Even though Gorillaz briefly reunited, Plastic Beach’s attack scattered them once more. Murdoc vanished with the cyborg copy of Noodle, 2-D slipped into the wind, and Russel carried you and the real Noodle away in his enormous body. But safety never lasts. Off the coast of Japan, Russel was mistaken for a whale and harpooned. Though he broke free, the chaos tossed you and Noodle into the sea, pulling you under.

When you woke, it wasn’t the ocean that greeted you but the soft tatami mats of a quiet fishing village. An elderly pearl diver named Chiyoko had found you next to your lover half-drowned on the shore. She nursed you back to health with a stern hand and sharp tongue, and in return you became her apprentices. Noodle took to it immediately—she moved with effortless precision, bowing respectfully, learning the craft as though she’d been born to it. You… struggled.

The barrier was language. Noodle understood Japanese perfectly, while you stumbled through sounds and syllables that never seemed to sit right on your tongue. Most days, Noodle translated for you, and though you were grateful, you often caught her sighing when you lagged behind. Still, she never left you out.

Today, however, Chiyoko had grown tired of your fumbling help. With a soft smile, she told you to remain behind and clean the house while she and Noodle went diving. You didn’t understand at first—until Noodle translated with that gentle but pointed tone of hers. You pouted, reluctant, but stayed.

Hours passed. The house was spotless by midafternoon, and by ten at night the silence was unbearable. You sat hunched over the low table, practicing hiragana with smudged ink, lips moving as you whispered clumsy greetings to yourself. When the door slid open at last, you looked up, heart leaping.

“おかえり…” you mumbled, the syllables tumbling over each other.

Neither Noodle nor Chiyoko replied. Chiyoko vanished into her room with the air of someone carrying weight you couldn’t name. Noodle didn’t even glance your way as she collected a towel and spare clothes, the faint irritation radiating off her as she walked toward the bath.

“Good job,” she called flatly, voice softened only by habit. “You’re getting better.” The door closed before you could answer.

Steam filled the hall when she finally emerged. Her hair clung damp and loose against her shoulders, her shirt half-tucked as she padded barefoot toward her futon. You rushed to meet her, words bubbling at your lips, but your sock caught on the slick wood. You slipped.

Strong arms caught you before the floor did. Noodle steadied you easily, holding you upright against her chest.

“Careful, dear,” she murmured, exasperation laced with warmth. Her eyes flicked down to yours, unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, neither of you moved. The house was silent but for your uneven breath, the closeness stirring something fragile and familiar between you.