Huh, This Might Not Be So Bad
A thin, brittle laugh slipped from my parched throat. “Ah, hahaha.”
My fingers tightened around the plate. Captain Grain’s gaze remained fixed on my threadbare nun’s habit. The wanted poster of Captain Tasha on the table. The drunk pirate swaying beside it, reeking of liquor. And me.
Not many people remained in the tavern. Only the master, myself, the naval officers in their black uniforms, and the drunken pirate still grinning stupidly, unaware of what he had just done.
Captain Grain did not interrogate me right away. Her obsidian eyes bored into my frozen face, then slowly drifted downward.
The shabby, worn nun’s habit. The Holy Kingdom’s emblem stitched over the chest. And my two hands clutching the empty plate so tightly they trembled. My knuckles had gone bone-white, bloodless.
I tried to relax my grip, but my own body refused to obey.
Captain Grain neatly folded the wanted poster on the table. The crisp sound of paper creasing echoed softly through the silent tavern.
“Come with me.”
Her voice was quiet, almost courteous. Taken alone, the words might have sounded like a polite request. But naval officers blocked the entrance, stood by the windows watching me, and occupied every table in between.
I could not answer. As I moved to set the plate down, a rough, thick hand reached out first. It was the master. He took the plate from me. The old dish gave a low scrape. Veins stood out on the back of his hand. His eyes were locked on Captain Grain.
The atmosphere in the tavern grew colder, heavier. The master’s arm shifted a fraction. In that instant—
Shing.
Short, chilling scrapes of metal rang out from every direction at once. The officers by the door, by the window, at the tables—all of them had hands on their sword hilts.
Captain Grain raised a black-gloved hand. Just a little. “Stand down.”
At her command, every hand froze. No blades were drawn.
But their fingers stayed glued to the hilts. The master’s fingers pressed harder against the plate’s edge. It shrieked again, as if it might shatter any second.
Captain Grain looked at him. “I have no intention of escalating this.” Her tone was low and calm.
The master’s jaw tightened. His hand on the plate did not move. The officers’ hands did not leave their swords. If the master moved again—
My throat closed up.
“Master.”
His fingers paused. I let go of the plate completely.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
I forced a smile, but my voice came out small. The master did not look at me. He only glared at Captain Grain.
“…Ugh.”
A low groan escaped him. After a long moment, the plate finally clattered onto the counter.
Captain Grain said nothing more. She simply turned.
The officer blocking the door stepped back with crisp, military precision. A path opened. The tavern remained deathly silent. The master stood behind the counter. The drunk pirate had finally sensed the wrongness in the air; his half-formed grin had frozen solid.
Damp sea wind blew in from outside, threading between the black uniforms. One step. Another. The threshold drew closer. The moment I crossed it, the door shut behind me with a heavy thud.
No one seized my thin wrist. No cold silver shackles meant for criminals were snapped on. Yet Captain Grain walked ahead, and naval officers flanked me on both sides.
I glanced down at my empty wrists. They were unmarked. Nothing was there, yet I felt an invisible weight pressing down on them.
The streets of Pirate Island were different today. A pirate smoking a cigarette clamped his mouth shut and slunk into the shadows. Dockworkers with brutal faces carrying crates paused mid-motion. A man who looked like a fence quietly lowered the cloth over his stall. A blade-for-hire leaning against a wall pulled his hat low and vanished down an alley.
No one had ordered them to clear the way. Yet a path opened in eerie silence wherever we walked. The name Black Anchor was never spoken aloud, but the entire island seemed to already know.
Captain Grain walked in silence. Shoulders straight. Steps unwavering. Water droplets falling from the hem of her wet cloak. My own footsteps behind her sounded strangely small.
An alley lay to my right. Wet crates were stacked to my left. If I ran, maybe—
The thought died there. I remembered the officers’ hands on their swords, the master frozen with the plate in his grip, all those palms landing on hilts at once. Strength drained from my legs. Even if I ran, I wouldn’t escape. And I doubted it would end with simple capture.
The harbor drew near. A black-hulled warship floated on the water. Tall masts. A wet deck. Naval officers standing in perfect lines. Heavy planks creaked against the waves. Damp ropes swayed mournfully in the sea breeze.
The moment I stepped onto the deck, dozens of eyes snapped toward me in unison. No one spoke. As I passed between the black uniforms, only their gazes followed in silence. My fingers, clutching the sleeves of my habit, turned ice-cold.
