Chapter 5

“Even if I don’t get seasick, I can’t stand the rough life of pirates. I’m a man who lives a very refined life,” Miguel muttered to himself in Chinese after closing the door. “Besides, there’s no compelling reason for me to yearn for a life where I’d be risking my neck every day.”

Big Dog didn’t bring up the topic of pirates again. He relaxed at the table, his hand brushing against the rough, splintered surface. He noticed the room had grown colder.

Even in summer, on this island off the coast of Tunisia, the temperature would drop sharply when it rained. The stormy weather made everything worse, and if it continued, the pirates who had temporarily docked for supplies might have to stay here for an extended period.

…Ah, and among those “supplying pirates” were, of course, the ships of the Barbarossa brothers who had attacked them.

After lighting a fire in the room and carefully closing the windows to keep the rain and wind out, Miguel turned around and saw the tall man sitting in the center of the room. At that moment, he was sitting quietly by the rickety wooden table, expressionless, as if intently listening to the storm outside. The red glow of the fire illuminated half of his handsome face, the shadows flickering with the flames.

Miguel smiled silently. He hoped Caesar’s fleet wouldn’t rush to avenge their captain in such terrible weather. According to Old Fante, it had been over a decade since the last pirate landing battle on Djerba Island.

Grabbing some clean gauze, Miguel walked over to Big Dog and lifted the man’s chin with one hand. He carefully wiped away the rainwater that had splashed on his face earlier, applying enough pressure but avoiding the small, healing wounds.

“The bandages can come off soon.”

Miguel put down the gauze, picked up the fire poker leaning nearby, and crouched down to stir the burning firewood. He spoke absentmindedly, but the man he was talking to seemed indifferent, still sitting in the same position, responding even more absentmindedly.

Miguel dragged over the net of oysters, took out a few, and tossed them into the fire without looking. “Not happy?”

He should be happy, right? Being blind isn’t a pleasant experience.

But to Miguel’s surprise, the man let out a low chuckle, as if the question was absurd. This guy… Miguel paused, then frowned slightly. He was about to say something when a deep, lazy voice spoke up.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh,” Miguel nodded seriously, though the man couldn’t see it. He poked the oysters buried in the fire with the poker. “That’s true. It’ll get better eventually.”

With that, Miguel stood up, took the only pot in the room, scooped two ladles of fresh water from the barrel, and placed the pot on the fire.

“What will you do after this? Any plans?” He grabbed the bucket of fish, pulled out a few sardines, and felt around his waist for the small knife that was already chipped. He gutted and cleaned the sardines, then tossed them into the pot as the water began to boil.

This time, there was silence from behind. Big Dog didn’t answer.

“Hah.”

Miguel smiled again, though if Big Dog could see, he would have noticed the smile didn’t reach Miguel’s bright black eyes. Miguel turned around, his back to the fire, and the shadow he cast almost enveloped the tall man. Unfortunately, the darkness of the shadow also made it impossible for Miguel to see the man’s expression.

Sighing, Miguel lazily leaned against the fire. The chipped knife twirled in his fingers. “Want revenge?”

“…”

“Caesar’s dead,” the young man said flatly. “What’s the point of revenge?”

As Miguel expected, the name Caesar always got a reaction. As if hearing a command, the man, who had been sitting as still as a mountain, shifted slightly. He stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the table in a more comfortable position. On a whim, Miguel moved aside, and when the firelight fell on the man’s face, he saw the faint curve of a smile.

It was a… very arrogant angle.

“So what?”

As if answering Miguel’s question, or perhaps just talking to himself, the man’s voice lowered, and the smile on his lips became more pronounced. Slowly, almost word by word, his voice was hoarse and sinister—

“Just thinking about how smug Barbarossa looked when he looted my belongings makes me so furious that I can’t help but want to personally send him to the gallows—along with all the scum who follow him. Kill them all.”

The man’s sharp features suddenly darkened with a violent rage.

“…”

Tsk, this guy. Do you think the soldiers will thank you when you send Barbarossa to the gallows? No, they’ll just say—”Bring another set of chains, you’re coming too!”

Miguel turned back, annoyed, and grabbed the wooden spoon on the stove. He stirred the bubbling fish broth, which had started to turn milky white, sprinkled in some salt and pepper, and stirred twice clockwise. Suddenly, he stopped. “What about repaying your debt of gratitude? Ever thought about that?”

The man’s expression froze for a second, and that terrifying smile softened a little.

…Though his expression didn’t exactly become more gentle at the mention of his “famous savior.”

“…I guess not.” Miguel said expressionlessly, not feeling the slightest bit regretful.

He took the pot of fish soup off the fire, crouched down, and used the poker to pull out the oysters buried in the firewood.

