The night sky stretched calmly above the vast ocean. The moonlight reflected a faint shimmer across the surface of the water, while a soft drizzle fell like a thin curtain that gently veiled the ship's deck. The waves rolled slowly, as if accompanying a long journey toward the distant continent.
Amid that great expanse of sea, a large ship carrying many passengers sailed forward at a steady pace. Inside, the passengers were busy with their own little worlds—some were chatting, others eating heartily. And in one quiet corner of the dining hall, a young man sat alone.
His name was Shiumi Ren. A twenty-year-old man who was on his way to Europe, hoping to find work there. He had chosen to take this ship, crossing the wide ocean toward the place where his new job awaited him.
Inside the ship, Ren sat eating alone while absentmindedly thinking about the kind of work he would soon be doing. The spoon in his hand moved slowly, then came to a stop.
His vacant gaze drifted toward the window, blurred and streaked by the drizzle. The clinking of spoons and glasses rang around him, blending with the aroma of hot soup and toasted bread. But to Ren, all that noise sounded distant, faint, as though he was separated from it all by an invisible wall of glass.
A quiet murmur escaped his lips, "Huh… working in Europe, huh?" he muttered softly, before letting out a weary sigh. His face clearly reflected a fatigue that was hard to hide—the lines of exhaustion stood out more than the spirit that should've accompanied a man setting out toward his future.
"I hope the work there isn't too hard, and that the people are kind to Asians like me," Ren thought as he continued eating. The spoon moved again, but slowly, almost as if he was eating only to fill his stomach, not because he really wanted to.
As he ate, Ren's blank gaze finally stopped on something. Not far from his table, two small children were playing, laughing happily together. They talked in light, cheerful voices. Their laughter was so pure, echoing between the clinks of cutlery and glass, that Ren felt as though happiness itself was something far away from him.
He lowered his head, staring at the spoon in his hand that gleamed faintly under the soft lamplight. A faint sense of envy crept into his heart—not just envy for the children's joy, but for the freedom they possessed so effortlessly.
And then, a memory surfaced, creeping slowly from the corner of his mind.
Ren remembered his own childhood—those days when he used to run across open fields with his friends, laughing until he was out of breath, or returning home with hands covered in dirt, greeted by the warm voices of his family. Those were the happiest times, the times when he could laugh freely without thinking about the burdens of life.
"If only time could be turned back…" he whispered in his heart. His lips curved into a bitter smile, but it quickly faded, replaced by the empty stare that pierced through the plate before him. That hope felt like a dream too far to reach, for he knew what awaited him ahead was nothing but responsibility in a foreign land.
Spoonful after spoonful went into his mouth. The food tasted bland, as if its only purpose was to fill the void in his stomach. Still, he kept eating.
Around him, the laughter of children and the chatter of passengers blended together, forming a small, warm world—but Ren still felt like a stranger, trapped within the solitude of his own quiet loneliness.
—
Meanwhile, on the upper deck, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Inside the bridge, the captain stood upright, gazing out over the expanse of sea veiled in a thin mist. His eyes were calm, yet alert. His rough hands gripped the wheel tightly, as though confidence and caution were fused into a single, steady breath.
That night felt peaceful—too peaceful, to the point that the stillness itself seemed like an omen.
From beyond the windows, only the faint rustle of gentle waves could be heard. Yet gradually, the air around began to change. The mist that had been still started to swirl slowly, as if searching for direction. A light breeze brushed past, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea—sharper than usual.
The captain frowned. Something in the air felt wrong. His fingers tapped unconsciously against the wheel, as if his body sensed danger before his mind could grasp it. He turned his gaze toward the western horizon.
"Hm?"
Suddenly, dark clouds began to gather there. The wind grew stronger, forcing the ship to adjust both its heading and its speed. The waves rose higher, striking the ship's hull one after another with heavy, echoing thuds—an unmistakable sign that a storm was forming in the distance.
"Looks like the storm's coming faster than expected," he murmured quietly.
The captain tightened his grip on the wheel, struggling to keep the ship steady amid the mounting gusts. Seawater splashed against the front windows of the bridge, and the sound of the wind hissed through every crevice, like a whisper carrying ill tidings.
But before he could turn the wheel to adjust their course, his eyes caught sight of something strange ahead. A thick wall of fog had appeared out of nowhere, rolling across the surface of the sea, directly in the ship's path.
"Why is there suddenly such a dense fog? This feels… off," he muttered, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the wind.
The captain stared out toward the open sea, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pierce through the growing white veil. The uneasy feeling in his chest solidified into a tangible weight. The fog thickened rapidly, swallowing everything in front of him. Visibility shrank to only a few dozen meters; every shape beyond the ship vanished, consumed by the slow-churning wall of white.
