High above the Ryugu Kingdom, Jewel Tree Eve lingered in her soft, beautiful glow, her roots shimmering with an otherworldly elegance that mirrored the spirit of the full moon.
Below, a walkway formed between a dense mesh of stalls, its many winding paths branching out like narrow sailing routes charted through a lively archipelago.
Lanterns swayed gently overhead, their flames flickering into soft, wavering wisps that cast a warm, golden glow over the bustling plaza. Countless stalls rose through the restless sea that is the plaza, each casting its own charming atmosphere into the world—pockets of life and colour shifting with the whims of the people.
Amid the tangled weave of restless souls, a boy with no name emerged—a shadow cloaked in a deep black garment. His steps faltered, each one slow and unsteady, as though his body no longer answered to him,
'What's… happening to me? My hand's shaking…..... maybe, am I cold again…?'
'It hurts… where did all my strength go…?'
A sudden gust swept past him and like a sail, his cloak caught the wind and pulled him sideways, lifting him off his feet and into a stack of crates with a loud crash that sent a heap of slimy fish skidding across the ground.
"Oi! Watch where you're going!" snarled a burly fishmonger with a razor‑sharp frown.
Or is he supposed to be a fisherman? Actually, hold up—this is Fishman Island, pretty much everything here is almost a fish so does that make him a hunter instead? A fish‑hunter? A hunter‑man? A man‑fish‑hunter‑thing? Nope, nope, aborting that thought spiral. Not important, scoot! scoot!!, moving on…!!!
The boy lay sprawled in the pile of fish he'd crashed into, a frantic fish jammed in his mouth, its tail beating frantic kicks as it tried to wriggle free. He spat it out to the side in a messy burst before he pushed himself up, swaying as he fought for his footing.
"You brat, look at what you've done to my merchandise!!" the hulking fishmonger growled, stepping forward.
The boy bent toward the pile, his body sinking under a weight that felt borrowed from the earth itself. He reached out slowly, lifting a fish with the care of someone handling something fragile, and set it back into an empty crate. "Huff… sorry about that…"
"Stop," the fishmonger snapped, cutting him off before the apology could settle. "What good will that do? Just leave it and get the hell outta here, will ya."
The boy paused, rising with a small stumble that tipped him off balance for a heartbeat before he caught himself with a quick shift of his foot. He turned to walk away, his voice carrying a familiar ease. "See you around, mister."
The fishmonger hated the idea. He huffed, steam blowing out of his nose in a sharp, irritated puff.
The boy's eyes glazed as he slowly zoned out, the world narrowing to the echo of a single recurring thought, Karna… and the foreign weight of his own exhaustion…
Fishmen and mermaids passed by, heads held high with a stubborn pride, all too absorbed in their own little worlds to notice the boy stumbling between them like a common drunk. By all logic, someone should have bumped into him by now…
Inside a takoyaki booth nearby, a familiar face leaned over the side of a small tank, his brow drawn into that same worn crease he'd carried for the last year or so. He tapped the glass with his index finger—quick, impatient taps that sent small ripples drifting through the water until a glossy red octopus finally turned to meet his gaze.
He set down a small metal bucket with the net resting inside it; the bucket struck the stone floor with a sharp CLANK as he placed it at his feet.
"Akkoro," he whispered, his eyes shifting behind him in a brief glance before returning to the tank, "lend me a hand, will you?"
Akkoro answered with a single unimpressed bubble, his eyes narrowing with that familiar mix of annoyance and reluctant tolerance he reserved only for his old friend.
The fishman leaned in, trying to catch Akkoro's attention before it slipped away, his voice dropping into a soft, coaxing murmur. "Come on… you know me. It's your old pal Toshiyaki."
Akkoro began to turn, a quiet shift that signaled the moment slipping out of his reach.
Toshiyaki bowed his head, the last of his composure breaking into a desperate spill. "Please, Akkoro—just this once. I'll pay you twice… no, three times your regular price. I'm begging you, Akkoro‑sama."
A soft trail of bubbles drifted upward from the sharp‑eyed octopus, rising in a slow, resigned sigh.
In a shocking turn of events, his tentacles tore free, one after the other in rapid succession, like a lizard's tail abandoning its owner. Slowly they rose through the water in smooth, waving arcs.
Then, from what remained, an even more baffling phenomenon that bordered on the supernatural took place, his tentacles began to regenerate, restoring their full length in mere moments.
