“Get out of here!” the Blowfish Man snarled, pointing a long, glinting carver’s knife in my direction. “I said scram you filthy animal!”

“Don’t you dare!” Alan shouted, stepping between me and the old man. She wedged herself in front of me, her posture tense, eyes blazing as she stared him down. “Put the knife down. The cat’s with me.”

The old man, still gripping the blade, lowered it only slightly, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. His glare shot up to meet Alan’s, undeterred by the fact that she towered over him by at least a head. He held his ground, his voice sharp as he declared, “No animals allowed.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about the animal,” Gunther chimed in, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he swaggered over. With a casual, almost dismissive gesture, he slapped a hand onto the man’s frail shoulder. “Page isn’t just any cat—he’s well-trained and part of the NOAH 1 family. He's more human than feral.”

The old man’s eyes flicked from Alan to Gunther, his scowl deepening as he processed Gunther’s words. But, despite his obvious irritation, something in the mention of NOAH 1 made him pause, his grip on the knife loosening. Grunting, he motioned for them to sit at one of the tables, then shot me a sharp glare and growled, “Don’t touch the fish. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

I padded softly toward the table, my movements measured and deliberate, before settling myself upon a low, plastic stool beside Alan. A quiet vexation simmered within me, the sting of the old man's words— “filthy animal”—still fresh in my mind. Who was he, some decaying remains of a world gone wrong, to throw that label at me?

With the quickness of an albatross diving for prey, I watched him seize a pufferfish from the tank, his hands deft and unfeeling. The fish, startled by its sudden fate, ballooned itself into a swollen orb—a futile defense against the inevitable. As it deflated, slowly, accepting its fate, the chef struck. His knife pierced just above its head in a precise and cold motion. Then, he dumped the fish into a bowl of water, the liquid shifting from clear to blood-red in seconds.

After expertly skinning and slicing the fish, the old man arranged the raw delicate cuts on a plate, then set the dish along with a dipping cup before Alan and Gunther. I leaned in, sniffing the air around the fish. Except for the black goo in the dipping cup, the scent wasn’t pungent; it carried a clean, fresh aroma. My curiosity stirred, and I licked my lips, tempted to indulge in just a small taste. Gunther swooped in, snatched a piece, dipped it in the sauce, and quickly devoured it, casting me a sidelong glance with a playful smirk.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Alan began, addressing the Blowfish Man, “if I ask you a few questions.”

The old man took a step back, his expression wary as he eyed her. “Depends on the kind of questions you’re planning to ask.”

“Do you fish these pufferfish yourself?”

“I do.”

“Have you ever sold a live one to a customer?”

He paused for a moment, weighing whether or not to tell her the truth. “I don’t usually sell, but if the offer is good, I might consider it,” he replied at last, carefully avoiding the question. “Why do you ask? Are you looking to trade for a pufferfish? It’s going to be a tough deal unless you’re willing to catch one yourself.”

“I was wondering if you traded a fish with the owner of an apothecary.”

The old man frowned, his gaze drifting as he shuffled back toward the open kitchen. “Alright, I did trade a fish for a new special sauce to go with the dishes I make, but I have no idea if the guy was an apothecary owner. What people do for a living is none of my concern.”

“Oh, the sauce is absolutely delicious!” Gunther exclaimed with enthusiasm. “I've never tasted something like it before.”

He picked up a piece with his fork, dipped it into the dark sauce, and offered it to Alan, teasingly waving it in front of my face. “Why don't you give it a try?” he said with a grin.

“You weren’t the least bit curious why he wanted the pufferfish?” Alan continued, ignoring the sauce-drenched piece. My mouth watered uncontrollably, a single thread of saliva hanging from my bottom lip.

“No.”

“But surely you know the pufferfish carries a lethal poison,” Alan said, his tone sharp.

“And so?” The Blowfish Man shrugged. “I’m certain he was aware of that too.”

“He could have used it to hurt someone,” Alan pressed.

“How was I supposed to know his intentions?”

Alan’s expression grew grim. “Three children from my ship were poisoned. Only one survived. The poison came from a pufferfish.”

Gunther's face paled, his expression crumbling. "So, the rumors were true," he muttered, his voice shaking. "The Kelpings... I can hardly believe it!”

A heavy silence followed. The Blowfish Man's face clouded with a somber look. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. “But again, how could I have known his true intentions? If you’ve got something I need, then you'll get what you want from me. I don't need to ask questions; it always gets you into trouble when you don't mind your business!”

I snatched the piece with my paw, catching Gunther off guard as he jerked back in surprise. The sauce hit my buds—sweet, yet salty, with a bit of tang. It was an unusual flavor, unlike anything I'd tasted before. The fish’s delicate flesh melted on my tongue; it was firm yet supple. The flesh had a subtle chewiness. Its taste was clean with a faint brininess that danced on the edges of my palate. The combination of the fish and the rich, black sauce elevated me to an entirely new level of culinary delight.

Alan picked up the dipping sauce, inspecting the viscous substance inside. “Is this what you traded the fish for?” she asked, glancing at the Blowfish Man, who was busy splitting a mackerel before tossing it onto the stove.

“It's a special sauce,” he replied.

“What’s in it?”

“Even I don’t know. Only the trader holds that secret.”

With sarcasm dripping from her voice, Alan said, “So, you don’t usually sell fish, but you’ll trade it for a sauce without even knowing what’s in it? Oh, that makes perfect sense.”

The Blowfish Man threw her a side glance. “Have you tasted it?”

Alan dipped a piece and ate it. She paused, as if struck by something extraordinary. Her gaze settled on the sauce, and without hesitation, she reached for another slice of pufferfish, eager to dip it again.

Smirking, he turned his attention back to the stove.

“The trader was an odd one. I doubt he was from around here—not from Floating City or any of the big ships like NOAH 1,” he said. “He wore a mask over his face and carried an oxygen tank with him. The moment I tried the sauce, I knew I had to have it. When I asked where he had gotten it, he said it was from where his home was. I asked where that was, but he didn’t answer. He just handed me a large canister of the sauce and took his fish.”

He pointed at the small crowd now streaming into the tent, filling the empty tables, while others slowly formed a line outside.

"The trade was worthwhile," he said with a satisfied grin, turning to serve the waiting customers.