QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 375: Alive

Chapter 374:

Daphne

I leave my cabin, my occasional depression gone now.

The night air hits my face—cool, salt-tinged, alive. The stars are scattered across the sky like broken glass, each one flickering with its own distant light. The moon is full, casting silver across the water, painting the waves in shades of gray and white.

I sit on my favorite seat. The throne. The one the pirates prepared for like an altar, the one they scrub clean before every use, the one that sits at the head of the deck like a promise.

I lean back. Close my eyes.

The wood is warm beneath my palms.

I feel movent. Soone settling at the base of my throne. I open my eyes.

Naia is sitting at the foot of the chair, her legs crossed, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. The beads in her hair click softly as she moves. She’s not looking at . She’s looking at the stars.

I close my eyes again.

"Captain, you’re in a stellar mood today."

"Am I?"

"Are you not?"

I chuckle. "Happy is an overstatent. More like... not sad."

She hums. I hear movent fabric rustling, beads clicking. I open one eye.

She has a parchnt spread on the cabin floor. Her fingers trace the edges, the corners, the blank spaces. From her hair, she tugs shells, beads, bones—small things, old things, things that catch the moonlight.

She holds them out to .

"Just toss them."

I sit up. Look at her.

I take the objects. They’re warm from her skin. I toss them onto the parchnt in random, careless, without thought move.

They clatter against the wood.

She looks down. Studies the pattern.

The parrot lands on my shoulder.

What’s she doing? I ask silently.

[So people—so souls—have the ability to see through karmic threads.]

The System’s voice sounds in my mind.

[In worlds with higher spiritual power, they show up as seers, saints, witches. Though the spiritual power of this world is not high, so it’s only sothing vague.]

Naia’s finger traces a line between a shell and a bone. Then between the bone and a bead. Her lips move, but no sound cos out.

"Captain." Her voice is different.

"It says sothing is pulling you."

I am very brave. I have faced death more tis than I can count.But I must admit...this is a little spooky.

I look at the random objects I tossed on the ground. A shell. A bone. A bead. A pebble. There’s no pattern. No aning. Nothing but chaos.

How can she see anything at all?

Her eyes go black.

Not dark. Not shadowed. Black. The whites disappear. The irises disappear. Her eyes are empty voids, like holes punched through her face, like windows into sowhere else.

She points toward the north.

"Where are you?"

Her voice echoes. Wrong. Too many layers, like multiple people speaking at once.

"I’m waiting."

She points again, more desperate.

"Where are you?"

Her hand shakes.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

She screams. Loud. Painful. Heartbroken. The sound cuts through the quiet night, through the stars, through the sea. The crew stops moving. The music stops playing. Everyone stares.

Naia sways.

I catch her before she falls.

"Hey." I tap her face. Her skin is cold. "Naia. Hey."

Her eyes flutter. Her pupils are back—normal, brown, human. But then they focus on .

And they’re not her eyes.

"Daphne."

She says my na.

My real na.

The one no one knows in this life. I’m just Captain. The Devil. The unnad terror of the seas. I’ve never introduced myself. Not to her. Not to anyone.

Then her eyes roll back.

She goes limp in my arms.

Naia’s father cos to take her from my arms. He lifts her like she weighs nothing, her beads clicking softly, her head lolling against his shoulder. He doesn’t look surprised.

I wrap the random pieces in her parchnt—the shell, the bone, the bead, the pebble; folding the edges carefully, like I’m folding a letter I’m afraid to read. Then I carry them to her room.

Naia is the only other person on this ship, apart from , with her own room. The door is open. Her father is tucking blankets around her still form. I set the parchnt on the small table by her bed.

"Don’t worry, Cap’n." He doesn’t look up. "This happens occasionally. When she’s possessed by sothing."

He says it so casually. Like it’s normal. Like it’s nothing.

But my heart is racing.

Possessed?

Don’t ghostspossess people?

I walk to my cabin. Close the door. Lock it.

My knees hit the floor.

Aren’t ghosts dead?

I press my hand to my chest. My heart is pounding—too fast, too hard, too loud. The room is spinning. The walls are closing in. I can’t breathe. I can’t—

[Host. Calm down.]

I can’t.

[Host.]

It’s too much.

[HOST!!]

I feel pain. Sharp. Stinging. I look down.

My palm is bleeding. Four deep scratches—claw marks. The parrot is perched on my knee, its beak stained red.

It bit .

No,it scratched .

[Calm down, Host.]

I stare at the blood. The pain is grounding, pulling away from my panic.

[It is not just ghosts capable of possession. Beings with high spiritual power can do so as well.]

I look at the parrot. Its beady eyes stare back.

"High spiritual power?" My voice cracks.

[Yes. In this world, that would be you. Deep sea races—rmaids, sirens. The main character. The like.]

The parrot hops closer.

[If you were on the other side of her peering into karmic threads—you could theoretically possess her as well.]

I stare at the bird.

"She’s not dead," I whisper.

[No.]

"She’s not a ghost."

[No.]

"She’s... sothing else."

The parrot tilts its head.

[Yes.]

I sit back. My blood is still dripping onto the floor. My heart is still pounding. But I can breathe now.

"She’s looking for ," I say.

[It appears so.]

I close my eyes.

She’s not dead.

She’s not dead.