Chapter 47

Miguel: “…Ah…”

Caesar: “…”

A brief silence ensued, and the captain saw his navigator comrade flash him a pitiful smile.

“You… hey!”

Grabbing the man’s head and pulling it towards him, before the other could even react and smash his head into the wall, Miguel hugged Caesar and clumsily pressed his lips against Caesar’s in a loud “mwah.” He smiled with his eyes narrowed into slits, completely oblivious to the captain’s face, which had turned as black as the bottom of a pot. He buried his head into the other’s neck, his fluffy hair rubbing back and forth as he muttered incessantly, “This is a great perk, let’s do it again… a few more times, kiss, mwah mwah, smooch…”

He was clearly acting like his brain had been fried.

Subconsciously turning his head to look out the cell’s skylight, outside, the setting sun’s afterglow painted the sky a fiery red as it dipped below the horizon.

Tsk, so slow.

The man sighed helplessly, stood up, and gathered the slightly drier straw in the cell into a pile. Without hesitation, he yanked the koala-like young man clinging to him and tossed him onto the straw. He patted his pockets, satisfied to find a cigarette, which he stuck in his mouth. The biggest pirate boss in the Mediterranean squinted his amber eyes and arrogantly kicked the rusty bars, making them clang loudly.

“Stop making noise…”

Stop making noise? The man chuckled around the cigarette in his mouth. It seemed this guy was really out of it. He shifted his body to block the disheveled young man lying on the ground behind him, hands in his pockets, and addressed the guard who came running over with a nasty tone, “Go get me a set of clean clothes.”

The guard was momentarily stunned by the commanding tone but, upon looking up, was instantly intimidated by the calm eyes staring at him through the haze of smoke!

Vaguely remembering that he had a freshly washed set of everyday clothes in his wardrobe, the guard nodded and, not daring to look at Caesar again, scrambled off to fetch the clothes. Behind him, the man let out an ambiguous chuckle.

At that moment, lying on the ground behind Caesar, Miguel’s body temperature was rapidly rising. His face was as red as a monkey’s butt, and he was hugging his soaking wet dress, squirming on the straw and smacking his lips. The scattered footsteps and the sound of the captain kicking the cell bars earlier made him very unhappy. He rolled over and muttered, “…Stop making noise, who is it, Old Third, did you forget your keys again… kicking the door, damn it… just stay outside the dorm all night, serves you right for not learning your lesson!”

…It was that incomprehensible language again. Squatting in front of the navigator, Caesar took a drag of his cigarette, his expression subtly unreadable. He reached out a finger and mischievously poked the young man’s flushed cheek—

Then the man curled his lips into a smile.

Like a pig (……).

“Pinch, pinch your sister!” Miguel raised his hand and weakly swatted the man’s hand away, eyes still closed, continuing to mutter, “Boss, don’t think just because you’re the boss you can take advantage of me… I have, I have principles… where did you write down that English major girl’s number yesterday?… Bullshit, it’s not on the wall…”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” the man said with a frown, poking the navigator and ordering, “Speak in German.”

Then, to his surprise, Miguel started rolling around on the wet dress, his eyebrows drooping as he became utterly dejected: “Wah wah wah… Ich heiße Anne (My name is Anne).”

“…” Raising his hand, feeling slightly awkward, the man touched the tip of his nose for the first time with a hint of guilt.

“Wrong! Laozi is Luo Chenzhou… Chenzhou is a good name, very auspicious.” Switching back to Chinese, Miguel loudly sniffed, the shiny snot sucked back into his nose. “Hehehe, Professor Caesar, let’s do it again…”

Caesar: “…”

Trouble. This crying and laughing back and forth was clearly a sign that he was about to burn up and become an idiot.

Frowning, hearing the footsteps approaching from behind, the man stood up and took the clean clothes—clearly personal attire—from the guard, giving him a relatively polite smile and a word of thanks, though the guard looked thoroughly frightened and scurried away.

Picking Miguel up and slinging him over his shoulder, Caesar quickly stripped off the wet dress, tossing the slightly drier side onto the straw. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he frowned, realizing for the first time that taking care of someone was no simple task, especially when the person being tended to was moaning and groaning about this pain and that pain, and…

And even had the audacity to curse at him.

If it weren’t for the fact that Miguel was clearly ill and out of it, Caesar, whose patience was running thin, would have smacked him a couple of times.

Finally, the wet clothes were peeled off the feverish body. At this moment, clad only in a pair of colorful boxers, Miguel hung on Caesar, arms wrapped around the man’s neck, and giggled, “Captain?”

