Chapter Text
It had been some time since Floyd began his dedicated care of you. You, who once had dry, brittle hair and skin as parched as weathered parchment, had undergone a remarkable transformation thanks to Floyd's devotion.
Your once-shaggy black hair had regained its natural luster, and the split ends—which had looked reddish-brown from sheer damage—were now neatly trimmed and healthy. Although your hair was temporarily shorter than before, it was now in the perfect condition to be grown out into a beautiful shape.
The texture of your skin had refined significantly. Your cheeks, which had once looked perpetually pale and sallow due to dullness, now held a faint, healthy flush, tinged with a soft peach-blossom pink. Your weight was steadily increasing, and thanks to the daily stretching routine, the range of motion in your hips and shoulders was gradually expanding. Even Dr. Salazar had offered words of praise during your monthly check-up.
It was just as Floyd was beginning to feel a deep sense of accomplishment from these changes that it happened.
"Um…"
As Floyd delivered dinner as usual, you spoke in a small, tentative voice. Your obsidian eyes, now glossy and wet with health, wavered with a visible sense of bewilderment.
"What's up~?"
Floyd bent his tall frame slightly, peering into your face. By now, you had become completely accustomed to Floyd’s proximity; you usually wouldn't flinch even if he peered in close enough for your noses to touch.
But this time was different. As if trying to escape Floyd’s gaze, your glossy black eyes were cast down apologetically.
"…………"
Your lips parted as if to say something, then closed again. A look of terror flickered in your eyes—the fear that you might have offended Floyd by failing to speak. When your gaze briefly lifted and met Floyd's, you seemed overwhelmed by the sheer pressure of his presence and bowed your head once more in shame.
Floyd waited in silence for a while, but in the end, you remained frozen—head bowed and silent, like a convict standing on the verge of execution.
"…………"
Floyd reached out and gave your rounded head a messy, affectionate ruffle.
To him, the fact that you had even tried to say something was a sign of incredible growth. When he first started looking after you, you would only nod in silence or offer a tiny, whispered "Yes." The fact that you were now attempting to voice something of your own volition felt like a massive leap forward in your relationship.
He knew that if he tried to force it out of you now, he’d only end up scaring you. And if he scared you, you’d likely lock your heart away and stay silent forever.
"It's okay, Little Shrimpy. Don't push yourself."
You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a startle of surprise.
"Just tell me when you're ready, okay?"
"………………Yes."
You answered in a voice so thin it seemed it might vanish into the air, before softly lowering your eyes again. Floyd assumed your lingering hesitation was simply guilt for being unable to speak. He told himself it was fine—that he would wait for you.
It was three days later that you collapsed.
It happened during Flight class. Since you were unable to actually fly on a broom, you were in the middle of a physical training circuit, running laps around the grounds, when you suddenly lost consciousness.
Floyd was in the middle of a History of Magic lecture when the news reached him. The report had first gone to your homeroom teacher, Professor Crewel, who then naturally passed the word through Professor Trein to Floyd. It was a testament to the trust Floyd had built since he began involving himself in your life; the adults of the school now officially recognized him as your guardian.
Floyd rushed to the infirmary.
When he burst through the doors, he found not just the school nurse, but also Dr. Salazar—your regular physician.
"Dr. Sharky! How's Little Shrimpy!?"
"Ah, it's you. The Prefect is still sleeping."
"Just sleeping?"
"Yes."
Tucked between the white sheets, your complexion was poor, but your breathing was stable. Seeing that you didn't appear to be in any pain, Floyd let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.
"Most likely anemia. Have they been sleeping properly lately? What about their meals?"
"They were eating."
Floyd's mind raced. He only brought breakfast when he felt like it, but you were supposed to be eating lunch with Ace and Deuce, and every night Floyd either delivered a meal or cooked for you himself. There was no way you weren't eating.
And as for sleep, on the nights Floyd stayed over, he saw with his own eyes that you were resting.
But…
Floyd’s brow furrowed deeply as he looked at Grim, who was sitting by your pillow, head bowed in a state of utter despondency.
"…Sealie."
"…………"
Grim remained silent. He wouldn't even lift his head. His entire posture screamed that he was hiding something—something he felt guilty about.
Floyd reached out and grabbed Grim by the scruff of his neck with his large hand. He expected the monster to thrash and shout "What are you doing!?" as usual, but Grim remained limp. He just dangled there in Floyd's grip, motionless.
It was the attitude of someone who had accepted Floyd’s treatment as a deserved punishment. Seeing such uncharacteristic humility drained Floyd of his desire to be cruel; he used his other hand to support Grim’s backside.
"What happened?"
"…………"
Grim stole a quick glance up at Floyd, but as soon as their eyes met, he looked away in terror.
The gesture was far too similar to how you had acted three days ago. Floyd’s scowl deepened. Back then, he had given you time, telling you it could wait. And this was the result.
If he had forced the truth out of you then, would this have been avoided? If he had only sensed the urgency in your attempt to confess…
"…………"
Floyd let out a long, deep sigh. He could see that his grimace was only making Grim more miserable. He was furious at you for not speaking up, and furious at himself for not listening. But getting angry now wouldn't help. If he kept scaring Grim, he’d never get the answers he needed.
"Hey, Sealie," he began, making an effort to keep his voice calm and gentle. "What are you thinking right now?"
"…………"
Grim’s vibrant purple eyes looked up at Floyd in surprise. This time, he didn't look away immediately. He stared at Floyd intently, as if trying to gauge his true intentions.
"…You know, I messed up."
"Messed up?"
"Yeah."
"…………A little while ago, Little Shrimpy was trying to tell me something. But they looked like they were having a hard time, so I told them it could wait. I told them to just let me know when they felt like they could talk about it."
To Floyd, it had been a gesture of consideration. But perhaps to you, it had sounded like a indirect rejection. It might have sounded like: Don't bother coming to talk to me until you can say it properly. Floyd had only wanted to make sure you weren't pushing yourself. But that very kindness might have withered the courage you had gathered so desperately to speak.
"And then, Little Shrimpy collapsed."
He had only wanted to avoid rushing you. He had only wanted to convey that it was okay to go slow, at your own pace.
"…………"
Sensing the dejected aura radiating from Floyd, Grim leaned in and rubbed his forehead against Floyd’s chest as if to comfort him.
