The problem with pretending to be normal is that I sucked at it.
I tried, I really did. Played with my siblings more. Stopped staring at people like they were lab specimens. Laughed at the right times during conversations.
But three weeks after my talk with Minister Coral, Otohime pulled me aside.
"Arquen, honey. Can we talk?"
Her tone made my stomach twist. That gentle, concerned parent voice that meant I was in trouble but she didn't want to yell.
We went to her private sitting room. She closed the door and sat down, patting the spot next to her.
"Am I in trouble?" I asked.
"No, sweetheart. I'm just worried about you."
Somehow that was worse.
"You've been acting different lately," she continued. "More... distant. Like you're trying to be someone you're not."
"I'm just trying to fit in better."
"Why? What's wrong with being yourself?"
Everything, apparently. But I couldn't say that.
She took my hand. "Did someone say something to you? About how you should act?"
I hesitated too long.
Her eyes narrowed. "Who was it?"
"Nobody. I just—"
"Arquen. Who?"
I caved. "Minister Coral said people were worried. That I was too weird for my age. That it looked bad."
Otohime's expression went from concerned to furious in about two seconds. "He said what?"
"He was just trying to help—"
"Help?" She stood up. "He told a three-year-old to stop being himself because of gossip?" She started pacing. "That man has always been too concerned with appearances. I'm going to have words with him."
"Mom, don't. It's fine."
"It's not fine." She knelt down in front of me. "Arquen, listen to me. You are perfect exactly as you are. Smart, curious, thoughtful—those are good things. Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you need to hide them."
"But if people don't trust me—"
"Then that's their problem, not yours." She cupped my face. "I would rather have a son who's true to himself and brilliant than one who pretends to be ordinary just to make others comfortable. Do you understand?"
Not really. In my old world, fitting in mattered. Standing out got you labeled as weird, as different, as a target.
But looking at her face, so fierce and protective, I nodded anyway.
"Good." She hugged me. "Now I'm going to go have a very pointed conversation with Minister Coral about appropriate behavior around children."
She left, and I sat there feeling... I don't know. Relieved? Guilty? Both?
The door opened again. Neptune this time, looking amused.
"Heard your mother is about to tear Coral a new one."
"Yeah."
He sat down, and the chair creaked under his weight. "For what it's worth, I agree with her. You're a smart kid. No point hiding it."
"Minister Coral said—"
"I know what he said. And politically, he's not completely wrong. People do talk. They do worry about things they don't understand." He leaned back. "But you know what? Let them talk. They'll get used to it. And by the time you're king, they'll be grateful to have someone smart leading them."
"What if they're not?"
"Then you prove them wrong." He grinned. "Nothing shuts people up faster than results."
Results. That I could work with.
After they left, I felt lighter somehow. Like I'd been holding my breath for weeks and could finally exhale.
Screw fitting in. I'd just be better at hiding the really weird stuff—like the mental simulations and genetic research. But the general intelligence? The curiosity? That was staying.
I dove back into the simulation that night with renewed focus. The eel fishman formula that kept failing.
The problem was the electrical output. Too much power, not enough regulation. The bioelectric organs generated electricity, but there was nothing to control the flow.
What if I added a secondary system? Like a circuit breaker in a house. Something to regulate and distribute the electrical charge safely.
I modified the formula, adding genetic markers that would develop specialized cells around the nervous system. Natural insulators that could handle high voltage.
Ran the simulation.
The test subject lit up—literally, crackling with electricity. But this time it didn't burn out. The current flowed through the new regulatory system, dispersed evenly, stable.
[Milestone Progress: 53%]
Yes. Finally.
I was so excited I almost missed the knock on my door.
"Arquen? You awake?" Shirahoshi's voice, quiet and scared.
I opened the door. She was floating there in her nightgown, eyes red like she'd been crying.
"What's wrong?"
"I had a nightmare. Can I stay with you?"
I wasn't great with emotional stuff, but she looked miserable. "Yeah, come in."
She swam to my bed and curled up. I sat next to her.
"What was it about?" I asked.
"Humans. They were hurting people. Hurting you and mom and dad." She sniffled. "It felt real."
My chest tightened. In the original timeline, she'd develop the ability to call Sea Kings when she got older. Ancient Weapon Poseidon. But she'd also be traumatized by threats and violence, locked away for years.
I couldn't let that happen to her.
"It was just a dream," I said, even though I knew the fear wasn't baseless. Humans did hurt fishmen. All the time.
"But what if it's not? What if bad people come?"
"Then I'll stop them."
She looked at me with those huge eyes. "You promise?"
I shouldn't promise that. Too many variables, too many things I couldn't control. But looking at her scared face, I couldn't help it.
"I promise. Nobody's going to hurt you or anyone in our family. I'll make sure of it."
She hugged me, and I awkwardly patted her back.
"You're the best big brother," she mumbled into my shoulder.
I felt like a fraud. I wasn't the best anything. Just someone with memories that didn't belong to him and a desperate need to change a future he shouldn't know about.
But if it made her feel better, I'd take it.
She fell asleep pretty quick, and I carefully moved her to the bed. Covered her with a blanket.
Then I went back to the simulation.
Because promises were easy to make and hard to keep. And the only way I could actually protect everyone was to finish this research. Create the evolution serum. Make fishmen strong enough that they didn't have to fear humans anymore.
I pulled up the next formula to test. Octopus fishmen this time. Should be easier—they already had ink production and multiple limbs. Just needed to enhance what was there.
But as I worked, Shirahoshi's nightmare stuck with me.
The violence. The fear. All the things I wanted to prevent.
Sometimes I wondered if I was doing the right thing. If giving fishmen more power would solve anything or just make the conflict worse.
Then I'd remember Otohime's death. Fisher Tiger's torture. Arlong's hatred. All the suffering that came from weakness, from being at the mercy of people who saw you as less than human.
No. Power wasn't the answer to everything. But it was a start.
The rest could come later.
[Personal Log Updated: Primary Motivation Reinforced]
The system was tracking my thoughts now? Great. That wasn't creepy at all.
I glanced at Shirahoshi, sleeping peacefully now that the nightmare had passed.
Yeah. I'd keep going. Keep working. Keep planning.
Because that's what big brothers did.
Even the weird ones who thought about genetic engineering at three in the morning.