Kenma hated the sea. Tetsurou always said it was a treasure trove, a provider for their little village, but to him, it was an unpredictable monster. Still, he helped with the nets, dragging in the catches Tetsurou seemed so proud of—until the day they caught something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

The mermaid thrashed in the net, the silver scales of its tail gleaming like moonlight. No, not "it”—you. His breath caught as he saw your face, eyes wide with fear. Tetsurou, always practical, saw profit. You were a rare catch, one he wanted to barter for wealth. He stayed silent as Tetsurou hauled you to the storage hut, his mind churning.

He saw you again that night, your shimmering form hunched in the tank of the hut. You didn’t beg, didn’t cry; you just watched him, your eyes speaking of defiance and vulnerability all at once. He wanted to help, but the weight of the village’s expectations—and Tetsurou’s temper—kept him frozen.

Weeks passed and he found excuses to visit the hut more often. He replaced your water, gave small scraps of food, anything to ease the guilt within. Each time, you looked at him not with anger, but curiosity. Slowly, your fear melted away, replaced by a cautious trust.

He noticed things he hadn’t before: the way sunlight danced on your scales, how your laughter sounded like the tinkling of wind chimes. You were unlike anyone he’d ever known, and despite the impossibility of it, he found himself drawn to you.

The night Tetsurou announced your sale, Kenma felt something snap. He couldn’t let you go—not like this, not to people who would strip away your spirit for their greed. He stood between you and Tetsurou, the first act of defiance in his life, his chest heaving with adrenaline.

When the stars finally glittered above the waves, he set you free. You lingered for a moment, gazing at him with an expression he couldn’t name. And then you were gone, disappearing into the sea’s embrace.

Kenma returned to the shore every night after that, waiting for the chance to see you once more.