Then—
"Huh? What's that…?" he muttered under his breath. His eyes sharpened, trying to cut through the trembling fog that rippled under the force of the wind.
A dark shadow emerged within the mist—faint at first, but slowly becoming clearer. The captain's heartbeat quickened, dread crawling up from the back of his neck to the tips of his fingers. As the shape loomed closer, its form began to take definition. His eyes widened in shock, and cold sweat traced down his temple.
"That—!?"
A massive iceberg suddenly appeared from behind the fog, towering ominously just a few dozen meters ahead of the bow. Its surface was jagged and pale, glinting faintly in the dim light like an immovable wall poised to devour the ship whole.
"Damn it!" The captain instinctively spun the wheel with all his strength, trying to steer the ship aside. But it was too late. The ship's momentum was too great, and the distance too short. In the next second, a deafening crash tore through the night.
"BBOOOMMM!"
The violent impact rocked the entire vessel. The midsection of the hull slammed into the iceberg with a long, grinding shriek. Metal buckled and tore apart, filling the air with the piercing sound of steel scraping against ice. A massive wave struck the ship's side, the deck shuddered violently, and the emergency sirens wailed, splitting the night now buried in thick fog.
"Aaaaaaahhh!!" "What's happening!?"
The passengers who had been relaxing were thrown into chaos by the sudden crash. Glasses shattered, plates clattered to the floor, and the grating of metal echoed from below deck.
"Damn it, how could a block of ice suddenly appear in the middle of the open ocean!?" cursed the captain, still clinging to the violently shaking wheel. His breathing was heavy, his eyes fixed ahead through the fog, trying to make out the shape of the catastrophe that had just struck them.
The tremor spread through the entire vessel, making its masts and frame quake like cracking bones. From below came the rushing sound of seawater pouring in, signaling that the hull could no longer withstand the pressure. The roar of the water grew louder, merging with the blare of alarms that shrieked through the air. The ship began to lose its balance, tilting slowly to one side.
"What—what's happening!?" shouted one of the crew, his face pale. His voice was almost drowned out by the wailing sirens.
"That sound… there's no mistaking it," whispered another, his voice trembling.
"Captain, how could this ship get into an accident!? What in the world happened!?"
The captain stared sharply toward the ship's bow, where the front structure was badly torn apart. The cracks in the steel were visible even through the shroud of fog. His breathing was heavy, yet his voice cut firmly through the chaos. "We hit a massive block of ice. The hull is shattered, and if those cracks spread, the ship could break apart at any moment."
"Hi—hit ice!?" one of the crew gasped, his whole body shaking.
Hearing that, the other crew members quickly turned toward the damaged section of the ship. "Aaahh!? What is this—!?" Their eyes widened, horrified by the sight of the bow, completely ripped open. The cracks in the steel kept spreading slowly, as if the ship's front could collapse at any second.
The captain slammed his fist against the helm.
"Damn it! How could an iceberg that big even exist in this route!?" he shouted, his anger boiling together with the stabbing fear inside him.
For a brief moment, he wanted to keep cursing, but the anxious stares of his men made him realize there was no time to drown in emotion. His jaw tightened as he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in his chest.
"No time to get angry… I have to find a way out of this," he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, as his mind raced for any possible solution to this desperate situation.
"You there! Quickly evacuate the passengers and lead them to the stern! Hurry!" the captain shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the storm.
"Yes, Captain!" The crew scrambled to carry out the orders, their faces tense but determined. Some of them jumped down from the bridge, breaking through the fog and pounding rain, sprinting toward the passenger area.
The captain grabbed the speaking tube, his voice trembling but still firm.
"Attention! The ship has collided with a large iceberg! All passengers, head immediately to the stern! Put on your life jackets and prepare for an emergency situation!"
The warning echoed throughout the decks. Panic instantly erupted. Passengers ran in every direction, their screams blending with the roaring storm. The crew struggled to guide the evacuation routes, shouting at the top of their lungs to pierce through the chaos of sobs and cries. Some children were crying for their parents, while women clung tightly to their husbands' hands as they descended the stairs, their faces pale with fear.
Ren, still in the dining hall, felt his entire body trembling violently. He muttered inwardly, "This… how could something like this even happen!? They said we hit ice!? Damn it." His hands were shaking, his eyes fixed on the water that had begun seeping in from the lower deck, flooding around the panicked passengers' shoes.
The passengers' screams mingled with the crew's shouts as they tried desperately to keep order. The hurried footsteps from the upper deck echoed like the heartbeat of a giant creature—one on the verge of death.
