chương 4
Shinichirou
He lets out a yawn, vividly annoyed and offended as his servants come to the room and help him dress and sit on his desk. Shinichirou is a grown man, not a bumbling toddler, and yet his parents insist on him being taken care of as if he doesn’t know how to shit and piss properly. He’s given up on arguing with them, fully aware that they don’t give a single damn about anything he says.
The king and the queen are acting like a pair of caring parents, Shinichirou knows. He also knows that it’s just another part of their role on the political stage. They don’t give a fuck about him as a living person, a child conceived by the integration of his seeds inside her womb. The amount of fucks they give is solely about him as an heir, the one to take the leftover of their kingdom at their curtain calls.
They have reasons to act out, nonetheless. He almost died on the shore out there, but Shinichirou would argue that it wasn’t so serious of an incident. He rowed the boat through the rocks and was flipped over, he fell into the water, some random dude who happened to be there at that time saved him and brought him to the rock so the people in the castle could see him.
All of them took place almost two days ago, and everyone around Shinichirou still acts like he's vulnerable enough to be startled at the softest crackle of the wind.
For all it’s worth, what Shinichirou hates, even more than his own life, is being perceived as if fragility is his only personality, which is exactly what people are doing to him. He escaped death once, he should be praised like a hero for that, and yet he’s a victim. It’s not difficult to follow their path of thinking – to them, getting exposed to death is a horrible experience, and they assume the same from him. It’s sad, though, to be reminded of the same truth that’s been biting on his arse.
He tries to divert himself from it, only to jump into another problem. The one who saved him there. Their existence leaves a huge question in his head that Shinichirou doesn’t know how to answer, and he’s a hell of someone who never leaves a question hanging. He knows for sure that there wasn’t anyone on the shore the second he sank into the water – even if there were, they wouldn’t have made it to him in time.
It means that whoever it was, they came from under the water, which, he can tell, is even harder to explain. What kind of person stayed under the water at that specific time to save him? Why were they even there? What were they doing? Are they a diver? And what on Earth do they even have anything to do with fish scales?
The most evocative memory that bothers Shinichirou’s head is indeed the feeling of fish scales, right beneath the human skin, as his fingers glided through them in his subconsciousness. Of course, it could be a work of his imagination, his broken mind due to the sudden attack of the water – Shinichirou wasn’t exactly awake then – but his instinct tells him otherwise. He knows, by sheer hunch, that it was real.
It was either a human with a fish close to them, or a human and a fish. Both of those scenarios fail to convince him. He closes his eyes and groans, his fingers move swiftly to his side, like an attempt to recreate what happened. He remembers choking and coughing, he remembers the saltiness of seawater on his tongue, and he remembers his body aching. Then comes the person. The tips of his fingers were running across their skin, it was colder than any human he ever came into contact with. He goes lower, and–
“Your Highness,” like a tornado that hits his recreation, every image, feeling, sense, and void that’s been squirming around his head is blown away. Shinichirou cracks open one of his eyes at the buzz killer that bombarded his thoughts, only to be met with an unwavering face.
“Get the fuck lost,” he mumbles, seeing his tutor finally there as if nothing happened, after sending him off to the arguably worst trip of his life.
Normally Shinichirou wouldn’t give the slightest fuck about people who tried to kill him – he prefers death to life and it shouldn’t be something people’re confused about – but this woman did it worse. She planted the idea about the broken wall in his head, making him go to the sea and feel life like an idiot, then got hit and almost killed by the most bizarre wind in history, like a bigger idiot.
He should have told her, were he not occupied by his controversies, although he doesn’t know what he would say about that. It was his choice to go there, climb over the tree, and go to the shore. It was his choice to suddenly jump on a strange boat and row in the patch of the sea where even the dumbest child knows that it isn’t meant for boats. It was his ass that fell into the waves and drowned.
His tyrant parents would still punish her for tattering bullcrap in their precious son’s head. Shinichirou had tutors who received worse punishments for smaller deals, so he’s the one with the upper hand in this case. It doesn’t matter to the king and the queen if the prince’s doing dumb shits and spitting nonsensical dejections like a lunatic, as long as there’s someone to take the responsibility.
“I came to pay gratitude,” the tutor leans over and whispers, “Your Highness.”
