[ Re-translated on September / 11 /2025 ]
Chapter 3: Steven, Oh Steven, How Could You Sink So Low?
Steven had expected the method of gaining these so-called WAPs to be a little unusual.
But earning his very first point just by… patting someone's head?
Yeah, that he hadn't seen coming.
He glanced sideways at Gladiia, whose face was glowing with delight from his hand on her head, and she looked to him less like a proud "Hunter" and more like a walking point-farming machine.
Back in Minecraft, something this sustainable would've been automated into a production line long ago.
At least… back when he wasn't in danger of being strung up on a lamppost for exploiting NPCs.
Even standing beside him, Gladiia's tall figure didn't lose out to his own 1.8 meters. The mix of her sharp, stylish hunter's outfit and her innocent, blissful expression created such a contrast that Steven couldn't help feeling a strange sense of achievement.
Honestly, this situation wasn't half bad.
"…No, no. Forget it. Exploiting an amnesiac airheaded girl… that'd be way too embarrassing to admit out loud."
He sighed with genuine regret, setting aside the tempting idea of keeping things as they were just to farm points off her.
Sure, rubbing a pretty girl's head was great fun, but doing it with an ulterior motive? That ruined all the fun.
Better to focus on finding a way to cure her.
Checking through the meager supplies he had brought from his last world, Steven frowned in disappointment.
This second transmigration had come even more abruptly than the first. At least back then, he could blame it on that damn runaway truck.
But this time? He'd just been standing in his yard, ready to trade some gold ingots with his trapped villagers for some enchanted books, and then boom—next second he was plummeting ten thousand meters over the sea.
So now all he had was a couple stacks of gold ingots for trading, some steaks and milk for meals, and not even a set of armor.
As for weapons? Just a single Netherite Sword he normally used to discipline villagers who dared try to trade him one potato for twenty emeralds.
It made sense, though. He'd already downgraded himself into peaceful vanilla survival, waiting out his blocky old age. Why would he need to carry heavy gear around?
"No healing potions… and even if I had one, would they even cure amnesia? Milk—I've got a bucket of that. But can milk fix memory loss? Doubt it. And I've only got the one bucket, so better save it."
Muttering calculations to himself, Steven couldn't help longing for his lost Creative Mode.
With mods, he'd have ten thousand ways to fix Gladiia's head. Without them? Nothing.
And he really, really didn't want to get booted out of this world just yet.
"So what, the only thing I can do now is… pat heads for points?"
He said the words with disgust, but his hand didn't stop moving. He stroked Gladiia's silky white hair like one would pet a beloved cat.
—Granted, this "cat" was a little oversized. But come on, who in their right mind would reject the chance to touch a beautiful girl?
[Ding! World Acknowledgement Point +1. +1. +1—]
"Ahhh… Steven, oh Steven, how could you sink so low?"
He scolded himself harshly—while the corners of his lips curved upward in traitorous satisfaction.
Just ten more pats. Round it off at thirty points.
As for the girl herself, Gladiia clearly loved it. Her porcelain-white face bloomed with a smile of pure happiness, like a child basking in a father's approval.
"…Before she lost her memory, she must've been seriously starved for fatherly love."
That was his conclusion, even as he wondered where else he could farm points—and how on earth to fix the girl's condition.
Unfortunately, he never got the chance to hit his "ten pats" milestone.
Because suddenly, a crowd of figures surged up from the waters in front of him—rudely interrupting his hand-rubbing streak.
The moonlight made the seawater seem murky, and as the waves surged, a nauseating stench—like rotten fermented seafood—rolled ashore.
Along with the stench came a crowd of… things.
Calling them ugly felt too plain.
No, they looked more like grotesque hybrids, with fish heads and parts fused messily onto soft-bodied creatures that belonged in nightmares.
Honestly, Steven couldn't begin to imagine what kind of Lovecraftian God would sculpt such abominations into existence.
Perhaps Cthulhu?
[Seaborn Elite: The Endspeaker, Will of We Many]
From the looks of it, these oddly named monsters weren't just here to disgust him.
The instant they emerged from the sea, they began surrounding his position.
"Brothers, could you… not stand so close? Your body odor's kind of overwhelming. You're sea creatures, right? Don't you guys ever… I don't know, wash?"
Despite being ringed in by monstrosities, Steven's expression remained calm, almost bored.
He hadn't stayed on the shore just to touch a girl, after all. He'd been waiting for the stalkers who'd been tailing him ever since his fall.
Figuring out who was tracking him was important. He had no intention of letting a pack of shadows follow him everywhere.
But from the way they looked at him—with that hungry gleam in their eyes—he doubted this was going to be a simple conversation.
Yet, unexpectedly, after his sarcastic comment, the monsters actually stopped advancing.
They let out guttural, restless roars before one stepped forward—bigger and bulkier than the rest.
"Land… dweller. Why… do you know… our tongue?"
The voice was a harsh, grating growl, but Steven understood it effortlessly.
He scratched his ear with a troubled look.
What was he supposed to say? That he had a language-translation mod installed, so everything auto-converted to english in his head?
Heh. If he ever got bored, maybe he really could work as an interpreter.
The monster grew more agitated at his silence, but perhaps sensing the possibility of dialogue, it didn't attack outright.
"Return… our kin. Together… we go back… to the sea."
It raised an arm—or what passed for one, a slimy, tentacled appendage—and pointed straight at the girl standing behind Steven.
"…Oh. So you weren't after me."
Steven nodded as if things finally made sense. "I knew it. Why would a newbie like me get targeted right out of the gate?"
He turned toward Gladiia, who had instinctively dropped into a guarded stance, her expression twisted with loathing at the sight of the creatures.
"Figures. Back when I saw her swimming, she looked more like she was running away than enjoying the water."
So these freaks were the ones chasing her.
"And what if I say no?"
In Gladiia's eyes, he saw pure, visceral disgust. There was no way he could believe these creatures when they called her "kin."
Come on—beautiful girl, nightmare fish monster. Same species? Not a chance.
"Resistance… pointless. You… will become… nourishment… for our growth."
"So, no negotiations then?"
Steven's gaze swept across the Seaborn, who had now filled almost the entire beach.
"Should've said that from the get go. How am I supposed to kill you without feeling guilty when you act all polite like earlier?"
He grinned, almost relieved, as he pulled a weapon from his inventory.
A long sword shimmered with a dark, violet-black glow, radiating menace in the moonlight.
Steven raised it lightly, smile widening.
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M