Beneath the surface, the world shifted into muted blues and drifting light.
Coral reefs lay scattered across the seabed, their colors dulled by depth and salt, though flashes of bright fish darted through the cracks like sparks in the dark.
Aoyama cut forward with steady strokes, his body gliding through the water without the slightest hint of suffocation.
The ability of Underwater Breathing kept his lungs calm and effortless, as if he were walking through open air.
He maintained a moderate pace, eyes constantly sweeping his surroundings.
After the encounter with that Velociraptor-like creature on land, he trusted nothing about this island, not even the sea.
Deep water hid too many unknowns, and he had no intention of becoming an appetizer for something larger than himself.
There were no shadows of large predators, only clusters of small and medium fish weaving between the reefs.
He saw no signs of disturbance, no sudden dispersals that might signal a hunter nearby.
That eased his tension slightly, though he continued turning his head at measured intervals, keeping his awareness wide.
Time passed in the slow, suspended way it did underwater.
Eventually, the outline of the shipwreck sharpened ahead of him.
Up close, it was far larger than it had seemed from shore, roughly sixty to seventy meters long.
The hull rested at a thirty-degree angle, lodged into the seabed.
The upper structure broke above the surface, but everything below deck lay swallowed by seawater.
Let there be something useful.
He circled to the side and found a relatively intact porthole.
The glass had shattered, leaving jagged fragments clinging to the frame.
Gripping the metal rim, he pulled himself upward, broke through the surface, and climbed onto the exposed hull before hauling himself onto the slanted deck.
A sound stopped him.
Voices.
They drifted from somewhere inside the ship, hoarse and strained, layered with desperation.
Aoyama crouched on the tilted deck first, scanning the surroundings.
No movement nearby, no hidden figures or creatures.
Only after confirming the area was clear did he step quietly toward a half-open hatch and slip inside.
The corridor beyond was narrow and dim.
The voices came from deeper within.
“Where’s the food?
You promised dry rations yesterday!”
“I haven’t eaten in three days.
Please, just give me something…”
“Shut up!
Keep yelling and I’ll toss you overboard!”
Aoyama pressed himself against the wall at the bend of the corridor and leaned just enough to look.
The sound came from a wider cabin that looked like a crew rest area.
Fifteen people huddled in one corner.
Their faces were hollow, lips cracked, clothes hanging loosely off starved frames.
Their eyes carried that dull, empty look that came from prolonged fear and hunger.
Three men stood in the center.
They were broad-shouldered, bearded, their gazes sharp and guarded.
The one in the middle had a Fire Axe hooked at his waist.
One of the others held an iron pipe, the last gripped a Hunting Knife.
Empty cans and torn packaging littered the floor at their feet.
The man with the pipe jerked his chin toward the huddled group.
“Boss, they’re getting restless.”
“Should we kill another one to make a point?”
“Waste of effort,” the leader spat, nudging an empty can aside with his shoe.
“Let them starve.
Once they’re too weak to move, they’ll stop causing trouble.”
He scratched his beard.
“We’ve got enough supplies for the three of us.
When the waves calm down in a few days, we leave.”
“And them?”
“Why care?
After we’re gone, they can figure it out themselves.”
Aoyama narrowed his eyes.
Three men controlling fifteen starving survivors.
The supplies monopolized.
The captives reduced to something less than human by prolonged deprivation.
He rested a hand on the grip of his Compound Bow, then paused.
Too conspicuous.
His fingers slid instead to the blade at his waist.
Close quarters would be faster.
Take down the one with the axe first, then the others before they could react.
Another detail caught his attention.
While the leader spoke, his gaze kept flicking toward a side passage where a door stood half-closed.
A faint warm light glowed from inside.
There’s a fourth.
Even though he could likely kill them in an instant, Aoyama chose patience.
He moved silently down the corridor, circling to the other side of the cabin.
Through a cracked porthole, he confirmed it.
A small crew room.
A narrow bed, a metal cabinet stacked with supplies, and a tall, thin man dozing on the mattress.
Beside him rested a compact Fish Crossbow.
Four in total.
Three outside, one inside.
The three in the outer cabin stood spread apart, but not far enough to prevent a swift assault.
Then I won’t hold back.
He inhaled once and stepped out.
Enhanced by Hercules, his speed might not rival a dinosaur’s, but it far surpassed any ordinary human.
The instant he emerged from the corridor, he locked onto the man with the axe.
The leader had his back turned.
