I have always been a firm believer in the idea that life should be full pleasure and absolutely nothing else. Our time here on this planet is short–so, so short. A mere fleeting blip in the grand scheme of things. So, why waste it? Why bother with the stress of making a name for yourself, or the misery of taking up a dead-end job for hardly any money? The reasoning eludes me. It always has.

It’s much better to simply be a… selective participant in life. Observe, have fun, and do the bare minimum required for success, like… frolicking in the kelp fields, or catching needlefish.

Perhaps you disagree with me. Perhaps you even think I’m a mooch; a pathetic basement dweller living off of my moderately successful baker mother and retired knight father. And, well, you may be right–marginally. But hey, I didn’t ask to be born! So why should I be forced to contribute to a society I was forced into against my will? Hm?

Hmmm?

Don’t be shellfish–at least try to see my perspective.

The Overworld might be all about industrializing, and my world, down in the deep depths of the seas might be about expansion, but me?

I just like the drift. And I’ve become quite good at drifting.

“Firth, are you awake?”

My mother’s voice floats into my room, which is more of a nest than anything. It’s cozy, dimly lit, and very, very small. Much smaller than the room I used to have, but I blame that on being moved into the basement the day I turned twenty-four thanks to my sister and her… profession. Though I’m under the impression that nursing is more of a hobby than anything. Isn’t it just taking vitals or whatever? I could do that, but, you know. I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything other than—

Wait.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

As I was saying—I was removed from my lovely, well-lit room the day I became twenty-four-years-young. It was a tumultuous birthday, one I will forever rue. One that I spent hours downsizing, hours debating which artifacts, card decks and figures got to survive, and which were, unfortunately, incinerated…

Sigh.

It was a genocide of plasticwares, of my plasticwares. And I was the slaughterer.

All this death was thanks to my sister’s new vocation. She had just finished school, and came home to save money while she worked. Something about smart spending and waiting to leave the nest until she had enough savings to purchase her own in full—I don’t know. But she needed an office… apparently. Some extra room for her study. And, with that request went my childhood bedroom.

Whatever. It’s fine.

There is a silver lining to ridding myself of everything I’ve ever loved–with nothing to my name now, and such a small space, I barely have to clean. All that has to be done each morning is making my bed, which is optional anyways. So… life is much easier now. Instead of a million figures and novels greeting me upon each entry and re-entry, now my only companions are a few shells that play soft, ambient sounds and a stack of kelp scrolls with outdated information about my favorite card game–Herbalist’s Haven’s–expansions. And, of course, my bed.

Oh, my bed. I love my bed. If she were a real woman, a real mermaid, we would be happily married at this point. But, alas, she is only a soft amalgam of fuzzy jellies and sea lion fur. How upsetting.

“Firth?” My mother’s voice cuts in once more, and I realize I completely spaced on her earlier question.

“I’m awake.” I groan back, shifting under the blankets. It was a half-truth, but one that had to be said. They’d be furious if they knew I was still lounging around at noon.

“Your father and I want to talk to you,”

My least favorite sentence, and I hear it almost once a week about a myriad of things. Sometimes it’s about me being twenty-six with no career or education. Or sometimes it’s about me forgetting to walk the flounder. Or sometimes it’s about my inability to complete any of my assigned chores.

That may sound… troubling, but I promise, I have a good reason for my impotence when it comes to performing mundane tasks. 

It’s because I have dreams! Big dreams! Dreams of one day becoming a master player of Herbalist’s Haven, of securing my win in each and every tournament, bringing home the big pearls, and having a card dedicated to ME!

Ah… I can see it now.

And it’s not even that unattainable! I’m skilled… kind of.

My win-loss ratio is 3:15, but everyone needs to start somewhere, no?

“Firth!” My mother calls out one more time, and I roll around, pulling the covers tighter against me, hoping to shield myself from the impending, awkward talk. I can tell she’s frustrated, but I’m not sure if it’s because of my lack of answers, or because of the topic of conversation.

“Can it wait?” I mumble, my voice muffled by the pillow. Can wriggle out of this? Drag it out until my retired knight father gives up and my baker mother goes to work? Plus, I had plans of sleeping all day today! I need to get my energy up for the local tournament tomorrow–and, on top of that, the fibers of my lovely blankets are being particularly welcoming right now… hugging me, begging me not to leave. To deny them would be cruel.

