Lansi felt like he was at work now.
Every morning, he'd leave the cabin around one o'clock. After filling his belly, he'd rush to find Quirrell and begin teaching. Classes would last until noon, followed by a one-hour lunch break. Then came the torturous afternoon session, enduring Quirrell's noisy drumming until evening. Finally, Lansi would swim back, completely exhausted.
Then he'd do it all over again the next day.
That night, as Lansi lay beside Winsor preparing to sleep, he thought back on the past few days and couldn't help but grin bitterly.
Why had he become a corporate drone after turning into a mermaid?
But complaining didn't help.
After a while, Lansi turned to glance at Winsor, a trace of concern in his eyes.
Winsor remained motionless, his eyes closed. His black fishtail curled slightly, and the gauzy tail fin draped over his upper body like a veil.
Lansi hesitated, then carefully lifted the sheer black fin and slipped inside. He leaned in to check if Winsor was still breathing.
Winsor hadn't stirred since falling asleep.
Lansi was still worried. What if Winsor got hungry?
So after teaching Quirrell each day, Lansi would do his best to catch a dark blue fish. But every time he returned with one, Winsor was still fast asleep, showing no intention of eating.
As a result, Lansi ended up eating the fish himself while growing increasingly anxious.
If Winsor kept refusing to eat, wouldn't it harm his health?
Of course, there was no one to answer that question.
Lansi even tried to force-feed him a fillet, but Winsor's tail would flick him away every time.
He considered chewing the fish himself and then feeding it to the unconscious Winsor—but that idea made him blush so hard he couldn't go through with it. In the end, he just sighed, chewed up the fillet, and swallowed it himself.
All he could do was return each night, curl up beside Winsor, and fall asleep listening to his calm, rhythmic breathing.
That way, if something went wrong, he could respond immediately.
Another dreamless night passed.
The next morning, as sunlight spilled into the cabin, Lansi yawned and woke up.
Winsor was still asleep. Lansi lifted the fin again, staring at Winsor's face for a long time. Seeing that it was still rosy and peaceful, he finally stretched and prepared to leave.
Back to teaching Quirrell.
"Oh, right—this is breakfast."
Lansi caught a fish on his way out, murmuring both to himself and to Winsor, regardless of whether the latter could hear.
He placed the fish in a transparent container, making sure that if Winsor woke up, he'd see it immediately.
Casting one last glance at Winsor, Lansi left.
He really had it rough.
Not only did he have to teach every day, he also had to worry whether Winsor was eating or not.
He hoped that when he returned, the fish would be gone.
If it was, at least it meant Winsor had eaten.
Unfortunately, every time he came back, the fish was still there, blowing bubbles at him from inside the container.
But let's set that aside for now.
After swimming westward for some time, Lansi finally arrived at Quirrell's "classroom."
It was a space Quirrell had specially cleaned out, surrounded by sunken ships. In the middle was an open area where Lansi had built a drum stand for him.
According to Quirrell, the shipwrecks formed a sound barrier to keep his noise from disturbing Winsor.
Lansi was skeptical.
He preferred to believe Winsor couldn't hear because of the distance.
[Here! Teacher!]
Quirrell, still only fist-sized, lit up bright red when he saw Lansi arrive, flapping wildly to get his attention.
Nearby, one of the shipwrecks creaked, and a large claw emerged with a rough voice:
[Teacher.]
[Hermit Crab. Quirrell. Good morning.]
Lansi nodded solemnly, fully embodying his role as a teacher. Still, he couldn't help glancing at the hermit crab's remaining pincer.
He remembered the time Quirrell had offered one of the crab's claws as tuition—and how delicious it had been.
Once the shell was removed, the meat inside was translucent and tender, even better than the coral reef creatures. It had a sweet, slightly briny taste, perfectly cooked by the ocean itself.
Ever since then, Lansi found himself staring at the hermit crab's lone remaining pincer during class.
Lansi: Swallow.
Of course, he never actually asked the crab to give up its last claw.
The hermit crab had explained that Quirrell had broken the first one off. But since it would regrow soon, he didn't make a fuss. He'd simply accepted the outcome like a noble warrior.
[I'm not the kind of fish who holds grudges.]
He waved his one pincer proudly.
In fact, the hermit crab had later decided that using his claw as tuition wasn't such a bad idea.
[Alright, class time.]
Lansi pulled out a small iron rod and banged it on the "blackboard" with a sharp clack.
[Let's start by reviewing what we learned yesterday.]
The "blackboard" was some large, unidentified material that somehow worked well enough.
[I am me!]
Quirrell grabbed the drumsticks and darted to the drum stand, immediately pounding away without waiting for Lansi's signal.
Ding ding clang clang—
Lansi's face turned greener with every beat.
He deeply regretted boasting that he could teach Quirrell music.
Despite having eighteen tentacles, Quirrell had proven beyond a doubt that he had zero talent.
Lansi wanted to cry.