Prison. Torture chamber. Interrogation room. Dark thoughts clawed through my mind, swelling until they threatened to choke me. My hand rose toward the back of my neck, then stopped. Not yet. It was still too early to think of self-destruct. Nothing had been decided. Still, I needed to steel myself to press that button without hesitation if the worst came.
Even so, the nape of my neck burned for no reason.
The place the officers led me to was not a cold underground cell. It was a small cabin at the end of a corridor inside the ship. The door opened. A neat wooden desk. One chair. A small round porthole overlooking the sea. A complex nautical chart hanging perfectly straight on the wall. There were no iron bars. No ropes in sight.
Yet the moment I crossed the threshold, my breath caught strangely.
I looked at the door first. Closed. Handle. Lock. Then the window. It was tiny. I might be able to squeeze through if I contorted my shoulders. But beyond it lay only deep blue sea. Black waves slammed against the ship’s hull. Crash. Crash.
Falling might not kill me. But I had no idea how far I could swim afterward.
Outside, heavy military boots passed by. Clack. Clack. Even after the sound faded, the room refused to grow quiet. The footsteps seemed to cling to the walls.
When I sat in the chair, my feet touched the floor. The tension left my body a beat too late. The chair leg scraped against the boards. Screeeech. The sound made my shoulders jump.
On the desk sat a single empty glass, placed with perfect precision. My fingertip brushed its rim. It was cold. When I lifted and set it down again, it gave a small clink. Clink. That was all.
Yet my heart slammed once, hard.
I placed my hands on my knees. Still. Unmoving. The corridor outside was quiet. The sea was quiet. The room was quiet. So quiet that if I breathed wrong, it felt as though every secret in my heart would be exposed.
Inside the closed room, the sound of a chair scraping echoed. Scraaape. Then came the faint clink of a glass. The lieutenant glanced toward the door before turning carefully to his superior.
“Who is that child, Captain?”
Grain did not answer.
Through the narrow gap beneath the closed door, the child’s small shadow trembled faintly. It twitched anxiously, then stopped dead, as if holding its breath.
The image from the tavern still lingered in Grain’s mind. The worn, tattered nun’s habit. The Holy Kingdom’s emblem on the chest. That emblem was not something one could simply sew onto any garment. It belonged only to a properly ordained nun’s robe.
That child should have been walking the corridors of a grand cathedral every morning, breathing in the scent of sacred candles. Listening to quiet prayers offered to the goddess. Eating full meals at set times under the safe, warm protection of adults, then falling asleep in a clean bed within a peaceful monastery.
Yet such an ordinary child from a convent had been standing in the middle of a tavern on Pirate Island—a place crawling with pirates and smugglers, stinking of spilled alcohol.
And the drunken pirate, barely able to stand, had pointed straight at her.
She knows. She’s one of the people from that ship. Ask her.
Grain had heard such words many times. Pirates on the verge of capture always did the same. To buy even a few more seconds of life, they shoved the weakest person nearby forward first.
Whether it was their own subordinate, an innocent tavern worker, or a small child who knew nothing of the world, they cared only for their own survival.
The drunk from earlier had been no different. He had thrown the little girl in the middle of the tavern straight at the naval officers who had come looking for Tasha. His face showed he had not even considered what that single sentence would do to her.
Inside, the child had kept clutching the plate with a terrified expression, as if she had been taught she must never stop working even for a moment. Her wrists were thin, her fingers small. She looked as though she had not eaten properly for days.
Grain stared at the closed door.
“We rescued a young nun who had been kidnapped.”
The lieutenant’s face hardened. The room beyond the door had gone silent again. The scraping chair, the clinking glass, even the sound of the child breathing—all of it had cut off as if it had never existed.
Children rescued from pirates right after their abduction usually behaved this way. Their bodies stiffened at the slightest sound of a door, they held their breath at approaching footsteps, and they no longer easily believed adults who said they were safe now.
One had to ease their tension first. Grain knew that much. She simply did not know how.
Dealing with children had always been difficult. Several years ago, she had encountered a lost child at a naval ball. The child had been sobbing bitterly in a corner of the corridor. Grain had knelt on one knee, met the child’s eyes, and offered a handkerchief with a smile.
The crying child had looked up. Their eyes met. And the sobbing grew even louder. The surrounding adults had laughed awkwardly while Grain remained frozen, handkerchief in hand.
She had not improved much since then.
Grain swept a helpless gaze over the naval officers lined up in the corridor. Black uniforms. Hard faces. Jaws marked by blade scars. Men who could chase savage pirate ships all night without batting an eye. Sending any of those terrifying faces inside would only frighten the child more.