A chipped plate and a new one bought last week were placed on either side. Miguel thought for a moment, then shoved the intact one under Big Dog’s nose—

“Here, this is your dog bowl from now on.” He ladled the milky fish soup into his own old plate, muttering, “Tsk, if it weren’t for fear that your low IQ would get that arrogant tongue of yours cut…”

Completely unaware that he had just received a new “gift,” the man showed no interest in the steaming food. When Miguel boldly knocked on the table to hurry him up, the man sneered and said, “Didn’t your mother teach you that when a stranger offers you food, you should—”

A warm, damp sensation touched the corner of his thin lips, which were curled in mockery.

The man froze.

The aroma of pepper and fish soup filled his nose, magnified. Even though it had only touched his lips, it felt as if he had already eaten it. His taste buds, dulled by days of hardtack, suddenly came alive—and worst of all, the spoon that held the soup nudged forward again, as if reminding him: Open your mouth.

“…” His facial muscles softened in compromise, and the man obediently opened his mouth, letting Miguel feed him the spoonful of soup.

The soup was rich and fragrant.

Miguel: “What did your mother teach you to say?”

Big Dog: “Say thank you.”

Hmph, bastard. In a place where the man couldn’t see, Miguel’s eyes curved into a smile. “How’s the soup?”

Big Dog: “Better than hardtack.”

Miguel: “Compared to pirate food?”

Big Dog: “Like dog food.”

Miguel: “…”

So this arrogant, ungrateful guy deserves to be thrown into the sea to feed the sharks.

Angrily taking back his spoon, Miguel ordered, “Eat it yourself.” He stood up, grabbed the crude chopsticks he had made, and used the faint light from the fire to pick out the sardines from the pot. He placed them on a plate, used the chopsticks to separate the boneless belly meat, and tossed it onto the man’s plate. “Eat the fish too,” he snapped.

The man cooperated, carefully scooping it up with the spoon and placing it in his mouth. Once he realized it was pure fish meat, his movements became more generous—

…His table manners were good. Though he ate quickly, he didn’t make a single sound while drinking the soup. Miguel chewed on a fish bone, one hand propping up his chin as he stared at Big Dog without restraint. Compared to the rough men in the tavern who often caused chaos, this guy was a high-quality product among pirates.

While Big Dog elegantly drank his soup with the wooden spoon, Miguel crouched down and flipped over the oysters he had pulled out earlier. He touched the rock-like surface and found they were no longer scalding. He placed one on the table, pulled out the small knife he had used to gut the fish, and began to pry open the tightly closed oyster shell.

By the time Big Dog put down his spoon, Miguel had successfully opened the first oyster.

At this point, the knife was barely usable for cutting lemons.

The oyster, roasted whole over the firewood, had thick, creamy white meat. The lack of seasoning made the slightly black edges clearly visible. The clean marine environment gave it a distinct ocean smell—a bit stinky, yet a bit fragrant. The fresh scent of lemon wafted up as Miguel squeezed the sour juice onto the still-steaming oyster. He picked up half the oyster and took a small sip—

The faint salty taste of seawater and the sweet, fresh oyster juice filled his mouth. He rolled the tender oyster meat onto his tongue with a flick—

Miguel: “…”

TAT.

…It was so good it felt like he had met Buddha.

For the first time, Miguel truly felt alive in this world!

After quietly finishing half the oyster, Miguel looked up and saw Big Dog tilting his head, listening to the sounds around him.

He really looked like a big, fluffy, obedient dog.

Miguel couldn’t help but want to reach out and ruffle his hair, but the strong lemon scent on his hand made the man, with his sharp senses, grab his wrist before he could touch the man’s hair. Miguel calmly pulled his hand back, shoved the other half of the oyster into Big Dog’s large hand, and lectured him sternly, “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t touch me.”

…So, in terms of shamelessness, he and the man were evenly matched.

The two of them ate seven oysters and a pot of fish soup. Miguel drank a little rum, while Big Dog drank a whole glass. Full and warm, the two not-exactly-small male creatures wiped their mouths haphazardly and lay side by side on the only bed in the room.

Miguel reached out and randomly patted the person next to him—probably hitting the good spot on his abdomen, but the firm feel made him want to touch it a few more times—

“Still thinking about repaying your debt of gratitude?”

“Mm.”

“I want a dagger. A sharp one.”

“Okay.”

“Hahaha.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Big Dog, I’m guessing you were at least a boatswain on one of Caesar’s ships.”

The man next to him shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, showing a rare hint of interest. “How can you tell?”

Miguel: “Because there’s no way I’d pick up an ordinary person.”

He said it with complete seriousness.

Big Dog: “…”

The conversation paused for half a minute due to one party’s speechlessness.

As Miguel rubbed his full belly and drifted off to sleep, he heard the man’s calm voice echo in the darkness once more—

“I can give you more than you imagine.”

“Ah,” Miguel smacked his lips, rolled over, and muttered, “That depends on whether I want it or not.”

After all, what I want, you definitely can’t give.