“For what?” He sneers, mockingly and visibly annoyed. He knows for what.
“For not telling on me.”
“So you know it’s your fault?”
Shinichirou smirks.
“It isn’t,” she shakes her head, “but none of it would’ve happened if I hadn’t told you about the wall.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he nods. It seems like this woman knows her place, and he may consider not telling on her, based on how she behaves.
“I bring you something to pass the time, now that you can’t escape the palace,” she smiles and puts some books on the table in front of him, “they’ll be of help.”
“Fucking pass,” he laughs, “you know that I don’t read your craps.”
“You don’t,” she says, with a mysterious glint in her eyes, “they aren’t my, say, craps. These are the books on old legends of the sea. Figured you may like it a lot, especially after the incident out there. Who knows,” she scoffs, then bows to him, “they may have the answers you’re looking for.”
Seul
In Seul’s defense, he’s waited until it’s day again to go to the shipwreck, meaning he took the time to think it through. It is what he never imagined he’d do one day, but it isn’t a rash decision made on the spot, either. The desire’s always been there, buried in the depth of his heart, shared with not a single soul, and now it resurfaces with a great pinch of catalyst.
He’d say that the drowning man earlier isn’t the sole reason why he wants to go on the Earth, but he’s an important factor. His uncanny resemblance to the painting that Seul found on that day, the shrilling pain of seeing neither of their faces, his ragged breaths, his warmth, his touches, everything about his existence. Seul dreams of the human world, but he never once wonders what may happen if he touches a human.
It isn’t like he never plans to do so – he has a vow to not let them die if he’s able to save them – he just didn’t see it coming and didn’t prepare accordingly. And he didn’t know a human would feel that warm.
For some reason, it makes Seul smile. It reminds him of the time he learned that humans and merpeople have similar-looking blood, a sinister shade of crimson red that never beats the moving waves of the sea, yet starkly imprints in the minds of anyone who happens to see them. It’s probably their skins and scales that make the merpeople’s body much colder, and less fascinating.
The warmth of a human’s body feels like nothing Seul’s experienced before, or been able to even imagine. He doesn’t hate it, but he isn’t sure if he fancies the idea of touching it again, and yet he yearns for it, in whatever form he couldn’t think of now. He’s learned that fish’s body temperature is much lower than that of humans, causing some of them to get burned by the mere interaction with the human skin.
The encounter with the drowning man didn’t burn Seul, fortunately, but it marked a scalding patch of heat over the skin down his tail, impossible to get rid of, impossible to leave space for any other feeling. And now, to think that he’ll feel it again, not as an outsider, but as someone having the same kind of blood but warmer running inside of him, living the moments he’s been yearning for since the second one his mind made its way to this boring floating world, that he’s only one signature further from it, all of the emotions surge up in him in waves, causing a lump in Seul’s throat.
There’s agitation, he can tell, and fear, and expectation which, for the first time, is released and let roaming freely, filling Seul's head with thousands of made-up scenarios, and the burning desire that overwhelms everything else. It builds up and grows larger, more urgent as he comes closer to the floating shipwreck. Seul closes his eyes, then gulps, even letting the water go through his mouth.
Nothing can wash the lump away, now that he’s at the ship’s entrance.
The pile of broken wood and shattered glass looms over Seul like a giant monster, its dark silhouette blends in with the seawater. It isn’t until now does Seul realize that the day is dark, there’s probably a storm squirming above the sea, and the cloud above making the water murky and double the trouble of figuring out which patch of the darkness over there is the ship and which is the emptiness of the shadowy sea.
It doesn’t slow him down one bit, still. Seul urges himself ahead, dashing through the dark. His memory sees better than his eyes, and the boiling anticipation paves way better than any clear view. A few chips of wood cross him and he shoves them apart, doesn’t bother if they cut him in the process. Wanderlust is an effective painkiller, and what is Seul now, if not facing the wildest dream of his life and filled with the lust to wander?
“You’re here,” he nods as he reaches the same room as yesterday. Seul knows, by instinct, that the mad woman will be waiting for him here. After all, it’s only sane and reasonable. The room is where he found the picture of that mysterious man, and also where he was told about the drowning man. They can be one, they can be two different people, doesn’t change the fact that both of their existences are brought up in this very room and are also the same cherry that tops Seul’s cake of daring adventure.
