Chapter 11: "Dance of Serene Waves 2"
It's time to dance!
—
Kirika woke up underwater.
Her eyes opened slowly, the world around her tinted in soft blue. Light rippled across the ceiling above, distorted by the gentle movement of the water. For a moment, her brain did what it had done the day before. That being freezing, panic and—
Then she blinked.
“…Right.”
She exhaled.
Bubbles drifted lazily upward from her lips.
“I can breathe underwater.”
The panic never fully came.
Instead, she stretched slowly, her tail giving a sleepy flick behind her. The motion felt natural now, almost automatic, the water supporting her weight in a way that still felt strange, but no longer alarming.
She pushed herself upward and broke the surface with a quiet splash, brushing damp hair out of her face.
“…Okay,” she murmured. “That’s definitely progress.”
After breakfast, which had involved Suu attempting to dissolve the salt shaker, Papi loudly asking if fish counted as “breakfast or friends,” and Mrs. Smith drinking coffee with the fulfilled stare of a woman who never wanted to go back to work ever again, the group gathered briefly in the main lounge.
Mero folded her hands politely. “Kirika, if you are feeling rested, I would like to continue your training today.”
Miia’s head snapped up immediately.
“I’m coming too!”
Kirika opened her mouth.
Cerea spoke first.
“I will not be joining you on this day.”
Miia blinked. “Huh?”
Cerea adjusted her gloves with calm precision. “There are other facilities in this resort I wish to examine. And,” she added, glancing toward Kirika, “as long as she remains in the water, there is not much you can interfere with anyway.”
Miia opened her mouth again.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…That’s not true…”
“It doth not matter whether you believe it to be true,” Cerea replied, shaking her head. “From what I have witnessed yesterday, it is accurate enough for me.”
Kirika coughed lightly, trying very hard to sound casual.
“Actually, yeah… it’s just swimming practice today. Nothing exciting. You might have more fun checking out the resort instead.”
Mero nodded supportively. “We will likely be practicing for some time.”
Miia looked between them, suspicion narrowing her eyes.
“…Just swimming?”
“Just swimming,” Kirika confirmed.
Technically true.
Mostly.
Miia pouted.
“…Fine. But if you two do anything fun without me, I’m going to be very upset later.”
“Noted,” Kirika said quickly.
Satisfied, or at least temporarily distracted, Miia slithered off toward the main pathways, already eyeing a nearby map.
Cerea followed at a more dignified pace.
Within minutes, the group had split, the resort’s peaceful morning swallowing them in different directions.
Kirika let out a slow breath once they were alone.
“…Okay,” she said, turning to Mero. “That was closer than I expected.”
Mero smiled gently. “It would be best if we did not cause unnecessary excitement before the performance.”
Kirika winced at the word.
“Right. Performance. The thing I am definitely not thinking about.”
She rolled her shoulders, then slid into the water, her tail following with a smooth motion that would have been unthinkable two days ago.
“…Alright,” she said. “Let’s go learn how to not embarrass ourselves.”
Mero slipped into the water beside her with effortless grace.
“Today,” she said calmly, “we begin working on how to move gracefully.”
Kirika looked at her.
“…That sounds harder than yesterday.”
“It is,” Mero agreed pleasantly.
Kirika sighed and floated into position.
“…Okay. I’m ready.”
Probably.
—
Fifteen minutes later, Kirika was dying.
Not literally.
But spiritually, emotionally, and very much physically.
She floated near the surface, arms spread, tail hanging limply beneath her like it had officially resigned from service.
“…Mero,” she said weakly, “I would like to file a complaint with the ocean.”
Mero hovered a short distance away, posture as relaxed and elegant as ever, not even breathing hard.
“We have barely begun,” she said gently.
“That’s the problem,” Kirika groaned.
Swimming itself had been manageable. She could move. She could turn. She could even control her speed most of the time now.
Swimming gracefully, however, was an entirely different nightmare.
“Again,” Mero said patiently. “Do not push the water. Let it carry you.”
Kirika tried.
She focused on her posture. Relaxed her shoulders. Started the motion from her hips like Mero had explained.
