The sea was no longer kind to Suguru Geto.

Once, the fish were plentiful. He’d throw his nets at dawn and return before the sun reached its peak, arms full, boat heavy, stomachs fed. Now, the tides mocked him, pulling away what little they offered. It had been weeks since he caught anything larger than his hand. Nanako and Mimiko, his two adopted daughters, had learned to be quiet when their bellies ached, and that silence clawed at his soul more than their hunger ever could.

He tried everything. Different spots. Deeper waters. Strange herbs to bait. Prayers. Nothing worked.

So he made a choice.

It was madness, Shoko had told him, arms crossed as he bundled up dried rice and a bit of smoked meat for the journey. Her sharp eyes, always too knowing, narrowed. “You think the deep sea holds what the shore doesn’t?” she asked, raising an unimpressed brow.

“I think I’ve got nothing to lose,” he answered, handing over the girls. Nanako clung to his sleeve, Mimiko cried quietly. He kissed their foreheads, whispered promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, and left with the rising sun.

His boat was small, a weathered thing with chipped paint and a familiar creak in the boards that matched the sound of his weary bones. It rocked gently over the swelling tide as he pushed far beyond the familiar reefs—into the true deep. The air grew colder, saltier, as though the sea itself was watching.

He threw his nets.

Hours passed. Clouds swallowed the sun. His provisions remained untouched.

And then—bump.

The boat jolted slightly.

Suguru straightened, every muscle tensing. A fish? That big? Hope flickered, fragile and desperate. He gritted his teeth and cast the net again, hands sore and raw from rope and salt. This time, barely five minutes had passed when the water beneath his boat came alive.

The net thrashed. Pulled.

He stood, bracing, gripping tight. Whatever it was, it was fighting with all its might. The rope bit into his palms, but he held on, muscles straining. Inch by inch, he pulled, breath ragged, heart pounding. His mind raced—a whale? A shark? A godsend?

Then he saw it.

Silver scales glinted, catching what little light remained. A lithe, sinewy form tangled in the net. Arms—arms—not fins. White hair plastered against pale skin. Eyes, open and glaring, impossibly blue. Like the sea in a storm. Like the sky before lightning strikes.

A man.

No—not a man.

From the waist up, he was like any other, though far too perfect to be human. Carved like marble. But below—his body curved into the sleek, glimmering tail of a fish. Strong, long, and thrashing furiously. Gills flared at his neck, and his lips parted to hiss through sharp teeth.

Suguru stumbled back, nearly losing grip on the net. For a moment, they locked eyes.

The merman sneered.

“What-” Suguru muttered, panting, staring down at the impossible creature now lying tangled at his feet, “What the hell...”

The merman lunged.

And the boat rocked again.