She jumped back so fast she almost fell.
“This is not fish!”
Lying in her net was a man—unconscious, breathing faintly, and somehow still looking rich even while drowning.
Fumi stared at him.
Then at the sea.
Then back at him.
Then back at the sea again.
She placed both hands on her head.
“God, we agreed on fish.”
She pointed at him.
“This is a human being!”
The sea remained silent, because the deal had already changed.
And just like that, Fumi’s biggest catch was not something she could cook.
It was something that would change her life forever.
Fumi stood frozen, one hand on her chest, the other pointing accusingly at the ocean.
“This is fraud,” she declared. “Complete fraud.”
The waves rolled in quietly, pretending innocence.
Fumi turned back to the net.
The fish-man inside it coughed weakly.
She screamed again.
“It moved!”
She jumped backward, almost slipping into the water.
“Ah, no, no, no. I did not sign up for haunted fishing.”
She peered closer cautiously.
The man lay tangled in her net, drenched, unconscious, and somehow still looking expensive.
Fumi blinked.
“Even your suffering is organized,” she muttered.
She paced in circles around him.
“Okay, Fumi, think. Think.”
She snapped her fingers.
“Yes. First rule: do not let your catch die.”
She stopped.
“Is that even a rule?”
She shook her head.
“Not important.”
She dropped to her knees beside him.
“Hello, Mr. Fish-Human. Can you hear me?”
No response.
She leaned closer.
“Ah, if you die here, they will say I am doing rituals.”
She tapped his cheek lightly.
“Wake up, oh. I am not ready for a police interview.”
Nothing.
She stood up again and clutched her head dramatically.
“This is how my destiny will spoil because of somebody who cannot swim.”
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