The last thing I remembered was scrolling through the final chapter of The Tyrant of the Boundless Ocean on my phone, cursing the author for the tragic ending. It wasn't a romance; it was a brutal dark fantasy where everyone died.
The next thing I knew, I was wet, cold, and smelling something that suspiciously resembled pickled fish.
I blinked, waiting for my bedroom ceiling to appear.
It didn't.
Instead, I was staring up at a blindingly bright, cloudless sky.
I tried to sit up, but my body felt weird. Heavy. Useless.
I looked down at my hands. They were tiny, chubby, and… pale?
And what was this fluff in my peripheral vision? I tried to brush it away, but my hand passed through a lock of soft, light blue hair.
Blue hair? I didn't dye my hair.
Before I could panic, a shadow fell over me.
Someone blocked the sun.
It was a face.
A very handsome, very scary, very familiar face.
Wild crimson hair that defied gravity, looking like a burning flame.
Skin bronzed by the harsh sea sun.
And golden eyes with vertical pupils—like a dragon's.
My heart stopped beating.
I knew that face. I had seen the fan art. I had read the descriptions for 500 chapters.
Captain Drakon.
The Villain. The Scourge of the Seas. The Demon King. The man who has dragon blood running through his veins.
I opened my mouth to scream, Please don't kill me! I'm just a reader!
But my vocal cords betrayed me. I had no teeth, no words, just a tongue that felt too big for my mouth.
What came out wasn't a plea for mercy. It was:
"Baaa?"
Drakon blinked. The malice in his golden eyes paused, replaced by sheer confusion.
He reached down with a massive, scarred hand and lifted me up by the back of my oversized shirt. I dangled in the air like a wet kitten, limbs flailing uselessly.
"Quartermaster!" his voice rumbled like thunder, vibrating through my tiny chest. "Why is there a blue potato in this barrel?"
I am not a potato! I kicked my short, chubby legs indignantly. I am a human being! Put me down!
A chill filled the air. A skeletal figure in a tattered dark robe floated forward, his feet hovering inches off the deck. He held a thick book bound in black leather—Malachi, the Dark Mage.
He peered at me with empty sockets. "It radiates no magic, Captain. It is merely… flesh. Useless flesh."
A heavy thud shook the deck. A massive green Orc wearing a bloodstained apron that read KISS THE COOK leaned over. Gorak sniffed me. "Too small to cook. No meat on bone."
Excuse me?! I am not an appetizer!
"If it's not magic and it's not food, what is it?" Drakon grunted, shaking me slightly.
From the shadows of the mast, a third figure stepped forward. He had bandages covering one eye and his hand rested on a katana. Ren, the Silent Swordsman.
Ren looked at me. He looked at Drakon. He spoke two words, his voice flat and bored.
"Human. Baby."
Drakon squinted at me. "A baby? Why is it blue?"
He brought me closer to his face to inspect me. "And look at the eyes. Pink. Jewel pink. Like those expensive rocks the nobles wear. Ugly color."
"It's useless," Drakon decided, holding me out over the railing towards the churning dark water below. "Throw it back. Maybe the sharks are hungry."
Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic.
I felt the sea breeze hit my face. I saw the waves crashing below.
I am a literal infant. I can't swim. I can't run. If I go in the water, I die.
I have to do something. The novel said Drakon has no weaknesses. He is immune to magic, steel, and poison.
But… there was one line in Chapter 200. Captain Drakon is easily confused by things that defy logic.
I took a deep breath. My tiny lungs filled with salty air.
I looked the world's deadliest villain dead in the eye.
I reached out with my chubby hand, grabbed his nose, and did the only thing a baby could do.
I squeezed my eyes shut and—
"Achoo!"
A massive, wet glob of baby snot launched from my nose and landed squarely on the Pirate King's cheek.
The world went silent.
The wind seemed to stop.
Ren's visible eye widened slightly. Malachi floated backward in shock. Gorak dropped his ladle.
Drakon froze.
He looked at the snot slowly sliding down his face.
Then he looked at me.
"...It attacked me," Drakon whispered, his voice filled with genuine horror. "This potato has guts."
Drakon wiped the snot from his cheek with his thumb, inspecting it like it was the blood of a fallen enemy. Then, a wide grin split his face, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming white teeth. His canines were definitely too long to be human.
"I'll keep it," Drakon announced. "This potato is mine."
The crew stared at him.
"Captain?" Malachi floated closer, his skeletal jaw unhinged in confusion. "It is a noisy, leaking flesh-sack. Why burden the ship with it?"
"Meat is too little," Gorak grumbled sadly. "Waste of space."
Drakon ignored them, lifting me higher until we were nose-to-nose. "Because it doesn't fear me. Even seasoned admirals wet their trousers when I look at them. But this thing?" He chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest like a purring engine. "I can't smell a drop of fear on it."
That's because I'm an adult woman trapped in a baby's body, you idiot!
Internally, I was screaming. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them. I was terrified. I was petrified. But years of corporate retail work had taught me how to suppress the urge to cry in front of difficult managers. I just couldn't hold it for much longer.
