Deckard had been at it for three days. The odds hadn’t been in his favor so far.

  At least, thanks to his two new titles, [Scuba Fighter] and [Osmotic Skin], underwater hunting had become much easier. His movements were more fluid, his oxygen lasted longer, and he’d gotten better at predicting the turtle’s attack patterns. But none of that changed the fact that the missing card hadn't dropped.

  Another thrust. His spear connected, and the turtle dissolved into motes of light.

  He exhaled through his regulator, watching the loot drift toward the ocean floor. Coins. A fragment of turtle shell. And—his heart skipped—a rectangle.

  A card.

  The current tugged at him as he kicked forward.

  Don’t be another creature card. Don’t be [Scavenge] again.

  Over the past three days, he’d been disappointed a few times. Twice now, he had obtained [Scavenge] instead of the card he needed. Once, he’d even pulled a [Trash-Crushing Turtle].

  He grabbed the card but hesitated before checking it, bracing himself for disappointment.

  Trash Ingestion

  Rarity: Uncommon

  Type: Skill

  Affinity: Darkness

  Cost: 1

  Effect: Consume all [Trash] tokens. Heals 1 for each.

  Deckard let out a triumphant yell—well, as much of a yell as he could underwater—sending a stream of bubbles toward the surface.

  Finally!

  For three days, he had questioned whether this card was even real. If the drop rate was bugged. If he was just wasting his time.

  It was uncommon, which explained why it has been more challenging to get than other skills.

  But now, as he turned it over in his hands, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

  The effect was... underwhelming. He didn’t have the right setup to make it work. The only way he could generate [Trash] tokens was with [Trash-Eating Seagull]. Without a reliable way to produce tokens, this card was dead weight.

  Still, it was the missing piece. And he wasn’t about to waste time overanalyzing things.

  He opened his binder, watching as the nanites absorbed the skill card. The moment it merged with his collection, golden light pulsed across the interface.

  Text unfolded before him:

  Collection updated.

  +1 HP

  Congratulations! You’ve captured all the cards from the Underwater Junkyard ecosystem.

  Your repository cross-references all genetic information, granting you deeper insight into this environment.

  You’ve received [Ocean Littering].

  Ocean Littering

  Rarity: Rare

  Type: Skill

  Affinity: Darkness

  Cost: 3

  Effect: All tokens in the field become [Trash] tokens.

  Deckard adjusted his spectacles.

  Interesting.

  He had just been lamenting how impossible it was to play [Trash Ingestion] properly. He’d spoken too soon.

  Tokens. What tokens have I seen so far?

  Off the top of his head, only the [Crab’s Claw] token came to mind.

  Anyway, if [Ocean Littering] converted all tokens into [Trash], then any deck relying on token synergy could be completely shut down.

  A slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

  I’m a sucker for a good tech card.

  And the best part was this wasn’t just an anti-token counter. [Ocean Littering] had synergy. Not only did it work with [Trash Ingestion], but it also powered up his [Trash-Crushing Turtle], which gained 2 points for each [Garbage] token on the field.

  He’d spent the last three days cursing the game’s loot system. Now, it had handed him something interesting.

  The binder finally stopped shining, its golden glow fading into nothingness. Deckard waited, fingers hovering over the interface. Then, at last, the notification appeared.

  You’ve unlocked a new skill: [Dumpster Disguise].

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  After three days of swimming through garbage, this was his reward? He kicked off the seabed and propelled himself toward the surface, breaking through the water with a splash. Dragging himself onto the shore, he opened his interface to inspect the details.

  Dumpster Disguise (Uncommon)

  Description: You’ve become acquainted with garbage and have learned how to disguise yourself by covering yourself with it.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Effects:

  Consume 20 pieces of trash in your inventory;

  Transform into a pile of trash;

  While in disguise, attacking or taking damage will break the effect.

  He stared. Then cracked up.

  “This is so dumb. What kind of skill lets you turn into a literal pile of garbage?"

  He shook his head, removing a stray piece of seaweed from his head. But despite how ridiculous it was, he had to test it.

  He dove back into the water, stuffing his inventory with waste—broken metal, bits of rope, scraps of metal. It didn’t take long.

  Resurfacing, he swam back to shore, dragging himself onto the sand before pulling up his skill menu.

  He took a breath and activated the skill.

  Dumpster Disguise!

  With a soft poof, a cloud of smoke enveloped him as if he were a ninja. As it cleared, he looked down at himself.

  Oh no.

  Trash clung to his body in uneven clumps—scrap metal, broken glass, and soggy cardboard.

  Deckard groaned. “Is this it?”

  It reminded him of the time he’d hidden in an actual pile of garbage to ambush the elite crab and aeagull here in Trash Islet. But back then, at least he’d been surrounded by other junk. Right now, he was just… a human-shaped column of garbage.

  This is terrible. How can I tell if this disguise actually works?

  It wasn’t as if he had a mirror. He opened the menu, scrolling through the Streamer Options.

  Here we go. Camera control.

  Fiddling with the settings, he pulled up a third-person view. A floating screen appeared in front of him.

  Deckard squinted at his reflection.

  His legs were clearly visible beneath a lopsided stack of debris, and if he stood up straight, he looked more like a badly assembled trash golem than an actual pile of garbage.