…
By the afternoon, Lansi felt like another session of drumming would make him throw up lunch.
For the sake of his sanity, he made a declaration:
[You can practice on your own this afternoon. I won't be joining.]
[Okay!]
Quirrell remained full of enthusiasm, completely unaware that his teacher was on the verge of a breakdown.
The hermit crab didn't care either. Since Quirrell's "mini drum" made barely a tickle on his shell, he waved his claw in understanding:
[If I can't even tolerate my own fish, what kind of sea creature would I be?]
So bold. So dignified.
Lansi gave him a few claps, feeling like he was watching a domineering CEO and his cute assistant.
After excusing himself from the noisy sea creatures, Lansi swam away quickly.
When he finally escaped the ding clang of the drums, he sighed in relief.
He wandered around.
He realized he was starting to adapt to mermaid life.
He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
After swimming along the sea floor for a while, Lansi began to float upward.
He hadn't had time to visit the island lately, and now seemed like a good moment to check on it.
Since his camera couldn't get wet again, he'd left it and his suitcase on the island. If he wanted to check on them, he'd have to go ashore.
Breaking the surface, Lansi wiped the water from his face and swam toward the beach, heading straight for a coconut tree.
He'd buried the suitcase under it, hoping it would stay safe from accidents.
After some digging, he finally uncovered it. Seeing it intact, he let out a long sigh of relief.
Sitting in the shade, Lansi opened the suitcase. The clothes and camera were still neatly packed.
He sighed again.
Life wasn't easy. Not even for a fish.
Although everything was in order, Lansi still reorganized the suitcase.
He found a diary inside—his roommate A must have slipped it in somehow.
Lansi puzzled over it for a while but couldn't remember what A looked like at all.
Had A done it on purpose? Or by accident?
Frustrated, Lansi realized he could barely remember anything about A's face.
Maybe turning into a fish had shortened his memory span.
Seven seconds like the legends say?
He looked horrified at the thought.
Once everything was neatly packed, he buried the suitcase again.
Then he looked out over the shimmering sea, a wave of sleepiness washing over him.
To fight it off, he picked a few leaves and fashioned a simple cot, then lay down with a yawn.
Since becoming a mermaid, Lansi had gotten rougher, with zero sense of refinement.
But at least here, he could sleep peacefully—no noisy drumming to disturb him.
Wasn't that a blessing?
Time passed slowly.
The warm breeze and soft waves made the perfect lullaby.
When Lansi finally woke, the afternoon was half gone. The sun was still high, but would set in two or three hours.
Oh no. He forgot to catch a fish.
He scrambled up and slipped back into the sea.
All he wanted was to catch a dark blue fish for Winsor.
If Winsor woke up and saw the delicious fish waiting for him, he'd surely be happy.
And if he didn't wake, Lansi would just eat it himself. The fish tasted great, after all.
Because Quirrell had made Sunset Bay his home, dark blue fish rarely showed up there anymore. So Lansi gradually swam beyond the bay's edge without realizing it.
As usual, he went to check for the fish—but instead of fish, he ran into a group of killer whales.
Not long after re-entering the water, he spotted some "uninvited guests."
He ducked behind a reef, cautiously watching the black-and-white "little fatties" swimming nearby.
From their movements and the panicked school of fish, it was clear—they were hunting.
And the prey? The same dark blue fish Lansi was after.
Where had all these fish come from? Lansi had only ever caught one or two.
Now he saw they moved in schools. The ones he'd caught before must've been strays.
That realization frustrated him.
He watched the killer whales, comparing their size to his. For safety, he didn't approach, choosing instead to hide behind another reef and keep a close eye on their actions.
Their hunt was ending, and the surviving fish scattered.
The killer whales, now full, drifted closer to Lansi's hiding spot.
He could hear their strange calls:
"Yip yip yip—"
"Whee—"
"Yip yip yip yip yip—"
Their sounds bounced back and forth, accompanied by affectionate nudges and excited movements. To Lansi, it looked like they were bragging and exchanging hunting tips.
If he could translate it, maybe they'd be saying:
"Did you see that move I pulled off? Legendary."
"Yeah, right. You totally flubbed it."
There were five killer whales in total.
Judging by their energy and behavior, Lansi guessed they were a group of youngsters out playing.
In his limited marine knowledge, killer whale pods were led by the oldest female. These five seemed more playful than serious hunters.
Forget it. Let them have their fun.
Lansi sulked behind the reef, watching the dark blue fish swim away, wondering how to catch them without getting noticed.
Now that the whales had stirred up the waters, it'd be even harder to find those fish again.
After a while, the killer whales began turning away. It looked like they were preparing to leave.
Lansi breathed a sigh of relief.
He could finally hunt.
"Huh?"
But just as he relaxed, he heard a noise behind him.
His body stiffened.
Slowly, he turned.
A fat, black-and-white killer whale hovered behind him.
Lansi: "…"
He hated high-IQ creatures!
What was this one doing? Playing tag?