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The tavern in this Caribbean port town felt like tropical night distilled into a single room. Tonight, as always, it was a cesspool where ruffians desperate to survive another day mingled with fools dreaming of striking it rich.
Amidst the cacophony, one man exuded an alien presence.
Had his skin not been bronzed by the sun, and had his hair not been weathered by the sea breeze, he could easily have been mistaken for a nobleman’s son—a gentleman of striking features.
He wore a fine jacket tailored from deep wine-red velvet, with delicate lace peeping from his collar. Paired with court-style breeches and polished boots, the quality of his attire was unmistakable even in the dim lamplight.
"Oh, it seems I’ve won again. It appears the Goddess of Fortune has taken a liking to my newly tailored jacket tonight."
While the men around him wiped sweat with filthy shirts, he remained composed, idly toying with the mountain of gold coins stacked before him. His posture—leaning back with a relaxed grace that defied his elegant dress—and the rough way he downed his ale made him stand out unnervingly. Just who was he?
Elza, the partner of the Governor who ruled this island, was not one to let such a perfect "mark" slip away.
She was a woman who had moved past the fleeting glow of youth into the dignified charm of maturity. Though over thirty, her skin was as smooth as moonlight, and her night-dark hair was elegantly swept up. Even without the many jewels adorning her, she possessed a self-assured allure that anyone would recognize as "beautiful." She glided up behind the man with a supple grace.
"My, what a wonderful gentleman. You seem to be having quite a run. I wonder if you might share some of that luck with me?"
The man turned as if surprised. In the next heartbeat, a flawless, dazzling smile spread across his handsome face.
"…I am astonished. To find a pearl of such beauty rolling about in a cesspool like this."
The man took Elza’s hand and bowed respectfully, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with the courtly etiquette of a high-ranking aristocrat.
"Nothing would please me more. If I may escort a lady such as yourself, the gold I’ve won is a small price to pay."
To Elza, his eyes seemed to burn with passion. But no one noticed that beneath the table, his fingertips were tapping out a strange, subtle rhythm.
***
Elza led the man not to a bedroom in a Mansion, but to a hidden chamber deep within its walls.
The moment the heavy door slammed shut, skeleton guards lurking in the corners emerged. In the center of the room stood the Governor, a twisted grin on his face. In his hand, he clutched a golden cup—a Holy Grail.
"Good work, Elza. …Now then, nameless dandy. You’ll tell us your rank and the source of your funds."
The Governor held up the Grail as if it were a cheap piggy bank.
"With this cup, gold wells up without end. But I won't tolerate an outsider like you raiding the wealth of my island."
The Governor’s wish for the Grail was neither the reformation of the world nor the reach for ultimate truth; it was the petty, narrow desire for "endless gold coins."
Watching this, the dandy—Bartholomew Robarts—adjusted the sleeve of his fine jacket and let out a small sigh.
"…I suppose that’s enough. Continuing the act is more exhausting than I expected."
At that moment, a thunderous boom echoed through the room.
The window panes shattered into a thousand pieces as smoke grenades were tossed in, spewing white clouds. Two shadows leapt into the midst of the confused guards.
"You’re late with the signal, Captain! I got tired of waiting!"
Billy the Kid’s rapid fire accurately blasted the weapons out of the guards' hands.
"Tch. How noisy. You’re interfering with the hunt."
From the other window, Atalante let fly arrows that perfectly pinned the guards' movements.
Amidst the swirl of gunpowder and white smoke, Bartholomew moved. The concealed cutlass disguised as a gentleman’s cane flashed. Elza reached for her trigger, but Bartholomew closed the distance with a dance-like step, striking her wrist with the flat of his blade. It was the decisive maneuver of a pirate long accustomed to the carnage of boarding actions.
"Blast…!"
Her gun clattered to the floor. In that opening, Bartholomew circled behind the Governor—who was trying to flee with the Grail—and pressed the blade to his throat.
"Pray, do not move. I should hate to stain this beautiful jacket with your blood."
The Governor shrieked. "W-Why?! You were whispering such sweet words of love to Elza!"
To that question, Bartholomew responded with a cruelly beautiful, expressionless face.
"Allow me to tell you one thing. I have no taste for liquor, and gambling is strictly forbidden on my ship. I am sorry to say that I have no interest in beautiful ladies—not a single strand of hair, nor a single fingertip. Well, had she been mekakure, things might have been a bit different…"
"Wh-what…? Meka-…? What are you talking about…?"
Bartholomew casually snatched the Grail from the Governor’s hand.
"However, I do not care for the means so long as I achieve my ends. That is the way of a pirate of the Chaotic-Evil alignment."
He spared a chilly glance for the stunned Elza.
"To lure you out, I endured the smell of liquor I dislike, engaged in tedious gambling, and played the part of the lover whispering sweet nothings to your partner. …Even if it didn't require my Noble Phantasm, it was, in its own way, quite a lot of hard work."
Billy looked around the room—excessively gaudy even for a hidden chamber—and spat in disgust.
"Seriously, having all this treasure and only using it as a tool to spawn gold. It’s a bad joke that we had to go through this whole infiltration drama for a small-time crook like this."
"Indeed," Atalante added, drawing her bow with an annoyed air. "To be put to such trouble for someone who doesn't even know the true value of the Grail… He isn't even worth my arrows."
Bartholomew chuckled as he wrapped the Grail in a cloth.
"Quite right. If only he had possessed a slightly better aesthetic, I might have enjoyed the role-playing more."
"…Hmph. It was a fine performance, Romeo."
At Atalante’s sarcasm, Bartholomew shrugged as if offended. However, she looked him up and down, as if appraising his entire being.
"Despite what you say, weren't you enjoying yourself? You looked quite intoxicated by your own 'perfect self' whispering sweet words to that woman. …Well, whatever. By the way, where did you get those clothes? The tailoring isn't half bad."
"That's what you're asking!?" Billy interjected, while Bartholomew broke into a wide grin.
"Oh! As expected of Atalante, you have a keen eye! This is a custom piece that incorporates many 18th-century trends—"
The figures of the three vanished into the light.
The only thing left behind was an expensive silk tie, the same color as his jacket, which Bartholomew had ostentatiously left on the floor.
***
Silence returned to the hidden room. Shards of glass and the remains of skeleton soldiers were scattered across the luxurious carpet.
The Governor slumped on the floor in despair, his source of wealth stolen.
"…A-A-Ah… My money… my money…"
Elza stared fixedly at her own right hand, which had dropped the gun—no, she stared at the crimson silk tie lying beyond it.
She had taken pride in her ability to charm the Governor without being subservient, to polish her beauty, and to manipulate many men at her whim. That pride had been utterly crushed by a performance that held not a shred of genuine emotion. She had intended to deceive, only to be deceived herself.
In those eyes that had called her a "pearl," she—as a person—had never been reflected from beginning to end.
She had lost.
She stood frozen in the middle of the empty room, vacantly watching the wine-red scrap of cloth fluttering in the night breeze. It was a cold, beautiful, and ironic "tip" left by a man who knew no romance for a woman clad in vanity.