The VTOL's cabin hummed with a steady rhythm as it skimmed over Umi-no-Hoshi's surface, water-filled and pressurized for merfolk passengers. Reina pressed her face to the viewport as Kairyū’s neon sprawl receded into the distance, its glass towers and bustling markets shrinking to pinpricks of light against the endless blue. Four days on this planet, and already that overwhelming city felt like a fever dream. Now they were leaving it behind, heading somewhere quieter. Somewhere that was supposed to feel like home.

  Shinju.

  Beside her, Hana floated in her harness, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place. The defiance from yesterday had cooled into sullen silence, her orange tail occasionally quivering with irritation. Across from them, Aiko reviewed something on her datapad. Her university orientation was done. Three days of meetings, lab tours, research protocols—Aiko had thrown herself into it with the same desperate focus she'd used for the past seven months, ever since Kenta's funeral. Now she'd be stationed at Shinju's small research campus, studying the local ecosystem. Close enough to be present. Far enough to hide in work when she needed to.

  "Shinju's smaller than Kairyū," Aiko said without looking up, her voice carrying over the cabin's drone. "About eight hundred residents. The school serves around a hundred and eighty students in high and middle school divisions, thirty per grade.”

  Reina nodded, though anxiety twisted in her stomach. Thirty kids. That felt both too many and too few—enough to get lost in, but not enough to disappear. And they'd all know each other already, have their established groups and friendships. She'd be the outsider, the Earth girl who couldn't swim straight.

  Through the viewport, Shinju emerged from the ocean's depths—a crescent-shaped coral reef sprawling across the seafloor, its structures smaller and more organic than Kairyū's sleek towers. Dome-like habitats clustered together, built from coral and translucent bio-polymer that glowed faintly with phosphorescent blooms. The colors were warmer here—ambers and golds mixed with the blues and greens of living coral. And there, rising from a partially submerged outcrop, was a shrine. Wooden frames weathered by water, a torii gate that breached the surface, floating lanterns swaying in the current like fireflies.

  The VTOL descended, touching down on a platform at Shinju's edge with barely a ripple. The hatch hissed open, releasing them into the water—cooler here than Kairyū, with a gentle current that tugged at Reina's tail as she swam out. The pilot, the same grizzled merfolk who'd flown them to the hotel days ago, gave them a brief nod. "Welcome to Shinju. Pod assignments are at the administration building—follow the main path." He pointed toward a wider corridor carved through the coral, marked with floating signs in Japanese kanji.

  They swam through Shinju's pathways, and Reina couldn't help but compare it to Kairyū. Where the city had been all sharp angles and neon, Shinju felt organic, lived-in. The buildings—pods, she corrected herself—were nestled into the reef itself, their walls rippling with the current. Merfolk moved at a slower pace here, tails gliding lazily, many nodding greetings as they passed. An older merfolk woman with a gray tail and a woven kelp top smiled at them. "New arrivals? Welcome."

  "Thank you," Aiko said, her tone still clipped but less defensive than it had been in Kairyū.

  The administration building was a modest dome at the settlement's center, its entrance flanked by coral columns. Inside, a merfolk man with a dark blue tail and glasses looked up from a desk covered in floating datapads. "Yamashita family?"

  "Yes," Aiko confirmed, handing over their documentation.

  He scanned it quickly, then gestured to a map projected above his desk—a holographic layout of Shinju's pod clusters. "You're assigned to Pod 47, residential sector three. It's a standard three-compartment unit". He handed Aiko a small device—an access key. "The new school year starts tomorrow morning. The academy's near the center—you can't miss it. Big translucent dome."

  "Thank you," Aiko said, clasping the key.

  Pod 47 was a fifteen-minute swim from the administration building. It was smaller than the hotel suite in Kairyū, but more welcoming—curved walls with soft radiance, three alcoves off a central space, and a window that looked out over a kelp forest swaying in the current. The tatami mats were woven from something that felt like kelp but softer, anchored to the floor so they wouldn't drift. A small synthesizer occupied one corner, and in another, a shelf—plain coral, unadorned.

