Praise Him, Praise Him
Praise Him, praise Him. Praise the One who soaked the primordial earth in the sea. Praise the One who drowned countless sinners in the vast ocean. Offer up, offer up. Offer to the sea brimming with resentment that has nowhere to go. Offer the warmth of the living to the cold ones, and the life of the living to the lifeless.
"Fuck! Today's a goddamn bumper haul! Hope the boat doesn't capsize on the way back!"
"Heh, told you we should've started fishing way sooner. Wasted time listening to that cult bitch and almost missed out on this goldmine."
"You're right. That shaman lady from a long line of mudang in the area got us the tip from some connection, but I swear that old hag's lost her marbles in her old age."
Choi Mansu, a 42-year-old veteran fisherman with 15 years on the job, picked through the net bursting with fish, sorting out the low-quality ones and anything banned from harvest as he spoke.
Unlike farmers whose yields could plummet from a sudden typhoon, pests, or drought, fishermen could fill their holds regularly—and that brought a deeper satisfaction. Both toiled long hours under the sun, reaping from nature's bounty only if luck was on their side, but wild fish weren't raised by human hands; the sea nurtured them. That was the difference.
Catch the right weather, spot the school on sonar, avoid accidents, and full holds were yours—no sweat.
"Man, these bastards are fat as hell this year. Way meatier than last fall."
"Sashimi's gonna taste extra fine today. Slice these up, dunk in chogochujang... fuck yeah."
"Nothing beats fresh sashimi straight off the deck. Heh."
The crew laughed as they tidied nets or picked prime cuts from the piles.
Lately, anglers had been drowning or vanishing left and right, cause for real worry—but the jaw-dropping haul brushed it off as minor mishaps. The sea was dangerous as fuck. Even sea dogs like them could die in a blink. What did it matter if clueless outsiders fucked up and drowned?
Trivial shit, really.
They said the more you got, the greedier you grew. Staring at this mountain of fish, Mansu felt a grudge against that shaman for making them sit out prime days. More fish, more cash, more joy—the perfect trio, lost because some young punk couldn't shut her trap. Back home, he'd shove this haul in her face and tell the cult bitch to stay the fuck away.
"Alright, wrap it up and let's eat! You all been busting ass since dawn—gonna collapse."
The cook banged a ladle on the pot, and the crew hustled faster. Dawn's gloom had broken; morning light crept in. Breakfast with the sunrise on your back? Pure bliss.
"Fish tripping me up everywhere. Could get buried alive here and die happy."
"For real?"
"Huh?"
Mansu slogged through the ankle-deep fish at his feet when a voice like sea wind whispered past his ear. He paused, puzzled—but the deck chatter and stiff breeze drowned it out. Must've misheard. He stepped on.
Until those huge eyes locked on his amid the flopping fish.
"Wha—huh?!"
No fish had eyes that size. He froze on the rocking deck. Blinked—and gone, just scales everywhere. But that piercing gaze left him dumbfounded.
"...Damn, starting work at dawn's got me lightheaded?"
Grab some food, nap it off, back at it. He joined the crew on deck.
Seafarers' grub was basic. Small boats couldn't store fancy shit long-term—room-temp staples and daily provisions. A year at sea rewired your taste buds, true story. Fresh sashimi, seafood stews bubbling hot, ramyeon: staples. If lucky, shared banchan like kimchi, namul, fermented fish for variety.
Still, everything tasted of salt and sea.
"Look at this fresh sashimi. Criminal to eat without soju..."
"So don't eat?"
"C'mon, bro. What else does a sea rat eat but sea fish?"
Laughing and bantering, Mansu shoveled rice with stew, snagging sashimi bites. His body felt more seawater than blood, but it never got old.
"How're the other boats doing? Match our haul?"
"Heh, just radioed Captain Choi. Half ours at best."
"Drives a bigger boat and still less? Pathetic."
"Gonna get an earful from the wife. Heh."
"Eat up, clean up, short break, then one more run! Full today, full tomorrow, full forever. Home by dinner, shoulders back."
"My wife's always on me to put strength in other places, not shoulders..."
"Dumbass, drink garlic extract like me. Garlic's gold for men."
"Fuck that nasty shit, pass."
Rough talk, but years of hard labor made emotions raw. Deep down, they watched each other's backs—that was the brotherhood of the sea.
Finishing amid waves and jokes, they noticed the sudden quiet. Waves that rocked the boat: gone. Screeching gulls: vanished. The sea fell silent like on cue, their lone boat a discordant note in the void.
"It was dawn just now..."
Clear skies swapped for thick sea fog in a blink—no time to turn. Avalanche of mist swallowed them.
Bad fog cut visibility to a meter, a fisherman's nightmare. No typhoon drama, but dense white birthed accidents from "mistakes."
"What the fuck kinda fog..."
Late September. Summers and winters dominated now, seasons blurred—but fall was fall. Fog this thick? Rare even midsummer. Mansu double-checked his footing. Slippery decks meant trips, cuts from gear, or overboard if unlucky.
Luckily, breakfast kept them clustered mid-deck—no panic. They huddled.
"B-bro, ever seen fog like this late September?"
"South Sea's warmer than West or East, but never fall fog this bad. No forecast either."
Sea survival meant heeding every gale warning. They'd never miss a fog alert for these waters.
"Ch-check other boats! Radio if they got fog too."
"Bad vibes..."
"Should've listened to the shaman?"
"Hey! Fog's just nature—still buying that cult crap?!"
"Quiet!"
The captain barked from the radio. Static hissed—no replies despite repeated calls.
"Others must be busy."
"Busy ain't ignoring calls."
"Fog hit fast—chaos."
"Yeah, maybe an accident..."
"What the hell's that noise?"
"Radio static?"
"Morse code or some shit...?"
Huddled together, heads tilted, Mansu—closest to the window—desperately wanted to shut his eyes.
Beside the captain fiddling the radio through the glass: the owner of those eyes earlier, mouthing signals like a fish gasping.