Someone drew the rods. Someone else drew the fish. Somewhere around the seventh sheet of paper, they drew a purple blob the size of a bus and wrote "0.01%" next to it. "Nobody will ever catch it," said one of them. "Perfect," said the other.

The Fruit Sea is exactly what it sounds like. Apples bob past the dock. Oranges drift under the boards. Nobody knows why the sea is full of fruit, and nobody has ever asked, because the fishing is excellent.

Everyone's first catch is an Old Boot. It's a rule of the sea. The Merchant will give you one dollar for it, and he will not make eye contact while he does.

Hold to lift the bar, let go to drop it, keep the fish inside. Common fish drift. Rare fish fight. Mythic fish, the sheet said in small handwriting, "go absolutely bananas."

Something the size of a house took the bait. The Starter Rod, which is a stick with a string, made a small sad noise and gave up. "Heavy fish need a stronger rod," said the sheet. It had been saying that all along.

So they sold. Boots, seaweed, a surprising number of cucumbers. Rare Rod, Rapid Rod, TNT Rod, Guitar Rod. Level by level, rod by rod, until one day the Merchant took the golden one down off the wall.

Cast number 9,997. The water went black. The dock stopped creaking. The bobber didn't dip — it sank, slowly, like the sea was thinking about it. Then the rays came up out of the water and the whole world said one word.

The Bloop came out of the water like a purple sunrise, looked at the fisher with one enormous cheerful eye, and blooped. Both designers checked the sheet at the same time. "Told you," one of them said. "Somebody would."