The warmth of the little fur-ball—whether you called it the body heat of a child or an animal—was something that didn't exist in the cold depths of the sea.
"…………Floyd, you won't get angry, will you?"
"What? Did you do something to make me mad, Sealie?"
"It wasn't me! It was my henchman!"
"Eh? Little Shrimpy did?"
Floyd blinked in genuine astonishment at Grim’s unexpected words. To be honest, he couldn't think of a single thing you could do that would actually make him angry.
It wasn't that Floyd was incapable of getting mad at you. It was just that you were so deeply afraid of offending anyone. Or more accurately, you were terrified that your actions might cause someone else discomfort. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of "offense" someone like you could have committed against him.
"Promise you won't be mad at them!"
Grim stomped his paws in Floyd's arms, desperate in his own way to protect you as your "boss." Floyd gave a small nod.
"Alright, alright. I won't be mad. I promise."
"Really?"
"I'm a member of Octavinelle; if I say I'm making a promise, you can trust me."
"…………"
Grim let out a low "Muu." It was a secret from Grim, but in Octavinelle, promises were broken all the time. What truly mattered there were contracts, not words. Still, Floyd had no intention of breaking this one.
"…………My henchman… they haven't been able to eat lately."
"Eat? You mean breakfast or lunch? They were eating dinner every night, right?"
"They were throwing it up after they ate."
"…………"
Floyd's brow involuntarily furrowed. Mistaking this for anger, Grim whispered dejectedly, "You said you wouldn't be mad," and gave Floyd’s arm a weak pat with his long tail in protest.
"That's not it," Floyd muttered, wrapping the impudent tail around his finger.
His reaction wasn't anger at having his carefully prepared meals wasted; it was a sense of profound dissonance. He remembered your "criminal record"—how you once stuffed yourself past your limit just to satisfy his request to "eat a lot." That, too, had resulted in you vomiting, but it had been born of a desperate desire to answer his kindness.
You lived by a rule: "If someone shows you kindness, you must respond to it as they wish." Since then, Floyd had always told you to eat only what you could handle. He couldn't believe you would intentionally disregard his goodwill.
"Little Shrimpy… did they do it on purpose?"
"After eating, they’d turn pale… they'd endure it for a while, and then run to the bathroom. I don't think it was on purpose."
"I see."
Floyd let out a hum. The fact that it wasn't intentional was both a relief and a new source of worry. If you were doing it by choice, he could solve the cause and make you stop. But if not, the reason lay elsewhere.
"Dr. Sharky."
"What is it?"
"Little Shrimpy isn't suffering from some illness that makes them vomit, are they?"
"Nothing of the sort showed up during the last check-up."
Given that you had been undergoing monthly exams, it was hard to believe an illness had worsened so rapidly in just the last two weeks that your body would suddenly start rejecting food.
"So it really is psychosomatic then?"
"Likely so."
"This one was terrified that they’d make you mad, y'know," Grim muttered.
"Me? Even when I’m being this nice~?"
Floyd pouted his lips, making a lighthearted remark. He’d expected Grim to snap back with a "Where exactly are you being nice!?", but instead, Grim just pursed his lips and nodded in agreement.
"My henchman can be a real idiot sometimes, y'know."
"Eh?" Floyd blinked, caught off guard by the lack of a comeback.
Looking down, he saw Grim staring straight back up at him from his arms. Then, Grim spoke as if stating the most obvious thing in the world.
"My henchman… they just can't seem to tell when they're being cherished."
"…………"
Floyd cherished you. That was his intent.
He didn't care about showing it off to anyone else; he only wanted it to reach you. He didn't mind if others saw it as him simply toying with you on a whim. But his devotion had reached Grim—the one closest to you. Even in Grim’s eyes, Floyd had been genuinely kind to you.
The thought made him feel a bit ticklish. To hide his restlessness, Floyd reached out and gave Grim’s head a rough, messy scrub.
"Hey~ Dr. Sharky, can I take Little Shrimpy to-go?"
"……It’s a bit troubling when you put it like you're ordering fast food."
"I'll call you right away if anything happens~"
"Hmm… Well, I suppose that’s fine."
Salazar gave his permission surprisingly easily. This, too, was likely thanks to the trust Floyd had built by consistently accompanying you to your check-up and providing detailed follow-up care.
Floyd set Grim down on the bed and, in his place, lifted you into his arms. You felt a little heavier than before. It seemed the thickness of the flesh against his arms had increased just a bit. Even so, the sensation of your bones still pressing against him remained the same.
"Sealie, we're going home."
"Yeah!"
Grim bounded off the bed, snagging his front paws on Floyd’s back and scurrying up to perch on his shoulder. Any other student would have stumbled, but Floyd didn't even wobble.
"What do you want for dinner, Sealie?"
"Tuna!"
"I was a fool for asking. That’s the only thing you ever say~"
"I never get tired of tuna, y'know!"
"I should probably make something easy on the stomach for Little Shrimpy… so maybe I'll whip up some tuna soup or something~"
Exchanging domestic chatter, Floyd carried you in his arms with Grim on his shoulder, walking back toward Ramshackle Dorm with his usual swaying, rhythmic gait.
■□■
A soft, pleasant aroma drifted through the air.
It was the sweet, gentle scent of milk.
You let out a tiny sniff before slowly lifting your eyelids.
Apparently, you had been sleeping on the sofa in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm. The surroundings were already dim, and outside the window, the night had fully descended. For a moment, you blinked slowly, unable to comprehend why you were sleeping here.
Then, the memories came rushing back.
You had collapsed during Flight class. Your last memory was of the school grounds. As you were running, you had started to feel progressively nauseous. But you couldn't skip class, so you kept staggering along until suddenly, the strength vanished from your knees. Your vision narrowed as darkness squeezed in from the edges, and then, everything went blank.
That was the last thing you remembered before falling.
Slowly, you pushed yourself up. Something slipped off your body and pooled on the cushions—a jacket. A large, oversized jacket.
When you picked it up, a scent of marine tones blended with sweet mint tickled your nose. You knew the owner of this scent well.
Floyd.
It was the scent of the person who had been by your side constantly lately, the one who helped you. Before your reason could even react, your body had completely let down its guard, and a long, heavy sigh of relief escaped your lips.