For three glorious seconds, she moved smoothly.
Then she overcorrected.
Her tail flicked too hard.
She lurched forward like a launched torpedo, shot past Mero, and had to flail awkwardly to avoid faceplanting into a decorative buoy.
She surfaced again, hair in her face, breathing hard.
“…I don’t think I’m letting the water carry me,” she admitted. “I think I’m aggressively negotiating with it.”
Mero swam over, completely unbothered.
“You are trying to control every movement,” she explained calmly. “Grace comes when you stop forcing the motion.”
“That sounds like something people say about meditation,” Kirika muttered.
“In a way, it is similar.”
Mero demonstrated again — a slow, flowing motion, her tail moving in a smooth wave that barely disturbed the surface.
Kirika watched, nodded, and tried to copy it.
This time she didn’t launch herself forward.
Instead, she wobbled. Slowed. Drifted slightly sideways.
But she didn’t fight the water.
“…Okay,” she admitted after a moment. “That felt better.”
“Good,” Mero said warmly. “Again.”
They repeated the motion.
And again.
And again.
By the tenth repetition, Kirika’s muscles were burning.
By the fifteenth, she had begun questioning every life decision that had led her to this moment.
She floated there afterward, panting.
“…Mero.”
“Yes?”
“If this whole mermaid Princess thing doesn’t work out for you,” Kirika said between breaths, “you should consider becoming a teacher.”
Mero blinked.
Kirika gestured weakly toward the water. “You explain things calmly. You don’t yell. You demonstrate. You repeat the same thing without sounding annoyed. That’s basically a superpower.”
Mero’s expression softened, and a quiet laugh escaped her.
“That is very kind of you to say.”
“I’m serious,” Kirika said. “If you ever open a school, I’ll write you a recommendation. Something like, ‘Patient enough to teach a human how to become a fish.’”
Mero covered her mouth lightly as she chuckled.
“I will keep that in mind.”
Kirika let her head fall back into the water for a moment, floating there, staring up at the sky.
“…Okay,” she sighed. “Give me like ten seconds, and then I’ll try again.”
Mero nodded approvingly.
“Take your time,” she said gently. “You are improving.”
Kirika closed her eyes, letting the water hold her.
Her tail flicked once, lazily.
“…Graceful,” she muttered to herself. “We’re aiming for graceful.”
Then she took a breath, rolled forward, and started the movement again.
—
The next morning, Kirika woke up underwater.
She opened her eyes slowly, watching the soft light ripple above her through the surface.
For a moment, she stayed there, suspended in the quiet.
Then she stretched her arms, flicked her tail once, and let herself drift upward.
“…Okay,” she murmured as she broke the surface. “I’m starting to get used to this.”
That didn’t mean her muscles agreed.
By the time she met Mero in the training area again, her shoulders already felt tight, and the base of her tail ached in that dull way that meant she’d definitely used muscles she didn’t know existed.
“Are you feeling well today?” Mero asked gently as she joined her in the water.
Kirika rotated one shoulder, winced slightly, then nodded. “If I say no, are we cancelling practice?”
Mero smiled serenely.
“Then yes,” Kirika sighed. “I feel great. Let’s suffer.”
Today’s practice didn’t start with swimming laps.
Instead, Mero moved a short distance away and settled into position, floating upright, her posture perfectly balanced.
“Yesterday, you learned how to move through the water,” she explained. “Today, we focus on movement with intention.”
Kirika blinked. “That sounds ominous.”
Mero ignored that.
“Watch.”
She began to move.
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t dramatic. But every motion flowed into the next, a slow turn, arms drifting outward, her tail curling and releasing in a gentle spiral that carried her through the water as if she were part of the current itself.
The movement was quiet. Controlled. Almost hypnotic.
Kirika stared.
“…That’s really pretty,” she said.
“It is the foundation of the Dance of Serene Waves,” Mero said calmly.
Kirika’s stomach dropped.
“…Oh.”
Mero turned back toward her. “You do not need to perform it perfectly. But you will need to follow its rhythm.”
She demonstrated the opening sequence again, slower this time, exaggerating each transition.
“Try.”
Kirika took a breath.