  “Yeah, no one’s falling for this,” he muttered. “Maybe if I change my positioning…”

  He crouched. Still too obvious. He sat. A little better, but his shape was unnatural. Finally, he lay down on his side, adjusting the heap of garbage around him.

  There.

  Now, he looked like a discarded heap of junk. If he stayed still, it might actually fool someone at a glance.

  Deckard grinned. “Okay, this is kinda funny. Maybe I should test this a little more.”

  He deactivated the skill. With another puff of smoke, all the garbage clinging to him fell to the ground in a messy heap. He sighed and picked it up again.

  After stuffing his inventory with trash for the second time, he headed deeper into the islet, choosing a location that was neither too close to the lighthouse nor too far. A sweet spot. Somewhere with just enough foot traffic to guarantee interaction—but not so much that he’d get swarmed.

  A worn dirt path cut through the middle of the area, bordered by scattered trash piles and rusting debris. Perfect.

  He walked straight into the open, lay down right in the middle of the road, and activated the skill.

  Puff.

  The disguise settled over him, wrapping him in garbage.

  Alright. Now we wait.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The sounds of distant waves and the occasional seagull squawked in the background.

  Then, after about two minutes, footsteps.

  A player appeared from around the corner. They took a few steps, then stopped again to rummage through a nearby trash pile, muttering under their breath as they sorted through debris.

  Deckard resisted the urge to shift. They hadn’t looked at him yet.

  Good.

  The player finished rummaging and finally turned in his direction.

  Deckard froze. He focused on keeping his breathing shallow, his body completely motionless. The player walked straight toward him, their gaze scanning the road.

  The player walked closer but then just moved on.

  Deckard smiled. First test: success!

  He forced himself to stay still. One test wasn’t enough.

  A few moments later, another set of footsteps approached. Two players this time, chatting as they walked down the path.

  “Man, I hate this place,” one grumbled. “Garbage everywhere. Feels like the game devs just gave up when designing it.”

  “Right? However, the cape and spear set are just too good to pass on.”

  “What’s even the point? We’ve tried getting the elite’s loot twice with no success.”

  “Our luck is about to change, bro. Don’t give up.”

  One of them idly kicked a loose pile of garbage as they walked past—sending a can flying and hitting Deckard.

  He held his breath.

  They also walked past him without a second thought.

  It actually worked again.

  There was actually potential here. Maybe [Dumpster Disguise] wasn’t just a joke skill.

  Another set of footsteps. This time, it was one player, moving slower than the others.

  They stopped by a trash pile, rifling through it. Unlike the others, this one actually seemed to be paying attention to his surroundings..

  Deckard resisted the urge to shift. This one would be the real test.

  The player finished rummaging and turned toward Deckard. They kept walking straight toward him.

  Deckard tensed. The player was right on top of him now.

  “Lucky! Such an obvious bottle!”

  The player yanked a glass bottle from Deckard’s disguise, shoved it in their inventory, and walked off without hesitation.

  Deckard blinked. He remained perfectly still, waiting for the player to double back, waiting for some sign that they’d realized something was off.

  But no. They were already gone.

  He lay there for another few seconds just to be safe. Then, once the coast was clear, he deactivated the skill.

  The disguise peeled away with another puff of smoke.

  He sat up, brushing himself off. That player had been right on top of him, literally pulling items off his body, and hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Maybe [Dumpster Disguise] was a better skill than he gave it credit for. It was dumb, sure—but dumb worked sometimes. Just in case, he left a few slots of his inventory filled with trash. He never knew when he’d need a quick way to hide in plain sight.

  Deckard stretched, rolling his shoulders. Between hunting the elites of the islet and exploring the underwater junkyard, he’d spent most of the week grinding here.

  The place had become familiar—the uneven pathways littered with garbage, the distant sounds of battles between adventurers and scavenging creatures, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.

  For a time, this had been his hunting ground.

  He’d learned its quirks—the best turtle-hunting spots, the ebb and flow of the tide, even which trash piles were most likely to hold something useful. What had started as frustration had become routine, and that routine had, somehow, become almost enjoyable.

  He hadn’t realized it until now, but… he was going to miss this place. Just a little.

  He pulled up his binder and scrolled through his card collection, skimming past completed sets.

  I’ve completed the fourth set. There’s only one card left to finish my fifth.

  His fingers hovered over the empty slot on the page with all the crab-related cards. The last missing piece.

  That was his next objective. Just one more capture before facing the wild boss.

  He’d spent hours on end watching videos of teams vying for the Turtle Mother—replays of victories, brutal wipeouts, and last-minute clutches. He’d studied raft-building guides, memorized the terrain of Shell Bay, and analyzed every skill in the boss’s arsenal.

  No matter how much research he did, though, the challenge felt different now that it was on his horizon.

  His fingers tightened. I’m ready. Aren’t I?

  Doubt crept in, but he shoved it aside. He’d felt the same way when he first arrived in Trash Islet—uncertain, outmatched. And yet, piece by piece, he had figured it out.

  He always pulled through. This would be no different.

  Deckard stepped toward the shoreline and dove. The ocean welcomed him in a rush of cool water. He swam effortlessly. Ahead, the familiar silhouette of Beginner Island loomed.

  Time to go to Shell Bay.

  With steady strokes, he pushed forward, leaving the junkyard behind. Trash Islet was done. But the game was just getting interesting.

  Amazon.