In Hakimi's stream.
At first, the sudden trickle of "Great Age of Sail" chatter in the barrage didn't faze Hakimi. He simply muted anyone hawking other titles.
As a million-follower anchor, he had a small ops team behind him. Without needing a word from him, they started swinging the banhammer—muting users, blacklisting keywords.
Within minutes, the chat was scrubbed clean. Not a whisper about Great Age of Sail remained.
Just as Hakimi exhaled in relief, a new line flashed across the screen.
CashCan'tChangeFate:
[What, no one's allowed to talk now?]
[Fine. I'll drop Rockets and Carnivals. Will you still shut me up?]
[CashCan'tChangeFate sent ×10 Carnivals!]
[CashCan'tChangeFate sent ×20 Carnivals!]
[CashCan'tChangeFate sent ×30 Carnivals!]
No speeches, no fluff—just thirty Carnivals in a row.
Backstage, the ops team went slack-jawed. They looked at one another, suddenly unsure whether this was the sort of "whale" you risk offending.
Everyone knows what matters most in a live room.
The anchor?
Not even close.
It's the big spenders.
How many "big brothers" you have decides how high your room flies.
Hakimi stared at the exploding gift animations, a little dazed. Then a co-stream request popped from CashCan'tChangeFate.
He hesitated—his gut said this could go sideways—but he accepted.
"Good to have you, Big Bro!" Hakimi's tone flipped respectful in an instant. Bread and butter, after all. When Fishermen Era launched, even Snowwind had only tossed ten Carnivals.
This guy had opened with thirty.
Nearly a hundred grand—just like that.
A man's voice came through, steady and cool.
"Anchor, can I talk now?"
"Anything you want, Big Bro!"
For the moment, Hakimi forgot he was streaming Fishermen Era. He wasn't under an ironclad contract—and no contract was worth alienating a whale like this.
"Pick up your rod."
Fishing? Hakimi relaxed and grabbed the gear. "Got it. Want me to fish on the spot?"
"Yes. Catch one right now."
Hakimi wiped invisible sweat from his forehead and focused. "Watch closely, Big Bro. My technique is—"
Before he could finish, his eyes lit up. "Bite! We've got a bite!"
He stood, hauled back, reeled hard. A moment later, with a clean swoop of the net, a seven- or eight-jin koi splashed into the livewell, still thrashing.
Hakimi lifted the gleaming fish with both hands, beaming at the camera. "How's that, Big Bro? First fish on command, and it's a koi—talk about good fortune! Brothers, our big bro just dropped us a lucky start!"
He poured it on. The donor didn't. He waited for the babble to die, then spoke, unhurried:
"Chat, be honest—does this kind of simple fishing really thrill you?
"I'll be straight. In real life, not that many people truly love fishing. Even in a game, sure, it's relaxing. Maybe the new-car smell lasts a bit.
"But have you seen a real seafaring game?
"One with Devil Fruits that grant mysterious powers the moment you take a bite? With Pirate Kings, Marines, and the Emperors of the Sea?
"Where your 'catch' can be a Sea King the size of a building—and an Emperor can cut the ocean in half with a single slash?
"Brothers, stop wasting your time. If you're going to play, play for a rush. Play for spirit."
He finished. Before the ops team could hit the mute button, he dropped the call and vanished from the room.
Hakimi watched the barrage's wind shift and wanted to cry.
[Bro just speedran native tongue levels of soul-burn.]
[Same clan as Kaka here. I'm heading out to watch…]
[Me too. Going to watch…]
Ellipses dotted the chat. You only saw one every ten lines, but it was enough to tilt the mood. There were still plenty cursing the interloper—but a chunk of viewers now carried a very specific itch:
What kind of game is this, exactly? I gotta see for myself.
Curiosity blazing, more than a few opened the competition's official site and clicked on the current #10 by heat:
Great Age of Sail.
It wasn't just Fishermen Era's rooms. The same thing happened across other sailing streams. The "sailors" had tossed courtesy overboard and were preaching from every pier they could find.
And if you asked them why?
They'd shrug and say: "We're pirates."
This high-handed, shameless word-of-mouth blitz surged traffic straight into Great Age of Sail's official site.
Right on cue, 3:00 p.m., the official account dropped a promo CG.
Curious players clicked—and were immediately hooked.
Clip #1 — "IAmSmallFisher"
The scene looked familiar—like Fishermen Era: a small boat, a practiced cast, quiet water. This time the bite came fast. He stood and hauled—
—and pitched straight into the sea.
Before he could scramble back aboard, a shadow shouldered up from the depths. Only its head emerged—and it stood ten meters tall. It peered at him with a strangely innocent eye.
Cut. Clip #2 — "Xiao Kaka"
A popular female anchor experiences truly real sailing. Pirates board her ship. She's one breath away from becoming a "cabin bride." At the last second she dives into the stormy dark and lives… barely. When she wakes, she's on another pirate vessel.
But these pirates… laugh easily, tease their "idiot captain," and treat her kindly. The ship's warmth melts its way into the audience; smiles bloom across faces without anyone noticing.
The calm doesn't last. The Red Hair Pirates cross paths with Hilde's Crew. Kaka is recognized. Danger clamps shut.
In the moment that counts, the Red Hairs all step behind Kaka, solid as a wall.
First Mate Benn Beckman draws—fires—and drops the leering bald underboss without hesitation.
Blood spilled, Captain "Wild Wolf" Hilde rages. He's a Zoan user—his body expands, bones twist, a monster wolf hurls forward, jaws open wide.
Metal tang hits the tongue. Kaka shuts her eyes.
A shadow steps in front of her.
The so-called "idiot captain" lifts his blade.
He cuts.
And the ocean itself blanches.
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