The sound startled Miguel half to death.

“Brother, no offense, no offense! I didn’t take your clothes—I’m not so shameless as to strip a corpse—huh?”

Miguel’s voice paused.

He licked his lips, which were chapped from the sea breeze, carefully tucked the box of tea into his shirt, put down the stool he was carrying, and crouched down. He raised the kerosene lamp slightly—the kerosene was almost out, and the light was dim. He leaned in closer, squinting, and held the lamp next to the body.

This corpse was still breathing?

Miguel thought with a bit of surprise.

Then he realized, why was he surprised?

…But by the time this realization hit, the “corpse” was already lying on his clean, hard bed.

When Miguel saw his clean bedsheet stained with sand, seawater, and blood, he felt a twinge of regret.

When he used the second bucket of fresh water to clean the man’s wounds, he began to seriously regret it.

When he noticed he was counting his few remaining coins to see how much simple medicine and bandages he could afford, he suddenly regretted it deeply.

When he remembered the endless trouble harboring a pirate in his home could bring, he finally had the strong urge to carry the man back to the beach in the same position he’d found him.

But in the end, Miguel kept Big Dog.

Because it was already completely dark.

Because the kerosene lamp had run out of kerosene.

Because the sea breeze was strong, and it was a bit cold outside—Miguel didn’t want to get a headache from the wind.

Because the man was handsome and could be used as a meal companion… Uh, no.

Because after using two buckets of fresh water to clean this dog-like man, he realized the guy was quite good-looking. Even the scar on his eye from a knife wound looked particularly striking.

It would be a shame if he died.

“—In the end, it’s your face that saved you,” Miguel muttered, poking the man’s back as he finished his recollection.

Big Dog lay quietly on the bed. Other than the slight reaction when Miguel mentioned Caesar’s death, he didn’t move, as if he had fallen asleep again.

And indeed, he had drifted back into a hazy state of consciousness. In his daze, he heard the voice that never seemed to stop, babbling in a language he didn’t understand. The voice rose and fell, with various tones…

It was actually quite pleasant.

He turned over, lying flat on the bed.

The furry head leaned in, and the soft hair brushed against his chest, tickling him slightly. The man scratched the spot and then unceremoniously pushed the nuisance away.

What’s the fuss?

Under the bandages, he frowned impatiently.

“Ungrateful jerk, sleeping in my bed and not even sharing half of it with me,” Miguel rubbed his neck, which had nearly been dislocated from the push, and obediently sat back on his stool. Leaning on the bed, he stared at Big Dog for a while, then continued his self-amusement—

“How about black pepper in the fish soup?”

“…”

“Oh, speaking of fish soup. I almost forgot to tell you, Old Fante sold me the ship he got today. Hehe… Well, he said ‘sold,’ but I think it’s more like he gave it to me. That old man has a kind heart, don’t you think? Yeah, just like me. Anyway, we’re having fish soup tomorrow. Happy?”

“…”

“If you’re happy, give me a smile. We’re having meat tomorrow, eh?”

“…”

“We’re having meat!”

“…”

“I’m a good guy; I won’t take advantage of you just because you can’t see. I’ll leave the nutritious stuff for you. So tomorrow, I’ll eat the fish, and you’ll drink the soup. Deal? Good, it’s settled. No need to thank me.”

“…”

“Big Dog?”

“…”

“Bark for me?”

“…”

The night sea breeze was cool, carrying a salty, damp, and slightly seaweed-like scent that was oddly calming. Inside the small wooden house, the kerosene lamp burned its last drop of oil, and the wick flickered once before extinguishing completely…

Soon after, the soft snores of the young man filled the room. The warm breath from his nose unintentionally brushed against the man’s fingertips resting on the edge of the bed. The man was momentarily startled and instinctively pulled his hand back.

After a moment of hesitation, he gently placed it back.

Outside, the nightlife of Djerba Island was just beginning.

The pirates were lost in their revelry, singing and dancing with passion, toasting to whiskey and wine. They drank and sang with abandon, as if there were no tomorrow.