Ter stood aloof at the centre of the burning ship, his hands clasped behind his back.
His left eye forever lay hidden beneath a pirate eye patch, while his right was currently closed.
He had been standing there, unmoved, for the past minute. Echoes of unloading bullets filled his surroundings.
The crew continued to blindly fire their shots in random directions, hoping to hit the attackers by sheer luck.
It wasn't the most efficient strategy, but infinitely better than simply standing around doing nothing.
One of the shooters was their commander—the burly bald man with a scar running through his right eye—the right-hand man to the captain, the one who managed the crew if the captain couldn't or didn't want to.
He kept firing into the dark with his massive golden revolver.
Knowing the odds of hitting anything were negligible wasn't a reason to not try at all, at least not for him.
But even as he shot, he kept a cursory glance fixed on the revolving green spotlight.
From this distance, the spotlight looked like a distant star.
He probably couldn't notice if anything were to happen to it.
Yet, he stayed alert, waiting to spot even the slightest change in the light.
He didn't have to wait long.
His eyes flickered as he noticed something.
First, the circle of light, which looked no bigger than a star, suddenly expanded, growing into a miniature sun revolving on the ocean surface.
Then, just moments later, the circle of light twinkled—as if some dark object entered its range and obstructed the illuminance.
But the burly pirate wasn't sure.
Was it just his mind playing tricks? Or had the circle stumbled upon something?
For assurance, he focused on the light with greater intensity and lowered his revolver.
His suspicion was confirmed.
Moments after the twinkle, the circle of light suddenly stopped.
The spotlight, which had been spinning at impossible speeds, froze in place.
The sudden stillness made the burly pirate's hair stand on end.
And then, a voice rang out—the voice of his captain calling his name.
"Ramos."
The burly pirate, Ramos, turned around at once, his throat tightening with anticipation.
There stood his captain, still in the same position as before—only now, his right eye was open.
In the next moment, Terror released the clasped hands from behind his back and raised one arm forward.
He pointed toward the burning rear of the ship, toward where the green pillar of light now stood still.
Then simple words came out of his mouth, as calm as ever:
"Shoot beside the light."
Despite the calm tone, the message cut through the noise like a blade.
The crew instantly ceased fire and turned their eyes to their captain.
He returned to clasping his hands behind his back, but this time, his right eye remained open.
The burly Ramos let a crooked grin stretch across his face.
He lingered a moment, then barked out commands.
"You heard him! Gather at the back! Flank each other in a horizontal line, aim your guns around the light, and shoot in rotating groups! Reload while others fire!
But remember—DON'T SHOOT AT THE LIGHT, just beside it!"
The pirates immediately followed, rushing toward the burning rear.
As they arranged themselves with mechanical precision, Ter exhaled deeply…
And closed his right eye once again.
In the next exact moment, the emerald-hued spotlight began moving once more.
But it didn't continue forward—it moved backwards, retracing its path–
Toward the place where it had twinkled.
The spot where a pitch-black ship now silently floated backwards.
…
The demonic circle of viridescent light was coming right in their direction.
'No.'
A single thought reverberated inside Light's disoriented mind.
Their plan to cross the green spotlight as quickly as possible had failed—spectacularly so.
Not only had it failed, but it had backfired.
They were supposed to get closer to the pirate ship for the next part of the plan.
Instead, they'd been flung back—and on top of that, they were injured.
Severely.
And now, to put the nail in the coffin…
The enemy—Pirate Captain Terror White—seemed to have sensed them the moment they interacted with the emerald light.
Which is why it was now coming back—the spotlight from hell—directly toward them.
Light panicked.
For the first time, his mind couldn't hold itself together.
The stress, the exhaustion, the pain—both physical and internal—piled up, cracking his stern composure.
He had plans. He had contingencies.
But none that could work fast enough.
The light was already closing in.
He tried to get up.
Fell again.
His head hit the railing with a sick thud. He grimaced in pain.
Blood dripped from his lips, trailing down to his chin, staining his navy blue scarf.
The situation was dire. He needed to do something, if he couldn't on his own, he had to get help.
So somehow, he summoned enough strength to speak to his companion and senior.
His voice was broken, but the message came through.
"Sir… Help! It's… coming."
Scarn, who had been lying on his back, suddenly opened his eyes. His expression resembled someone who was shaken out of a deep dream.
He was shaken. He had suffered too after all, although not as much as Light, it was enough to put his mind on edge.
Yet his resilience allowed him to regain slight control of his body, though it was shaky at best.
He sat up.
His eyes lacked focus—he was moving on instinct.
"Yup… I'm here."
He wiped his mouth, clearing the froth and saliva from his lips.
Then he tried to stand, but stumbled.
The internal blow to his head left him in a drunken state.
Light chewed through the pain and issued instructions; he had to get the ship out of the spotlight's range, and he couldn't move, so he was going to let Scarn be his muscle.
He spoke slowly and carefully, knowing Scarn's mind couldn't handle complexity right now. "Lieutenant… walk forward… sit down between those two long sticks…"
Scarn obeyed without question, as if Light were his Drill Sergeant.
He slumped onto the ledge between the two long sticks.
"Those sticks are paddles. Use them to move the boat back. Turn the right paddle clockwise… the left one counterclockwise."
Scarn nodded and did his best.
But in his disoriented state, the movements were erratic.
The power behind each stroke was far from what a sober Scarn could deliver.
Light bit his lip hard in despair.
Scarn's paddling pulled the boat back, but the backwards acceleration was not nearly enough.
Light tried once more to stand.
But every attempt was nothing more than a tantrum against fate. Because the green spotlight was now just seconds away.
Looking at it made Light trip again, collapsing backwards.
Doom came to his doorstep.
The spotlight's diameter spanned over a hundred meters. Against it, their small pitch-black ship looked microscopic.
If the circle moved even vaguely in their direction, they would be engulfed.
Now escape was… impossible.
When the light reached the ship, its emerald hue reflected off the ocean surface, shining once more on Light's face.
The green painted Light an ugly face.
He was mad, unbearably so.
'So damn close!'
He didn't know what the enemy's power was. Didn't know how to counter it. Didn't even know if it could be countered.
Even if he had known…
Would it have made a difference?
So he just sat there and punched the deck in anger.
He laughed like a maniac, thinking to himself, 'Ironic, isn't it… Someone named Light dying to a ray of light.'
'I got a second chance and I just had to fucking fumble it with overconfidence and ego…'
Resigned to fate, he closed his eyes. The gods of death, who laughed at him, were proven right.
He wasn't who he thought he was. At the end, all he amounted to be, was a loser.
And he just had to die a loser's fate.
He looked up and saw it with his own eyes.
The spotlight came to the ship.
And then…
Nothing happened.
…