She copied the first arm movement.
Then the turn.
Then the tail motion.
Her body obeyed… mostly. The timing was there, but the flow wasn’t. Her turn was slightly too sharp. Her arms lagged behind the motion of her body.
She stopped, frowning.
“That felt… stiff.”
“Yes,” Mero said gently. “You are thinking about each movement separately.”
“Well, yeah,” Kirika muttered. “Because if I don’t, everything happens at once and I spin like a malfunctioning windmill.”
Mero swam closer.
“Do not think of the movements,” she said softly. “Listen instead.”
Kirika blinked. “Listen to what? We’re underwater.”
Mero tapped the water lightly with her fingertips, creating a slow, steady rhythm.
Then she began the sequence again, matching each motion to the beat.
Slow.
Flow.
Turn.
Rise.
Fall.
Kirika watched.
Then she tried again.
This time, she didn’t focus on her arms.
Or her tail.
She followed the rhythm.
The first turn came smoother.
The second movement connected naturally.
Her tail flicked at exactly the right moment without her forcing it.
She stopped, surprised.
“…Wait.”
Mero’s eyes brightened.
“Again,” she said.
Kirika did.
Then again.
Each repetition wasn’t perfect, she still wobbled slightly, and one turn ended with her drifting off-course, but the timing stayed consistent. The rhythm never slipped.
Mero circled her once, studying her movements.
“You feel the timing naturally,” she said.
Kirika blinked. “I do?”
“Yes. Your movement is not too yet graceful, but your rhythm is very strong.”
Kirika stared at her.
“That’s weird,” she admitted. “I’ve never been good at anything musical. Not in my experience at least.”
Mero smiled.
“The ocean is rhythm. Waves, currents, breathing, motion. Some people struggle with it.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“You do not.”
Kirika tried the sequence one more time.
This time, she didn’t rush.
Didn’t overthink.
Just followed the beat Mero tapped softly into the water.
When she finished, she looked up.
“…Okay,” she admitted slowly. “That actually felt kind of nice.”
Mero’s expression softened with quiet pride.
“Good,” she said.
Then she added gently:
“Because tomorrow, you will practice it with the others.”
Kirika froze.
“…The others.”
Mero nodded.
Kirika stared at the water.
“…I regret feeling nice about that.”
—
The next day, the water felt different.
It wasn’t colder. Or rougher. Or deeper.
But as Kirika followed Mero through the familiar underwater passage toward the practice hall, her tail felt heavier, her movements more careful than usual. Every flick felt deliberate. Every turn felt like it might be watched.
Because today, it would be.
The underwater salon was already busy when they arrived.
Mermaids drifted through the open space in slow formations, their movements smooth and coordinated. Some practiced turns together. Others worked in pairs, adjusting hand positions or timing. Soft humming filled the water. It wasn’t loud, but it was steady, like a shared rhythm everyone understood.
Kirika slowed instinctively.
“…There are a lot of them,” she muttered.
Mero glanced back at her. “Yes. But you do not need to match them. Only follow.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Kirika whispered.
Before she could retreat any farther, a familiar voice called out.
“Mero! Kirika!”
May approached quickly, her expression bright with obvious relief.
“I’m so glad you came! We were just about to begin the full sequence.”
She looked Kirika over, not critically, but attentively.
“You’ve been practicing?”
Kirika nodded cautiously. “Trying to.”
“Good! I can tell how much more graceful you are just from a glace!” May clasped her hands. “We’ll run the full dance a few times today. No pressure, just stay in formation and follow the rhythm.”
Kirika nodded again.
Internally, she began preparing her will.
—
They took their positions.
The formation was wider than Kirika expected, two curved lines surrounding the central space where May would lead. Mero took a place nearby, close enough that Kirika could see her without turning her head too much.
That helped.
The humming began.
Soft at first.
Then steady.
Then the movement started.
Slow rise.
Arms outward.
Turn.
Flow.
Kirika focused on the rhythm.
Not the other dancers.
Not the audience she imagined.
Just the beat.
First sequence… went well enough.
Second… a little wide on the turn.
Third… she drifted slightly too far and had to correct.
