Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 168 - Lying Beside Her

"’Productively how,’" someone said.

He looked at the deck.

Then at the group.

"’There’s food in the galley for approximately another day. Inventory it. Find the emergency radio and check its frequency range. And—’" his gaze moved briefly across the three senior men who’d been in the corridor, unhurried, registering their faces without emphasis "’—stay in groups.’"

He turned and walked toward the pool deck.

The group looked at each other.

Then, in ones and twos, they started doing what he’d said.

Nara watched this.

The specific, wordless process of a group of people organizing themselves around someone they’d decided was the person to organize around, not through announcement but through the simple gravity of being the only person in the situation who was operating from information.

She watched the women follow him toward the pool deck.

Two of the freshers, the glitter one, another one with her hair still tied from the party. Moving in the vague, unself-conscious way of people who wanted to be near the person who knew things.

She felt something that she did not want to feel.

Which was: ’why are they following him.’

And underneath that: ’he kissed me.’

And underneath that: ’it should not have felt like that.’

She crossed her arms.

Celia, beside her, said: "’He’s irritating.’"

"’Yes,’" Nara said.

"’He knows things he shouldn’t know.’"

"’Yes.’"

"’And he’s—’" Celia stopped. Started again. "’He’s very—’"

"’Don’t,’" Nara said.

A beat.

"’I wasn’t going to say anything,’" Celia said.

"’Good.’"

They both looked at where he’d gone.

’’’

The pool was not large.

A ship’s pool was a different category from the word ’pool’ implied — a contained rectangle of treated water, not decorative, not particularly inviting. But it existed. And the sun, having committed to the sky by eleven in the morning, had given the deck a warmth that the specific category of human who had been awake all night dealing with a crisis experienced as the first uncomplicated good thing since the previous afternoon.

Raven pulled his shirt off.

He wasn’t performing this.

He folded the shirt. Set it on the deck chair with the same energy someone might use to fold a paper before putting it in a drawer. Then the jeans, the mechanics of it simple and unremarkable, the body beneath them revealed with the same casual indifference.

He stood on the pool deck in the morning light.

There was a beat.

A collective one. Not spoken, not acknowledged, occurring simultaneously in several people across the pool deck with the specific, involuntary quality of an intake of breath taken without deciding to.

He was —

The shoulders. The chest — not the manufactured kind, not the gym-built architecture of someone working toward an ideal, but the organic expression of a body that had been built by whatever he was built by, each line of it serving function rather than aesthetic. The stomach. The specificity of a V-muscle that descended beneath his waistband with the directional geometry of an arrow pointing somewhere the group was trying very hard not to follow with their eyes.

He stepped into the pool.

The water received him. He pushed off from the wall, floated, face up, arms out, the purple eyes closed against the sky.

The glitter fresher sat down very carefully on the pool’s edge.

Then the other one.

Then a third woman who had been standing by the rail and had found, without quite deciding to, that the pool deck was the place she needed to be.

Nara stood at the far edge of the deck.

Watching.

Her arms were crossed. The posture of a person maintaining a position.

The watch man walked past her, glanced toward the pool, looked away with the specific expression of a man who has decided to be somewhere else.

Celia appeared beside her.

"’He’s doing it on purpose,’" Celia said.

"’Obviously,’" Nara said.

"’Making them all—’"

"’I know.’"

"’It’s manipulative.’"

"’I know.’"

"’You’re still staring.’"

Nara uncrossed her arms.

"’I was not staring,’" she said.

She went to find food.

’’’

The day moved.

The cloud lifted. The satellite phone worked for eleven minutes before the battery gave out — enough to relay a position, enough to hear the word ’rescue’ and the estimate ’tomorrow morning’ before the line died. Long enough.

The island appeared at four-fifteen.

Small. Tropical. The specific, green-dark green of an island that was doing its own thing independently of anyone’s crisis. The ship’s programmed course would bring them within half a mile of it by the following morning, at which point the coast guard’s rescue coordination would presumably intersect with their location.

One more night.

The deck by evening had the specific social organization of a group of people who’d been through a shared experience and were now distributing into the sub-groupings that the experience had revealed. The men together at the bow. The women near the pool, mostly, the evening warmth still enough to sit outside, the island’s silhouette darkening against the orange-grey horizon.

Raven was at the rail.

Nara looked at him from across the deck.

She’d been doing that all day. Catching herself and stopping and then finding she’d started again. The specific, irritating cycle of watching something you’d decided you weren’t watching.

His back was to the group. The shoulders, the posture. He was looking at the island.

She thought about the morning. The corridor. His hand around both her wrists, the ease of it. The thing he’d said about the recording app.

She thought about the kiss.

Pressed her lips together.

Looked away.

’’’

"’You’re not sleeping in here with us,’" Celia said.

The cabin. The same one. The narrow bed and the fold-out and the porthole now showing the island’s night silhouette — closer, definite, a shape against the dark.

Raven stood in the doorway.

"’The men in the forward cabin,’" he said, "’have a twelve-inch key wrench from the engine room.’"

Celia stared at him.

"’I saw them with it this afternoon,’" he said. Simply. "’I didn’t mention it earlier because the satellite phone call resolved the rescue timeline and there was no utility in escalating. There is now a twelve-inch key wrench in the forward cabin and three men who spent last night processing various humiliations.’"

"’You could be lying,’" Celia said.

"’I could,’" he said.

She looked at Nara.

Nara looked at the ceiling.

"’Fine,’" Celia said. The word carrying the specific, weighted exhaustion of a woman making a practical decision she is not happy about. "’Fine. But you sleep on the floor.’"

"’That’s reasonable,’" he said.

"’And you don’t—’"

"’Yes.’"

She pointed at the floor beside the fold-out with the energy of someone making a cartographic declaration.

He lay down on the floor.

Nara stayed on the bed.

Celia took the fold-out.

The cabin settled into its nighttime configuration.

The ship moved, gentle and consistent, the island pulling closer with the tide.

Twenty minutes. Thirty.

Celia’s breathing, from the fold-out — the specific, graduated slowing of someone going down into sleep, the resistance dropping away in stages.

The cabin quiet.

Nara stared at the ceiling.

"’I know you’re not sleeping,’" Raven said.

From the floor. His voice low, aimed at the ceiling rather than her.

She didn’t answer.

A pause.

Then: the sound of him moving. The specific, contained sound of a person getting up from a floor with the fluid ease of someone whose body didn’t make complaints.