“No, it cannot wait.” My mother insisted once more, and I held back an internal tantrum. “It’s about the system.”

UGHHH!

The system?! Of course it’s about that infernal thing, that nag. For years I’ve dealt with it popping up at the most inconvenient times, like my midday nap… or my early afternoon slumber. I can still hear its grating ding!, its annoyingly positive, annoyingly tempting offers and advertisements:

“Come on, Firth! It’s time to level up!” “Join the ranks of the kingdom’s defender’s!” “Neptune needs you!” “Unlock your true potential!”

Blah, blah, blah.

I’ve dismissed them all—I’m no fool. We’re in active war, currently. Our glorious ruler, Neptune, seems to have a hard-on for expanding our territories and traversing through the Kelp Walls–probably because he’s not the one on the frontlines, seeing all the bloodshed his stupid calls cause. There is no way I’m ever going to say yes.

Plus, who needs leveling when you’ve got all the essentials right here in your room?

My brain works just fine without the System screaming, “+1 Intelligence” each time I say something marginally sharp, thank you very much.

But, reluctantly, I roll over and stand up, getting out of my bed anyways. As if on cue, a shrill ding sounds out from behind me, and I turn to see a familiar pop-up.

[New Quest: Join the Military.]

[Reward: 1,000,000 Pearls]

I immediately scoff. A million pearls? That’s insane. They must be really desperate, but… it’s a trick. I know it. I’ll get put into active duty immediately and, with my low-rank, probably die before I can ever cash in my prize. And, even if I do survive, that means I have to wake up at 4AM everyday! Run, train, fight… learn how to wield a harpoon gun, learn how to be a good little cog in the kingdom’s military machine. No way.

I waved my hand, swiping left and dismissing the screen, though, admittedly, I didn’t outright decline it as I usually did.

The money was tantalizing. Perhaps their marketing finally did work. At least a little.

As the screen vanished, my mother’s desperate and exasperated cry snapped me back to reality once more: “FIRTH! We need to talk now!”

“Fine, fine.” With a deep sigh, I finally dragged myself out of my room and schelped down the hall. My parents had been on my case for years, ever since I hit the age of “system eligibility,” which, in merman terms, simply meant you were old enough to stop being a burden and contribute to Neptune’s rule. It meant you could get a good job, community, money and interesting experiences and skills. Maybe even use magic, which was, well, the only thing that interested me. That and the potential to max out my herbalism skill. But, I never activated anything, never joined it, so I don’t know what my stats are, if I even have any.

Hopefully playing so much of that card game helped me subconsciously get better at real herbalism.

As I finally turned a corner of my stone home, I saw my parents waiting for me in the main chambers, their faces aglow with soft, bioluminescent light. They looked serious, too serious, especially my father. He was a retired Trident-bearer–a mer-knight, after all. Someone who had protected Neptune directly, served in the Coral Guard. It seemed he was always quite disappointed that I didn't follow in his footsteps, but…

Not everyone wants to die for our spoiled brat of a ruler.

Wait–what? Who said that? Who dares insult our kingdom’s glorious leader?

Not me. I love Neptune, of course. All hail the king… or whatever.

My father was, as usual, the first to speak. “Firth, your mother and I are worried about you.”

“Worried?” I echoed, attempting to sound as indifferent as possible. “About what?”

“About your future,” my mother said, crossing her arms and shaking her head. I hated when they gave me that look—she should understand me better than anyone! She never joined the System, either! She married a knight and became a baker for goodness sake. “You’re not getting any younger, Firth. The System has offered you countless opportunities to turn your life around, but you keep ignoring them!”

Ouch. I shrugged, but the comment about my age kind of stung. “I just don’t see the point. It’s not like I’m going to thrive there, it’s not like it’s something I want to do. And I have other dreams, anyways.”

My father’s gaze hardened at that. “Other dreams? You mean those damn cards? I’ve never heard of a man becoming successful from playing with toys. You’re wasting your potential–you have my genes, the genes of a Trident-Bearer, and a successful one, at that. You could actually contribute to the kingdom instead of making their poor soldiers pull your weight.”

