THE BRIEFING

  Rocco lounged on his favorite boulder—the one he’d stolen from a British supply depot three months ago—and surveyed his colony with the satisfaction of a crime lord who’d built an empire on audacity and stolen rope.

  Forty seals sprawled across the rocky beach in various states of napping, grooming, and petty theft planning. The morning sun warmed their sleek bodies. The ocean lapped gently at the shore. Life was good.

  Then Rocco barked once—sharp, commanding—and the chaos stopped.

  Heads lifted.

  Attention focused.

  The boss had something to say.

  Near the back of the group, two seals perked up with particular interest.

  Oofie—stocky, patient, with a distinctive scar across his nose from the time he’d tried to steal a crab trap and learned that crabs fight back—nudged his partner gently.

  Jukie didn’t budge.

  She was chewing on a piece of kelp she’d stolen from someone’s breakfast, jaws working methodically, eyes half-closed in contentment.

  Oofie nudged her again.

  Jukie’s eyes opened—dark, moody, instantly annoyed.

  She made a low grumbling sound that clearly meant *I’m eating, this better be important.*

  “Boss is talking,” Oofie said in seal-speak—a combination of barks, huffs, and body language that the colony had developed over years of organized maritime crime.

  Jukie chewed louder, deliberately.

  Rocco’s gaze swept the colony and landed on the pair.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Jukie swallowed her kelp with exaggerated satisfaction, then barked once: *What.*

  Rocco’s expression said *I will deal with you later* but his voice was all business.

  “Got intel,” he announced, voice carrying across the beach. “New restaurant. Kaseki-jima. The dinosaur island.”

  Interest rippled through the colony.

  Kaseki-jima was legendary—an island where prehistoric creatures lived alongside modern tourists, where dinosaurs were real and the ecology was insane and the opportunities for creative theft were *endless*.

  “Seafood place,” Rocco continued. “Called ‘Primordial Catch.’ Serving prehistoric fish. Ancient salmon. Cretaceous tuna. Stuff that’s been extinct for millions of years.”

  He paused for effect.

  “I want samples.”

  Excited barking erupted across the colony.

  Rocco held up a flipper for silence.

  “This is reconnaissance. We need to know: Is the fish actually good? Is it worth a full-colony raid? Can we steal their supplier?”

  His gaze locked onto Jukie and Oofie.

  “You two. You’re our food experts. You’re going.”

  Jukie’s eyes lit up—the first genuine enthusiasm she’d shown all morning.

  Oofie straightened, honored and slightly terrified.

  “Infiltrate the restaurant,” Rocco ordered. “Steal samples of everything. Assess quality. Report back.”

  He fixed Jukie with a serious stare.

  “And Jukie—try not to start a war.”

  Jukie barked innocently: *Me? Never.*

  Rocco’s expression said *I don’t believe you* but he just sighed.

  “Go. Portal station. Human disguises if you can manage. Otherwise, pure stealth.”

  Jukie was already moving, waddling toward the portal station with purpose.

  Oofie hurried after her, calling back to Rocco: “We won’t let you down, boss!”

  Rocco watched them go, then turned to his lieutenant—a grizzled seal named Flanks who’d been with him since the beginning.

  “They’re going to cause an incident,” Flanks observed.

  “Probably,” Rocco agreed. “But they’ll bring back good fish.”

  “Worth it?”

  Rocco grinned—all teeth, pure mischief.

  “Absolutely.”

  -----

  THE JOURNEY

  The portal station for Kaseki-jima was busy.

  Families heading to see dinosaurs. Researchers with equipment. Tour groups wearing matching shirts.

  And two seals trying very hard to look inconspicuous.

  Oofie had suggested the disguise: tourist backpacks strapped to their backs (stolen from a gift shop), a map held in Jukie’s mouth, and an air of confidence that said *we absolutely belong here*.

  It was working surprisingly well.

  Mostly because people saw what they expected to see, and nobody expected seals to be committing organized infiltration.

  They waddled through the portal.

  The sensation was brief—pressure, light, displacement.

  Then: Kaseki-jima.

  The air hit them first.

  Warmer. More humid. Carrying scents that made their whiskers twitch with interest: vegetation, water, and something ancient and living that shouldn’t exist but did.

  The island sprawled before them—jungle canopy, rocky outcrops, distant mountains. And everywhere, *everywhere*, the sounds of dinosaurs.

  Distant roars. Closer calls. The heavy footfalls of something massive moving through undergrowth.

  Jukie’s eyes were wide, her usual moodiness replaced by genuine awe.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Oofie nudged her gently. “Focus. Mission first. Sightseeing later.”

  Jukie huffed—*fine*—and consulted the stolen map.

  Primordial Catch was marked on the visitor’s guide: “Beachfront dining featuring the freshest prehistoric catches! Experience flavors lost to time!”

  “Beachfront,” Jukie said, already moving. “Our element.”

  They waddled down a paved path, following signs and tourists, blending into the chaos.

  A family passed them, kids pointing excitedly.

  “SEALS!” one shrieked.

  “Honey, those are probably animatronic,” the mother said absently, checking her phone.

