Deckard stood waist-deep in the surf, a short distance from Stiltwave Village. The waves lapped at his sides, cool and rhythmic, as he adjusted the oxygen tank strapped to his back. It felt different. Even though he had scoured these shallows before, hunting for starfish and swimming all the way from Stiltwave to Trash Islet, something about carrying the tank changed the experience. It made him feel less like a casual explorer and more like a true diver.

  He waded deeper until the sand beneath his feet gave way to open water. When the sea finally lifted him, he let himself drift for a moment, gazing down at the shifting blues below. Taking one last breath of fresh air, he ensured the tank was properly equipped, then dove.

  The water swallowed him whole.

  He kicked downward. The light from the surface faded as he descended several meters, his surroundings shifting from a vibrant aquamarine to the deeper blues of the ocean floor. He had expected to find something resembling the shallows—only richer, denser, perhaps even teeming with undiscovered life.

  Instead of a thriving seabed, the landscape stretched out before him like an underwater wasteland. The only thing other than sand was the odd rock or a piece of trash that the surf hadn’t carried to the beach. Nothing about this place screamed abundance. If anything, it reminded him of a desert.

  I thought that this would be a way to grow stronger without risking trudging through the jungle. But I guess that was wishful thinking.

  He glanced at the corner of his vision, noting the progress bar displaying his oxygen reserves—fourteen minutes remaining.

  He propelled himself forward, scanning the terrain as he moved. A flicker of motion in the sand caught his eye. His pulse quickened as he swam toward it, hoping for something rare, something new. But as he got closer, he recognized it immediately—a granulated starfish. He sighed. He already had it in his collection.

  After circling the area for several minutes and finding nothing of value, he surfaced. He still had five minutes left on the oxygen gauge.

  Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. Maybe this breathing gear isn’t meant for deep-sea exploration. Maybe it’s just a tool to help with the turtles in Shell Bay.

  After seagulls and crabs, the next logical step was to deal with the turtles. And, as far as he could tell, they were all in the water. Maybe he should just move to Shell Bay and start exploring the waters there.

  He started swimming back toward Beginner Island, letting the gentle waves guide him. As he reached the shore, he hesitated.

  Wait a minute…

  He frowned, recalling how he’d obtained the oxygen tank. It had been a reward for eliminating the elites of Trash Islet. Afterward, he’d been tasked with collecting 200 pieces of trash from the same location. What if the diving equipment was meant to be used around the islet, too?

  He let the thought settle. The deeper waters close to the beach of Beginner Island had turned up nothing, but the waters near the islet might. The more he considered it, the more it made sense.

  He already knew for a fact that the waters of Shell Bay would have turtles. But the possibility of there being a location that wasn’t so obvious with more creatures to capture made his heart race.

  He waited for his stamina bar to refill. As soon as it was full, he kicked off into the waves, aiming for Trash Islet.

  This time, thankfully, Ratu didn’t appear, and he made it across without any interruptions.

  Climbing onto the jagged rocks of the islet, he took a moment to catch his breath. His stamina bar replenished steadily. The oxygen tank had refilled slightly, too—now holding at six minutes.

  Once ready, he took the plunge.

  Where Beginner Island sloped gently into the sea, Trash Islet was a sheer drop. The seabed fell away into a black chasm. Without the oxygen tank, he wouldn’t have even considered diving here.

  As he descended, the ocean floor appeared, revealing a landscape cluttered with debris—glass and metal scraps scattered across the seabed.

  This is the real junkyard. Only small amounts of trash ever get carried onto the islet. Most of it piles up down here.

  As Deckard swam over the junkyard, he saw how time fought to claim the garbage and turn it back into metal, fusing metal with coral, glass with barnacles, and wood with creeping algae. Rust coated the skeletal remains of old ship parts, and the occasional net swayed with the currents, tangled in seaweed.

  Then—movement.

  A pop of color caught his eye between a sunken wooden crate and a corroded pipe. Deckard kicked forward, scanning the area. Slowly, something shifted amidst the rubble, a lazy stretch of limbs emerging from beneath a metal panel. It was a starfish.

  Its brilliant blue shimmered like light trapped in glass, almost glowing against the muted backdrop of rust and sand.

  You’ve observed a Blue Starfish.

  Your Understanding of it grows.

  Yes! There are new species here!

  If there was one new species, there had to be more. His gaze darted across the reef of wreckage, searching for other signs of life.

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  Near a collapsed fishing cage, he spotted a large shell wedged between two corroded beams. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a discarded husk, but then it shifted, just slightly. It wasn’t empty.

  The shell was massive, nearly the size of his head, with thick ridges running along its surface. A closer look revealed a faint ripple in the water as it opened just a fraction, revealing the soft, pale interior before snapping shut.

  You’ve observed a Giant Clam.

  Your Understanding of it grows.

  Nearby, nestled in a crevice formed by overlapping wooden beams, smaller clams peeked out from their hiding spots. Their shells were smooth and oval-shaped, a blend of beige and white, half-buried in the sand. To the left, he spotted another starfish clinging to a broken beam, its impossibly thin arms stretching out like stringy strands of spaghetti.

  A little ahead, a thick cloud of sand billowed upward, swirling in the water like an upside-down storm. As he swam closer, he noticed a shifting trail of sediment in its wake.

  What’s stirring up all this sand?