The lieutenant was not much better. Grain let out a small sigh as she looked at the closed door again. At least she herself was better than them. At least she was a woman, and she was the one who had rescued the child.
Grain spoke. “What do children like these days?”
The lieutenant blinked. “Sir?”
“Something to calm a frightened child.”
The lieutenant could not answer immediately. He could have recited harbor blockade procedures or the order of assault on a pirate vessel. But soothing a terrified child was something he had never learned.
“For now… perhaps approach with a smile?”
Grain remained silent for a moment. Then the corners of her mouth curved upward in a grin. The lieutenant’s face stiffened. One of the officers in the corridor looked away. A short silence passed.
The lieutenant cleared his throat desperately and changed the subject. “Um… children that age… don’t they like dolls?”
“Dolls…” Grain murmured.
Silence settled over the corridor again. Her gaze slowly moved toward the end of the hall. The training room lay there—the place where her men practiced subduing pirate ships, throwing daggers, and breaking joints.
The lieutenant’s face tightened slightly. “Captain?”
Grain spoke briefly. “I have just the thing.”
The firmly closed door opened. Captain Grain stepped inside. In one gloved hand she carried something. At first I thought it was a person. A small person. Slack arms. Tangled cloth. Black, crusted stains.
A beat later, I realized it was a doll.
The fabric was torn everywhere. One arm was twisted and broken from the shoulder, the wrist half-detached and dangling. Countless puncture wounds from blades covered its chest. The cotton spilling out had been stained dark, like old blood.
The face was worse. A mouth stitched shut with black thread. Only one eye remaining. A crooked gaze. Whether it had been made to resemble a pirate or deliberately painted with a savage expression, the face looked like it was both smiling and baring its teeth.
Captain Grain set it down beside the desk. I looked at the doll beside me. Then at Captain Grain. Then back at the doll.
She said nothing. Offered no explanation. She simply stared down at my face. Then, very slowly, the corners of her mouth curved upward in a smooth arc. A smile. Presumably.
It was a bright smile that revealed white teeth. Yet her eyes did not crinkle at all. Those pitch-black pupils remained completely separate from the smiling mouth—cold, murderous, and sunken. The muscles in her pale cheeks stayed rigid as a corpse, utterly motionless. Only her lips smiled clearly.
I froze, unable to look away. The doll’s remaining eye kept staring at me. As if to say: If you try anything here, I can turn you into this anytime. It seemed to show me silently.
My fingers curled on my knees. I felt I must not move. Must not make a sound.
Captain Grain’s smile slowly faded. The room grew quiet again. A torn doll sat beside the desk. In front of it, I could only sit obediently, holding my breath.
That night, the door did not open again. Only the sound of military boots passed by outside several times. Clack. Clack. Sometimes they seemed to stop in front of the door before moving on. Each time, my fingers tightened.
Around evening, a short knock preceded the arrival of a meal. Warm soup. Sliced bread. A cup of water. The officer set the tray down and left immediately. Steam rose from the soup.
What if something is mixed in? The thought came first. But the smell was surprisingly ordinary. Soup. Bread. The faint scent of damp wood. When I inhaled, my stomach growled softly.
Just one bite. Just one.
The soup was warm.
That night, sleep barely came. When I closed my eyes, I heard the tavern door slamming shut. The naval officers’ hands rising to their sword hilts. The master’s hand gripping the plate. The back of my neck burned for no reason. My hand rose, then stopped. Not yet. It was not time to press it yet. I swallowed those words over and over inside until the night passed.
The next morning, the sound of the door opening made my body stiffen reflexively in the chair. Captain Grain entered. Her black uniform was spotless. Her black leather gloves bore not a single drop of blood. Her perfectly groomed hair did not have a single strand out of place. Fortunately, she carried nothing in her hands this time.
After a long silence, Captain Grain spoke. “The meal.”
“…Yes?”
“Did it suit your taste?”
It was not the question I had expected.
“I ate a little.”
“You left some.”
“I wasn’t very hungry.”
Captain Grain’s gaze paused briefly on the dark circles beneath my eyes.
“Sleep.”
“I slept.”
“Any discomfort?”
“None.”
“Were you cold during the night?”
“I was fine.”
The questions ended there. Captain Grain turned toward the door, then looked at me once more.
“If you need anything, tell me.”
The door closed. Click.
Meal. Sleep. Whether I was cold. Whether I was uncomfortable. Those were all the questions she had asked me.