  Reina swam to it, pulling the omamori from her bag. She placed it carefully on the shelf, her fingers lingering on the faded fabric. Not a kamidana—they didn't have the proper setup for that, and this wasn't for kami anyway. Just a memorial. A place to remember.

  Aiko appeared beside her, holding a small framed photo she'd kept tucked in her bag—Kenta on his boat, grinning at the camera, salt-spray caught in his hair. She set it next to the omamori without a word, her hand hovering over it for a moment before she pulled away. "We'll make this work," she said quietly, though Reina wasn't sure if she was talking to them or to herself.

  Hana claimed the smallest alcove, dumping her bag in the corner and immediately floating near the window, her tail twitching as she stared out at the kelp forest. "It's so quiet here," she muttered. "At least Kairyū wasn't this boring."

  "Give it time," Aiko said, her tone gentler than usual. She swam to her own alcove, setting up her datapad and a few research samples in sealed containers. "I have a meeting at the research campus this afternoon—just a few hours. You two settle in. Tomorrow's a big day."

  After Aiko left, the pod felt too quiet, the hum of the water the only sound. Reina unpacked slowly—her few belongings scattered across the alcove, the robe Kaori had given her folded on the mat. She still wore it sometimes, in private, when the bareness felt like too much. Tomorrow she'd have to face school, swim into that translucent dome and pretend she belonged.

  A soft knock echoed through the water—not a sound exactly, but a vibration against the pod's entrance. Reina looked up and exchanged a confused glance with Hana. They weren't expecting anyone.

  "Hello?" a voice called from outside, warm and lilting. "Yamashita family? I'm Natsuki Mori—Kaori's cousin? She asked me to stop by."

  Reina swam to the entrance, palming the access panel. The door slid open to reveal a girl her age, tall and graceful, with long violet hair floating like a halo around her head. Her purple tail shimmered with iridescent flecks, and around her neck hung a small wooden pendant—a fish, shaped like a teardrop. She carried herself with a mature elegance that made Reina feel suddenly childish.

  "Hi," Natsuki said, her smile genuine and easy. "Sorry to just show up, but Kaori messaged me that you'd arrive today. Thought you might want a friendly face before school tomorrow.”

  "That's... really kind," Reina managed, acutely aware of her own lack of grace compared to this girl's effortless movement."I'm Reina. This is my sister Hana."

  Hana appeared beside her at the doorway. "Your cousin helped us in Kairyū. When I got lost."

  "I heard," Natsuki said, her tone gentle rather than judgmental. "Kairyū's overwhelming—I get lost there too. Shinju's different. Quieter. Want me to show you around? We've got about an hour before it gets too dark to see much."

  Reina hesitated, glancing back at the memorial shelf, the unpacked bags. But Hana was already swimming toward the entrance. "Better than sitting here."

  They followed Natsuki through Shinju's pathways, the water cooler now in the late afternoon, the current gentle against their skin. Natsuki moved with practiced ease, pointing out landmarks as they swam. "That's the main market—small, but they have everything you need. Synthesizers are good for basics, but sometimes you want fresh-caught fish." She gestured to a cluster of stalls where merfolk bartered and chatted.

  They passed the shrine, its torii gate rising above the water, lanterns already beginning to glow in the dimming light. Natsuki's pace slowed, her hand drifting to her pendant. "My parents keep the shrine," she said, pride threading through her voice. "They've been doing it since before I was born. It's... important. Keeps us connected to where we came from."

  "It's beautiful," Reina said softly, thinking of the small shrine near their house on Earth, where her father used to pray before going out to sea.

  "You should come sometime," Natsuki offered. "Mom loves teaching people about the rituals. And there's the festival, its really amazing." She swam on, pointing out the school's dome in the distance. "That's where you'll be tomorrow. Second-year homeroom is near the top—best light in the whole building. I'll meet you at the entrance, show you where to go."

