"Huh!!"
A fragment of pure astonishment escaped Even's throat. He stood frozen, staring at the mermaid before him in utter bewilderment. This scene was beyond his wildest imagination! Could the very woman who had just granted him a new lease on life be a living statue of silence?
Even's lingering doubts vanished in an instant. He finally understood why his special 'Translation Ability' had failed him—there were no vibrations in the air, no sound for his ears to catch. The girl was born mute.
Seeing the shock playing across Even's face, the mermaid faltered, appearing hesitant. Thinking her gestures might have been unclear, she gently pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head with a ting of sadness, signaling that her voice was locked away.
A hollow ache rose in Even's chest. He felt powerless before the silent struggle of the one who had saved him. He had the words to express his gratitude, but no strength to offer anything in return. In that moment, he had nothing to give but a heart full of pity and regret.
Suddenly, the mermaid leaned down toward the sand. With her slender fingers, she began to trace marks upon the beach. Strange, otherworldly characters began to bloom beneath her touch. To anyone else, it would have been gibberish, but Even possessed his magical translation power.
As her hand came to a rest, Even clearly read a single name:
'Cordelia.'
Tracing the letters with his own hand, Even whispered, "Cordelia... incredible. Your name is as beautiful as you are."
After saying this, he felt a strange numbness. It was as if he, too, had lost the power of speech. The truth was, Even didn't know how to talk to a real, breathing woman. His entire youth had been spent within the damp, suffocating walls of his room. To him, 'women' were merely images on a laptop screen—bodies in pornographic videos.
Standing there on the shore before a beauty as pure as Cordelia's, even thinking the word 'porn' felt vulgar and misplaced. He shook his head violently, trying to cast those intrusive thoughts away.
But a toxic doubt began to fester in his mind.
Was Cordelia only mute?
Or was she deaf as well?
Could she even hear him?
Even winced at the thought of asking. Would questioning someone about their physical disability bring them shame? Unpracticed in the art of sign language, he clumsily placed a hand over his ear and gave it a small, awkward shake.
"Can you... can you hear me?" he stammered.
At his clumsy display, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Cordelia's lips. Once again, her fingers danced across the sand:
"Yes, I can hear everything. I just cannot speak."
Even felt like sinking into the earth. He was mortified by his own denseness. Slowly lowering his hand, he looked down with guilt-ridden eyes and muttered, "I'm so sorry... for asking such a weird and rude question."
Cordelia wrote just two words in the sand:
"No matter."
Those two words—'No matter'—remained etched in the sand like a silent decree. A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the shore, broken only by the distant roar of crashing waves.
Even felt as though he had turned to stone. He couldn't find his voice. The part of his brain responsible for normal human interaction—especially with girls—had rusted from years of disuse. He composed a thousand sentences in his head, but they vanished into thin air the moment they reached his tongue.
His abnormal silence began to worry Cordelia. She watched him with wide, curious eyes. Was he angry?
Was her silent world making him uncomfortable?
To break the tension, Cordelia leaned forward again. Even watched out of the corner of his eye as her slender fingers moved once more. A new question appeared:
"Are you afraid of the sea?"
Even started. The question was unexpected, but it was enough to snap him out of his trance. "No... I mean, not exactly afraid," he stuttered. "It's just that I've never seen so much water in person. My world was just... a single room."
Cordelia tilted her head as if trying to process this. Then, she pointed toward the horizon where the blue water met the sky, where silver fish leaped momentarily into the air.
She wrote again:
"The sea speaks many things, Even. If you know how to listen."
Even was genuinely stunned. A girl who couldn't speak was telling him to listen to the language of the ocean! Shaking off his hesitation, he asked, "Do you... do you live in this sea? Is your home beneath the water?"
The moment he asked, he felt like he was reciting lines from a cheap fantasy movie. He never imagined that reality outside his glowing laptop screen could be this magical.
Cordelia smiled. It was a silent smile, yet it felt as if all the blue of the ocean was contained within it. Instead of writing in the sand, she reached for Even's palm, signaling that she wanted to write directly on his hand.
As her cool fingers traced letters onto his skin, Even felt every vibration as if it were a spell. He whispered the words as they formed:
"Can... we... be... friends?"
The letters sent an electric jolt through his veins. Between the salty sea breeze and the magical touch of Cordelia's fingers, a surreal peace settled over them. But the tranquility was short-lived; the thread snapped in an instant.
Suddenly, a shadow of bone-chilling terror crossed Cordelia's eyes, as if an ominous call from the darkest depths of the ocean had reached her ears. She yanked her hand away. Before Even could react, he saw her looking frantically toward the water. There, just beneath the surface, Even spotted a massive, pitch-black shadow—a dark pulse making the waves churn violently.
Cordelia didn't stop for a goodbye. As if racing against time, she bolted toward the ocean. Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight against the spray.
Even stood paralyzed for a few moments. Then, finding his voice, he shouted over the roar of the surf, "Cordelia! Don't just leave like this! Wait!"
But she didn't stop; she was already at the water's edge. Even realized their worlds were separated by an invisible boundary; she had to go. But he refused to let this be the end. A hidden spark of defiance flared up within him like a volcano. He no longer wanted to be the shut-in, helpless version of himself. He wanted to forge himself into someone new—not a laptop-addicted youth, but a protector worthy of standing beside her.
He shouted with all his might, "Listen! We will meet right here once a month. Exactly thirty days from now, I'll be here... I promise!"
He knew he needed this time to grow. He had to learn about this strange world, master the sword, and uncover its secrets. He wanted Cordelia to see a new strength within him every time they met.
He didn't wait for an answer, knowing she had no voice. He only hoped his vow would carry on the salty wind to her ears.
Just before plunging into the churning waves, Cordelia glanced back one last time. Even couldn't see it clearly, but he felt it—a slight nod of agreement amidst the sea spray. A moment later, her silver tail flashed for the last time before vanishing into the abyss.
…
Even stood alone on the deserted beach. However, the timid look in his eyes was gone, replaced by the iron-willed determination to return in a month as a 'New Even.'
Leaving the shore behind, Even began walking through a vast green field. The dawn sky felt infinitely wide. Suddenly, a massive shadow swept over him, and the air thrummed with the sound of powerful wings. Even looked up to see a colossal dragon soaring through the clouds. Anyone else might have cowered in fear, but Even felt a rush of adrenaline. The strange plants and unknown insects were a constant reminder: he was truly in a fantasy world.
Yet, this world wasn't the heaven-like paradise often described in novels; it felt raw, dangerous, and real.
"So what?" Even muttered to himself. "Fantasy is fantasy!"
As he walked, he looked down at his body. The transformation had made him much leaner, leaving his old clothes hanging loosely off his frame. These tattered rags carried the painful memories of his past life—the smell of urine from the time his younger brother, Vasco, had beaten and humiliated him.
But after nearly drowning twice, the salt water had washed away the filth. The last physical traces of Vasco's cruelty were gone.
Even took a deep breath. His first task was to find a new set of clothes to cover himself.
'But where will I find clothes?'
Just then, the mechanical yet stern voice of the 'System' echoed in the depths of his mind like a motivational command:
[Hey, listen up, you skinny pig!! Here's a piece of advice: I know you want to head to the city, but don't go there right now.]