"Huh... the hole on this section's going to list the ship to port even with the bulkheads in place. This isn't going to work."
Ryuu muttered to himself, tapping a grease-stained finger against the digital schematic beside the ferry's blueprints.
At thirty-eight, he'd done this a thousand times—patching hulls, reinforcing ribs, sometimes even sketching out new ship designs whenever management needed something "innovative on a budget."
He worked for Ikasegai Heavies—once a respected shipbuilding giant, now little more than a rusted warehouse clinging to relevance on a crowded dock. These days, the workers didn't pray for bonuses; they just hoped their salaries wouldn't be delayed again.
He was halfway through checking another stress line on the hull when a familiar voice broke the rhythm of his thoughts.
"Ryuu."
He turned. Standing at the edge of the scaffolding was his manager—Tanaka, a man who used to wear his safety vest like a badge of honor but now looked more like someone waiting for the last bus home.
Ryuu could tell before a word was spoken. The look said it all.
Tanaka sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Head office sent the notice this morning. We're shutting down next month."
Ryuu blinked. "...The whole yard?"
"The whole damn thing," Tanaka said, forcing out a laugh that didn't sound like one. "They're liquidating the remaining assets. And, uh—" He avoided Ryuu's eyes. "They're cutting senior positions first. I'm sorry, Nakamura. You're on the first list."
For a moment, the only sound was the steady drip of water from the ceiling.
Ryuu exhaled through his nose, quiet and slow. "Figures," he muttered, "Should've known when they stopped ordering coffee for the office."
Tanaka gave a weak chuckle. "You'll land on your feet. You've always been the best damn shipwright in this dump."
"Yeah," Ryuu said, turning back to the blueprint. "Maybe in this dump."
Tanaka stepped down and stood beside Ryuu, "I know that we don't allow early end of shifts...but I'll make the exception this time. Go home and rest, I'll make sure you're paid in full for today's remaining hours."
"I know we don't allow early end of shifts," Tanaka said after a pause, his voice low. "But... I'll make an exception this time. Go home, Nakamura. Get some rest. I'll make sure you're paid in full for today's hours."
Ryuu glanced at him, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. "You sure you can afford that kind of generosity?"
Tanaka gave a dry chuckle. "At this point? What's a few more yen to a sinking ship?"
Ryuu nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Guess I'll clock out, then."
Tanaka gave him a pat on the shoulder, the kind men give when there's nothing left to say, and walked off toward the office. Ryuu stood there for a moment longer, the smell of metal and salt heavy in the air, before he punched out.
"I guess I'll go to the usual, hehe, maybe Kana-chan will wear her bunny-girl suit again. "He imagined the beautiful young hostess from his local bar, wearing a sexy bunny-girl suit she wore every 3 months or so as part of an event.
The thought brought a faint grin to his face. Kana, the young hostess at his favorite bar, was one of the few bright spots left in his dull routine. Every few months, the place ran some themed event, and she'd don a bunny-girl outfit that had kept more than a few old regulars coming back.
He hung his work jacket and stepped out of the docks where he's spent more than a decade of his life. The lights of the city seem so distant, blurred, and blunt at the same time as we walk past the old streets he always navigate on the way to his old respite - the bar.
To his surprise—and mild delight—the girls were indeed wearing bunny suits tonight. The chatter, the laughter, the faint smell of cheap perfume—it all wrapped around him like a familiar haze.
But Kana wasn't in sight.
Still, Ryuu slid onto his usual stool at the counter and ordered his regular beer. The first glass came cold, frosted, and heavy.
"What the hell do I do now?" he muttered, staring at his reflection in the amber liquid.
He took a long swig, exhaling through his nose. "I'm too old to start over. Whole damn life… wasted for nothing?"
He downed the glass and raised his hand for another. The bartender didn't even ask—just set a fresh one in front of him. There were already three more lined up, waiting.
Then four.Five.Nine.Twelve.
By the time the clock struck eleven, Ryuu wasn't sure if the floor was swaying or if he'd finally started floating.
He laughed softly to himself. "Guess I really did build my life around sinking ships…"
And that was the last clever thing he ever said—because somewhere between the twelfth glass and the thirteenth pour, Ryuu Nakamura, shipwright of Ikasegai Heavies, quietly capsized.
And that was the last clever thing he ever said — for Ryuu Nakamura, shipwright of Ikasegai Heavies, passed away at thirty-eight."
----
"Ahnn~"
"Huh?" I feel something soft.
"Nggnnn~"
"The hell?" He squeezes a bit harder. "This feels like mochi but isn't -- like a balloon, maybe?"
Ryuu groaned, his head pounding like a warped engine."…Huh? Why does the floor feel… warm?"
He blinked. The surface beneath him wasn't wood or metal—it was soft. And moving.
