Sifting through the crew profiles, Hayreddin felt irritated.With nearly two thousand people in the fleet, the only one who could keep up with Nick's speed was himself. But he was the captain—he had to command everything from cannon fire to sail speed. There was no way he could abandon the fleet to personally protect Nick on the front lines.This kid was a rare talent, a fighter worthy of becoming the Red Lion's icon. If she got herself killed just because she had no backup—what a tragic waste that would be.
He needed a vice-captain—someone fast enough to keep up with Nick and strong enough to cover him.The ship overseers were reporting candidate names, but Hayreddin couldn't concentrate. That leaping, darting shadow—he could still see it clearly—slammed to the ground, soaked in blood and mud, struggling helplessly. The image made something snap in his mind.
She was someone he discovered, nurtured like a young hawk, and now some no-name thug nearly ended her? Unacceptable.Hayreddin stroked his chin expressionlessly, red light flickering in his eyes. The overseers dared not breathe. Normally, their captain was easygoing, always wearing a fearless, amused grin—but this look? This look meant he was furious… maybe even murderous.
"Emiyas and Asar from Ship 2, Lam from Ship 3, Teach and Anthony from Ship 5, and the new guy, Justin. All six have shown skill in close combat. Captain, who do you pick...?""All of them," Hayreddin said coldly, tossing the documents on the table. "Not one of them qualifies as a vice-captain. For now, form a squad. Also, Ship 4, Mad Dog, was too slow this time. Their cannon timing nearly sank an ally. Full punishment—prepare accordingly.""Yes, sir!" The Mad Dog's overseer shot to his feet, body tense and trembling.
"We've been slacking on cannon drills lately. The fleet will return to Algiers for regrouping. This isn't a vacation—everyone will undergo evaluation. Fail, and you're off the ship."He tilted his chin toward the door, dismissing the meeting.The oak door closed behind the last person.
Hayreddin leaned back in his chair with a sigh. His head throbbed.Why was he angry? It wasn't like this was Cecilia... Back then, he and his brothers couldn't protect her.Nick, on the other hand, was strong—very strong. When she flew through the air, reaping lives with her scythe, even Hayreddin couldn't tear his eyes away from the weapon's perfect arc.
But the stronger she was, the more her lack of defense stood out. A single club strike and she crumbled.Such a contradiction: fierce yet fragile.Hayreddin stood and opened the door to his private quarters—
Rustle.
He stopped. A faint sound from the bathroom. Mouse? No—larger.So, something snuck in to take a bath? He stalked forward like a big cat, noiseless, grabbed the door handle and yanked. The heavy wooden bolt snapped like straw.
The door flew open."Nick. This isn't your territory."
A pert, peach-like little backside was dripping wet. Its owner jumped and spun to face him."Captain…"
Nick stood there, hair wet and curling, naked under his gaze.No manly features. None of a woman's either.Hayreddin's headache spiked instantly.
He studied the intruder closely. Conclusion: not a man. Not really a woman either—just a severely underdeveloped girl.No sexual appeal unless someone had particularly twisted tastes.
The sun at sea was brutal. Below deck was suffocatingly hot. Most sailors went shirtless.Why hadn't he ever noticed? Nick never even unbuttoned his shirt.He'd always seen women as weaker, to be protected. That assumption—this mental trap—had fooled even the Red Lion.
Victor, you clever bastard…
Hayreddin's eyes gleamed cold and sharp, like a hunting eagle's."Explain."
Nick had flinched at first, but now she stood tall, unbothered by his gaze."The contract doesn't say I can't bathe in the only bathroom on the ship. And Captain, it's rude to barge in without knocking."She stared straight into his eyes. Unblinking.
"What?" Hayreddin couldn't believe his ears. That was her explanation?"Who taught you this?""My uncle. Asa."Hayreddin stepped closer, blocking the only exit. Outside the porthole, part of a scythe hung swaying. So she'd slid down the hull to sneak in. Only someone as tiny as her could have fit through.
In the cramped space, their scents mingled. Hayreddin leaned in, his voice low and dangerous:"Did your uncle never teach you not to enter a man's room naked?"Nick considered it. "Nope.""What did he teach you?""Walk tall. Speak softly. Don't make noise while eating."Hayreddin frowned. "That sounds like a lady's etiquette manual."Nick brightened. "Yes! That's what he called it."
Of course, Asa had never imagined she'd end up on a pirate ship, with no place to bathe.
Hayreddin almost laughed out of frustration. He eyed this rebellious "little lady" again.On her chest was a large six-pointed star, branded deep into the skin. Not a birthmark. Not a tattoo.A scar.Whoever inflicted it had pressed a red-hot iron into her flesh, then dyed the wound with blue ink so the mark would never fade.
Criminals aboard weren't uncommon. Judges loved branding criminals with lifelong marks:R for Robber, B for Blasphemer, S for Slave, SL for Slanderer, F for Fighter, V for Vagrant...
But a blue hexagram—that was rare.Blue meant "demon."And the hexagram was the Jewish Star of David.