  They circled back toward the residential sector, passing other pods where families were settling in for the evening. Merfolk waved as they passed, and Natsuki returned each greeting by name. "Everyone knows everyone here," she explained. "It's nice, mostly. Though sometimes you wish for a little more privacy."

  As they reached Pod 47 again, Natsuki paused at the entrance. "I know it's been a lot," she said, her violet eyes meeting Reina's. "But you're not alone. I'll help however I can. Kaori said you're good people, that's enough for me."

  "Thank you," Reina said, meaning it more than she could express. "Really."

  "See you tomorrow morning," Natsuki said with a final smile, then swam off into the darkening water, her scales catching the last rays of filtered sunlight.

  Inside the pod, Hana floated by the window, watching Natsuki disappear. "She's nice," she admitted grudgingly. "Not annoying."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Yeah," Reina agreed, something loosening in her chest. Tomorrow still felt terrifying. But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be quite as bad as she'd feared.

  "Reina?" Hana's voice was small, tentative.

  Reina swam to the window, hovering beside her sister. "Yeah?"

  "Do you think we'll ever stop feeling like we don't belong?"

  Reina looked out at the kelp forest, at the merfolk swimming past in the distance, tails moving with an ease she couldn't imagine. "I don't know," she admitted. "But we're here. We have to try."

  The next morning arrived too quickly. Reina woke to Aiko's voice cutting through the water—firm, businesslike, the mother she'd been before Kenta's death briefly resurfacing. "Breakfast, then school. Move."

  The synthesizer produced kelp-wrapped orbs filled with something that tasted like fish and seaweed—not bad, but nothing like the breakfasts Kenta used to make. Reina ate quickly, her stomach churning with nerves. Hana pushed her orb around without eating, her tank top—green today—clinging to her frame as she fidgeted.

  Aiko handed them each a small satchel woven from kelp fibers. "For your school supplies. The academy provided basic materials—they're inside." She hesitated, her hand hovering near Reina's shoulder before settling there briefly. "You'll do fine. Both of you."

  It was the most encouragement she'd offered in months. Reina nodded, throat tight.

  They left the pod together, swimming through Shinju's morning currents. Other students were already moving toward the academy—young merfolk with satchels slung over their shoulders, tails swaying as they chatted. Reina kept her arms close to her sides, hyperaware of her bare chest, her clumsy tail. Hana swam beside her, quieter than usual, her eyes darting around nervously.

  As they approached a branching corridor, Hana slowed. "Middle school wing's that way," she said, pointing to a smaller passageway marked with a floating sign. "Guess I'll see you later."

  "Good luck," Reina said, trying to sound confident.

  Hana made a gesture—something between acknowledgment and dismissal—as she swam off, disappearing around the corner. Reina watched her go, wishing she could follow, wishing they could face this together. But Hana had her own path now.

  The high school wing loomed ahead, a vast translucent dome that let in filtered sunlight from above, casting everything in soft golden light. Inside, the structure opened into multiple levels connected by coral ramps and open water channels. Classrooms were carved into the dome's walls—open chambers with stone desks floating slightly above the floor, secured by some mechanism she didn't understand. Students clustered in groups, their voices a low hum punctuated by laughter.

  Reina hovered near the entrance, her tail twitching with nerves, until she spotted a familiar purple tail.

  "Reina!" Natsuki swam over, her hair trailing behind her like silk. "Right on time. Come on, I'll take you to homeroom."

  Relief flooded through her. At least she had one friendly face. "Thanks for meeting me."

  "Of course," Natsuki said, leading her through the winding tunnels. "I remember my first day here—I was twelve and terrified. Having someone show you the ropes makes all the difference."

  They reached the second-year homeroom, and Natsuki gestured to a cluster of stone desks near the dome's apex where light streamed through in golden streaks. "Come on, I'll introduce you to some people."

