I designed this not as a game, but as a sacred rhythm — where every cast holds emotional weight. Drawing from Kyoto’s stillness and Lagos’ pulse, I blend fishing with storytelling, turning bait into metaphor and net into memory. This is for players who seek meaning beyond loot loops — for those who feel the sea breathe. No competition. Only connection.

As a child of Puerto Rican art and Black engineering roots, I learned to find poetry in the rhythm of waves—not just catches, but stories. This is not a game about luck; it’s about the quiet stillness between casts, the emotional archive of failed attempts and small victories. I write for those who scroll past the noise at 2 a.m., seeking meaning in every ripple.

As a child of Puerto Rican art and Black engineering, I learned to hear the ocean’s rhythm in Chicago’s immigrant neighborhoods—where fishing wasn’t just sport, but soulwork. This is my emotional archive: the quiet moments between casts, the flicker of coral under moonlight, the unspoken hope in every ripple. I write not to win, but to remember who was never seen.