Chapter 2 – This Table, I Claim

Chapter 2 – This Table, I Claim

Three days later.

The wind on the breakwater was wilder than usual, carrying the salty spray straight into the small hut.

“Bang!” The rickety wooden door of the lab was kicked open.

Old Bill stumbled in, waving a cracked old phone with its screen spiderwebbed, almost smacking Lena Shore in the face. The noise was louder than a category ten typhoon.

“Lena! Something’s happened! The sky is falling!”

Lena was carefully separating a mutated algae specimen from a petri dish with tweezers, her hands steady, not even a flick of her brow.

“If it’s about those grouper fish we couldn’t save, just add them to tonight’s menu. No need to freak out.”

“Eat, eat, eat! Always thinking about food! Who said anything about fish?!” Old Bill stomped furiously, his flip-flops clapping against the wooden floor. “Look at this! The internet’s on fire! They’re saying there’s a ‘Goddess of the Sea’ on our island! I swear, these kids have never seen you scold anyone harder than you slice fish!”

Lena finally put down her tweezers, removed her goggles, and cast a cool glance at the greasy phone screen.

The headline was blazing red: “Isolated Island Whale Song: Divinity Amid Despair.”

The picture was that very sunset moment: murky waves, jagged black rocks, Lena standing sideways, hands covered in blood, whale calves swimming to the deep sea at her feet. The side silhouette alone radiated the tension of carving a path to life in a dying sea.

The photo had skill; it transformed her grimy, bloody appearance into tragic heroism.

But that wasn’t the main point.

The report somehow obtained years of water quality data around the island:

[Data shows heavy metal levels in the area have miraculously dropped by 40% over three years. The once-dead coral reefs are recovering. Behind this ecological miracle is suspected to be the mysterious woman cultivating the “Z-7” microplastic-degrading strain alone.]

The last line was like a depth charge in the oceanographic community.

Comments had gone wild:

“This genius is unbelievable! If the data is real, the Nobel Environmental Prize is hers!”

“Three minutes—I need all information on this woman!”

“That back view kills me! Fierce and beautiful—this must be the Sea King himself?”

The world was watching, eyes greedily scrutinizing the isolated island.

Lena merely frowned, like spotting an annoying fly. She held the tiny vial of green liquid up, shaking it in the dim light.

“Old Bill, cut off the island’s satellite network.”

Old Bill, still scrolling comments, nearly popped his eyes out. “What? Cut the net? We’re trending! Just now someone wanted to do a live…!”

“Too noisy.” Lena put her goggles back on. Her voice was ice-cold. “Radiation interference is unstable. It affects the strain’s division.”

Old Bill opened his mouth, staring at the woman who valued “bacterial division” more than going viral. After a moment, he muttered, “You’re crazy. Good thing no one else is here; otherwise, you’d be in a mental hospital by now.”

He grumbled but went to pull the cable.

Half a month later.

A black private helicopter shattered the quiet above the island.

The wind whipped up sand and stones; the rotor’s roar made the lab glass vibrate.

A young assistant in a crisp uniform jumped off the chopper, braving the wind toward Lena. He held a gold-embossed invitation, eyes flinching at the scar on her hand, hands trembling as he handed it over.

The respect was like feeding a sleeping deep-sea beast.

[Global Ocean Summit – Special Guest]
[To: Ms. Lena Shore]

Location: City A

The city that buried her youth, reputation, and father.

Lena didn’t take it immediately. She had just finished handling sea urchin samples, still wearing gloves. Slowly, she removed them, fingertips scraping the expensive paper with a soft rustle.

Irony.

Seven years ago, she had been chased out of City A like a stray dog, begging at the research institute door during a storm, only to see Ethan Grant’s cold, resolute back and hear his icy words:

“Lena Shore, you disappoint me.”

Seven years later, they were flying half the globe, begging her to return.

“Ms. Shore, the committee specifically requests your presence.” The assistant swallowed. Lena’s aura was overpowering; even in a cheap jacket, she dwarfed any tycoon he’d ever seen.

Lena said nothing, casually slipping the invitation into her pocket and turning back. “Got it. Not coming with greetings.”

Late at night, the tide rose.

The salty wind battered the old window. Lena sat in the dim hut, the broken diving knife and crumpled invitation on the table.

Across the wall hung a black-and-white portrait of her father, smiling warmly. A scholar who had been framed and died of a heart attack in a thunderstorm after vouching for her.

The man who claimed to love her had held a press conference at her father’s funeral, publicly cutting ties and handing her core project to Cecilia Howard.

City A’s rain washed nothing clean.

Lena turned the half-knife in her fingers, the cold steel sharpening her mind.

“Dad.”

Her voice dry from long silence. “I won’t forgive anyone. I have no interest in a tearful revenge drama.”

She went to the safe, input the code.

Click—the door popped open. She locked the precious Z-7 strain into a blast-proof box, methodical like loading a sniper rifle.

“I’ve seen OceanTech’s discharge data. They’ve been killing the sea and your work. Since they dared invite me, this table, I’ll overturn it for them.”

The summit’s theme was “Marine Sustainability.”

The biggest polluters preaching sustainability. Ethan Grant in the center seat. Cecilia Howard flaunting her new position.

Lena hefted the box, its weight comforting.

Whether she’d ruin him? That was secondary.

She was going to save the sea. Obstacles—whether under the waves or onshore—would be removed.

Opening the door, the salty wind hit her.

She shouted toward the black sea and the lone light on the old fishing boat:

“Old Bill!”

“Goodness gracious!” Old Bill appeared in a military coat, sleepy-eyed. “Middle of the night… fleeing?”

Lena stood on the wooden dock, darkness behind her, waves ahead. She zipped up her jacket, hiding her chill.

“Fill the fuel tank. Out to sea at dawn.”

“Where to?” Old Bill yawned. “We’ve patrolled this whole area already.”

Lena’s eyes were icy as the endless horizon.

“City A.”

A faint, emotionless smile curved her lips.

“Time to collect debts.”