Drakon's grin widened. He looked delighted. Then, his dragon instincts took over, and he did something incredibly stupid.
"You must be cold," he muttered. "Here."
He opened his mouth, his throat glowing bright orange like a furnace, and breathed a puff of literal smoke and heat directly into my face.
Is he trying to roast me?!
I coughed, batting away the smoke with tiny, uncoordinated hands.
"Captain," Ren's flat voice cut through the air. "Stop. You will cook it. It is a human infant. Not a hatchling."
"Oh. Right," Drakon closed his mouth, looking disappointed that I didn't appreciate his fire breath. He shook me slightly. "So? Speak. What is your name, potato?"
He waited.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
I am barely seven months old! Do you expect me to hand you a business card?
When I didn't answer, Drakon frowned. He poked my soft cheek with a sharp fingernail. "It's not speaking. Is it defective?"
Defective?!
Indignation surged through me. I puffed out my cheeks and gave him the nastiest glare a baby could muster. I am not a returned item at a grocery store! I am a person!
"It hates you," Ren observed dryly. "You need to name it."
"Name it?" Drakon scratched his chin with his free hand. "Fine. Something strong. Something sticky." He looked at the barnacles on the side of the ship. "Barnacle."
No! I waved my hands in protest.
"She's waving," Gorak said. "She hates it. Call her Meatball."
"Soul Harvester," Malachi suggested whispering. "Or Doom-Bringer."
"Fish Stick," Drakon tried again. "Everyone loves fish sticks."
I let out a frustrated squeal, kicking the air.
"See?" Drakon nodded confidently. "She's excited. She likes Fish Stick."
I hate it! I hate all of you!
Suddenly, the heavy oak door to the cabins slammed open.
"What," a sharp, feminine voice hissed, "is all this ruckus?"
A woman stepped onto the deck, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Princess Isabella.
Even though she had clearly just woken up, she looked like a painting. Her platinum blonde hair tumbled in messy, elegant waves down her back. Her emerald green eyes were narrowed in annoyance. She wore a silk nightgown that clung to a figure that would make a statue blush—curvy, voluptuous, and commanding.
She yawned, covering her mouth delicately, before her eyes landed on Drakon. Specifically, on the way he was holding me—dangling by the back of my shirt like a sack of laundry.
Her eyes widened. The sleepiness vanished instantly.
"You barbarian!"
She crossed the deck in three strides, her heels clicking on the wood. "Give me that!"
Before Drakon could react, she snatched me from his hands. She immediately cradled me against her chest, supporting my head and bottom properly.
Oh, thank god.
I instantly snuggled into the soft silk of her dress. It smelled like lavender and expensive perfume, a stark contrast to Drakon's scent of sulfur and sea salt. And unlike the Captain's hard body, she was very soft.
Isabella glared at the men. "Were you debating names? I heard 'Fish Stick' from my cabin."
"It's a strong name," Drakon defended weakly.
"If you name this child 'Fish Stick,' or 'Meatball,' or any of the atrocities you just listed," Isabella said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm level, "I will steer this ship directly into a whirlpool. Try me."
She looked down at me. Her expression softened.
I looked back.
Hanging from her neck was a necklace made of lustrous, creamy white pearls. Without thinking, I reached out with my tiny hand and grabbed the largest pearl, holding it tight.
Isabella smirked.
"See?" She looked up at Drakon triumphantly. "She doesn't bite. She appraises. Look at her grip. She knows value when she sees it."
She gently pried my fingers loose, but let me hold her finger instead.
"Rough on the outside like a shell, but precious on the inside. And she goes perfectly with my aesthetic."
Drakon tilted his head. "So? What is it?"
Isabella lifted her chin. "She is Pearl. And you will address her as 'Lady Pearl.'"
Pearl.
I let out a long breath, my tiny body relaxing against her. Pearl is good. Pearl is normal. I can work with Pearl.
I was so relieved I didn't get named 'Barnacle' that I almost cried.
But then, a new problem arose.
My stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl.
Gurgle.
The adrenaline of the sneeze and the naming ceremony wore off, leaving behind a primal, burning hunger. I hadn't eaten since… well, since I was reborn.
The urge to cry, which I had been suppressing like a champ, suddenly broke the dam.
I opened my mouth and let it rip.
"WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
The sound was deafening. It wasn't a cute baby cry; it was the wail of a starving creature.
Isabella flinched, almost dropping me. "Good heavens! She's hungry!"
Drakon covered his ears, looking panicked. "Make it stop! It sounds like a dying banshee!"
"She needs food, you idiot!" Isabella yelled over my screams, rocking me desperately.
"Well?" Drakon gestured vaguely at Isabella's chest. "You're a female! Do the… milk thing!"
Isabella turned a furious shade of red. "I am a Princess, not a dairy farm! I haven't given birth, you moron! I don't have milk!"
Malachi floated closer, looking disturbed by the noise. "I have never heard a sound so… piercing. Is it casting a sonic attack?"
I cried harder, my face turning red. I don't care about your biology! I need milk! Give me milk or I will sink this ship with my tears!