Quirrell's intelligence was far beyond what Lansi had imagined.
According to Quirrell, it could recognize letters, spell, and write. In order to better catalog sunken ships, it had even arranged them by name, rowing to different areas and organizing them so they could be found more easily later.
Lansi was amazed. He couldn't help asking with curiosity:
"Then what exactly are you doing collecting all these sunken ships?"
At that time, Lansi and Winsor were following Quirrell. Two merfolk and a swarm of red-tentacled creatures were drifting between wrecks, searching for the ship Lansi had mentioned—the Queen Mary.
Amid twisted metal and rusted debris, Quirrell spit out a stream of water and snapped irritably:
"Mind your own business!"
As soon as the words left its mouth, Quirrell remembered that Winsor was also behind him. It immediately shrank back, its earlier boldness vanishing. Faltering, it mumbled:
"I just... I like doing it, okay?"
A sign of high intelligence is emotional complexity. Wasn't it only natural for Quirrell to have hobbies?
As they spoke, Lansi and Quirrell reached the far northwest corner of the wreck field.
Quirrell stopped. Still no larger than a palm, it wiggled its eighteen tentacles and pointed down at the pile of ships below.
"I sorted them by their initials. You should be able to find it here."
Lansi glanced at the endless heap of twisted metal and felt a bit overwhelmed.
"Let me help."
Winsor, who had been quiet the whole way, finally spoke. He swam closer and gently touched Lansi's arm. At the same time, he asked,
"But Lansi, now that we're all here... can you tell me why you're looking for that ship?"
"Wait... can you even read?"
Lansi completely ignored Winsor's question and turned the conversation in a different direction.
If they were going to find the Queen Mary, they'd need to recognize the name. But from what Lansi understood, Winsor had always lived deep in the ocean, far from human civilization. How could he possibly be literate?
Winsor blinked slowly under Lansi's gaze.
"I taught myself."
Lansi stared at him silently.
He didn't buy it.
Rolling his eyes, Lansi still replied seriously,
"When I find that ship, I'll tell you everything."
He had made up his mind. Rather than hiding the truth, he would come clean with Winsor about who he truly was.
He liked Winsor deeply, and was grateful to him. That made him all the more unwilling to lie to him.
Whatever Winsor's reaction might be—whether he accepted it or decided to leave—Lansi would face it.
Having made this decision, Lansi's face turned pale. He didn't want to see Winsor's expression, so he turned around and dove toward the shipwreck below.
By the time Winsor reacted, the white-haired merfolk had already slipped among the wreckage, his figure flickering like a ghost in the deep shadows.
Winsor had a strange feeling—Lansi's words had sounded like a farewell.
"I think he's human."
At that moment, Quirrell floated over and asked hesitantly, "Nat, am I right?"
To Lansi, Winsor was simply Winsor—the black-tailed merfolk.
But to sea creatures like Quirrell, Winsor was Nat—the lord of the abyss, ruler of the Nate Trench, the king of the deep sea.
Winsor didn't answer. He shot Quirrell a cold glance.
Quirrell trembled and quickly realized it had touched the king's forbidden scales.
"No matter who Lansi is, he belongs to me."
Winsor's voice was calm and firm.
"Go help him find the ship."
Quirrell dared not delay. At the king's order, it immediately swam down to search for the Queen Mary.
But the wreckage field was immense. Even with both merfolk and Quirrell searching, the sun had set by the time they regrouped—and the Queen Mary was still nowhere to be found.
"Could you have remembered it wrong?"
Quirrell asked hesitantly.
"No."
Lansi was firm. "The chances of me boarding that ship were slim, but I spent a lot of money on the ticket."
Because he had spent so much, he had stared at the ticket for an entire day. There was no mistake—it was called the Queen Mary.
Still, it didn't seem to be here.
Disheartened, Lansi began to doubt whether he was dreaming. Maybe his real body was still on the ship.
"Don't be discouraged."
Perhaps some camaraderie had formed between them, because Quirrell tried to comfort him by humming a tune.
"Olei, Olei, Olei~"
It flickered in different colors like a glowing neon sign as it sang.
Watching all this, Winsor couldn't help twitching his mouth.
Sometimes, he had to admit—this sea monster really was just as silly and cute as Lansi said.
Lansi, meanwhile, tilted his head and sang a few words back before a realization struck him.
"Wait a second. Are you singing—'Go go go, Ole Ole Ole'?"
Unlike Quirrell's long version, Lansi sang a shorter version.
Quirrell paused, then spun joyfully in the water, its tentacles twisting like ribbons.
"Yes! That's it! Do you like singing too?"
"That's the theme song of the 1998 FIFA World Cup—'The Cup of Life.'"
Lansi was surprised. He didn't expect a sea monster to know that song.
It was catchy, and Lansi was a big football fan. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind.
"Wait... those sounds I heard on the seafloor before—were you playing drums?"
If those rhythmic noises were drums, everything made sense.