A heartbeat later, you sat there in a daze, unable to believe your own reaction.
You were supposed to be at your most cautious and alert the moment you woke up. It was a dangerous time, a moment when you were prone to doing or saying something foolish due to grogginess—a moment that could easily anger "Mother" or "God."
This was why you had always been so attentive to your surroundings, waking up at the slightest noise to assess the situation and grasp what was happening. If Mother called for you and you couldn't answer immediately, you would be scolded. If your reaction was even slightly sluggish, you would be scolded.
Mother worked so hard to support you. To not answer her when she called was a betrayal. To sleep lazily while Mother was awake was, likewise, a betrayal. "God" would never forgive such filial impiety.
To you, sleep was never peace. Lazy slumber was a sin.
And yet, right now, just the fact that you could smell Floyd made you feel safe. You had allowed yourself to think that things were "okay."
What should I do? you thought. You were being pampered; you were becoming corrupted. "God" did not permit corruption.
Just as you began to brace your body, expecting something terrible to happen, light footsteps approached.
Tep, tep, tep.
Grim’s face popped into view.
"Henchman, you're awake! How're you feeling, y'know?"
You had to answer. You had to respond to the question.
"I'm… fine."
You forced the words out of your parched throat, your voice strained.
Ignoring your strain, Grim looked back toward the kitchen.
"Floyd! My henchman is awake, y'know!"
"Haaai. Then I'll warm up the soup, so come and get it, Sealie!"
"On it!"
Floyd’s low, calm voice echoed lazily, and Grim hopped toward the kitchen with a spring in his step.
At the sound of such a peaceful exchange, you slowly exhaled the breath you had been holding. It felt incredibly strange.
Looking around the lounge, dim lights were burning softly. You were wrapped not only in the jacket but also in a soft, silky-smooth blanket. And that aroma… was it the smell of the soup Floyd was warming up?
Right there was the "normal" life you had only ever watched from a distance. The "normalcy" you had intended to earn in the next life. A human life.
It was the life you had once longed for, but had given up on ever reaching in this one.
While you were lost in a daze, heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached.
"Morning, Little Shrimpy. Sleep well? How are you feeling?"
Floyd was the next one to appear. His eyes were narrowed in a soft, lazy curve, and he carried a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread.
"I'm… okay. I'm sorry for causing so much trouble. Floyd-senpai, was it you who carried me here?"
"Yep, it was me. You were in the infirmary at first, but Dr. Sharky took a look and said it was probably just anemia, so I brought you back here."
"So even Dr. Salazar came…"
"Yeah. Looks like Professor Beakfish called him since he's your regular physician."
"…………I am so sorry for the inconvenience."
You hung your head, your hands clenching tightly into fists. Because you had collapsed, you had inconvenienced so many people. The guilt of being unable to endure it was overwhelming.
"…………"
Floyd’s gaze felt terrifying. You feared you might have made him angry by being such a burden. Just as you were about to apologize again, Floyd spoke, cutting you off.
"I made soup today. This is yours. Think you can eat this much?"
"…………"
He held the tray out to you. Before reaching for it, you squeezed your fists tight once more to hide the trembling of your fingertips.
As you went through the mechanical motions of accepting the tray, your mind, only just awake, was already on the verge of a breakdown. You desperately tried to parse the meaning of Floyd's words.
Was he asking if I could eat because I've just woken up after collapsing? Or did he already know that I've been throwing up what I eat lately?
Which was it?
You were terrified of making Floyd angry. You were terrified of Mother’s anger. You were terrified of the punishment God would inflict.
Though your face grew ghostly pale, you maintained a faint, doll-like smile. You accepted the tray and placed it on your lap. Taking the spoon, you began to move it with a smooth, mechanical precision, bringing the soup to your lips.
You couldn't taste a thing.
You simply focused on dropping it into your stomach. Floyd surely wanted this. He wanted you to eat properly. Therefore, you had to eat.
The man watched you intently, his beautiful, heterochromatic eyes filled with a gaze that, to you, was more terrifying than anything else in the world.
"……Hey, Little Shrimpy."
When he called your name, your fingertips gave a sudden, sharp flinch. The spoon clinked against the rim of the soup bowl.
Clink.
It made a sound. It was an act of rudeness. To be unable to even eat the meal prepared for you properly was a grave discourtesy. Your body curled in on itself, shrinking.
He's going to get angry.
He's going to scold me.
He's going to blame me for my inadequacy.
To anger someone who had been so kind until now, to disappoint them… it was so apologetic, so agonizingly painful to have no place to go, such a terrifying thing. You thought that if you were going to disappoint Floyd, it would be better to simply vanish altogether.
Yet, that terror was something deeply familiar to you. In this life, you were meant to suffer. You were insufficient to enjoy human happiness, so you had to endure pain until your next life. That was what "God" had ordained for you.
It was warm to be treated kindly by Floyd, it made you happy, and you had thought that must be what happiness felt like—but you had no right to receive it. Sooner or later, you were bound to make Floyd angry and disappoint him. That day was today.
There was a dark sense of relief in the thought that the days of trembling in fear, wondering when that moment would come, were finally over. It felt as if familiar despair was less frightening than an unknown peace.
Looking down at you as you sank into such despair, Floyd’s brow furrowed in deep distress. He had only called your name.
With just those few words, you had stiffened as if you had been whipped, flinching and cowering as though enduring something terrible. And since then, you wouldn't even try to look at him. You were just terrified, frightened.
And then, as if a thread had snapped, you went limp. You lowered your eyes, sinking into a quiet resignation, and fell into a deep silence.
Floyd thought he was used to being feared. Mermen who came to the land were still a rarity. Moreover, unlike Azul, Floyd and his brother didn't take on a completely human form even with the transformation potion. Their sharp, predatory fangs remained even in human form, and he knew well from experience that this was an object of terror for humans.
He had never cared about it before. He had even thought it was convenient that the "small fry" wouldn't approach him. When people were terrified for no reason even when he had no intention of doing anything, it was a bit of an eyesore, and depending on his mood, he would sometimes fulfill their expectations by "squeezing" them.
But being feared by you… that was different.
Floyd wanted to be kind to you. He wanted to protect you.