A startled gasp cut through the air. He froze.
Slowly, very slowly, he looked down.
He wasn't lying on the floor at all, but on top of a woman whose eyes shimmered like the sea under sunlight. Her long, silver-blue hair fanned out across the sand, each strand catching the glow of two suns that hung in the sky above. Faint traces of water clung to her skin, glowing faintly like moonlight on waves.
His hands, slightly gripping on the two planets between him and the woman, squeezing in reflex.
Ryuu's voice cracked. "Oh no… this is—this is not the pier."
The woman smiled. "Welcome, mortal craftsman," she said, her tone smooth as the tide. "You have drifted far from your world."
Squeezes
"Gnnnh~ M-maybe stop feeling me for a second?"
Ryuu's brain short-circuited. He scrambled back so fast he nearly fell into the sand. "I—uh—yeah, I-I'm sorry!"
The woman blinked, still half-dazed. A faint blush crossed her face as she dusted off her majestic, white linen robe. Above her head, a halo made of mechanical gears. "Just... watch where you're putting your hands next time, alright?"
"Ahem. Again."
She raised her arms as if embracing the heavens. A soft radiance flared behind her, bathing the sand in gold.
"Welcome, mortal craftsman, to the world of Osceania! I have summoned you for your particular skillset—one that may turn the tide in our struggle against the forces of evil that prey upon the weak!"
She points at the sea, "With your skills as a shipwright, you can help turn the tide of war against evildoers by designing warships that cannot be easily defeated!" She pumps her hand in front of her chest; if this was anime, she'd have stars for eyes and smoke coming out of her nose in excitement.
Ryuu blinked, still dazed.
"I see, I'm probably dreaming. I'll go back to sleep."
"W-w-wait, no, no, no! I've been waiting for you to wake up for three hours straight, don't sleep again!"
Ryuu sits upright, hands between his legs, eyes locked on the goddess, "Let's just say that I agree, how am I supposed to build you anything?"
The goddess smirked proudly and snapped her fingers.
Multiple screens appeared in front of Ryuu, light blue in color and covered most of his vision.
"Ah, sorry, I haven't patched that yet," The goddess snapped her fingers again and the screens were compressed into small floating windows beside a central larger screen that says 'Osceania Shipwright Log'
Ryuu blinked at the glowing screens, the pale blue light washing over his face."...You've got to be kidding me."
The central window pulsed softly.
[Initializing: Shipwright's Log v0.1]
[Designation: Nakamura, Ryuu – Human (Non-Magic User)]
[Syncing craftsmanship protocols…]
[Error: Mana Compatibility – None Detected.]
[Compensating via "Technological Intuition."]
[Welcome, Chief Shipwright.]
"Chief what now?" he muttered, squinting at the shifting runes. One window displayed a wireframe hull; another showed graphs labeled "Structural Integrity" and "Concept Stability."
The goddess clasped her hands together proudly. "This, mortal craftsman, is your divine workshop! With it, you can design and manifest vessels of every kind — ships, engines, even fortresses — so long as you understand what you're building!"
Ryuu rubbed his temple. "So, let me get this straight. I can't use magic, but this thing—" he pointed at the floating window, "—turns my engineering know-how into… what, divine CAD?"
"Exactly!" she said, beaming. "The Shipwright's Log learns as you do. Study our world's materials, observe our seas and creatures, and the system will evolve. Every new discovery expands your library of blueprints!"
[Function Unlocked: Blueprint Mode][Tip: Detailed understanding of materials improves "Concept Integrity."][Research Pathway Active: Beginner's Hull Construction]
Ryuu stared at the display as diagrams of wooden hulls rotated lazily in the air. "Huh. Looks like every busted ferry back home."
[Integrity: 42% - Missing Knowledge: Osceanian Timber Composition.]
"The hell?" he said dryly.
The goddess tilted her head. "Something wrong?"
"Yeah. You summoned a guy who needs to research your trees before he can even build a rowboat."
She puffed her cheeks. "W-well, that's part of the fun! Growth through experience!" She presses the tips of her point fingers together.
[System Note: Knowledge expands through field research and practical trials.]
[Warning: Sarcasm detected. Please calibrate tone.]
Ryuu stared blankly. "It can detect that?"
The goddess smiled innocently. "It's… adaptive."
He sighed, leaning back and letting the glowing runes float around him."So this is my afterlife, huh? A cosmic apprenticeship with a talking interface and a boss who glows."
[Objective Added: Construct First Vessel.]
[Reward: Expanded Blueprint Access.]
The goddess raised her arms dramatically. "Now go forth, Shipwright! Build us a fleet that will save Osceania!"
Ryuu scratched his neck, staring at the floating prompt."…Do I at least get a manual?"
[Manual not found.]
"…Figures."