Ren started running out, heading for the stern along with the others. Most of the passengers, shocked and hysterical, scrambled to grab life jackets or anything that could float—anything that might keep them alive amid the storm's fury. The sound of crying and shouting mixed together, choking the air with suffocating panic.
But the condition of the ship kept getting worse. Its tilt grew steeper, and the groaning and creaking of the steel grew louder, signaling that the ship's destruction was close at hand. Amid the roaring wind and crashing waves came a subtle, constant cracking sound—like something slowly surrendering under unbearable pressure.
The cracks kept widening. The shriek of tearing steel echoed sharply, making the ship's body almost split in two. The front section began sinking little by little, dragging down those who hadn't yet escaped, while the rear section slowly pulled away, lifted high by the relentless waves crashing against it.
Ren stood at the edge, his body tense, ready to jump and follow the other passengers who had already fled.
But amid the chaos—the storm roaring in his ears and the screams of panic all around—Ren suddenly caught a voice. It was different from the terrified cries of adults; it sounded soft, muffled, almost drowned by the pounding surf.
"Huhuhu… Help…"
Ren froze for a moment. His foot, which had been ready to step forward, stopped cold. His heart pounded violently as he turned, searching for the source of the voice.
"What? A child's voice? Could someone still be left behind?" he muttered in shock, his eyes widening.
While everyone else was running toward the stern, Ren stood right at the edge of the widening crack. He stared into the darkness toward the rear of the ship—the part slowly being abandoned.
Amid the chaos, Ren heard another voice from the stern, sounding like a passenger frantically searching for her child.
"My child? Where's my child? Huhuhu… I panicked… I left them back there…" cried a mother, running with both hands clutching her head.
Ren stiffened. His eyes and mind instantly connected the two voices he had heard.
"Huh? A child? Don't tell me…" he whispered, his eyes widening even more.
Ignoring the rising water, the sharp shards of twisted metal scattered around, and the increasingly unstable floor, Ren turned back, hurrying toward the source of the voice. Every step felt like a gamble with death, but he didn't care.
He made his way back toward the dining hall. The voice grew clearer as he approached. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving, his feet slipping on the tilted, slick floor. The waves outside pounded against the hull, their impact mixing with the groaning of tortured steel. Yet, through it all, that small crying voice kept calling. He decided to go in.
Ren shoved the door open hard. The hinges screeched sharply, blending with the splashes of water seeping in through the cracks. His eyes darted quickly across every corner of the room, trying to pierce through the chaos of overturned chairs and scattered debris. There, in the far corner of the room, he saw two small children.
They were the same children he had seen before, playing and laughing in the corridor. It seemed they had been trapped in this room.
Their faces were wet with tears, their tiny bodies trembling violently. Their innocent eyes gleamed with pure fear, reflecting a terror they couldn't understand.
"B-brother… help…" the small voice whimpered—so faint it was almost lost, yet strong enough to pierce straight into Ren's heart. So fragile, it made his chest tighten, as if his own breath had been seized.
"It's okay… I'm here. You're safe now," he whispered, trying to calm them even as his own heart pounded wildly, fear pulsing through every beat. His voice was almost swallowed by the ship's cracking roar, yet his grip on the children grew tighter and steadier.
"Come on, we have to hurry." With careful yet firm movements, he pulled them out of the room, his steps dragging across the tilted floor before he rushed back toward the boundary of the ship that was nearly torn in half.
But the crack beneath their feet didn't stop widening. Its sound was no longer just a creak—it was a deep, rumbling roar rising from the belly of the ship, making the air itself tremble.
Ren glanced back for a moment—he saw the steel wall that had once only been slightly cracked now gaping as wide as two palms. Seawater burst through the opening, flooding the floor and making each step heavier and harder.
"Faster! Just a little more!" he shouted, but every second felt slower and slower. The ship's vibrations grew stronger, making their bodies sway uncontrollably. The children screamed, clinging to Ren's arms with all their strength.
Then the sound came—not an explosion, but a long metallic wail of steel surrendering to the ocean's pressure. The crack finally split wide open, severing the front and rear of the ship with a thunderous, air-shaking roar.
Ren turned. Before him yawned a dark chasm of the night sea. The stern, where the passengers had gathered, was already drifting away, carried by the fierce current. Meanwhile, the bow, where they stood, tilted sharply, sinking little by little.
Fierce winds and towering waves surrounded them, cutting off any way back.
"Damn it… too far… I can't jump with them…" Ren growled softly, his eyes tracing the impossible distance. Seawater splashed against his shoes; lightning flashed, revealing the black gulf between them and the rest of the ship.
The three of them stood on the edge of a piece of shattered metal that rocked beneath their feet, trembling as waves pounded from below.