  Two students hovered near the desks. The boy with the cobalt-blue tail looked up from his sketchpad. "That's Kotaro Shigenobu," Natsuki said. "Taro, this is Reina. The new student I mentioned."

  "Hi," Taro mumbled, his dark eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to his sketch. His tail curled tighter beneath him. "Welcome to Shinju."

  "Taro draws everything," Natsuki explained. "He's really good. You'll see his work all over the school."

  A girl with an bright yellow tail swam over, her short black hair bouncing as she grinned wide. She was smaller than Reina—slight frame, smaller bust—but her energy filled the space like a storm. "New girl! Where're you from? Earth, right? Tell me everything!" Her hands gestured wildly, her tail twitching with restless motion.

  "Uh, yeah," Reina said, startled by the onslaught. "A small coastal town. Japan."

  "Cool! I've never left Umi-no-Hoshi, born here, gonna rule it someday," the girl said, laughing loud enough to turn heads across the chamber. "I'm Yumiko Atsumi, by the way. But everyone calls Yumi. You'll love it once you stop crashing into things."

  "Yumi," Natsuki said, a hint of exasperation in her tone. "Give her space to breathe."

  "I'm fine," Reina said, though her head was spinning. Natsuki's calm, Taro's quiet focus, Yumi's chaotic energy—it was overwhelming, but in a way that felt less hostile than she'd feared.

  A teacher entered the classroom—a merfolk woman with a silver tail, her hair tied back with a cord of seaweed. She had an air of authority tempered with warmth, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on Reina. "Settle down," she said, her voice carrying through the water with calm clarity. "We have a new student joining us this year. Reina Yamashita, transferred from Earth. Make her welcome."

  A murmur rippled through the room, curious eyes darting toward Reina. She sank lower at her desk, her tail curling beneath the stone. Natsuki nudged her gently with her elbow. "That's Ms. Takahana. She teaches history and culture. She's strict but fair."

  Ms. Takahana continued, outlining the day's schedule, but Reina barely heard her. She was too busy cataloging the other students in the room, all with tails in various colors, all moving with that same infuriating ease. A few glanced at her with mild curiosity, but most seemed indifferent. She was just another face. That should have been comforting.

  It wasn't.

  The morning passed in a blur. The opening ceremony had been brief—Principal Watanabe welcoming address, announcements about the term schedule, a traditional blessing from a visiting shrine keeper. Afterwards students dispersed to their homerooms, and the day's actual classes began. Takahana-sensei's history lesson covered Umi-no-Hoshi's colonization; summaries of the early settlers, the adaptation to underwater life, the cultural traditions preserved from Earth. Reina tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting to her father, to the sea that had taken him, to the irony of living in an ocean now.

  After history came science with Shimizu-sensei, a younger teacher with an enthusiastic energy that reminded Reina of a caffeinated dolphin. He dove into marine biology with infectious excitement, projecting holographic diagrams of luminescent microbes and explaining their role in Shinju's ecosystem. "These little guys are everywhere," he said, grinning. "They're why we don't need as much artificial lighting. Plus, they taste great in soup!"

  A few students laughed. Reina managed a faint smile.

  Lunch unfolded in an open chamber near the academy's center, a communal space where students from all grades gathered. Floating buffets lined the walls—kelp wraps, fish cakes, broth orbs bobbing in the current. Reina stuck close to Natsuki, who led her to a coral ledge where Taro and Yumi were already eating.

  "So," Natsuki said, settling beside Reina and nibbling a kelp wrap. "Earth. Land, dirt, all that?"

  "Yeah," Reina said, picking at a fish cake. The flavor was salty, unfamiliar, but growing on her. "Beaches, forests. Dry air."

  "Sounds strange," Natsuki replied, her gaze lifting to the dome's ceiling where light danced in shifting patterns. "I've only known water. Mom says it's our blood now—the shrine keeps us tied to the old ways, though." Her fingers brushed the carved fish pendant at her neck—a small, unconscious gesture.