Three meters vanished in less than half a second.
Before the man could even glance over his shoulder, Aoyama’s hand clamped down on his wrist.
Bone shattered with a sharp crack that echoed in the cabin.
The scream that followed was cut short.
A single decisive strike ended him.
“What the hell?”
The man with the iron pipe spun, shock flooding his face as he swung at Aoyama’s head.
Aoyama didn’t dodge.
He caught the pipe mid-swing, wrenched it sideways, and pulled.
The burly man stumbled forward off balance.
Aoyama shifted aside and brought his blade down across the back of his neck.
The man collapsed without another word.
The one with the Hunting Knife reacted fastest.
He lunged the moment Aoyama grabbed the pipe, blade thrusting toward Aoyama’s ribs.
“Who are you supposed to be?”
Aoyama said nothing.
He pivoted, letting the knife pass, then snapped his arm out.
His palm struck the back of the man’s hand with explosive force.
The Hunting Knife flew free, spinning up to embed itself in the wooden ceiling, its handle quivering.
The man’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Aoyama was already in front of him.
Two quick movements, and the body dropped.
It had taken only seconds from the moment he stepped into the cabin.
Three men were gone.
From the corner, ragged cheers broke out.
“Serves them right!”
“Ha… hahaha!”
Some of the survivors tried to stand, only for their legs to buckle beneath them.
Yet when their laughter faded, their eyes turned toward Aoyama, filled not only with relief, but fear.
Behind him lay the bodies of the men who had tormented them.
He ignored their stares.
Picking up the Fire Axe, he moved toward the half-open side door and pushed it wide.
Inside, the thin man had woken.
He scrambled up from the bed, grabbing the Fish Crossbow in panic.
“How is there someone else on this ship?
Who are you?”
Before he could aim, Aoyama stepped in, pinned the crossbow with his foot, and brought the axe down in one clean arc.
Silence followed.
He glanced at the Fish Crossbow, then at the stacked supplies.
“Four.”
Collecting the crossbow, he stepped back into the outer cabin.
The survivors still huddled together, watching him as though he were something beyond their understanding.
Aoyama gave them one brief look before turning away.
He had come for one purpose.
Search for usable supplies.
Return to the beach.
The rest was their own affair.
In a storage cabinet, he found several kitchen knives, aluminum bowls, and stacks of paper cups.
The Fire Axe in his hand pleased him most.
The handle was sturdy, the blade slightly dulled but well maintained.
Better for splitting than a machete.
He secured it at his waist and selected two sharp kitchen knives, wrapping them in cloth before sliding them into a scavenged backpack.
The metal cabinet in the inner room yielded even better results.
Boxes of Compressed Biscuits, canned goods, bottled water, along with medicine and bandages.
He packed them quickly.
At the end of the corridor, he discovered a passenger dormitory.
A thin blanket still lay folded on the bed.
A wardrobe stood in the corner.
Inside hung several pieces of clothing, a waterproof jacket, and a neatly stacked plastic storage box.
He lifted the lid.
Women’s clothes.
Likely left behind by a passenger.
He pulled out a Black Dress, running his fingers over the smooth fabric.
The neckline was modest, the hem reaching the knee.
“Indecent,” he muttered.
“I’ll take it.”
Two more dresses of similar style followed, along with a dark gray bodycon skirt and several well-made blouses.
“Shameless.
Mine.”
He rolled them neatly and stuffed them into the backpack without the slightest change in expression.
At the bottom of the box, he found unopened Black Pantyhose and several lace panties.
And then, folded carefully, a Bodycon Dress.
Black lace trimming.
A plunging V-neck that dipped below the chest.
A cinched waist and a hem so short it barely covered the upper thighs.
Aoyama paused for a full second.
“… ”
After a moment’s consideration, he folded it and placed it into the bag as well.
“What if she wants to wear it?”
Before long, he finished collecting everything of use.
Clothes, daily necessities, towels, toothbrushes, soap, even a palm-sized mirror.
The backpack bulged heavily against his shoulders.
A fruitful haul.
As he passed the crew area again, the survivors remained where they were, still silent, as though afraid to break whatever fragile reality had just formed.
“You’re free now,” he said calmly.
“There are still supplies you can find yourselves.”
He did not wait for a response.
Muted gasps and whispers trailed behind him as he stepped out onto the deck.
The sea breeze struck his face, thinning the lingering scent of blood.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with salt and wind.
Then he leapt from the slanted hull and plunged back into the blue.