  He kicked forward, cautious but eager, peering through the drifting sediment to find the source.

  And then he saw it.

  A turtle, its shell a patchwork of dark moss and encrusted barnacles, methodically foraging through the sand. Its powerful, curved beak snapped at the ocean floor, tearing through the debris. Whatever it was looking for, it knew exactly where to find it.

  Unlike the other creatures, which darted in and out of the wreckage, the turtle owned this space. It barely acknowledged the twisted metal and rotting wood around it, patiently working through the trash. With each bite, its beak shattered debris into smaller pieces, speeding up nature’s slow work of reclaiming the wreckage.

  You’ve observed a Trash-Crushing Turtle.

  Your Understanding of it grows.

  He glanced around him and found other distant sand clouds, marking the activity of other turtles.

  Aha! I knew it! It’s another ecosystem!

  Turns out, the real purpose of the diving gear at this stage of the game wasn’t just to help players explore more of the deeper waters closer to the beach or even to tackle the first wild boss. It was a ticket here, to the deep waters around Trash Islet.

  Well… I'd better get to work.

  Just being down here and taking in the sights was eating up precious oxygen time. He started by focusing on the turtle.

  You’ve watched how the Trash-Crushing Turtle feeds.

  Your Understanding of it grows.

  He continued to observe it, watching its movements and logging its behavior. By the time he triggered the third notification, a flashing message appeared at the top of his screen:

  You’ve run out of breath. Return to the surface, or you will die.

  He winced. He was on the clock.

  Kicking off from the ocean floor, he shot upward, his lungs tightening as his vision flickered red. HP ticked down in sharp increments. He pushed harder. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he burst through the surface, gasping for air.

  As he steadied himself, he realized he had drifted farther from the islet than expected. He swam back through the debris until he reached a crag and hauled himself onto it, exhaling sharply.

  Now that he was out of danger, he reviewed everything he'd seen below.

  There were many new lifeforms to capture. It took roughly a minute just to dive in and come back out. The six minutes he’d spent down there went by in a flash.

  It would take at least an hour for the oxygen tank to refill enough for another 15-minute dive. And even then, he would have to repeat the process multiple times before cataloging every creature in this ecosystem. He was going to spend the next day, maybe even days, here.

  Fifteen minutes had felt generous—until now.” But now that he had witnessed the variety of animals down there, it felt like nothing.

  He sighed. Just when I thought I was done working on my patience…

  With no choice but to wait, Deckard sat down and watched the ocean.

  *

  Ratu leaped from the boat, landing on the river shore with a grunt. He groaned as he shoved the boat further up the sandbank, ensuring the tide wouldn’t reclaim it. He looped a rope around a nearby tree and gave it a firm tug.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped into the jungle. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth clinging to his skin. It didn’t take long to reach his destination—the Deadman’s Tree. Even in this dense jungle, it was impossible to miss. Its skeletal branches twisted toward the sky, devoid of leaves, the only dead thing in a sea of vibrant green.

  “I come to see Redbeard the Ruthless!” Ratu called out.

  Bird calls erupted in response, sharp and scattered, echoing through the jungle canopy. Then, silence. A heavy, unnatural stillness, as if the entire jungle was holding its breath.

  Then—

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The ground shuddered with each impact. Trees groaned, their trunks snapping like brittle twigs as something massive approached. Ratu swallowed hard. His hands clenched into fists to stop them from trembling.

  Just as it seemed the monstrous presence would burst through the foliage, the footsteps stopped. Instead, a rustling came from the right. A shadow moved between the trees. And then Redbeard’s puppet stepped into view.

  The man was broad-shouldered, his skin just as sunbaked as Ratu’s. An islander. One he knew all too well. A netmender with a gambling problem—another fool who had fallen into Redbeard the Ruthless’ grasp.

  “Ratu.” The man’s voice was flat, resigned. “Did you come to pay back your debt?”

  Ratu licked his lips. “I—I bring back Redbeard the Ruthless’ cards.”

  He stretched out his hand, offering up what little he had. The puppet took the cards, turning away without another word.

  A deep, guttural roar shook the jungle. Leaves fluttered to the ground. The puppet froze, then bolted into the trees as if summoned.

  Ratu stood there, heart hammering. The jungle held its breath again. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the puppet returned, his face even paler than before.

  “Where is the epic card?” he demanded. “Where are the two rares? And you promise three new ones! What game are you playing?”

  “I—I sorry!” Ratu whined. “Foreigner! Outsider! He got too many good cards! He take them! I—I lose! Nothing I can do! But—maybe if I get better cards—”

  The roar returned, this time with words.

  “ENOUGH.”

  The sheer weight of the voice made the jungle tremble. The puppet winced, hesitated—then turned and sprinted into the trees once more.

  Silence. Then another distant, guttural rumble.

  When the puppet emerged again, his expression had changed. This time, there was something cold behind his eyes.

  “The foreigner,” he said, voice low and final. “He's not your problem anymore. Redbeard the Ruthless will deal with him.”

  Ratu barely had time to process the words before the puppet took a step forward.

  “You are lucky, Ratu,” he continued. “Our master… wants a new puppet. He thinks you suit just fine.”

  Ratu’s breath caught. His heart pounded against his ribs. He stumbled back, his voice breaking into a panicked wail.

  “No! Please don’t! Nooo—!”

  The jungle swallowed his cries.

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