Did he recognize him now? Caesar snorted from his nose, his hands still busy as he bent down to use a corner of the dress to wipe down the naked young man in his arms.

“Captain?”

“…”

“Ca-ptain!”

“Shut up.”

Unable to endure it any longer, Caesar smacked Miguel’s forehead. Feeling utterly exhausted, he tossed the dress aside, took a deep drag of his cigarette with one hand, and then stuck the nearly burnt-out butt back between his lips. He squinted, his rough hand moving from the fluffy head down the young man’s smooth, pale back—

Did I raise this piece of trash too well? He wasn’t this white before he got on the ship… And what pirate has skin smoother than a woman’s? Tch. Thinking aimlessly about completely unrelated things, his hand paused when his fingers touched the boxers still hanging on the navigator’s hips.

…A bit damp.

The next second, with a ripping sound, the boxers were mercilessly torn to shreds.

Miguel: “Wah wah wah—”

Caesar: “Are you an idiot? What are you crying for?”

Miguel: “I have no pants.”

Caesar: “I’ll put them on you in a bit.”

Miguel: “Stupid dog.”

Caesar: “Call me captain, trash.”

Throwing Miguel onto the black dress that had been laid out earlier, Caesar stood with his hands on his hips, expressionlessly looking down at the young man sprawled out on the black dress—his wig was still firmly in place, the long, straight black hair cascading over his body, the stark contrast between his pale skin and the heavy black dress striking.

Squinting slightly, the man exhaled a puff of smoke, his gaze calmly moving downward.

His calm eyes traveled from the firm chest, casually glancing over the pale nipples that had stiffened due to the cold air, then… unexpectedly, to the abs on his lower abdomen. His gaze continued to wander, finally stopping at the navigator’s groin, where his genitals lay quietly nestled in his pubic hair, the clean, pretty color silently indicating…

Its owner seemed… well, at least physically, he was a man of some restraint.

Miguel: “Professor, please spare me, I can’t fail this class…”

Kid. Letting out a silent chuckle, the man curled his lips into a smile, grabbed the clean clothes nearby, and mercifully ended Miguel’s state of “little bird chilling in the breeze”—the Spanish royal family was stingy, and their civil servants didn’t get much better treatment. The clothes the guard had brought were so rough in Caesar’s eyes that they were practically unwearable, but in this situation… the captain still frowned, picked them up with two fingers, and tossed them onto Miguel.

Miguel: “…One more time, professor…”

Wiping the corner of his mouth, the captain, who had been serving all night, felt a mischievous urge: “Speak in German and I’ll help you get dressed.”

Miguel: “Huh? …Um, Alles Gute (All the best)!”

Caesar: “…”

Sighing, he bent down to pick up the clothes he’d thrown on the navigator, lifted the feverish young man into his arms again, and aside from the moment when the man in his arms mischievously pulled at the skin on the back of Caesar’s neck and giggled—prompting the urge to throw him out—the process of dressing him went smoothly.

Now dressed in clean clothes, though barefoot, Miguel lay on the crumpled black dress and finally quieted down a bit.

Taking a deep breath, Caesar tore his own shirt, soaked it in the fountain-like seawater, and then walked back to the navigator, impatiently tossing the wet cloth onto his forehead.

With a loud splat, the water made a resounding noise.

“…” The captain, who had never taken care of anyone before, fell silent.

Silently, he picked up the dripping rag from the navigator’s forehead, wrung it out, and silently placed it back.

The navigator let out a contented sigh.

…Hmm, that’s better.

The captain let out a sigh of exhaustion. Then he paused, somewhat helplessly realizing that he might have sighed more times tonight than he had in his entire life.

Sitting down next to Miguel’s head, he generously ignored the young man’s restless squirming and muttering as he nuzzled against his thigh. The captain fished out his last cigarette, lit it, and stuck it in his mouth.

The sun had completely disappeared below the horizon.

Tonight, there was no fog on the sea, and the moon was full and bright.

Outside the cell, a loud cannon shot shattered the silence of the night.

The light from the cannon fire illuminated half the dock—behind a wall, outside, the sounds of people waking from their dreams, cries, and the whistles of night patrols gathering in emergency filled the air.

Only within the walls of the cell was there complete peace and quiet. Leaning against the rusty bars, the handsome man took a deep drag of his cigarette, his gaze steady.

“Professor, let’s have a teacher-student romance…”

“Tch, next time I won’t make you drink seawater, you paper-thin trash.”