At lunch, the bread was cut even smaller, sized for a child’s mouth. The soup was less salty and lighter than yesterday. The officer who brought the tray still said nothing.
On the third day of confinement, a fierce storm poured down. Raindrops clung to the small window. The door opened and Captain Grain entered. This time she carried a stiff bundle of papers.
Strength surged into my toes. It’s finally here.
Captain Grain sat across from me but did not open the papers immediately.
“Tasha.”
The name dropped into the room. My fingers froze on my knees. Outside, heavy rain hammered the window. Tap. Tap-tap.
“Do you know that name?”
My lips did not part right away. I don’t know him well. Many people come to the tavern. I really don’t know where he went. The words I had prepared tangled inside my head.
Captain Tasha. An annoying person. Someone who had dragged me into his prayer-selling scheme, ordered me onto his ship without permission, and told me to pack my things until the very end. It was hard to call him a good person. Still, I did not want anyone to be dragged away and killed because of my words.
My throat tightened slightly. “Not… well.”
The words stopped there. Captain Grain’s gaze dropped to my hands. My fingers had gone white on my knees.
She folded the paper with a crisp sound. “You don’t have to force yourself to speak now.”
My head rose slowly. Captain Grain remained seated.
“If it is difficult to recall, tell me later.”
The room fell silent. She asked nothing more. She did not ask where he had gone. She did not say I must not hide anything. She did not warn that lying would cause trouble. She simply said to tell her later.
Captain Grain pushed the papers aside. “Breakfast.”
“…Yes?”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes, I did.”
“All of it?”
“I left a little.”
Captain Grain gave a tiny nod.
“Do not strain yourself trying to eat everything.”
With only those words, she rose. The door closed. Click. For some reason, the sound seemed a little quieter than yesterday.
She had asked about food. About sleep. Whether I was cold. She had said I could speak later if it was difficult. It was less courteous than precise, less affectionate than awkward. Yet strangely, none of her words tried to stab me.
The fingers that had been rigid on my knees slowly unfurled. Outside the window, the rain continued to fall. Tap. Tap-tap.
Captain Grain rose from her seat. Her black-gloved hand neatly arranged the papers on the desk. Her footsteps toward the door receded. One step. Another. If the door closed like this, she might not ask again for a long time.
My lips moved. But the words did not come out easily. Captain Grain’s hand touched the door handle. At that moment, the words caught in my throat slipped out softly.
“Um… when… will I be able to go back?”
The hand on the handle stopped. Captain Grain’s gaze paused for a moment. The folded papers on the desk. My hands, rigid on my knees again. The thin wrists visible beneath the old nun’s habit. Her eyes moved in that order.
She seemed briefly puzzled by my unexpected question. “Ah.”
A very short sigh escaped her, as though she had remembered something late.
“I see.”
“…Yes?”
“We must send you home.”
I could not answer immediately. The word home felt so foreign that at first I did not realize she was speaking to me.
Captain Grain asked as if confirming something obvious. “Where did you live before you were kidnapped?”
“…”
My voice failed me.
“We cannot move right now.” Captain Grain continued. “We are pursuing Tasha.”
The sound of rain striking the glass filled my ears. Tap. Tap-tap.
“Once this is over, I will definitely take you back.”
Take you back. The words rolled through my mind a beat late.
I stared up at Captain Grain’s serious back with wide eyes.
Huh? Wasn’t I brought here to be interrogated?
Deep beneath the sea, inside a cave where light barely reached, wet rocks glistened as if breathing. In the deepest part of the cave, an ominous pattern floated above a black stone wall. It was neither red nor blue. The light wavered and spread like waves, while the black water pooled beneath the pattern rippled quietly, as though it might come alive at any moment.
One of the sailors swallowed dryly. “What will you do now, Captain?”
Tasha did not answer. She swept her wet hair back roughly and stared at the pattern for a long time. She was smiling. As always, the corners of her mouth were loosely raised. But her eyes were not smiling.
“Hmm.”
Tasha scratched the back of her head vigorously. “Yeah. What now?”
The pattern on the stone wall writhed once more. The air inside the cave grew even colder. As Tasha gazed at the light, she suddenly recalled the silver-haired little nun holding a juice glass in the middle of the tavern.
For Saintess Mariel.
The small voice that had shouted fearlessly in front of pirates. Tasha let out a soft, hollow chuckle.
“It was only half a joke, you know.”
“Sir?”
“Our cute little nun.”
Tasha spoke without taking her eyes off the black pattern. “I suppose I’ll have to seduce her properly.”