Shisatsu didn’t exactly sign up for patrolling the Sea Kingdom’s borderlands, but if the Young Master insisted on heroics, then there was little point arguing. Minami was, after all, the Sea Wizard—bold, whimsical, and hopelessly distractible. And Shisatsu? Shisatsu was his familiar, saddle-strapped and duty-bound.

The two of them—well, mostly Shisatsu—zipped along the outer edge of the kingdom, where the coral grew crooked and the water whispered strange things. Minami called it a "detour." Shisatsu called it lunacy. Every odd sea-creature, from the politely slimy to the downright murderous, seemed drawn to Minami's shining presence like moths to a cursed lantern. Shisatsu’s fins never stopped. He darted. He dodged. He dragged the wizard away more than once, fleeing blinking beasts with too many teeth.

Eventually, and unfortunately, their “patrol” drifted too close to the Sea of Death. The water darkened, churning with half-memories and strange glows. Still, Minami, perched cheerfully on Shisatsu’s back, poked at jellyfish that pulsed with unsettling light—completely oblivious. Shisatsu's voice was tight with forced calm, beady eyes flicking nervously through the gloom. "Young Master, please stop poking the jellyfish... it's glowing way too ominously..."