Hydra‑like in its certainty, reborn only to be shed once again in a grim procession that layered the surface with an ever‑growing blanket of Akkoro's limbs.
Toshiyaki froze, staring at the sudden burst, his eyes flicking behind him in a quick check of the plaza before snapping back to the tank.
"Stop!—Stop it, Akkoro! You're gonna make me look like I just committed some kind of octo genocide back here!" he whispered sharply, another glance slipping over his shoulder as the pile continued to rise.
The mound surged upward until it pressed hard against the tank's rim, bunching and crowding there as if the whole mass were trying to climb out at once.
Toshiyaki moved on instinct, grabbing the net he had stored away within the bucket by the handle and drove it through the writhing cluster in sharp, rapid strokes, scooping up tentacles as they pushed over one another in a dense, rising swell. Haul after haul dropped into the bucket with heavy, wet thuds, the bucket's steel body trembled under the growing weight.
Slowly the cephalopod's frenzy came to an ebb, the once‑relentless cascade thinned before it settled into stillness.
Satisfied with his little game, he drew his arms inward, his eyes carrying a pale, pearly gloss, reflecting a quiet fatigue that words could never truly capture.
Toshiyaki let out a long breath, strain easing from his shoulders as he set the brimming bucket aside with a heavy thud, shifting its rubbery contents inside.
"Akkoro," he murmured, "you're a bloody headache, you know that?"
A soft, lazy bubble drifted from Akkoro as he gave a slow, almost yawning stretch before turning away and pulling himself into the shadows of his tank.
Outside, an odd sense brushed the edge of his awareness, pulling his gaze towards the front of his booth.
Toshiyaki nudged the bucket at his feet to the side and he made his way forward.
A boy shrouded in black stood there, swaying on his feet, his balance slipping as though the ground kept tilting beneath him. His breath came shallow, his eyes unfocused.
Toshiyaki raised a brow, a grin tugging at his mouth.
"Hahaha! Back for seconds already, kid."
The boy's voice wavered as he tried to steady himself.
"Sorry mister… that's not what I'm doing, you see… I've lost… my crewmate."
Toshiyaki's brow lifted slightly. "… Crewmate?"
The boy blinked, breath catching. "Where'd you go… missss…"
His legs buckled and he fell straight onto his face with a heavy impact that cut through the plaza's noise like a strike from the heavens.
Toshiyaki jolted—an involuntary shock snapping through him. 'The kid's a pirate!!…'
Those nearby drifted away after hearing the word crewmate, each of them had come to the same conclusion. His cloak may have hid his shape and identity, but the implications of his words were as clear as day, "That guy's definitely a pirate!!" and there was no telling what crew he might belong to.
That alone was reason enough for your average person to steer clear, and as such they moved on without a second glance.
Toshiyaki's grin faded, slipping away without a trace.
He looked at the boy, though nothing in his expression revealed what he hid away in his mind.
He shifted in place, a tight stillness clinging to him as his gaze stayed locked on the boy—long enough to feel like a thought was forming, weighing, circling—before he finally turned away and stepped back into his booth without a word.
The boy's vision wavered at its edge, a faint pulse rising from deep within his skull.
Laying there in a pool of his own blood, the boy could do nothing but watch as it spread.
As his eyes inched closer together the ground seemed to draw back from him, its presence thinning under his cheek, as though space formed where none existed and the world slipped a little farther away.
TAK… TAK… TAK…
Heavy steps approached,
They cut through the noise in a way he couldn't quite follow, steady and closing in as the rest of the walkway seemed to thin around him. His vision blurred, colors smearing together.
A figure leaned in—close enough for him to catch the colour of their eyes, they were familiar… green, the same as his own. He tried to focus, but the moment slipped.
Then everything went dark.
---
Darkness held the boy weightless, suspended in a void without shape or end.
From that emptiness, a massive screen rose into view, its glow pushing back the dark in a thin, trembling haze. Static crawled across its surface in restless waves, hissing as it shifted and broke apart.
A figure stood within the screen, though only a silhouette, glitching in and out as the unstable feed fought to hold its form.
"…zzztt… Chimera… krrtt… your location… zzztt... krrt… I need you to… krrtt…"
The distortion surged, swallowing half the transmission in crackling bursts.
"…tzzz… krrt…"
The silhouette stuttered, breaking apart each time the static rolled over it.
"…zzztt… Vegapu… krrtt…"
The figure vanished.
The screen drowned itself in full static once more, its glow trembling in the void.