And yet, being feared by you didn't make him angry; it made him feel… sad.
He felt a hollow, breezy emptiness in the pit of his stomach, as if he were being hollowed out.
It was because he was being forced to realize that the kindness, sincerity, and genuine care he had offered until now hadn't reached you at all.
Feeling completely at a loss, even Floyd felt like he was on the verge of tears.
Then, the image of Grim crossed Floyd’s mind.
The little magical beast had wanted to ask for help for your sake, yet he had been paralyzed by the fear that Floyd would blame you for it—that seeking help would be a betrayal of you. What had finally made Grim open his mouth was "safety." Because Floyd had promised not to get angry, Grim had revealed the truth.
"…………"
Floyd sat down heavily beside you.
The old sofa groaned under his weight, sinking down and causing your body to tilt toward him.
He moved the tray of soup and bread from your lap onto the table.
Touching your stiff shoulders—which had braced for whatever was to come—he pulled you close, lifting you into his lap and cradling you in his arms.
And then, he held you. Tight.
He held you firmly enough so you wouldn't slip, but carefully enough not to hurt you, wrapping his arms around you as if trying to pour his feelings directly through the point of contact.
"…Hey, Little Shrimpy."
"Yes."
The response came instantly.
Inside his arms, your small body was as stiff as a board, paralyzed with terror, yet your outward reaction remained perfectly smooth. It was nothing more than a reflex, a habit you had been trained into, leaving your true feelings far behind.
"I'm not mad, you know?"
"…………"
You stirred ever so slightly in his arms.
As he loosened his grip a fraction, you slowly lifted your gaze to look up at him.
Deep within your eyes—which usually looked as inorganic as polished stones—there was an unmistakable flicker of agitation.
As if trying to wake those emotions that had been numbed at the bottom of a pool of resignation, Floyd began to stroke your back with a gentle tap-tap-tap. He continued to speak, making his voice intentionally sweet, soft, and level.
"Sealie told me everything."
"…………"
Your breath caught, trembling.
Tap.
Tap, tap.
Floyd continued to stroke your back to reassure you.
"Little Shrimpy, you haven't been able to eat lately, have you?"
"I…"
A strangled voice escaped your lips, sounding like a muffled scream.
Tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
Floyd’s large palm rubbed your back soothingly.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't notice. It must have been so hard for you."
"…………"
You let out a small, sharp gasp. Your eyes, wide with shock, stared up at him.
Floyd kept rubbing your back.
Tap-tap, tap.
Then, he began to sway.
He swayed you gently back and forth—yura-yura—to the rhythm of the waves from his distant home.
He didn't try to force any more answers out of you.
He simply kept rubbing your back with his large, kind hand while swaying you.
His body temperature, slightly lower than a human's, began to envelop you slowly.
Your senses filled with his scent—the marine tones with that melting sweetness of thin mint.
Your body instinctively remembered the sense of safety from the nights you spent sleeping in his embrace, and eventually, the strength drained out of you.
Your body, which had been curled and stiff with terror, sank limp into his chest. Even when you let your full weight lean into him, Floyd didn't get angry. His large, powerful frame caught your weight without so much as a wobble.
He simply held you, enveloped you, and swayed with you.
It felt as if you might just melt away into nothingness right there in his arms.
Sensing the tension leave your body, Floyd let out a breath that sounded like a smile.
"Good girl, Little Shrimpy."
His voice, filled with praise, echoed softly.
And then, as if pouring all his affection into the gesture, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
Chu.
"Little Shrimpy, do you like the food I make?"
"I… I like it."
The response came from your heart, spilling out effortlessly.
You liked the meals Floyd made for you. They were warm, delicious, and special—you could feel the care he put into making them specifically for you. Whenever you ate his food, a sense of happiness seemed to spread throughout your body.
It wasn't boiling over, nor was it spoiled. You could bring it to your lips without having to worry about what would happen afterward.
"There were so many things I tasted for the first time. Every one of them was delicious. Every day, I… I looked forward to seeing what you'd feed me next."
Enjoying food was a luxury you had never been permitted until you came to this world.
In your old world, it was enough just to fill your stomach so you wouldn't be hungry. "Eating" to you meant being shoved Mother's leftovers and being given permission to finish them—and you would eat them with profound gratitude.
"I see~ Little Shrimpy likes my food, huh?"
Floyd’s eyes narrowed with delight, his voice dripping with sweet, soft affection.
Seeing that he was happy made your own expression soften.
Mother and "God" never permitted your happiness. They were strict with you, telling you to endure everything now for the sake of the next life. They strictly forbade you from feeling joy or pleasure.
But Floyd was happy when you enjoyed yourself.
While it was terrifying to defy a God that commanded poverty and purity, God also taught that one should sacrifice themselves to make others happy. Therefore, even if pleasing Floyd felt like "corruption" to you, it felt as though it couldn't be entirely wrong.
"Thank you for telling me."
He praised you. Just for honestly expressing your feelings, Floyd offered you praise. His low, calm voice made something deep inside your chest feel a ticklish, fluttering warmth.
"I was… I was scared," you whispered.
"Scared? of what?" Floyd replied gently.
"…………Mother said… I had to endure so much now so I could be happy in the next life. She said if I was kind to people and did many good things, I could be happy next time. So I've endured so much, but… but your food is so delicious. Even though Mother said poverty and purity were what mattered. Even though I should be satisfied just by being grateful that I'm not hungry, grateful just to be able to eat. People who don't know when they have enough will fall into corruption… and yet, the warm baths. The sweet-smelling soap. It’s so luxurious, but it makes me so happy. If Mother found out, she’d be so angry."
Everything Floyd had done for you had made you happy.
The way he cared for you and called out to you, the way he helped you study.
The delicious meals he brought, the way he groomed your hair, the way he provided you with everything you needed.
Every single bit of it made you happy.
You loved everything Floyd had given you.
The food, the scented soap, the soft sheets and duvets, the sea-colored curtains.
It was a luxury beyond compare—days that felt like heaven itself.
And that was exactly why you were so terrified.
If Mother found out, she would be angry. She would scold you.
She would surely take every single thing away from you.
She would take Floyd away from you.
He would never call out to you in that voice again.
He would never stroke your hair with that large palm again.
To you, that was the truly terrifying thing.