Don’t rush.
Follow the rhythm.
The group spiraled inward.
Kirika nearly bumped the mermaid beside her, adjusted at the last second, and kept going like nothing had happened.
Halfway through the run, her muscles began to burn.
By the end, she was breathing harder than everyone else.
But she hadn’t stopped.
Hadn’t lost the rhythm.
Hadn’t crashed into anyone.
They reset.
Ran it again.
Then again.
Each time, her turns tightened.
Her spacing improved.
Her arms still looked a little stiff compared to the others, and once she turned a fraction of a second late, but the rhythm stayed solid.
After the third run, May floated over.
Kirika braced herself.
“Well?” she asked cautiously.
May studied her for a moment.
Then she smiled.
“You were fantastic! You might have a certain clumsy charm to your movements, but over all, you don't need to worry. You are a fantastic addition to our team.”
Kirika blinked.
“…I’m not sure how to feel about that.”
May laughed lightly. “You’re not fully polished yet, but your timing is excellent. And you recover quickly when something goes wrong. That matters more than perfection.”
She gestured toward the group.
“The audience doesn’t notice small mistakes. They notice hesitation and lack of confidence.”
Kirika glanced at Mero.
Mero gave her a small, reassuring nod.
“…Okay,” Kirika said slowly. “Clumsy charm. I’ll take it.”
“Good!” May clapped her hands once. “Because tomorrow is the performance.”
Kirika froze.
“…Tomorrow.”
“Yes,” May said cheerfully. “We’ll do one final run in the morning, then costumes in the afternoon.”
She drifted away to address the others.
Kirika remained exactly where she was.
“…That feels very soon,” she said quietly.
Mero swam closer, her expression calm but warm.
“You did well today.”
Kirika exhaled slowly, looking around at the other mermaids moving through the water with effortless grace.
“…I’m still the worst one here.”
“Yes,” Mero agreed gently.
Kirika blinked.
“…That was very honest.”
Mero smiled.
“But you are no longer out of place.”
Kirika looked back at the formation.
Then at her own hands.
Then at her tail, moving in small, controlled motions to keep her balanced.
“…Okay,” she murmured.
Tomorrow.
No pressure.
—
The day of the performance arrived far too quickly.
Kirika knew that logically.
There had been practice. Rehearsals. Adjustments. Encouraging words from May. Calm reassurance from Mero.
None of that mattered when she floated just outside the preparation chamber, staring at the racks of costumes drifting gently in the water.
“…Oh no,” she said quietly.
The outfits were beautiful.
Flowing, layered fabrics designed to move with the current. Translucent veils that attached along the arms and tail. Fine chains and small shell ornaments that caught the light. Subtle bioluminescent threads woven through the material, giving each piece a faint, shimmering glow.
They were elegant.
They were traditional.
They were very, very noticeable.
Kirika swallowed.
“This feels… official.”
“It is,” Mero said gently beside her.
The other mermaids were already preparing, helping each other fasten clasps and adjust trailing pieces so they would flow correctly in the water. The room hummed with quiet focus and anticipation.
No one looked nervous.
Kirika felt like she was vibrating.
“…I thought this was just going to be swimming gracefully in a group,” she muttered.
Mero selected one of the costumes and brought it over. It was similar to the others — pale blue with soft silver accents, the fabric designed to fan out behind the arms and along the tail like drifting foam.
“Come here,” Mero said softly.
Kirika did, trying very hard not to think about the fact that there would soon be an audience.
Mero moved with calm precision, fastening the pieces one by one. The fabric settled lightly against Kirika’s shoulders, then along her sides, the long translucent panels attaching near her wrists and the base of her tail.
When Kirika moved her arms, the fabric trailed behind her in slow, flowing arcs.
She stared.
“…Okay,” she admitted. “That’s actually really pretty.”
Mero smiled faintly as she adjusted the final clasp.
“You will look wonderful in the water.”
Kirika exhaled slowly.
“I don’t want to look wonderful,” she said. “I just want to not crash into anyone.”
Mero placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You know the rhythm,” she said. “You know the movements. You do not need to be perfect.”
Kirika nodded.