“And you’re here, too,” he hears a dark chuckle replying to him and lands his gaze on a darker patch among the broken walls. "Been waiting?”
“Not really,” she nods, her chuckle merging into a wicked trail of laughter, “I don’t know if you’ll come.”
“And yet you wait,” Seul smirks.
“And yet I wait,” she chimes.
Then, out of nowhere, with a flashing light and a snapping sound, probably from her fingers, Seul sees the contract of yesterday in front of him. The words float into his vision, every one of them calling for him as if they had a voice of their own.
“What if I sign it?” Seul looks at the paper, refraining himself from touching it.
“You’ll have a moment to adjust yourself. Then you shall have a pair of legs in the place of your tail.”
“A moment?” He glances. “How long, exactly?”
“What, aren’t you always cautious?” The woman scoffs.
Seul leans back and smirks. “Are you telling me not to?”
“I shouldn’t,” she says, “you’ll have one hour before the transformation is done. The contract won't take effect until you're fully transformed.”
Seul nods with contentment. “Make sure you put it in the contract.”
He can hear a refrained laugh from the darkness where she remains, and sees a small dot of light flaring through the paper. More words are added, and Seul starts to examine them with caution.
“Take as long as you want,” the woman says, “it’s a contract, after all. Better be careful.”
“Won’t be a problem,” replies he, calmly.
Suppressing the tingling excitement that’s been spiking the surface of his mind, Seul opens his eyes widely and forces himself to read the contract carefully. This may be a harmless mermaid, broken and mad, incapable of nothing, and even the contract can be one of her crazy bluffs, but Seul won’t want to risk a chance of falling into any of the traps.
He flips the paper around, looking for any hidden words. Merpeople aren’t known for being scheming and deceptive, but this isn’t someone Seul would take for being like others. After all, he’d never seen her until yesterday, she lives in a shipwreck, she sounds crazy most of the time, she’s tattered physically and mentally, and, although Seul doesn’t believe in sea witches, she matches everything coming to the tip of his mind when the word sea witch is recalled.
“Trying to find a hidden term?” The woman asks as Seul puts the paper under the shades of the seaweed.
“What else?” He doesn’t look up. “Better careful than sorry.”
“Good luck finding them,” he can hear her smirking reply, “there’s none.”
“As if I bought your words.”
Soul looks, flips, and crumbles the paper. He puts it in different lighting. There doesn’t seem to be any hidden trick or foul play, but Seul knows better than not being careful. He doesn’t even trust the people he knows, let alone a wicked-headed stranger whom he met on an eerie shipwreck that used to stay at the bed of the darker sea.
After a few more minutes of checking, Seul’s finally convinced. He reads the contract again. The conditions are clear: one day of his life under the sea in exchange for one day on Earth. But while the contract is in effect, Seul can’t go into the sea. If he violates that, his body will dissipate.
“Dissipate?” He looks at the mad woman, eventually, voicing out the only problem he has with the contract.
“Disappear,” she says, “vanish. Becoming no worthier than the faltering bubble, lasting no longer than them.”
“I don’t ask you what it means,” Seul sneers. “I just need to make it clear. If I go in the sea, I’ll…disappear?”
“Your body is gone, nobody will remember you, you’ll be erased from their memories, yes,” she says.
“How deep into the sea are we talking about?” He asks.
“Deeper than your feet can reach,” she snarls, “if you can walk, that’s fine. But start swimming, then you’ll dissipate.”
Seul smirks. “Fine. I’ll be going to the Earth from the sea, no? What if you count my first seconds in the sea after the transformation?”
“Then I suggest you come to shallower water and then sign the contract,” she sounds audibly annoyed, “that’s when you’ll have enough time to move away from the sea. Happy?”
Seul chuckles. “Aren’t there too many conditions from my side?”
“Hardly,” the woman laughs. Seul’s content to hear annoyance rising in her voice. It means she was trying to set a trap, which Seul could foresee and didn’t fall for. “It takes a hectic amount of power to turn your tail into a pair of legs. And it isn’t like you would want to go into the sea as a human, is it?”
“Doubt that,” Seul sighs. “Alright. I have more questions, though. The one day part. Can I pick the day?”
“Of course, you can. Sign the contract, and that day never existed. It can be any day in particular, or not in particular.”