"But… it’s okay now."
At your words, Floyd pulled back slightly, tilting his head in confusion.
"Why?"
You smiled, let the happiness overflowing in your chest guide you.
"Because… it made you happy, Floyd-senpai."
"…………?"
Floyd’s brow furrowed with doubt. Not wanting him to look like that, you hurried to explain further.
"Mother and God… they both said to be kind to people."
"Yeah."
"You’re happy when I eat your food, Floyd-senpai… and when I say I like it, it makes you happy too… right?"
Midway through, your voice faltered as uncertainty crept back in.
"Yeah. That’s right. It makes me happy when you think it’s delicious, and when you look happy while you’re eating, and when you tell me you like what I made. All of it makes me happy."
"Then… it’s okay. My 'corruption' is a form of kindness to you, Floyd-senpai."
"……"
Floyd was at a complete loss, his brow dropping in distress.
You had just thrown away the very happiness in the next life that you had longed for so much. You had endured so much until now just to be happy then, and yet, even if it meant suffering in the next life, you wanted to be useful to Floyd right now.
That was the conclusion you had reached.
The conclusion you had forced yourself to reach.
Seeing the smile that accepted the hell of the next life made Floyd’s chest ache.
No.
That was wrong.
That wasn't the face he wanted to see.
He never wanted you to have that kind of resolve.
"Little Shrimpy."
"Yes."
"Listen to me."
"Yes."
"I… I wouldn't be happy if you were miserable."
Your brow dropped in a troubled expression.
"I don't even know if there is a next life. But even if there is, I want you to be happy then, too, Little Shrimpy."
"But if I break the rules…"
If you broke Mother’s rules, you would be scolded. If you didn't listen to God, there would be punishment. If even the punishment in the next life was taken away from you, you didn't know what to do anymore.
You were starting to stray from the rules you had followed your entire life.
The moment you realized that, your chest tightened.
You couldn't breathe.
You were taking breaths, but the oxygen wasn't reaching your lungs.
In your agony, you gasped for air, but no matter how much you sucked in, the pain remained.
Like someone drowning, you let out a small, strangled cry, and Floyd pulled you tight into his arms.
"It's okay, Little Shrimpy. Slowly. Just breathe slowly."
Tap. Tap.
Floyd’s hand stroked your back in a steady rhythm.
Yura. Yura.
He swayed with you in his arms, just as he would if he were comforting a child.
In truth, you were a child.
A child far younger than you appeared.
You had simply learned how to maintain appearances and repeat mechanical reflexes; your ability to handle interpersonal relationships and your emotional sense had remained stunted at the level of a toddler.
Even Floyd was often scolded by Azul—"Are you a hatchling!?"—or teased by Jade—"You’re just like a hatchling, aren't you?"
But that was different from you.
Floyd was simply free. He lived as he pleased, following his moods.
It was something that could be called childish, and he accepted that.
Sometimes he reflected and thought, I guess I’m not great, but fundamentally, Floyd was satisfied with being Floyd.
It was self-responsibility. He took responsibility for his own actions.
(Well, he occasionally dragged his brother and childhood friend into it, but they were in it together. Floyd cleaned up after Azul and Jade just as often, so it was even.)
Floyd’s way of being was the result of the choices he had made time and again. It was his true form.
But you were different.
You were forced into this shape.
Leaving your own emotions and feelings far behind, your exterior had been polished and neatly arranged.
You looked beautiful, but you were broken.
You were distorted.
"Ha… haah…"
Following the rhythm Floyd tapped into your back, you tried to steady your breathing. As you slowly began to calm down, Floyd exhaled a breath of relief, yet internally, he was seething with a rage he could barely contain.
Your "Mother" had done this to you.
She had broken you this badly.
She had forced excessive abstinence upon you, demanded absolute obedience, and taught you that you should practically die for the sake of "kindness." Whether it was true religious fanaticism or just a convenient excuse, Floyd didn't know. All he knew for certain was that such a "Mother" could not possibly be a decent parent.
If she were in this world, Floyd would have snatched you away from her already.
He would have hidden you at the bottom of the ocean where you’d never have to see her again. Or perhaps, he would have been the one to sink her to the depths. The deep, dark sea could hide a person or two easily enough.
But he couldn't do that. The "Mother" who bound you lived only inside you.
"Hey, Little Shrimpy."
"…Ye-es."
"You came from a different world, right?"
"Yes."
"Then listen."
Floyd leaned in, rubbing his forehead against yours as you rested in his arms. Your obsidian eyes, seen from such close proximity, were wet and wavering with anxiety. You were truly terrified. You were more afraid of breaking Mother’s rules than anything else. You were trembling at the thought of straying from the path she had carved into you.
So, Floyd decided to carve a loophole into those rules.
"Your Mother isn't here, and your God isn't looking all the way over here either. This is a different world, after all. Your God’s rules don't reach this place."
Floyd pulled you even tighter into his embrace, closing you off from the world. With his broad back and long arms, he held you as if trying to shield your small frame from everything.
"Look at me, I'm huge, right? If I hold you tight like this—gyuuuu—neither your Mother nor your God will be able to find you. Would that… be enough?"
Couldn't you be free then?
You blinked slowly at Floyd’s words.
A world without Mother.
A world without God.
Suddenly, a wave of vertigo hit you, as if the ground had vanished beneath your feet. A thin, high-pitched whimper, like a faint scream, escaped your throat.
"No, no… because… it’s scary."
"What’s scary?"
"Because… because…"
You had lived your entire life thinking of Mother and God. They had always been at the center of your existence. You had made it this far only by believing that as long as you listened to them, you could be happy in the next life.
If you were cast out now, you wouldn't know what to do. Even if they were forced into you, those teachings were your compass. Your lighthouse. You had been given nothing else. To be told that "God isn't looking" was more of a burden than a relief.
If that were true, how could you ever be happy? You had endured so much pain and suffering just for that promise of future joy. If your God wasn't in this world… how were you supposed to live from now on?
"I… I kept God’s teachings," you whispered.
"Yeah."
"I wanted to be happy next time. But if God isn't looking… if He isn't here… what am I supposed to do? How can I ever be happy? Will I… will I still be in pain in the next life, too? Will I just… again…"
Your voice grew painfully high and strained, as if your throat were being constricted.
