The Mermaid Asks for Love - Chapter 6

The Mermaid has grown much closer to me.

It no longer blushes at my touch, but instead quietly and obediently accepts my caresses.

I often stroke it absentmindedly, yet with earnest focus.

It’s a rather peculiar sensation.

Its temperature is slightly cool, the skin soft and slick.

Even the scales aren’t prickly-instead, they feel somewhat pliant.

I think its age must be quite advanced.

Mermaids have long lifespans, averaging between two and three hundred years.

My Mermaid is already over two hundred years old.

It’s very clever, having managed to survive in this perilous world for so long.

Perhaps it once escaped after being captured.

After all, the scars on its body come from Fire Magic.

It likes to stare at me.

If it’s spotted in the sea, it will quickly retract its head and dart away, vanishing without a trace.

But if it’s caught sneaking glances at me while in my arms like now-

It becomes fearless instead.

It tilts its head to look at me, happily patting its tail.

No different from other affectionate little animals.

I ask it, “Are you feeling elated?”

The Mermaid’s tail-patting slows for a beat, then it nods.

Strictly speaking, Mermaids are cold-blooded creatures, driven only by biological instinct.

That’s also why no one keeps Mermaids as pets.

They can’t be tamed, and are highly aggressive.

As for mine-

It’s both close to people and non-aggressive.

Truly rare.

I can’t help but recall all the people coming and going in the black market.

Why does it always fixate on me?

“Can you sense a human’s power level, or perhaps their danger index?”

If that’s the case, then a wise bird chooses a good tree, which would make sense.

But even so, a defective, unsellable specimen like this would still end up skinned and dismembered, made into potions.

So no matter how powerful the chosen buyer is, the outcome wouldn’t change.

Unexpectedly, its answer is, “No, I can’t.”

I’m puzzled. “Then why?”

Could it simply be that I caught its eye?

The Mermaid lies on my lap, turning to the side.

It seems to be thinking.

It doesn’t answer me right away.

Perhaps it doesn’t even know the answer itself, and I have no interest in pressing further.

I just pat it and tell it to go play; I have work to do.

The Mermaid, as if afraid I’m upset, looks distressed and blurts out what’s on its mind.

“It’s just, just that I hoped the buyer would be you.”

I don’t like this answer.

I don’t know why, I just feel dissatisfied.

I give it no response, focusing on making Magic Stones.

After a while, there’s the soft sound of a Mermaid slipping into the sea.