"Do you hate pirates?"
Those were the last words Kyle heard before his yacht capsized.
When he opened his eyes again, the world smelled of salt, rum, and damp wood. His head throbbed. The steady creak of waves against the hull filled his ears. He blinked hard, trying to make sense of the dim, swaying light above him.
Where was he?
He tried to sit up, but the sharp pull of rope bit into his wrists. Bound. His pulse quickened as he struggled against the knots, but he froze when a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Don't bother…"
Kyle turned his head. To his right sat Windsor, his best friend, tied up the same way, his expression resigned.
"We've tried," Windsor said grimly. "They're too strong."
Kyle's gaze shifted left — Harley sat there, wrists bound, yet somehow composed. Even now, in the flickering lamplight, she looked impossibly calm… beautiful, even.
He shook his head, forcing focus. "Where are we? How did we get here?"
Before anyone could answer, a gravelly voice boomed from across the room.
"Ah, the three scallywags are awake! Aye, go tell the Captain! Blanc Beard!"
Kyle's stomach sank at the sound of the pirate's thick accent. His frustration burned through the fear, veins rising at his temples as his golden eyes flared like molten metal.
"Of course," he muttered bitterly. "Of all the cursed places in the world… it had to be a pirate ship."
Moments later, another voice answered from somewhere above. "Block Beard! Captain ain't in his quarters!"
Block Beard grunted, clearly annoyed. "What trouble's he causin' now?"
Kyle clenched his jaw, irritated by their oblivious chatter. He was just about to yell when a strange sight made him pause — a head hung upside down in front of him, floating in the air.
The person was alive. Breathing. Yet defying gravity, suspended with no visible support.
The figure was slender and striking — shoulder-length hair dripping with seawater, a dragon tattoo curling around their neck, blue eyes as deep as the ocean, and lips the color of blood.
With a mischievous grin, they said, "Ah, landlubbers!"
Block Beard jumped to his feet. "Mike! Where've ye been? And why're ye soaked?"
The figure straightened, flipping onto the deck in one fluid motion. "It's Captain Mike to you," he said, tapping a finger against Block Beard's chest.
Block Beard snorted. "I've known ye since ye were a lad! Why should I call ye Captain?"
Mike's smirk widened. "Maybe because I be Captain."
Block Beard's face flushed. "Are ye mockin' me accent, boy?"
"Maybe I am," Mike replied with a laugh. "Maybe I'm not."
Kyle groaned quietly. "What a bunch of freaks…" he muttered under his breath.
Mike's sharp eyes flicked toward him. He arched an eyebrow, then turned to Block Beard. "Who are these landlubbers on my ship?"
Block Beard folded his arms. "Aristocrats. Found 'em under our boat yesterday. The blond one was alive — the others looked dead. Figured their parents would pay a fine price for their safe return. Rich folk always do."
Mike chuckled and slapped Block Beard's shoulder. "Good thinking. Let them walk the plank."
At once, the crew erupted into cheers. "Walk the plank! Walk the plank!" they chanted, stomping their boots in rhythm.
Mike strolled over to Kyle, crouched, and flicked him lightly on the forehead. "Let this scallywag go first."
Kyle's eyes blazed with fury, but before he could speak, two burly pirates seized him by the arms, dragging him toward the deck. The sea roared below, dark and endless.
He should have been terrified — but as the wind hit his face, a strange calm washed over him. At least I'll be off this cursed ship, he thought.
Then a voice pierced through the chaos.
"No, please don't!" Harley cried, tears streaking down her cheeks. "He doesn't deserve to die! We're just kids — please, show some pity!"
The deck fell silent. The pirates hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. Then Blanc Beard growled, "Walk the plank!"
The others roared their agreement, chanting again. "Walk the plank!"
Kyle teetered at the edge, glancing back one last time. Mike was lounging on a barrel, munching popcorn like it was a stage show. Their eyes met — Mike's smirk widened.
"Walk the plank," he whispered mockingly.
Before Kyle could take the final step, a new voice thundered across the deck.
"Michael! What in Captain's deck is going on here?!"
The pirates froze. Every head turned toward the stairs. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood there, his glare sharp enough to silence the sea itself.
Captain Dan.
"Didn't you idiots notice I was trying to sleep?" he barked. "And why's that landlubber about to jump off my ship? Michael?"
All at once, the crew pointed at Mike. "Captain, it was his idea!"
Mike's eyes widened in mock offense. "How could you betray me like that?"
Vin — another crewmember — sighed from the shadows. "You know how Mike is, Captain. Always stirring up trouble."
Mike only grinned.
Captain Dan exhaled heavily. "No one's walking the plank. They're aristocrats — we can sell them for a decent price. But if they try anything stupid…" He paused, his voice dropping low. "Then they can walk it."
"Aye, Captain!" the crew shouted in unison.
Dan turned to Mike, his expression flat. "Untie them. And if they cause trouble, you'll deal with it."
Mike gave a lazy salute. "Aye aye, Captain. Don't think they'll try anything, though."
Once Dan and the others disappeared below deck, silence fell again. Mike let out a dramatic sigh and drew a dagger from his belt.
"Fun's over, I suppose." He crouched, slicing through the ropes around Harley and Windsor. They hurried to Kyle, helping him free his wrists.
The moment he was untied, Harley threw her arms around him, sobbing. "Don't ever scare us like that again!"
Kyle managed a faint smile, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Tch. It's not that easy to kill me."
But when his gaze shifted back to Mike, the warmth vanished from his eyes. The air between them thickened with unspoken hatred.
Kyle straightened, his expression cold and steady.
He hated pirates — especially this one.
And he promised himself that one day, Captain Michael would regret ever crossing paths with him.