Stroking your back to soothe you, Floyd let out a long, heavy hum.
The cause and effect of your logic was so tangled up by these "God’s teachings" that the very premises were a mess.
"Little Shrimpy, I… I don't really get it."
"I'm… sorr—"
"No, I'm not mad. I just don't understand."
Slowly, steadily, he continued to pat your back. He matched the rhythm of his taps to a steady pace, teaching you how to breathe.
Tap. Tap.
"Why does it have to be 'next time'?"
"…Eh?"
At Floyd’s simple question, your tear-streaked eyes went wide.
"Why isn't 'now' okay?"
"Eh…?"
"Just be happy right now. That’s better, isn't it?"
"But… but…"
Mother had said it.
Endure now, so you can be happy in the next life.
It was only natural that the present was painful and hard. Do good things now, so you can be happy next time.
"But see," Floyd said matter-of-factly.
"The one making you endure all this is your Mother, right? Isn't that what they call a 'match-pump'?"
Your mind went completely blank.
That was right.
It was.
The one who always caused the pain and suffering you had to endure… was Mother.
But that was her way of showing love—so you could be happy in the next life.
It was supposed to be love.
Then, why?
Why were you not allowed to be happy now?
"A… ah… aaaaah… aaaaaaaaaah!"
A dry, hollow sound, like a scream of realization, leaked from your lips.
It was a fact you had spent your entire life averting your eyes from.
You were never a fool. In truth, you had realized it a long, long time ago.
You had seen the contradictions in Mother’s teachings.
But if you pointed them out, she would be so angry.
She would scold you so terribly that you felt you wouldn't be able to survive.
So you pretended not to notice. You looked away. You covered your own eyes.
You wanted to believe you were loved.
You wanted to believe that the cruel things, the painful things—that they were all because Mother truly cared about you in her own way.
Because if they weren't… you wouldn't be able to endure it.
"Little Shrimpy," Floyd called out.
"No… No! Mother… Mother loves me. She does! That’s why God is right. If I just listen to what God says, I’ll be happy. God is—"
"Little Shrimpy!"
Floyd’s voice cracked like a whip, making your shoulders jump in a sharp, startled flinch.
"Ah… aah…"
Meaningless sounds spilled from your lips, one after another. It was a lamentation, a hollow crying. Your limp arms rose, pushing against Floyd as if trying to shove him away.
"No, no, no… I don't want this. No. Mother… God… help me…"
"……"
Floyd bit his lip. He could be so much kinder to you than any God. He could cherish you so much more than that Mother ever did. And yet, you wouldn't understand. He knew it couldn't be helped; breaking a worldview built over long years must be terrifying beyond words. He understood why you might choose a familiar hell over an unknown fear.
But Floyd wanted you to choose him. He wanted you to believe in him rather than some God who could only promise to save you in the next life.
"…………"
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit him like a dark revelation. The corners of his mouth, which had been pulled down in a grimace, curled up into a wicked, predatory grin. Floyd wanted to help you. He wanted to protect you.
But for all that, he was no hero.
"Little Shrimpy… I just thought of something great."
Floyd pulled away from you, picking up his jacket that had been tossed onto the sofa and pulling his magical pen from the pocket. He lowered his eyes, focusing his magic.
The pen flickered with a sharp spark.
Search. Track. Find.
"Found it~ ♡"
His eyes narrowed into crescents as he smiled.
"Hold on tight, okay, Little Shrimpy?"
"Eh…?"
Before you could even process the sudden change in the atmosphere, Floyd pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and gave the magical pen a sharp, elegant twirl in his hand.
Flash.
A brilliant white light blinded you for an instant. With a sickening wave of vertigo, the support beneath you vanished.
And then—SPLASH.
The two of you were hurled into the middle of a raging, stormy sea.
Waves thundered and swelled, crashing into white foam that scattered across the pitch-black water. Your bodies were instantly pulled under, the sea closing over your heads in an instant.
Floyd immediately cancelled the effects of the transformation potion lingering in his body. He returned to his true form as a merman.
His uniform shredded as fins sprouted from his skin. Two legs fused into a massive, powerful tail. The air he exhaled became a stream of bubbles, and the gills on his sides flared open, making breathing effortless once more.
After a single blink, his vision became clear in the darkness of the water. In the corner of his eye, he saw your small frame being tossed by the violent waves, sinking rapidly.
Trailing a ribbon of tiny bubbles—kopo-po—you were falling into the lightless depths.
Like I’d let you, Floyd thought.
He hadn't brought you here to die. He had no intention of letting you off easy by letting you sink and find peace at the bottom of the sea.
He hadn't come all this way, searching for a stormy sea and using advanced teleportation magic, just for that.
Floyd undulated his majestic body, diving downwards as his tail struck the surface of the water. The approach was instantaneous.
Gathering your body into his arms, he flipped himself over and, with a single stroke of his tail, headed back toward the surface.
You breached the water, but immediately, heavy raindrops began to lash against your faces. The boundary between the sky and the sea was blurred. Floyd pulled you close, shielding you from the rain with his long frame and holding you so you could breathe as you coughed up seawater.
"Floy… Floyd… senpa… where… where are we?"
"The ocean."
"I… I can see that."
You seemed to have snapped back to your senses from the shock of the cold water. Floyd flashed you a bright, wide smile.
Then, he brought his palm to his lips and exhaled—fuuu.
His breath expanded, inflating into a giant bubble that enveloped you. It was like a massive soap bubble. A colossal bubble of the sea, drifting amidst the storm. Without this, a tiny, scrawny land girl like you would have been pulled under in an instant.
Watching the bubble bobbing on the waves, Floyd’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
"Little Shrimpy."
He called to you as you wavered uncertainly inside your sphere. Your obsidian eyes turned to him. Not toward God, not toward Mother—but toward Floyd.
"Watch me."
He pleaded sweetly.
At that same moment, a bolt of lightning tore through the dark clouds behind him, searing the sky with a jagged glare. Somewhere far off, a hammer of light struck the surface of the sea. Even a powerful merman wouldn't walk away unscathed if they were hit by that.
With that ominous, dangerous backlighting, Floyd smiled fearlessly.
No, he grinned.
His pupils tore open into vertical slits, giving him the look of a wild beast.
