QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 371: What

Chapter 371:

Daphne

"What do you an they slept together?" I ask the System, still painting.

The brush moves across the canvas—slow, deliberate strokes. The rmaid’s tail is taking shape. Shades of green and blue, scales catching invisible light.

[Host, you have not moved from your position for thirteen hours. There was a storm.]

Really? I didn’t notice. The anti-shock upgrades are really good. The ship barely swayed. The water in my cup didn’t even ripple.

I add another layer of paint. The curve of her spine. The fall of her hair.

"But what does that have to do with them sleeping together?"

[The storm forced proximity. Heightened emotions. Shared adrenaline.]

Huh?

Well. Each to their own.

I dip my brush in blue, then reconsider. Set it down.

Well, if it rained, that ans I have clean water to bathe with. Not ocean water. Fresh water. I’ve been scrubbing myself with seawater for days, and my skin feels like sandpaper.

I stand, stretching. My back cracks. My shoulders complain. Thirteen hours in the sa position.

[Host. The mission.]

"Don’t be so stressed, 404." I roll my shoulders. "When have I ever not completed my mission?"

I pause.

"Don’t answer that."

I push open the door and step onto the deck.

The rising sun hits my face, warm and golden. The sky is clear,no clouds, no storms, no sign of the chaos that nearly killed the prince’s crew. The sea is calm. The air is fresh. Salty fresh.

I close my eyes. Breathe in.

The sun feels amazing.

The crew is already moving,scrubbing decks, coiling ropes, checking the cannons. They nod as I pass. No one speaks unless spoken to. They’ve learned.

"Freddie."

The man appears at my side. No ears. Permanent scowl. Silent as a shadow.

"Tell Bram to coordinate with their ship’s navigator." I lean against the railing, looking out at the prince’s vessel in the distance.

"How long. What routes. Expected dangers."

"Yes, Cap’n." Freddie nods and disappears.

I’m mature enough now not to laugh at pirate accents. After my observations, I’ve learned it’s not an accent—not really. It’s the result of most of these n not having teeth. So have parts of their tongues cut out.

They can’t make coherent sounds, or perfect pronunciation, no matter how hard they try.

So I don’t laugh.

Not anymore.

Seriously Daphne, you’re over a hundred years old and still immature.

***

Nancy

It’s surprising that the navigator from the Devil’s ship is actually listening to .

I expected him to dismiss . To ignore my suggestions. To treat the way n usually treat won who dare to have opinions about things that should be left to n.

But he doesn’t.

He leans over the maps and star charts spread across the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s a young man—probably my age, maybe a year or two older. A faint scar cuts through his left eyebrow. His hair is cut short to his scalp.

He’s not handso like the prince. Not beautiful like the Devil. But he’s not ugly either. He’s just... average. Unremarkable. The kind of face you’d forget the mont you look away.

"We should sail west for about a week on this path," I say, pointing to the route I’ve plotted.

He pulls out his own map—worn, stained, covered in notes written in a cramped hand. He points to a tiny skull drawn in the corner of a narrow passage.

"No." His voice is firm. "We’ll encounter these nasty bastards."

I lean closer. The na is written in faded ink: Neptune’s Candle.

"What’s there?"

"Nothing as bad as the monster of the seas." He traces the passage with his finger. "But nothing to scoff at either."

I study the map.

"I cannot make this decision alone," I say.

When I ask the prince, he does exactly what I expect. He barely glances at the map, waves a dismissive hand, and says we should sail through.

"The fastest route is the best route," he says. "We’ve wasted enough ti."

I bite my tongue.

Bram, the Devil’s navigator, looks at . His expression is amused.

"Your funeral," he says.

The prince frowns. "I didn’t ask for your opinion."

"You didn’t have to." Bram rolls up his map. "I’m just stating a fact."

The prince’s jaw tightens. But he says nothing. He’s learned, at least, not to argue with the Devil’s crew.

We continue planning. Bram and I, side by side, tracing routes and marking dangers. He’s thodical. Precise. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t dismiss my concerns.

When we’re finished, I walk him toward the plank connecting the two ships.

He’s about to step onto it when I speak.

"Uhm. Thank you."

He looks back at , confused. His brow furrows.

"What for?"

"For listening to ." I pause. "For being unbiased."

He stares at for a long mont. The wind blows his short hair. The sun catches the scar on his eyebrow.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" he asks.

I don’t know how to answer that.

n have dismissed my whole life. My father. My brothers. The sailors who laughed at my maps.

"Most n are," I say finally.

He tilts his head. Studies .

"I suppose you are a littleyoung," he says eventually.

A little young. Not too young to know what you’re doing. Not too inexperienced to be taken seriously. Just... a little young.

I should let it go. Accept the complint. Say goodbye and go back to my maps.

But I don’t.

"I am also a woman," I say.

He blinks. "I may have noticed."

"And that doesn’t bother you?"

Bram studies my face. His expression is unreadable.

"Why would it bother ?" he asks.

I stare at him. The wind blows my hair across my face. I don’t brush it away.

"You do realize..." He pauses, as if choosing his next words carefully. "My captain is a woman, right?"

I blink.

"So I would never think the capabilities of a woman are less than any man."

"What?"