  Taro floated nearby, his sketchpad open as he traced the arc of a darting fish with precise strokes. "Legs are overrated," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Tails work better, more control." His focus stayed on the page, but his words carried conviction.

  Yumi darted in, snagging a broth orb mid-swim and gulping it down with a grin. "Dry air? Gross! I'd shrivel up," she said as she puffed out her chest. "My brother tried topside once—hated it. I'm staying down here, running things."

  Reina smiled faintly, their quirks easing the knot in her chest. Natsuki's rooted calm, Taro's observant stillness, Yumi's brash drive—they were more than faces now. They were becoming threads weaving her into this strange new tapestry.

  Through a wide opening in the chamber, Reina caught a glimpse of the middle school section. Hana swam past with a group of students—two girls and a boy. One of the girls, with short brown hair and a cheerful expression, was chattering animatedly. Hana's scowl had softened slightly, her tail swaying in something close to relaxation. The boy—lean, with a dark blue tail—said something that made Hana roll her eyes, but Reina saw the hint of a smile.

  "That's Yuuta Hayashi," Natsuki said, following Reina's gaze. "He's in the final year of middle school, same as your sister. Nice kid—his family runs a kelp farm. The girls are probably Kanna Tarui and Saki Inose. They're a tight group."

  Reina nodded, relief flooding through her. Hana had found people. That was something.

  After lunch came the part Reina had been dreading: aquatics practice.

  The academy's practice area was an open pool carved into the reef, its edges jagged with coral growth, currents channeling through it in deliberate patterns. The teacher—an older merfolk man with a scarred green tail—floated at the center, arms crossed. "Aquatics builds strength and control," he announced. "You'll need both to survive storms and navigate currents. Pair up and practice basic maneuvers."

  Reina's tail felt like lead. The other students paired off effortlessly, their movements synchronized, and panic crept up her spine. What if—

  "Partner with me," Natsuki said, appearing at her side. "I'll help."

  They swam to a quieter corner of the pool. Natsuki demonstrated a basic glide—tail moving in smooth, wave-like motions, core tight, arms relaxed. "Flow, don't fight. Feel the water, don't push against it."

  Reina tried. Her tail flailed, sending her spinning sideways into the coral. A few students snickered. Her face burned.

  "Angle's off," Taro said, appearing beside them with his sketchpad. He showed her a quick sketch—her tail too high, her form jagged. "Fix that, you'll glide better."

  Reina adjusted, trying again. This time she managed a few meters before veering off course. Progress.

  Yumi sped past, spinning mid-water with a whoop. "Just go fast—works for me!" She crashed into a coral edge with a laugh. "Okay, maybe not."

  By the end of practice, Ache settled into Reina's muscles, her tail felt like it might fall off, and the salty sting of swallowed water burned her throat. But she'd managed a few successful glides. Small victories.

  That evening, back at the pod, Reina hovered near the window while Aiko worked at her alcove. Hana floated near the synthesizer, picking at a kelp orb.

  "How was school?" Aiko asked, not looking up.

  "Fine," Reina said. "Met some people. Natsuki's nice. She's from a shrine-keeping family."

  Aiko nodded absently. "Good. Connections matter."

  Hana snorted. "Mine was boring. Middle school's just... school."

  Reina glanced at her sister. "I saw you with that boy. Yuuta?"

  Hana scowled "He's annoying. Talks too much."

  But there'd been that almost-smile. Reina didn't push.

  Later, as night descended, Reina lay on her mat, staring at the ceiling. She'd made it through the first day.

  Through the window, Shinju's spectral lights glowed softly—lanterns at the shrine, algae in the reef, the gentle pulse of life in the deep. It wasn't home. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  But it was something.

  She reached for the omamori on the memorial shelf, her fingers brushing its worn fabric. I'm trying, Dad, she thought. I'm really trying.

  Outside, the current whispered through the kelp forest, a lullaby she was learning to hear.

  Tomorrow she'd try again.