Seul feels like he can hear her smile. “I highly recommend a day that you don’t remember, because it will vanish with everything that happened. You don’t want to erase the memories that may be relevant in the future, do you?”
“Probably,” Seul smirks, “but I’m not stupid, either.”
The woman laughs. Her smile sounds fading, replaced by a tone of admonition.
“And what are you implying, praytell?”
“You can’t take the day I was born,” Seul stares at the darkness where he knows she’s hiding and talks starkly, “or any day of my childhood that affects my future. That includes my prince coronation day, the day I finally healed after weeks of sickness, and–”
“Won’t be a problem." She cuts him off.
"You get to pick the day, don’t you?”
“I suppose,” Seul mumbles. Then he glances at her. “I know what it is.”
“Bother to tell me?”
“Yes,” Seul nods, “I had a fever when I was very young and was in a coma for weeks. I want to take the fifth, no, third day of this coma. I didn’t remember anything about those days, and one day off can’t change the result.”
He can hear a sigh of disappointment from the woman. Seul’s heart is beating faster. He isn’t sure if he managed to backfire her with her foul play, but it seems like the deal doesn’t go as she expected. Good. Because, to Seul, it’s going exactly how he likes.
“We have a deal?” He asks, keeping his voice calm.
He won’t be surprised if the woman withdraws now – she did seem like trying hard to lure him into something and Seul’s prevented it from happening – but he can feel his anger rise. Because, if everything turns out to be a hoax, then whatever dream and anticipation Seul’s been feeding himself since yesterday will be shattered, like grains of sand in the underwater current.
“We do,” the woman says, “sign it, and then your wish shall come true.”
Shinichirou
Shinichirou never imagined that there’d be a day when he would spend hours on a book. He can read, and although he doesn’t read regularly, the number of books he’s consumed is enough to pass him as a fairly educable ruler, probably better than most of the ruling lords out there gaining their reigns by going to wars. He doesn’t like reading, however, and it takes him longer than days to finish a book.
Not this one, however. Shinichirou on the later half of it and doesn’t plan to stop reading soon. The sun was up and then down, and now it’s up again, only today most of its lights are blocked behind the cloud, and even fewer manage to sneak through his curtain. If Shinichirou hadn’t torn his gaze off from the pages to look at the sea at every single mention of it, he would have thought that the night prevails for good.
He initially picked the book up as an act of satire to cure his boredom and to laugh at it seconds later, once he found the content inside the same level of bland hypocrisy as everything else he’s been forced to learn. He doesn’t know where his interest started, and the next thing he is aware of is that he’s reading, consuming, and memorizing everything about the existence of mermen.
“Mermen?” He remembers asking himself out loud with a scoff. The book describes them as creatures with the upper half of a man and the lower of a fish. A fucked-up merge work of the two most improbable to cooperate in nature.
Not that Shinichirou never heard of such a creature before. Mermen exist in fairytales and long-lost legends, most of which are trivial word-of-mouth, made-up stories of the court jesters, for no other purpose than to satisfy their lords’ interests and fill their pathetic empty pockets. This is the first time he ever sees them written in a book, delivered in such an academic tone it makes people want to believe that mermen are real.
They aren’t real, and they can’t be real, Shinichirou can hear his conscience deduce. And yet, his memory is arguing against it. Feeling his focus draining from this fight, Shinichirou closes his eyes, leaving the page he’s on, and lets his mind wander off a bit, thinking about the time he touched the fish scale.
There was a human body above it, he was sure about that. He recalls the muscles, the skin, and the strange coldness as the body came into contact with his fingers. It felt like a human, but it was lack of the normal heat a human is supposed to have. And what’s more bizarre is that it was attached to another body part covered by fish scales, and the scales felt even colder under his touch.
It can be a human holding a fish, his logical conscience says.
No human holding a fish can rescue another man in that case, his memory replies in a stern voice. Shinichirou opens his eyes and shakes his head. He isn’t someone to jump headfirst into trusting his memory – especially one that took place on the verge of death – but he has to admit that it makes sense this time. It’s improbable and nonsense for anyone to hold onto a fish while saving a drowning person.
As if merman made any sense, he can hear his conscience speak again, this time weaker, with less certainty. He knows it’s the sign. The wall of denial inside his mind is starting to fall apart. Shinichirou can feel the lights on fables creeping through the crack, feeding him with more unrealistic beliefs, and fueling his imagination about the existence of the nonexistence.
