As he expelled the salty water from his body, Noah reached a painful conclusion: somehow, the waves had brought him back instead of carrying him away.
What went wrong? He had no idea.
He had chosen a deserted beach as far from his home as possible, waiting until nightfall to reduce the chances of being seen. He'd broken his phone so he couldn't be traced, and even used the fact that he'd just turned 21 as an excuse to drink heavily, ensuring that he wouldn't have the strength to change his mind if the fear became unbearable.
Noah took off his sandals and waded into the water until it reached his knees, then his hips, then his waist. Finally, he stepped until he could no longer feel the sand shifting beneath his feet.
He never learned to swim—his family had a deep-seated fear of the ocean, even though they lived close to it.
Perhaps it was the tragic stories of people swept away by waves that circulated in seaside towns. He'd been banned from going near the sea for fear he would add to those "statistics."
If his family knew what he had planned, they might have insisted on swimming lessons, which would have helped him when he panicked, trying to swim back to shore.
But it was too late. He had placed himself in a situation where no one, not even he, could save him.
No matter how loud he called for help, the crashing waves drowned him out.
No matter how hard he struggled, the waves kept him in their cold, unrelenting grip.
He wasn't an athlete; there was a limit to how long he could hold his breath.
His awareness of himself blurred, muffled by the waves. Soon, even the sound of the sea began to fade. The world around him dimmed to darkness.
Yet... he returned.
To this life where his own mother spoke of him as a failure over a single mistake. To this life where no one took him seriously, where he had to uphold arbitrary standards to be "normal." To this life where even the ocean had rejected him.
What now? As he clenched the sand in his hands, one thought flashed through his mind—he had to return to that home where he wasn't needed. He'd make some excuse about his phone and bear whatever they said to him.
He had no choice. The idea of returning to the sea terrified him. He remembered the helplessness he felt, struggling to swim back to shore. He wasn't courageous. That's why he'd made sure to put himself in a situation from which he couldn't escape.
But now that he'd failed, there was no way he could try again. The sun was already up—someone would surely try to stop him, even if he tried. At least, that's what he told himself, hoping to ease the growing shame.
"HEY!!! ARE YOU OKAY?!! HEY!!!"
A voice suddenly cut through the sound of the waves. His heart sank. Someone had seen him. What could he possibly say? "I thought it would be nice to jump in"? In a pullover and jeans, in the middle of winter? Who would believe that?
"HEY!!! DO NOT MOVE!!! I WILL COME—Urgh! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!!"
The voice grew louder, and Noah realized it didn't belong to an adult. That was a relief—he could brush them off and pretend nothing had happened.
"H-Huh?"
But something was wrong. His hands... they were smaller than usual. No, it wasn't just the cold water playing tricks. His body felt... wrong.
His head throbbed, and nausea rolled through him. Was it the hangover kicking in? Now, he could sympathize with those people who had terrible mornings after drinking.
"Hey! If you're alive... at least wave your hands or something! That's... that's common courtesy!"
The voice was closer now, filled with urgency. A young girl. She must have run all the way here to check on him.
Feeling embarrassed, Noah forced himself to his feet, trying to look in control. Even in this mess, he couldn't stand to appear weak in front of a child. At the very least, he had to act like he was handling the situation.
But he miscalculated. His feet tripped beneath him, and he stumbled, crashing to the ground. Or, at least, he thought he did. Instead, he found himself suspended in midair, caught by the very girl he had tried to impress.
"What are you doing?! I asked you not to move!" she scolded, her voice sharp with anger.
Flustered, Noah instinctively tried to push her away. But the force he exerted was too much, and before he knew it, he had shoved her down onto the wet sand.
"A-Ah! S-So… er… ah…!" he stammered, horrified.
It wasn't politeness or remorse that drove him to apologize—it was reflex. He'd spent his life apologizing to others, often for no reason at all. But this time, the words wouldn't come. They stuck in his throat like he had choked on them.
"There's no need," the girl said, her tone now calm as she rose to her feet. "I understand your frustration. There's no need to use that cursed tongue of yours to emphasize it."
As she stood, Noah realized she wasn't as small as he first thought. In fact, she was about his height, if not taller.
"That being said," she continued, "if you still wish to curse me, at least have the courage to do it while looking me in the eyes."
Before he could process what was happening, the girl lifted his chin with a firm hand, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"So? Will you only curse my feet? Are you satisfied with just that?"