"Stay right there and watch. See if I get punished or not."
He spoke as if he were singing.
By nature, Floyd wasn't particularly fond of lightning. Perhaps because it was a rarity in the deep sea, or perhaps for some other reason.
He loved storms. He found it exhilarating to feel the power of nature as the murky currents churned, especially as he got closer to the surface. But lightning—that blinding glare from the sky, followed by a roar that vibrated in the gut—that, he disliked.
Perhaps it was because it moved with an unavoidable speed from the heavens to the sea, carrying enough energy to cause unbearable damage. To him, it seemed like a symbol of unreasonable, arbitrary death.
But right now, Floyd didn't care about that at all.
"I'm gonna prove it to you—that I'm way stronger than your God could ever be."
Yes.
If your God truly existed.
He would never forgive Floyd for trying to steal your faith.
The God you believed in would surely strike down this sea monster who dared to defy Him.
But if that didn't happen… it was proof that your God wasn't there.
And if Floyd could overcome the lightning, it would prove that he was stronger and more reliable than any God ever could be.
"Choose me," he declared against the thunder.
"Choose me over your God."
Floyd laughed.
Lashed by the torrential rain, the deep-sea merman—a creature often likened to a monster—roared toward the heavens, his laughter a cacophony of wild delight.
"I have no use for a weakling who can only make Little Shrimpy happy in the next life! If you want them, kill me now! Strike me with your lightning and end me! If you can't do it, then get lost, you piece of trash!"
CRACK-BOOM.
The turbulent sky ignited. A low, gut-vibrating roar of thunder shuddered through the atmosphere.
Inside your drifting bubble, you were shaking uncontrollably. Everything happening before your eyes was pure terror. The waves and wind thundered with violent rage, and the sky was a void of absolute darkness. Only the crashing white foam offered any vivid color; the rest of the world had lost all its vibrancy.
At the center of this world, an insolent merman howled in mockery of God. The voice that had been sweet, gentle, and calm when addressing you was now a booming roar, holding its own against the lightning, the wind, and the waves.
His skin was a deep cyan that melted into the dark water, his dorsal fin flared and trembled with murderous intent, and his long, massive tail struck the surface of the sea in sheer irritation. When he roared, his mouth gaped wide to reveal rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth, with yet another row visible deep within his throat.
He was not human. He never could be.
He was a monster, putting his life on the line to challenge God.
To you, this sight was more terrifying than anything you had ever known.
You liked Floyd. You knew you did.
He had been so incredibly kind to you. During the incident with Azul, he had been an enemy, chasing you around and giving you a taste of real fear, but even then, the way he swam through the ocean—following his instincts, so free and graceful—had been more beautiful than anything else.
Once that matter was resolved, he became one of the seniors who occasionally fussed over you. And since your secret was revealed, he had become kinder than anyone.
He fed you warm, delicious food.
He called your name in a sweet, level voice and touched you with such gentleness.
Because of him, the bath water ran hot, and you had soap that smelled like heaven.
Skincare was a first for you, as was the sensation of a duvet so soft and smooth it felt like it was melting.
Floyd had taught you that a person could be this fulfilled, this happy.
The daily life Floyd had given you was filled with more joy than if you had gathered every happy moment of your entire existence.
But that was exactly why you were so scared of that happiness.
You were terrified of being scolded by Mother and having it all snatched away.
More than the delicious food, more than the warm baths or the scented soap, more than the skincare products or the soft, comfortable bed—you were terrified of Floyd being taken away from you.
You didn't want to lose him.
Losing Floyd would be a fate far worse than death.
If God’s anger was to be felt, if the lightning was to strike… it should be you who was hit. Not him.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
You continued to apologize, over and over. You wanted God to forgive you. You wanted Him to forgive Floyd. It was your fault. You were the one who had become "corrupt." You screamed at the heavens until your throat was raw, begging and apologizing as if your very soul depended on it.
But the sea remained a raging beast. The waves thundered, tossing you about, refusing to grant you peace. The sky remained a void of pitch-black, jaggedly illuminated by the glare of the storm.
And Floyd… Floyd was still howling at the sky.
Gou-gou.
Dou-dou.
The wind and waves swallowed your voice. Your prayers weren't reaching God. He wasn't listening to your pleas. It had always been like this. No matter how much you prayed, He had never saved you.
"Ah… aah…"
A sound of pure despair fell from your parched throat.
Flash.
The lightning ignited the sky. God was about to strike the monster dancing in the waves. He was about to deliver His punishment.
"Stop… please! I'm the one at fault! God, please…!"
But your voice still wouldn't reach Him.
"A… ah… aaaaah…"
Your mind went completely white. Even before the lightning could strike, the sheer intensity of the light seemed to have scorched your thoughts.
And then, a heat began to boil up from the pit of your stomach—not terror, but rage. The back of your head felt numb and tingling.
Why? Why won't He listen?
Why has God never heard a single one of your wishes? Until now, you’ve prayed so much. You’ve endured so much. You’ve suffered so much. And yet, He won't even grant you this.
"To… to Senpai…!"
Your lips, drained of color, trembled as you finally found your voice.
"Don't do something terrible to Senpai!"
No matter how many unreasonable things were forced upon you, you had always accepted them as inevitable. Because Mother said so. Because she told you that you had to pay a price if you wanted to be happy in the next life. You had been told you had to accumulate merit to deserve happiness, and that your current suffering was only because you lacked merit from a previous existence. You had given up on so many things because of those words.
For yourself, you had thought that was fine.
But you didn't want Floyd to go through that. It didn't suit him—bowing his head to some God, begging for a forgiveness he didn't need. You wanted him to be free. On that day you saw him swimming gracefully through the depths, you had seen true freedom in that strong, beautiful creature.
So, for the first time in your life, you defied God.
You glared at the sky, your eyes sharp and focused, and with a voice that shook but did not break, you rebelled. You didn't care what punishment awaited you. You weren't afraid of any penalty He could impose.
If Floyd was safe… for his sake, you weren't even afraid of God anymore.
Losing Floyd was a fate far more terrifying than anything eternity could offer.
You squeezed your trembling fingers into fists. The emotions you had suppressed for so long began to boil, overflowing like molten magma. This was anger. Your emotions, pushed to their absolute limit, were on the verge of ignition. With tears streaming down your face, you stared down the dark clouds swirling in the heavens.