Shinichirou knows that it isn’t something he should do – zoning out of his reading and getting convinced of mythical creatures – and still, his heart jumps at it. He can recall the surge of life running through him earlier when he was in the middle of the sea, and although it’s weaker this time, it’s something out of the ordinary, it’s an uplifting melody to his life ballad full of down low, melancholic notes.
It’s what makes him feel he should live for, and should fight until the very last second of his life for it. Shinichirou isn’t someone who’d ask for more time in this cruel world – quite the contrary, quite the irony, knowing that he’s considered one of utmost privilege and luxury – and ever since that bizarre encounter, he’s learned that perhaps breathing isn’t that meaningless, and living isn’t that unworthy.
“So, I found a book that captures you?” A voice suddenly cuts through his thoughts, soft like the sea breeze, light as the faltering light of the candle on his desk.
Shinichirou smirks. He doesn’t need to turn to tell who that is. He doesn’t even wonder why she’s here, in his room, at this very random hour on a day she isn’t required. His tutor seems to know a lot, including what to feed Shinichirou to get his attention. If she’s that capable, then she’s very likely the type of person who will only tell the answer when she wants to. Forcing it out of her seems impossible, even dangerous.
“Jury’s still out,” Shinichirou chuckles,
“but it’s a good read. Been a while since I had one.”
“It isn’t the read, I suppose?”
“Not solely,” Shinichirou hums, thinking of the fish scales again. “Why?”
“Why can I tell? It’s easy, I just need to–”
“No,” Shinichirou raises his voice, “why did you give me the book? Did you know about the encounter?”
“What encounter, Your Highness?” The woman’s voice doesn’t falter, but Shinichirou can tell the slim strand of lies lurking in it.
“You know what,” he turns in the direction of her voice, realizing that she remains in the doorway, hiding herself in the unlit part of his room. Only her hands are visible in the haphazard light of his reading candle, and suddenly Shinichirou feels the urge to throw the fire at her, to see her face, her mysterious smile, her wicked eyes, and whatever kind of intention his tutor has in store.
“How can I?” She remains calm, even after the long silence between their speeches. “How can I, Your Highness? I know of no encounter.”
He smirks. “Nice try, but you fool no one. Did you plan it?”
“What if I said I did?” She asks. He can feel her smirking in the cover of the dark.
“Then did you know the merman?”
He hears a trail of soft laughter. It’s shrilling and soft, but it drills into his ears, like a sudden turn of the wind on a calm sea surface, raising the sudden waves and stirring his rage. He recalls the breeze at the shore and how it suddenly turned into a strong wind that toppled his boat. His tutor’s laughter serves as an uncanny resemblance to what happened there.
“You said merman,” she laughs, “like you believe in it.”
“Tell me,” Shinichirou squints, “should I?”
“I don’t know,” her laughter continues, “should you?
“Goddamn it, woman,” Shinichirou snaps, “you’re my fucking tutor?”
“Indeed, I am. But I’m merely a tutor. There are things in life I can’t tell you what to do. Should you believe in the presence of a merman that you thought you encountered? I don’t know.”
Shinchirou bites his tongue and glares. There’s a war taking place inside of him, bloodier and louder than any war people have committed for the throne. His memory is squabbling with his logic, his logic is blaring against his conscience, and his conscience doesn’t agree with anything suggested by his instinct.
But he knows. Despite all of the voices trying to scream for his attention, Shinichirou knows, from the depth of his heart, the fact that’s been there and never falters, obvious as the sea is gray and the sky is gloomy on that cloudy day.
“I didn’t think that I met him,” says he.
“You didn’t think?” replies she.
“No,” Shinichirou shakes his head. “I know so.”
“You know so?” The tutor suddenly steps out of the darkness, her red hair reflecting the candlelight, casting a sinister bronze flare over her head. “You’re sure, Your Highness?”
Shinichirou takes a second to think. His logical admonition says that it isn’t, but he chooses his memory over it. His memory tells him that there had to be a merman there and that the merman saved his life. That merman did the very thing Shinichirou can never do: making him want to live.
“I am,” he says with determination.
“Then do you want to see him?” The tutor smiles.