Her tail flicked once, betraying her nerves.
“…This is really happening, isn’t it.”
“Yes.”
Around them, the other dancers began moving toward the exit, their costumes glowing softly as they passed through the light.
May’s voice echoed faintly from the corridor ahead.
“Positions, everyone!”
Kirika looked at Mero.
Mero looked back at her.
And smiled.
“It is time.”
Kirika took a breath.
“…Okay,” she said.
She was ready.
—
The water beyond the stage area glowed softly.
Lanterns drifted overhead. Light filtered down in slow, shimmering bands. Shapes moved in the distance, silhouettes gathered along the viewing terraces, outlines of guests floating or seated behind the glass viewing walls.
There were a lot of them.
Kirika saw that once.
Then she deliberately stopped looking.
Don’t think about the crowd.
Don’t think about the crowd.
Don’t think about the crowd.
The formation settled.
May took her place at the center.
Mero drifted into position just ahead and to Kirika’s left.
Kirika took one slow breath.
Remember the rhythm.
The humming began.
Soft. Low. Steady.
Okay.
Here we go.
Kirika tried to remember all of it.
The Opening — Still Water
Arms low.
Tail loose.
Slow rise.
Kirika lifted her hands, letting the fabric trail behind them. Not too fast. Let the water carry it.
Count.
One… two… three…
Tail wave.
Not a kick — a wave. From the hips. Smooth.
Good.
No one hit anyone yet.
That’s a strong start.
First Turn
Arms open.
Rotate.
Slow.
She almost turned too quickly, corrected halfway, letting the movement stretch instead of snap.
Better.
Follow the rhythm.
Don’t rush.
Mero’s movement stayed in the edge of her vision. She was absolutely the calm, steady reference point Kirika needed.
She just needed to stay with her.
Then came the Spiral Inward
Formation shift.
Move forward.
Don’t overtake the dancer ahead.
She shortened her tail motion slightly.
Glide.
Glide.
Glide.
Someone passed close on her right, she resisted the instinct to look and trusted the spacing.
Good.
Still on beat.
Still on beat.
Then flow in sequence
Arms down.
Sweep outward.
Turn left.
She turned a fraction too wide.
Correct.
Shorter tail movement.
Back into position.
No hesitation.
May said they don’t notice small mistakes.
They notice hesitation.
Just keep moving.
The humming deepened.
The tempo lifted.
Kirika’s muscles were starting to burn.
Ignore it.
Onto the Cross Currents
Two dancers passed in front of her.
She dipped slightly to avoid brushing their veils.
Up again.
Arm sweep.
Turn.
Tail wave.
Good.
That one felt smooth.
That actually felt smooth.
Don’t get excited.
Stay focused.
The audience didn’t exist anymore.
There was only the rhythm.
Only the sequence.
Only the next movement.
Rising Crest
Formation tightened.
Vertical rise.
Stronger tail.
Not a kick, but a push.
Up.
Turn.
Hold posture.
She wobbled at the top of the movement, the fabric pulling slightly off-balance—
Tries to correct again.
Slow the descent a bit.
Follow the beat.
There.
Back in sync.
Her breathing matched the rhythm now.
Movement flowed into movement without the tiny pause she’d needed during practice.
She wasn’t thinking about each step anymore.
Just the pattern.
The current.
The timing.
She was almost done.
Only the Final Sequence left, the Serene Waves
Slow again.
Arms inward.
Circle formation around May.
Tail softer.
Softer.
Softer.
The glowing threads in the costumes drifted around them like faint starlight.
Last turn.
Last sweep.
Hold.
Stillness.
Everything stopped.
No movement.
No sound except the fading echo of the final note.
Don’t move.
Don’t move.
Don’t move.
Then the water beyond the stage erupted.
Applause rippled through the viewing areas, hands against glass, voices carrying faintly through the water, the low roar of approval vibrating through the space.
Kirika blinked.
Oh.
Right.
There was a crowd.
Her tail sagged slightly as the tension finally released.
She looked at Mero.
Mero was smiling.
May turned toward the group, relief and pride written clearly across her face. Then gave a small thumbs up and a beaming smile towards Kirika.