With your face contorted and your throat feeling as if it would tear, you roared.
"If you do something terrible to Floyd-senpai, I'll never forgive you! I'll never, ever forgive you!!"
You weren't praying anymore. You weren't wishing.
Because God would never listen anyway.
This was your declaration of war.
"I'll kill you…! I'll kill even God!!"
You screamed, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. In your entire life, you had never raised your voice like this. With your face flushed crimson and contorted with rage, you threw your defiance at the sky.
Watching you—that tiny, broken girl letting out a roar toward the heavens—Floyd let out a delighted laugh, a sound melting with pure, intoxicating excitement.
"A-ha ♡"
In this moment, you had chosen Floyd over God.
Right here. Right now.
Over the God who had controlled you for years, whom you had blindly followed with numb resignation—you chose Floyd.
So, he laughed.
He mocked the nameless God of another world who had just lost His precious little girl to a sea monster. Floyd laughed from the very depths of his soul.
He was enjoying this. He was ecstatic.
And because of that, he knew he could do it now.
Flash. The sky ignited. A single bolt of lightning fell from the heavens, aimed directly at the insolent monster who dared to mock God.
Floyd licked his lips at the light descending toward him—and then, with his thick, massive tail, he swatted it aside with sheer, brute force.
CRACK-ZAP-SHATTER. A violent sound tore through the air, and the surface of the dark ocean surged with a pale blue electrical charge. It was a reckless act, even with his magical defenses reinforced to the limit. His tail was left with a sickening, throbbing numbness, and the way the seawater stung suggested he had sustained burns.
But in the end, the God of another world could not kill him.
Floyd had won.
He undulated his tail, gliding smoothly through the water back to you. With the tip of a sharp claw, he gave the bubble protecting you a tiny poke—pop.
As your sphere vanished, your body fell forward into Floyd’s waiting arms. He pulled you tight against him, pouting his lips like a child complaining about a rival.
"Your God… He can't even kill me, and He definitely can't make you happy until the next life. He really is just a weakling."
He pressed his cheek against yours, being careful not to let his fins snag your wet black hair.
"You’re way better off with me. Seriously, Little Shrimpy. Switch over to me. I’ll actually protect you. I’ll cherish you. I’ll make you happy… in this life."
And if you wanted it, in the next life, too.
The males of the merfolk were nothing if not tenacious.
"Floy… Floyd… senpa… I’m so… I’m so glad… you’re safe…"
Your voice was a raw, broken whisper as you sobbed uncontrollably, nodding your head over and over against his chest. Every time you moved, tears scattered from your eyes like shimmering gems.
Floyd found them beautiful. He grew even more delighted, leaning down to whisper into your ear with a syrupy, sweet voice.
"Contract established, then ♡"
And then, Floyd used teleportation magic once more, still cradling you in his arms.
The moment they reached the sea and he returned to his merman form, his piercings and magical pen would have already returned to their proper place on his bedside table back in his room. This was the magic of the sea. In the ocean, merfolk can exercise magic even without a magic stone; they can simply release the Blot into the surrounding water. For merfolk like Floyd and Jade, who were close to the original "monsters" of the deep, this meant they could wield immense power without external aid.
However, repeating a long-distance teleportation twice while carrying another human was a heavy burden, even for him. Not to mention the defensive magic he had used to shield you both from the lightning had consumed a significant amount of his mana.
"Ah… I’m beat…"
Muttering lazily to himself, Floyd dove headfirst into the giant tank of the Mostro Lounge—which was currently open for business—still holding you. The impact sent a massive splash over the glass, making the lounging gentlemen scream in surprise.
"Whoa! A huge moray eel just dropped into the tank out of nowhere!"
"Which one?"
"The dangerous one!"
"They’re both dangerous!"
"Wait, what? Is this a new show? Did Floyd learn a trick?"
"Wait, isn't that the Prefect he’s holding?"
"Is… is he finally gonna eat them?"
"Didn't the Prefect collapse in class today?"
"Did they die? Is that why he’s eating them!?"
"Look, Floyd’s tail fin… is it burnt?"
"He’s glaring at us! Look away, look away!"
By the time Azul and Jade rushed over to the scene, Floyd had already sat you down on the edge of the tank, hidden from the patrons' view. He, meanwhile, was resting his head in your lap, looking utterly pleased with himself. He swayed his tail—the burns looking painful even to the observers—occasionally striking the surface of the water to send up playful sprays.
Azul was left speechless by the sight. Jade, letting out a small "Oya, oya," reached down and pulled you out from under Floyd’s head.
Thump. Floyd’s head hit the floor.
"What was that for!?"
"Don't you know, Floyd? Land dwellers mustn't let their bodies get too cold."
"Ah… right."
While the air and water temperature were nothing to a merman, it was far too harsh for a human—especially a girl. Jade pulled a fluffy white towel from seemingly nowhere and wrapped it around your shivering frame.
"Jade~"
"Yes?"
"Take Little Shrimpy back to Ramshackle for me."
"That’s one favor you owe me, 'Brother'."
"I'll pay ya back when I feel like it~"
"I’ll be sure to collect, whether you feel like it or not."
As they exchanged their usual banter, Jade placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "This way," he guided you, beginning to walk.
Floyd looked up at you, flashing a wide, beaming smile as he waved his hand.
You looked down for a moment, unsure of how to respond after everything that had happened. Then, hesitantly, you poked your small fingers out from the edge of the wet towel and gave him a tiny, trembling wave back.
"Didja see that, Azul? Isn't they the cutest? No, wait, don't look. Little Shrimpy is mine."
"Be quiet. You’re coming with me."
"Whoa, Azul’s mad."
"I have every right to be."
A massive octopus tentacle slid out from behind Azul, sinking into the tank and coiling tightly around Floyd’s tail fin.
"What on earth did you do to come back with injuries like these?"
With a sudden tug, Azul literally "fished" the moray out of the giant tank. Dangled upside down and swinging through the air, Floyd just laughed.
"I went one-on-one with God."
"You’ve finally lost your mind."
Floyd was dragged away, still laughing. His destination was the kitchen… no, fortunately for him, it was the specialized medical tank for merfolk students.