There’s something iniquitous sneaking in her glint and Shinichirou can see it, but he decides to give it no second damn. He’s been careless his whole life, this isn’t the time to suddenly be cautious about the life he doesn’t want. If the merman somehow inspires the hell out of him to live, then be him Shinichirou’s only purpose, even if it means Shinichirou’s life can end in the next blink of his eyes.
“Can I?” Shinichirou asks. His voice suggests that he’s stark serious, probably the most he’s ever been.
“You can,” a paper slipped in front of him. Shinichirou squints, moving the candle closer to read it. It’s filled with nonsensical words, this and that, now and then, bluffing and whatnots, unimportant information, and gibberish. The only part of it that catches his eye is the one line.
One hour of your life for one hour of freedom.
“One hour of freedom?"
“Like stated. I’ll take one hour of your life, Your Highness,” the woman smiles and pauses for dramatic effect, “in exchange, you can have one hour to be on your own, completely.”
“What?” Shinichirou scoffs and glances at her. “Are you telling me that it’s possible?”
“I gave you the book you like, didn’t I?” She smiles. “And I told you about the tree, didn’t I? Remember when you almost drowned? Remember how the wind suddenly blew harder?” She leans in, all of a sudden, and chuckles. “Do you think all of these are a coincidence, Your Highness?”
Shichirou can’t help a shiver, and in a second he almost reaches up to grab his candle. He can hear something cold in the woman’s voice, suggesting the ill will lying under her calmness. He’s reminded of the drowning incident the second time in a span shorter than an hour, and both of them implied that his mysterious tutor had more to do than simple suggestion and provocation.
“And if it’s possible, if it were,”
Shinichirou flickers his tongue, “then what do I even need an hour for?”
“It’s up to you to decide, Your Highness,” his tutor leans back. “It’ll be the hour of freedom. Nobody will look for you, or follow you. You can go to town to see your people dying of poverty and famine. Or to the coast and stare at the water uninterrupted. Or go for another boat trip into the sea, hoping that you won’t drown again. Or hoping that you will. It seems to be the only way to find your merman.”
Shinichirou stares at the last of her words. He knows that it’s going to be the stupidest decision he ever makes, probably in his whole life, which won’t last long if he persists with this damnable idea. And yet, he can’t tear his mind off it. He wants to find the merman, at all costs.
“Find the merman?” Shinichirou feels his chest tighten as he asks. “Does it mean the merman is real?”
Silence is the only answer he receives, but Shinichirou takes it as an unuttered confirmation. He doesn’t need spoken words to make up his mind. It’s real. The merman is real. Shinichirou isn’t mad, and he’s going for his not-unreal savior.
“If you want to find out about the merman, you have to find him in the sea,” his tutor continues, her eyes stay on Shinichirou, “and if you want to be in the sea–”
“I have to sign this contract and take my hour,” Shinichirou finishes her words, his voice heavy with threat. “Is this real? Because if I find out that it’s a joke–”
“Look at me and decide for yourself,” her voice makes him look up. The wind outside his window suddenly blows harder, almost blaring, almost resembling the day he faced death below the sea’s surface, also the very same day Shinichirou met his motivation not to give up on life. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“You don’t,” he says as he studies her face, “but this is at court. People at court are the best liars. And I warn you if this turns out to be a hoax–”
“Then I’m at your mercy, Your Highness,” the tutor bows gently, “you can call the guards on me. You can kill me on an instance. But remember,” she pushes the paper toward him, “once you sign this, you can have a whole day to find the one you’re looking for. In exchange, I only need–”
“Take whatever you need,” Shinichirou cuts her off harshly. He’s heard enough. He’s lived this monochrome life enough, and it’s time to add some colors to it. Even though it can be the colors of death or something worse than death, it’s no longer black and white, and he only needs to know that.
Shinichirou grabs a pen on the table and signs his name. He can see, through the peripheral corner of his eyes, an unnatural flash, then the chime of a bell ringing in his ears. He knows for a fact that this sound is audible for only him. There’s no need for a voice to tell him that, just his instinct.
He stands up, doesn’t even bother the paper on the table, doesn’t bother his tutor, who just snapped her fingers. He’s lost an hour, in exchange for another. He hopes it’ll be the hour when he actually lives.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen3h.Co