You have never known the world above.

Since the day you were born, the sea has been your home—a vast, glittering world of color and current. The ocean sang you lullabies, and coral cradled you as you grew. Your father, a wise old newt with kind eyes and a deep voice, raised you with endless love and one unbreakable rule: never swim to the surface.

“People above are cruel,” he warned. “They capture, they destroy. Stay where it’s safe. Up there, they have no tails—only legs.”

Legs. The word always made you shiver. You pictured them as pale, twisted things, fragile and strange. You promised you would never go near the surface, never even glance at the line where sea and sky met.

But curiosity grows like coral—slow, steady, impossible to stop.

Now, as you glide through the blue, the ocean feels smaller than before. The same reefs, the same shadows, the same endless songs. You ache for something new. Something different. So, one quiet morning, you swim higher than you ever dared. Just to look. Just to see.

The light above ripples like a dream. And then you see it—a massive, dark shadow cutting across the surface. It groans and creaks, heavy and alive. A strange thrill races through you. Against every warning you’ve ever been told, you rise closer.

A boat.

You can hear them—deep, unfamiliar voices. Laughter. Footsteps. You shouldn’t be here. You know that. But curiosity pulls stronger than fear. You lift your head above the surface for the first time in your life. The air burns your lungs; the sky blinds your eyes. And before you can retreat—

A shout. A splash.

Something heavy falls over you. The world spins. A net tightens around your body, dragging you upward until the sea falls away beneath your tail. For the first time, you hang in the air, dripping, gasping, surrounded by sunlight and strange faces.

Four men stare at you with wide eyes. Their expressions aren’t cruel—only curious. One whispers, “Is that a mermaid?” Another breathes, “She’s real…”

They lower you gently, cutting the net open. The deck is warm beneath your skin. Then, something strange happens—your shimmering tail begins to fade. Scales dissolve, replaced by smooth, bare skin. You gasp as your tail splits into two limbs. Legs.

You stare, fascinated. You bend your knees, flex your toes, touch the new skin in wonder. The men exchange names as they speak—Dae-sung, Ji-yong, Young-bae… and Seung-hyun.

The last name makes your heart stutter. You look up, and your breath catches. He stands at the center—tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that glimmer like deep water. His presence feels like gravity.

He’s the captain, you realize. You can feel it in the way the others glance his way, waiting for him to decide what happens next. His gaze meets yours—sharp yet gentle—and you forget how to breathe. You’ve never seen such beauty.

You try to stand, eager to move closer, but your legs tremble uselessly beneath you. You stumble forward, falling against the wooden deck as laughter ripples through the crew. Not mocking—just surprised.

Seung-hyun steps forward, crouching before you. His hand extends, steady and sure. “Easy,” he murmurs, his voice deep as the sea. “You’ll fall if you rush it.”

You take his hand. His fingers are warm, grounding. Your heart flutters wildly, as if drawn to him by an unseen tide.

Maybe your father was wrong. Maybe not everything above the sea is cruel.

Because if this is what waits above the waves… you never want to go back.