  Oofie and Jukie kept walking.

  Twenty minutes later, they crested a rise and saw it:

  Primordial Catch.

  A beautiful open-air restaurant built right on the beach, waves lapping at support pillars, tables scattered across weathered wood decking. The architecture was elegant—tropical modern crossed with prehistoric aesthetic. Carved dinosaur motifs. Torches burning even in daylight. And the *smell*—

  Jukie’s nose twitched.

  Fish. Fresh. Grilled. Seasoned.

  *Prehistoric* fish.

  Her stomach growled loud enough that Oofie heard it from three feet away.

  “Okay,” Oofie said, assessing the situation. “We need a plan.”

  Jukie was already moving toward the restaurant.

  “Jukie—”

  “Plan is: get fish,” she said, not looking back.

  Oofie sighed and followed.

  This was going to be a disaster.

  -----

  INFILTRATION

  The kitchen entrance was around back—a service door propped open for ventilation, steam billowing out into the humid air.

  Perfect.

  Jukie and Oofie waited until a server stepped outside for a smoke break, then slipped through the gap with practiced ease.

  Inside: controlled chaos.

  Five cooks working in synchronized motion. Grills sizzling. Knives flashing. Orders being called. The beautiful, frantic energy of a professional kitchen during lunch rush.

  And fish.

  *So much fish.*

  Whole prehistoric salmon—massive, silver-scaled, lying on ice like offerings to ancient gods.

  Cretaceous tuna—compact, muscular, darker flesh.

  Something labeled “Devonian Snapper” that looked like it had too many teeth.

  Jukie’s eyes locked onto the salmon.

  Oofie grabbed her flipper. “Stealth. Remember?”

  Jukie’s expression was pure longing.

  They crept along the wall, staying low, using equipment as cover.

  A cook turned toward the ice station—

  They froze behind a prep table.

  The cook grabbed a salmon, turned back to the grill.

  They moved.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  The salmon station was three feet away.

  Jukie’s whole body vibrated with barely contained desire.

  “Sample first,” Oofie whispered. “Small piece. Test quality. Then we—”

  Jukie lunged.

  Not gracefully.

  Not subtly.

  She launched herself at the salmon display like a furry torpedo, jaws wide, determination absolute.

  She grabbed a salmon—*the entire salmon*, easily twenty pounds—and tried to drag it off the ice.

  It was too big.

  She didn’t care.

  She bit down harder, pulled with all her strength, knocked over three other fish in the process, sent ice scattering across the kitchen floor—

  “WHAT THE—”

  A cook turned, saw Jukie, screamed.

  “SEAL! THERE’S A SEAL IN THE KITCHEN!”

  Jukie had the salmon now—barely, dragging it toward the door with single-minded focus.

  Oofie grabbed a smaller piece of tuna because *they were here anyway* and bolted after her.

  “STOP THEM!”

  A cook lunged with tongs.

  Oofie dodged, surprisingly agile for his bulk.

  Another cook grabbed a net.

  Jukie snarled—actually *snarled*—and dragged the salmon faster.

  They hit the back door.

  “GO GO GO!” Oofie barked.

  Jukie waddled as fast as physically possible while dragging twenty pounds of prehistoric salmon, Oofie running interference, kitchen staff pouring out behind them shouting in three languages.

  They made it to the beach.

  Water meant safety.

  Jukie hit the surf with the salmon still in her jaws, Oofie diving in beside her.

  Behind them, cooks stood at the waterline, shouting and gesturing.

  One threw a ladle.

  It missed by six feet.

  Jukie and Oofie swam hard, salmon between them, heading for deeper water where humans couldn’t follow.

  When they were far enough out to be safe, Jukie finally let herself feel victorious.

  She’d done it.

  She’d stolen the salmon.

  It was *beautiful*.

  Oofie surfaced beside her, still holding his tuna sample.

  “That,” he said, breathless, “was NOT subtle.”

  Jukie’s expression was pure bliss.

  She took a bite of the salmon.

  Her eyes went wide.

  She chewed slowly.

  Swallowed.

  Then looked at Oofie with an expression that conveyed: *This is the best thing I have ever tasted.*

  Oofie tried his tuna sample.

  Also incredible.

  Richer. Fattier. The flesh had a texture that modern fish couldn’t match.

  “Rocco needs to know,” Oofie said.

  Jukie nodded, already planning the return journey.

  They had their samples.

  They had their intel.

  And they’d only caused a *small* incident.

  Rocco would be proud.

  Probably.

  -----

  THE RETURN

  The portal back to Kurohata-jima was less dignified than the arrival.

  Mostly because they were dragging twenty pounds of salmon and desperately trying to keep it fresh.

  Tourists stared.

  Security looked confused.

  A child pointed. “Mom, those seals stole a fish!”

  “That’s nice, dear.”

  They made it through.

  Back to familiar waters.

  Back to their colony’s beach.

  Rocco saw them coming from his boulder throne.

  Saw the salmon.

  His eyes lit up.

  By the time Jukie and Oofie dragged their prize onto the beach, the entire colony had gathered.