Stateless Jews were often accused of false crimes and imprisoned for extortion.Hayreddin didn't pry into his crew's pasts. He stared at Nick.
"Your uncle's probably dead. While you're on this ship, you follow my rules."Nick's face fell. She nodded obediently."I don't care what you are—man or woman. Do your job, or get off. Don't expect me to go easy on you.""I will do it well," Nick said. Water ran from her hair down her slim neck, past the bleeding wound on her shoulder."I will do it well."
Hayreddin said nothing and left, closing the door behind him.
Victor: "And then?"Nick: "Then I kept bathing. Victor, this soap smells so good!"She sniffed herself proudly—rose-scented little Nick. She hadn't even used much.
Victor squeezed his eyes shut. All his carefully guarded secrets… for what?Doctor: "I suddenly want to punch something."Nick: "Punch who? Don't. You're the weakest one here."Doctor: "Aaaaaargh!! If I wasn't the weakest, I wouldn't still be cleaning up your messes! Why are you here again?"Nick: "Nap. Your place is cool. Oh, and I'm clean now."
She rolled up her sleeve, showing off her pale, freshly scrubbed arm, then flopped onto Victor's freshly changed bed, pulled a towel over her belly, and fell asleep like a kitten.Ah—what a long day.
Hayreddin regretted everything.He had underestimated her nerve.
Nick took his silent retreat from the bathroom as permission.Since then, she regularly snuck into Hayreddin's quarters for a long, luxurious bath, leaving behind damp little footprints, the scent of roses—and sometimes missing fruit.
At the same time, when Nick began monopolizing Victor's medical cot for afternoon naps and raiding his supplies—cookies, coffee, milk tea, mint candies—Victor also regretted everything.
Why had he ever clung to those outdated noble values?Nick wasn't some fragile lady in need of protection.She was a shameless little rascal with zero concept of personal space.
The stray kitten had taken over her host's territory with utter satisfaction.
When the fleet returned to Algiers for maintenance, Hayreddin officially set up something like a "pirate academy."All new recruits had to sign contracts and undergo systematic training in boarding, cannon fire, tracking, and evasive tactics—under his supervision.
Nick, still recovering at Sera's place, was dragged in to observe.The seas around Algiers boomed with cannon fire. Broken barrel pieces scattered the waves.
"Fire! Clean barrel! Swab! Reload! Move, move! Two minutes forty-two? Too slow! Want the captain's whip? Again! Fire! Clean barrel! Swab—!"
Nick crouched in the cannon bay, covering her ears, watching the sweaty gunners train. She couldn't follow the technique, so her attention wandered to the golden brass watch on the gunner chief's wrist.Italian make. Full gold dial. Diamond-studded hands.
Her fingers itched. But she remembered: the contract forbade stealing. Whipping penalty. She restrained herself.
Right as she debated, her arm was suddenly yanked. She was lifted like a kitten out of the cannon bay.Nick panicked—She hadn't even tried yet!
"Captain, I didn't touch anything—!"Hayreddin frowned. "What did you learn after staring for so long?"
Relieved, Nick recited:"Cast-iron cannons are brittle and prone to exploding. Bronze cannons have better ductility—lighter and more durable… but cost a lot more."She'd heard the Sea Witch's fifty cannons cost over two thousand gold coins.
Hayreddin laughed: "Of course you remember anything involving gold."He handed her a long brass-handled musket and guided her through loading and firing.
She fumbled through it, then fired. The recoil bruised her shoulder."This sucks. Takes too long to reload. If it rains and the powder's damp, it won't even fire."
Hayreddin nodded. "Cold weapons are still more reliable. But ever since Columbus found the New World, tech's been evolving. If someone invents a repeating musket, boarding battles might disappear."He paused. "Who designed your scythe?"
Nick: "Some weird old man in Florence."Hayreddin: "Name?"Nick shook her head. "Don't know. He just gave me the blueprints—I had a blacksmith make it."
Hayreddin asked to see the design. She hesitated, then figured it was useless without her skills, and handed him a filthy cloth with the sketch.
The draft was incredibly detailed. Every part drawn to scale, clearly thought-out. Even usage instructions were included. No wonder a regular smith could follow it."L.D.V…" Hayreddin didn't recognize the initials. But Victor might know someone in Florence. He folded the sketch and handed it back.
"You didn't even know him. Why'd he draw this for you?"The corner of the cloth had sketches clearly modeled on Nick.
Nick tucked it away. "He told me to strip and be obedient."Hayreddin's brain snapped a few neurons."You just did it?"
Nick looked up, puzzled. "Yeah. He gave me food and three copper coins a day."
She popped a roasted pea into her mouth and recalled the paint-covered old man. "He just made me pose from afar and drew pictures. That's why I call him a weirdo."
The Red Lion, famed for his calm and cunning, had a sudden urge to tie someone up and beat some sense into them.
The southern winds turned north. The Mediterranean cooled.In September, the eagle brought news.Hayreddin crushed the note and announced:Training's over. Full mobilization. Time to plunder.