Quirrell had collected shipwrecks to use them as drums. When it attacked Lansi earlier, the iron rod in its hand hadn't been a weapon—it had been a drumstick.
"How did you know?"
Quirrell looked panicked.
Lansi nearly blurted out that he had been an amateur drummer in college—but he stopped himself just in time.
Saying that would have revealed he was human.
He stayed silent.
"Drums?"
Winsor suddenly interrupted, easing the awkwardness.
He gave Quirrell a thoughtful look and asked,
"So, you say you hate humans, but you can't help loving human things?"
Lansi stared at Winsor in surprise.
That was... sharp.
Then he grew nervous. If Winsor knew he was human, would he hate him too?
As for what Winsor said—it was true. Quirrell seemed emotionally conflicted, torn between hatred and fascination for humanity.
Hearing Winsor's words, Quirrell twisted its tentacles so tightly it nearly tied itself into a knot.
It had always struggled with this. Because it couldn't face humans directly, it had never truly understood how it felt about them.
Winsor stepped forward, untangled Quirrell with one hand, and gave a calm order.
"Take us to the place where you beat the drums."
Lansi blinked, surprised. He swam over and asked softly,
"Why go there?"
Winsor stroked Lansi's head and said,
"Because there's nothing here. That ship may have been taken somewhere else for... other purposes."
Quirrell didn't want to take them, but...
One hour later.
Quirrell brought them to a strange place.
It was an open area, surrounded by shipwrecks placed bottom-up in a deliberate circular pattern. Some were higher, some lower, arranged with obvious care.
Lansi stared at the strange setup and turned to look at Quirrell.
Feeling exposed, Quirrell puffed up like an octopus dropped in a frying pan.
"Stop looking at me like that. I let you come here, didn't I?"
"You really are practicing drums."
Lansi imagined Quirrell twirling drumsticks with eighteen tentacles and burst out laughing.
"You, you—!"
Quirrell flushed bright red, then blue, then snapped,
"Find it yourself!"
It turned to leave.
"Wait, that wasn't what I meant!"
Lansi swam after it quickly, rubbing the back of his head.
"Actually... I used to be a drummer."
Winsor and Quirrell looked at him at once.
Winsor was skeptical. Quirrell looked starstruck.
Under their stares, Lansi flicked his tail, puffed up his chest, and said,
"Don't believe me? I'll show you!"
He got to work immediately.
With Quirrell's help, he found a few iron pots and arranged them into a makeshift drum set. Then he dug up two sticks that could pass as drumsticks.
"Alright, here I go!"
He pushed Winsor and Quirrell to the edge of the circle and took center stage. Twirling the sticks with flair, he began to play.
It was rough—just a few basic beats—but it had rhythm. Afterward, he attempted a dramatic finale.
"Yah!"
He tried to fold the drumsticks across his chest like in college. But the metal sticks didn't bend.
Awkward.
Lansi quickly tossed them aside and ran a hand through his long white hair. It floated behind him in the water, giving him the dramatic look of a rock star.
He turned back to his audience.
"Well? How was it?"
"Amazing!"
Quirrell clapped with all eighteen tentacles, flashing pink.
"Master! You're incredible!"
"Please, I'm just an amateur," Lansi said modestly. "If I had a proper drum set, I could've done way better."
He didn't consider himself great—but certainly good enough to impress a sea monster.
Winsor tilted his head, watching them. Lansi and Quirrell had bonded instantly. Just hours ago, they were barely civil. Now, they were like long-lost friends.
Winsor remembered the jellyfish from before and sighed quietly.
Was his little fish too popular?
"Can you teach me?"
Quirrell asked, tentacles trembling with excitement.
"You looked so cool twirling those sticks! Please teach me!"
Of course. All drummers loved fancy stick tricks.
Lansi lifted his chin with dignity.
"I can teach you, but only if you help me find that ship."
"No problem! Leave it to me!"
Quirrell was energized. It swore to find the Queen Mary right away.
It began to inflate like a balloon.
Lansi watched in amazement as Winsor gently pulled him to a safe distance.
Quirrell expanded to its full size—taller than a five-story building.
Its eighteen tentacles launched into motion, shifting ships and using its feelers to inspect their names one by one.
Lansi was dumbfounded.
If Quirrell had done this from the start, they wouldn't have spent all day searching.
"Nice playing."
Winsor's quiet voice came from beside him.
Lansi snapped out of his thoughts. Hearing the praise didn't make him happy—it made him melancholy.
He had just revealed part of his human identity.
"Did you like it?"
He forced a smile, pretending to be cheerful.
Winsor thought for a moment.
"Actually, I prefer the piano."
"The piano?"
Lansi was shocked. "How do you know about pianos?"
Winsor's expression darkened slightly. He seemed about to say something when a loud voice interrupted them—
"I found it! Queen Mary!"
From a distance, Quirrell roared triumphantly, dragging a large wrecked ship behind him with all eighteen arms.