  Rocco waddled over, inspecting the salmon with professional interest.

  “Report,” he commanded.

  Oofie straightened. “Sir. Restaurant confirmed. High-end operation. Multiple prehistoric species. All fresh-caught daily.”

  “Security?”

  “Minimal. Human-focused. They’re not expecting marine mammal infiltration.”

  “Quality?”

  Jukie pushed the salmon forward.

  “Taste it,” she said.

  Not a suggestion.

  A demand.

  Rocco raised an eyebrow but complied.

  He took a bite.

  Chewed thoughtfully.

  His eyes widened.

  He took another bite.

  Then looked at his colony and barked once, loud and clear:

  “This is what we’re eating from now on.”

  Excited barking erupted across the beach.

  Rocco turned back to Jukie and Oofie.

  “You’re promoted. Chief Food Procurement Officers. Your job: figure out how to steal from that restaurant regularly without starting a war with the dinosaur island authorities.”

  Jukie’s chest puffed with pride.

  Oofie nodded seriously. “We won’t let you down, sir.”

  Rocco’s expression softened—just slightly.

  “You already haven’t. Good work.”

  Then he turned to the colony.

  “FEAST!”

  -----

  THE CELEBRATION

  The salmon was divided among the colony with surprising fairness—Rocco ran a tight ship, and everyone got a share based on contribution and need.

  Jukie and Oofie, as the procurement team, got extra.

  Jukie was in heaven.

  She lay on warm rocks, belly full of the best fish she’d ever tasted, sun warming her fur, Oofie beside her equally content.

  “We should name it,” she said drowsily.

  “Name what?”

  “The salmon. It needs a proper name. Something that captures its magnificence.”

  Oofie thought about this. “Primordial Silver?”

  “Too fancy.”

  “Ancient Delicious?”

  “Too obvious.”

  Jukie was quiet for a moment, chewing on the last piece.

  “Prehistoric Perfection,” she declared.

  Oofie considered this. “I like it.”

  “Good. Because I’ve decided.”

  Oofie smiled. That was very Jukie—deciding things unilaterally and expecting everyone to agree.

  And usually, everyone did.

  Because when Jukie was happy, life was peaceful.

  And when Jukie was unhappy…

  Well.

  Best not to think about that.

  Nearby, Rocco watched his colony enjoy their feast.

  Flanks approached, settling beside him.

  “That was successful,” the lieutenant observed.

  “Better than expected,” Rocco agreed.

  “Think they can pull it off regularly?”

  Rocco watched Jukie and Oofie—the moody food critic and her patient partner, already planning their next heist, whispering strategies and contingencies.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think they can.”

  He barked once, getting the colony’s attention.

  “Listen up! New operation: Primordial Procurement. Jukie and Oofie are in charge. They’ll coordinate weekly raids on the prehistoric fish supply. Anyone who wants in, see them for assignments.”

  A dozen seals immediately waddled over to volunteer.

  Rocco grinned.

  His colony was expanding operations.

  Moving into new markets.

  Diversifying their stolen goods portfolio.

  And it was all because two seals loved food enough to risk getting hit with kitchen tongs.

  Perfect.

  -----

  THE LEGEND GROWS

  Three days later, a memo circulated among Kaseki-jima restaurant security:

  **ALERT: Marine Mammal Theft Ring**

  **Species: Seals (estimated 2-4 individuals)**

  **Target: Primordial Catch seafood inventory**

  **Method: Coordinated infiltration, smash-and-grab, aquatic escape**

  **Threat Level: MODERATE**

  **Recommendation: Increase perimeter security, install seal-proof barriers, do NOT attempt physical confrontation (they WILL bite)**

  The memo included a grainy security photo of Jukie dragging a salmon across a kitchen floor, eyes wild with determination, jaws locked around her prize.

  Someone had circled her face and written: “WANTED: MOODY FISH THIEF”

  Below that, another note: “Approach with caution. Subject is ALWAYS CHEWING SOMETHING.”

  The photo was already becoming a meme among Realm staff.

  Jukie, if she knew, would be proud.

  -----

  Back at the colony, Jukie dozed in the sun, belly full, a piece of kelp in her mouth (always chewing, always), Oofie beside her keeping watch.

  Rocco’s empire grew stronger.

  The Prehistoric Perfection salmon became a regular feature of the colony’s diet.

  And two seals—one moody and demanding, one patient and enabling—became legends in their own right.

  Not for being the biggest.

  Not for being the fastest.

  But for loving food so much they’d infiltrate a dinosaur island restaurant mid-service and walk away with twenty pounds of extinct salmon.

  That was the seal way.

  Audacious.

  Ridiculous.

  Absolutely unstoppable.

  And somewhere in the Realm’s vast organizational structure, Core made a note:

  *Seal procurement operations expanding. Monitor Kaseki-jima restaurant security. Possibly hire seals as official taste-testers? Discuss with Rocco.*

  The Realm adapted.

  The seals thrived.

  And Jukie chewed her kelp, utterly content, already planning tomorrow’s heist.

  Because good food was worth any risk.

  And she would fight anyone who disagreed.