Kirika exhaled slowly.
“…I didn’t crash into anyone,” she whispered to herself.
Which, honestly—
Counted as a major success.
—
The moment the formation was dismissed and all of them swam backstage again, the tension drained out of Kirika all at once.
Her tail went slack.
Her shoulders dropped.
And for a brief, terrifying second, she was fairly certain she might just sink straight to the bottom out of sheer exhaustion.
“…I’m alive,” she breathed.
Mero drifted closer immediately, her expression soft and proud. “You did wonderfully.”
“I didn’t crash into anyone,” Kirika repeated, because that still felt like the most important metric.
“That is not the standard we were aiming for,” Mero said gently.
“It was my standard.”
“Yet you did so much better.” Mero smiled regally in a way that made Kirika's heart bloom.
Before either of them could say more, May approached, practically glowing even more than Mero did.
“That was beautiful!” she said, hands clasped together. “We nailed that opening performance. The audience loved the flow, and the timing was excellent.”
Her eyes settled on Kirika.
“And you,” she added warmly, “brought a very natural energy to the formation. You stayed with the rhythm the entire time.”
Kirika blinked. “…I did?”
“You did,” May confirmed. “And you recovered every time something went slightly off. That matters more than flawless technique. It made me feel like I messed up more often than you! Hahaha!”
She bowed her head slightly toward both of them.
“I truly cannot thank you enough. Stepping in on such short notice saved the performance. If either of you ever need anything — anything at all — please come to me.”
Kirika looked at Mero.
Mero inclined her head politely. “Your kindness is appreciated.”
May beamed, then turned back toward the rest of the dancers, already calling out congratulations and directing the post-performance gathering.
Around them, the atmosphere shifted from focus to celebration. Mermaids laughed, embraced, and spoke excitedly about the event. Someone began humming again. Others drifted toward the refresh area, still glowing faintly in their costumes.
Kirika floated there for a moment, letting the quiet satisfaction settle in.
“…Okay,” she admitted softly. “That was actually kind of nice.”
Mero smiled. “I am very glad you enjoyed it.”
Kirika stretched her arms, wincing slightly as the fatigue finally caught up with her.
“…I think I’m going to sleep for about twelve hours.”
“That would be wise.”
They changed out of their costumes and made their way back through the underwater passage toward the open sea, the lights of the resort glowing softly in the evening water.
For a few minutes, it was peaceful.
Calm.
Quiet.
Relaxing.
Then they reached the beach.
And immediately realized something was wrong.
There were… a lot of people there.
Standing.
Waiting.
All of them.
Miia. Cerea. Rachnera. Mrs Smith… literally everyone.
Every single one of them turned the moment Kirika and Mero surfaced.
There was a half-second of silence.
Then Miia launched forward like a guided missile.
“DAAAARLING!!”
She stopped just short of the waterline, eyes wide, sparkling with a mixture of shock, excitement, and what could only be described as emotional betrayal.
“You can dance?!”
Kirika froze.
Behind Miia, reactions cascaded.
Papi gasped. “Kiri was doing the floaty spin thing! I saw the lights!”
Rachnera smirked. “You were practicing for this without telling us? How delightfully devious.”
Cerea looked impressed despite herself. “Your performance was… quite refined. All of you looked like… monarchs of the sea out there.”
Zombina raised a phone. “We got the whole thing on video, by the way.”
Mrs. Smith took a long sip from her coffee. “Honestly? That’s one of the less chaotic things you’ve done this week.”
Kirika slowly looked from face to face.
Then at Mero.
Mero smiled politely.
“…I was hoping to tell them later,” she said.
Kirika sighed.
“…I should’ve known there was no such thing as a quiet performance. I should have known that they would show up to the festival wether we tell them or not.”
Miia leaned forward, eyes shining.
“Darling,” she said dramatically with sparkling eyes. “You’re going to dance for us again, right?”
“Dance! Dance!” Papi cheered.
Kirika stared at her.
Her tail twitched weakly.
“…I think I am going back into the water,” she decided.
And without another word, she slid under the surface.
Because some things were simply too much to deal with on land.