For a second, Noah's heart seemed to stop. She was stunning. Her sharp blue eyes pierced through his defenses, and there was something mesmerizing about her presence—despite her pale blonde hair and white dress being covered in sand. For a moment, he wondered if she was a figment of his imagination, a hallucination clinging to life.
But there was no denying it—her cold hand on his cheek felt real.
Still, as he looked closer, he realized she was much younger than he'd initially assumed. Perhaps only fifteen at best.
"Maybe in a few years," he thought to himself, mentally filing her away as just another random person, not someone worth pursuing.
His eyes quickly turned downward, embarrassed at the thought. What was he thinking about a kid? Was it the effect of the alcohol? Regardless of the answer, he promised himself to never drink again.
Besides, it wasn't as if he was the kind of person to even dare speaking to someone like her—adult or not.
The girl let go of his chin, unimpressed by his silence. She crossed her arms, frowning thoughtfully.
"I didn't ask you to stare so much," she muttered. "But it seems you've already decided how this will play out. I won't stop you this time, but don't make this a habit. It's unbecoming."
Noah's gaze dropped to the ground. He had been staring too much. He realized with a flush of embarrassment that he hadn't had a proper conversation with someone in so long.
But then something caught his attention.
The ground felt... different. Closer. Uncomfortably close. He'd spent years looking at the ground, always aware of his height, but now? Something was off. Was it still the effects of the alcohol?
His senses, however, were sharper than ever. The cold wind against his skin, the sand scraping his body, the sounds of the waves, the laughter in the distance, the sweet scent coming from his clothes... Everything felt... wrong.
"Ugh—"
"Huh? W-Wait, you might have a muddy tongue, but something like this is—Ah!"
Noah's stomach heaved, and he vomited uncontrollably. It felt as though his entire body had been submerged in a thick, sticky substance—like butter or something.
And then, he remembered—he wasn't alone. How could he have subjected her to this? He had embarrassed himself, but vomiting in front of someone? He never thought that could happen to him.
He looked up, horrified. The girl's pristine white dress was stained—his doing. A shiver ran through him.
"I… I… didn't… er… I…"
I didn't mean to! he tried to say, but the words were tangled in his mouth, slurred like a drunkard. For some reason, words just couldn't leave his mouth as easily as usual. His voice was strange too. What was happening?
The blonde girl's face reflected disgust, which deepened as she looked down at her dress.
"Princess!!! WAIT, PRINCESS!!!"
The voices of several men echoed in the distance. They looked like nobles— at least from some fantastical world he had only read about. What, did he stumble on a costume party or something? They said something about a princess. Were they talking about the girl?
But before he could process it, the men rushed toward him, shoving him violently into the cold water.
"GET AWAY FROM THE PRINCESS, MUDDY TONGUE!!!" one yelled angrily.
Noah's rear end hit the sand so hard he should have felt pain, but his mind was spinning too fast to register anything.
The nobles—if that's what they were—surrounded him, their eyes filled with cold disgust. Their voices were muffled, distorted, as though the sound didn't belong to this world.
"Ex… er… I…"
Noah tried to respond, to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat. Again, he heard that high-pitched voice that tried to match his words—something was wrong.
His heart raced as he caught sight of his trembling hands.
They were smaller. Delicate and… decorated with a ring.
His breathing quickened as panic took hold. It wasn't just the size–even his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, as if his body had been replaced with someone else's.
"Seize her!" one of the men barked, snapping him out of his daze.
Hands grabbed at him and Noah tried to resist, but his body wouldn't obey. His legs wobbled, his strength gone, and the nobles dragged him forward as easily as if he were a child.
"W-wait!" he finally managed to cry out, his voice shrill and strange in his own ears. "I… I!"
"Silence !" the lead noble growled. "How dare you use that filthy mouth to talk before royalty?!"
Noah's heart stopped. Filthy tongue? That again? What were they talking about? What was even happening here?
The girl—the princess—was standing nearby, her sharp blue eyes locked onto him. She didn't speak, didn't move, but her expression was unreadable.
"W-Wait—" he tried to shout again, but his only reply was a violent kick in the stomach.
His breath stopped for a second. Suddenly, a green bar appeared before him, but he didn't have the time to process it as one of the nobles pressed a cold blade against his throat.
"Just say the word, Your Highness. No, don't say anything. Just think and I will execute."
The question hung in the air, the steel biting into his skin.
His mind in disarray, Noah only understood one thing: his life was now hanging on a tread held by this cold eyed princess.