Part of me felt as if his words were… guilt-trippy, but the other part of me, the ever-fleeting, rational part, told me it was somewhat deserved. I was living off of them, after all. And my yearly income was, currently, only a hundred pearls.

Much less than my mother’s fifty-thousand.

“I’m contributing to the kingdom’s safety in my own way,” I said defensively. “I’m studying… strategy. In games. That’s useful, no?”

“Enough with the card games!” My mother snapped, her patience wearing thin. I suppose mine would too after having this talk each month for eight years straight. “The money you think you can make from tournaments, the skills you think you have from it… those aren’t real! But the System is, Firth. And so are the threats to our kingdom. You cannot just float through life without purpose, at least not in this house.”

‘At least not in this house.’

Oh.

Oh, man! Are they about to kick me out?! Come on, I can’t survive on the streets–I’m delicate and slow and completely uninitiated in the art of living alone. Or living by my own means. Or living at all!

“Listen,” my father continued, his tone softening slightly, which was never a good sign. “We know you’re not like other merfolk. You’ve always been different, always swam against the current. You’re very soft, very lazy. And that’s fine, but you need to contribute and stop embarrassing us.”

There was a long pause before he spoke up once more. “Show me your System Screen.”

“Show you… my System Screen?” I parroted, my mind racing to figure out why my father would ever want to see that. He was a giant, tall, fit, valiant knight, with a pathetic son. Looking at my nonexistent stats, my still-locked Skill Tree would only serve to make him cry.

What even was on my System Screen, anyways?

I waved my hand, causing the pop-up to fill my vision once more. It was still only visible to me, and my eyes gazed over the reward in all her largess.

One. Million. Pearls.

“Firth.” My father said sternly, taking a step forward. He reached a hand out, and I instinctively went to wave my screen away, but he gripped my wrist before I could. “Where is your screen?”

Finally, I understood why my father wanted to see. He wanted to know what in the world I was being offered and would, most likely, click ‘Accept’ himself.

I couldn’t have that happen–no way!

I stayed silent, not daring to answer. He couldn’t do anything as long as he didn’t know where it was, right?

As usual, I was wrong.

My father, though retired, was still in peak physical condition. His grip tightened around my wrist, his rough and calloused hands digging into my flesh. I could feel the raw strength in his muscles, honed from years of battling the abyssal creatures that lurked beyond our borders–the barbarians, the rebels, the leviathans. My heart began to pound in my chest as he swung my hands around, attempting to find the screen and force me to ‘Accept’ the mission. Gah, using my own hands to seal my fate? Cold!

“Father!!” I half-yelled, half-whined as I continued to writhe helplessly, my body twisting like a trapped eel, but without any of the beneficial slipperiness. This man was ruthless, and I couldn’t help but start to sweat.

Oh, please, dear Immortal Tentacle Monster, please don’t let him find it.

As I wriggled and flailed, and as my father’s hands forced my own to sift through the air, my eyes looked to my mother, who only shook her head.

“We’re sorry, Firth, but it has to happen. You’re wasting away in that room!”

She’s in on this too? Really?!

During my momentary distraction, my quick glance at my mother, my hand hit something. It was firm, like glass against my fingertips, but also not. Sort of like a momentary, physical illusion. Weird. What on earth did I just touch? Could it be…

The System Screen.

With horror, I heard a sound I had never heard before. A strange, cha-ching! noise, and a celebratory trumpet blare. Practically a death knell. This wasn’t supposed to happen! My life was meant to be a gentle drift through the tide, not this! Not filled with war and death and… and RESPONSIBILITY!

My father’s stern face was inches away from mine, and I sighed, looking at the System Screen shining before me, proudly showcasing to me the next instructions:

[Quest Accepted: Join the Military]

[Progress: 0%]

[Objective: Visit Military Entrance Processing Station, Undergo a Physical Exam, Take the Wavebreaker Proficiency Test, Sign your Contract, and Take the Oath.]

[Consequences: If this task is not completed within the following 48-hours, FIRTH RIDIRE will be sentenced to DEATH.]

What? WHAT? To death?

No!

No!!

NOOO!!