I'm Trapped in the Block

The Shrimp-headed Man seemed to realize how illogical he sounded, so he began to explain.

"Actually, I’ve been a Fishman since I was a kid."

The Shrimp-headed Man said that he had spent his entire childhood living on Fishman Island.

But one day, while playing by the sea, the young Shrimp-headed Man got into a swimming contest with his friends to see who could go the farthest. A sudden storm swept him away, and when he awoke, he found himself on another island on the 3rd Floor of the Abyss.

Exhausted, he was rescued by the island’s inhabitants.

The moment he woke up, he discovered a collar had appeared around his neck.

At first, the Shrimp-headed Man was bewildered, completely unaware of his circumstances. It was only when the islanders began asking him questions that he started to grasp what had happened.

The island’s inhabitants were a group of strange, shrimp-headed creatures. Their method of communication was equally strange—they didn’t make a sound, communicating instead by blowing bubbles.

It was a completely unique linguistic system.

Each bubble carried a unique meaning, the sound of it popping held a specific significance, and even the shapes formed by the bubbles followed a distinct pattern.

Still in a daze, he had barely opened his eyes when an islander beside him began to ask, "How did you get washed ashore?"

The Shrimp-headed Man then recounted his ordeal.

"Don’t do anything so dangerous again. Where is your home?" the islander asked with concern.

"On Fishman Island," he replied instinctively.

But in return, he received a strange look from the islander.

The islander moved closer, examined him carefully from head to toe, and muttered to himself, "His brain isn’t broken, is it?"

The Shrimp-headed Man had no idea what was going on, but not wanting to refuse the other’s kindness, he allowed the islander to examine him.

"He seems perfectly normal," the islander muttered while continuing the inspection.

And of course, there was nothing wrong with his body.

The islander had no choice but to let him rest a bit longer and gather his thoughts.

It was at this moment that he realized something was wrong. ’How do I know what those bubbles mean?’

That was right. The entire conversation just now had been conducted with bubbles.

No words were exchanged between him and the islander; they had both been communicating solely by blowing bubbles.

Yet he could understand the exact meaning of those bubbles. He could even discern the "tone" with which the islander blew them and tell whether the islander was speaking to him or just muttering to himself.

’When did I learn this bubble language?’ he wondered in astonishment.

At that moment, he too began to wonder if there was something wrong with his mind.

He got out of bed and staggered outside.

It had just rained, and puddles dotted the ground.

In one of the puddles, he saw an unfamiliar face.

It was a shrimp head, just like the islanders’. The antennae on its head drooped listlessly. Bubbles frothed at the corners of its mouth, dripping onto its clothes. Its two shrimp-like eyes were dark, round, and vacant.

’He really does look like he’s got a problem with his brain.’

’Wait! How did I become like this?!’

When he came to his senses, he realized things weren’t as simple as he had thought—he had become one of the Shrimp People!

...

While on Shrimp Island, he told everyone he met that he was a Fishman, but none of the inhabitants believed him.

Gradually, he discovered that the strange collar around his neck was the source of his transformation.

’This thing turns me into one of the Shrimp People and allows me to understand their strange language. That must be why the Shrimp People rescued me.’

Convinced of this, he found a nautical chart and set off on his journey "home."

And so, he returned to Fishman Island...

...

And that was the Shrimp-headed Man’s story.

"Quite a winding tale, isn’t it?" the Shrimp-headed Man said, looking at Li Luo earnestly.

Li Luo nodded blankly, her expression thoughtful, as if she was remembering something.

As Mo Ling listened to the Shrimp-headed Man’s story, he felt a sense of déjà vu.

’Isn’t this just another version of Bai Zhou?’

’The diving helmet was just replaced with this strange collar.’

’Come to think of it, Bai Zhou’s diving helmet seemed to be made of the same material, it just wasn’t as rusted.’

’How can these two have the same backstory?’

’Are they cutting corners this blatantly?’

A strange feeling welled up in Mo Ling. The artifacts belonging to Bai Zhou and this Shrimp-headed Man—they seemed to be from the same set.

Beside them, Li Luo’s expression grew increasingly strange. She had clearly thought of Bai Zhou as well.

The Shrimp-headed Man quickly noticed her uncomfortable expression.

"You don’t believe me either?" he asked, suddenly deflated and dejected. "After I returned to Fishman Village, no one believed me except for Jeff. Even my old friends ostracize me, and we used to get along so well."

"They all call me a Fake Fishman. I don’t want to be this..."

As he spoke, his antennae drooped again.

Seeing this, Li Luo quickly put on a serious expression. "I believe you."

She was using the same method on the Shrimp-headed Man that she had used to deal with Bai Zhou.

When dealing with someone whose sense of identity was so warped, explanations were useless. The only thing to do was to "believe" them.

Once you accepted their version of reality, communication became much easier.

Constantly challenging them would only lead to conflict.

Jeff stepped forward and patted the Shrimp-headed Man’s shoulder. "Don’t be sad. The Great Clan Leader did this to prevent conflict. It’s actually for your own protection."

"Outsiders have a hard time fitting in. Wherever there is a community, there will be exclusion and prejudice. The strong bully the weak, the rich despise the poor. It’s in the nature of intelligent species to prey on their own kind, to say nothing of those who are already different from the start."

"Blindly accepting you isn’t necessarily a good thing. Once you were to rejoin the community, you would become the target of attacks. Then, you would become the root of all turmoil."

"Sometimes, distance is just another form of protection."

Jeff spoke with such conviction that the Shrimp-headed Man was left dumbfounded.

He looked intently into the Shrimp-headed Man’s small eyes and said earnestly, "I have always believed in you all."

Jeff didn’t seem to be lying.

Watching the two of them stare at each other with such conviction, Mo Ling was surprised. ’So there are people who would actually believe these "backstories".’

’Jeff really is one of a kind.’

At that moment, the captain’s words to Jeff echoed in Mo Ling’s mind: "You’re not like the other Fishmen."

’No wonder the captain had said that about him.’

With his unique insights, Jeff had the air of a philosopher.

’A Fishman philosopher. Now that’s interesting.’

The Shrimp-headed Man had been downcast, but Jeff’s words reignited his spirit.

"Distance is just a form of protection?" he asked, stunned.

"Yes," Jeff nodded.

"Is this for the good of the community?"

"For the Fishman Race," Jeff said with unwavering certainty.

As they stared at each other, a light suddenly gleamed in the Shrimp-headed Man’s dark eyes. It was as if he had found his purpose in life. He slowly stood up straight, and his two antennae shot up instantly.

He looked at Jeff and declared resolutely:

"Alright! For the Fishman Race!"