I asked you to write a light novel, but you wrote about living?

The next day, the fishing line cut the old man's right hand.

He knelt on the deck, immersing his injured hand in the seawater, watching the blood slowly spread in the water.

To maintain his strength, he had to eat raw fish without salt or lime.

The old man chewed, enduring the fishy smell, and muttered again:

【「I wish the boy were here.」】

("I wish the boy were here.")

If the boy were there, he might prepare the food for him, remember to bring salt, and take care of his increasingly unruly hand.

But not long after, the old man's left hand also cramped.

His five fingers were stiffly curled up like eagle claws, and he couldn't open them no matter what he did.

The old man could only scold it, coax it, and put more weight back on his already injured right hand.

At this point, it's hard to say that his longing for the boy was simply due to a need for help.

There was no other ship at sea.

No one else could hear him speak.

The phrase "I wish the boy were here" appears repeatedly in the book. At first, it seems like the old fisherman's need for a helper, but later it gradually reveals another layer of meaning.

He wanted the boy to stay by his side.

He wanted the person who had always believed in him to know what he was going through.

He also longed for at least one person to listen to him amidst the pain, exhaustion, and the boundless sea.

……

With no one to talk to, he began to talk to his own hands, to the birds flying past the boat, and to the fish underwater that never showed itself.

He called it his brother.

I admire its power and praise its composure in the deep sea.

But he still decided to kill it.

The old man did not hate the fish.

The fish didn't do anything wrong.

They were simply tied to the sea by the same fishing line.

A testament to someone who refused to give up and waited for eighty-four days.

The other is doing everything in their power to survive.

The number of online users on the artwork's page continues to rise.

The number of real-time comments is less than half of what it was when the book was first published.

No one left.

Reading time and page-turning rate, on the contrary, have been rising steadily.

The comment section remained quiet for a long time afterward.

Until that fish first leaped out of the sea.

Its enormous, silvery-white body cleaved through the seawater.

Purple stripes flashed in the sunlight, and its sharp, long snout pointed to the sky. The whole fish was even longer than the old man's small boat.

The comment section was instantly filled with astonishment.

[ID Sea Fishing King]: So big?!

[ID Old Era Fish Guide]: Marlin, its length exceeds that of a boat.

【ID Rampage Mechanical Arm】: No wonder the old man couldn't pull it up; he's fished himself out of his own pocket.

The big fish quickly fell back into the sea.

That brief glance did nothing to make things easier.

Instead, it allowed readers to truly see what the old man was facing.

An elderly man with bleeding hands and nearing exhaustion.

A marlin larger than a small boat.

They had been wasting each other's time on this deserted sea for days and nights.

The sun set behind the sea once again.

The old man gazed at the huge shadow underwater and suddenly remembered a match from many years ago.

He was young then.

In a Casablanca pub, he once arm-wrestled with a black man from Cienfuegos who was known as the strongest man on the docks.

The two men rested their elbows on the table and remained locked in a stalemate from Sunday morning until Monday morning.

The onlookers changed batch after batch.

The referees also took turns resting.

Their arms never fell down, but blood seeped from under their fingernails.

Someone suggested a draw.

The old man did not agree.

Finally, he pressed the other person's hand down onto the table little by little.

From then on, people started calling him—

champion.

El Campeón.

This sudden recollection left many readers momentarily stunned.

It wasn't until this moment that they truly realized it.

The old man in front of me, whose hands were bleeding and whose left hand would sometimes cramp suddenly, was once a recognized strongman at the docks when he was young.

But what the old man should remember most about that match wasn't how much strength he had when he was young.

Instead, the two remained locked in a stalemate for a full day and night, with him never letting go of her hand first.

The same applies right now.

His health is not what it used to be.

But the person who was called the "champion" did not disappear from his body.

[ID Old Boxing Gym Watchman]: It turns out this wasn't the first time he'd gone to the end against an opponent stronger than himself.

The comments quickly disappeared.

Because the old man had already gripped the fishing line tightly again.

Past victories cannot subdue the fish before him.

This time, we still need to prove it from scratch.

The fish finally began to tire and slowly circled the small boat.

The old man would slowly reel in his fishing line each time he got close.

a circle.

Another lap.

The big fish gradually approached.

The old man's vision began to darken, and his legs began to tremble.

He pulled the fish to the side of the boat several times, but each time he was too weak and watched it swim away again.

No one in the comments section was urging them anymore.

The readers simply followed the old man, waiting for the next round.

The old man thought of the boy again.

I wish the boy were here.

He hoped the boy would see the fish.

I saw that I was not defeated by eighty-four consecutive days of failure.

I also saw an old fisherman who was still able to sail out to sea and find a really big fish.

Another lap.

The marlin finally approached the side of the boat.

The old man grabbed the harpoon and used up all the last of his strength.

The harpoon pierced the fish's body.

The marlin suddenly leaped out of the water.

Its massive body almost completely blocked out the sunlight above the small boat.

Then, it fell heavily into the sea.

Fresh blood slowly spread across the azure water.

The big fish flipped over.

Its silvery-white abdomen faced the sky, and the purple stripes on its body gradually faded away.

The old man finally caught it.

The long-suppressed comment section instantly erupted.

[ID: Deep Sea Dragon King's Son-in-Law]: Take him!

[ID Professional Sea Fishing 30 Years]: One person, one small boat, and he really did it!

[ID Newcomer Report]: When we got back, wouldn't all those people at the port be completely dumbfounded?

[ID: 100,000 words per second]: The rest should be about selling fish, receiving the prize, and restoring reputation, right? 50,000 words is indeed enough to write.

The old man tied the marlin to the side of the boat, raised the sail, and began the return voyage.

The fish was too big to fit in the small boat.

From a distance, the large, silvery-white fish clung to the hull of the boat, making it appear as if another boat was sailing alongside the old man.

People began to estimate the value of the fish.

Some people are already imagining what kind of welcome the elderly will receive when they return to Hong Kong.

Some people believe that the story has reached its most suitable ending here.

Only a few readers, looking at the still remaining pages, vaguely felt that something was wrong.

The marlin's blood is flowing into the sea.

The red trail followed the ocean current, leaving a long trail behind the small boat.

Soon, a black dorsal fin appeared on the calm sea surface.

It followed the scent of blood straight toward the small boat.

The cheers in the comments section suddenly stopped.