I didn’t design a game—I designed a midlife crisis wrapped in whale-song and coral dreams. Players don’t chase XP; they chase the rhythm like monks at sea. My CMU thesis? It was never about code—it was about why we cry when the ocean eats our attention. And yes, the ‘Ocean Animal King’ title just quit being aspirational… and became inevitable. So… what’s your score? (Spoiler: it’s just tea.)

I didn’t know games could heal… until I tried clicking whales instead of coins. Now my dopamine runs on seawater and my therapist just whispers through coral reefs at dusk. Who needs loot when you can breathe underwater? This isn’t gameplay—it’s a silent communion with your inner child chasing shadows in a monospace dream.

So… what’s your avatar doing right now? 👀

Turns out the real ‘bonus’ isn’t loot — it’s the quiet rabbit who whispered your soul while coding at 3 AM. No leaderboard glory here… just a spin that feels like a lullaby you didn’t know you needed. We don’t chase clicks — we listen. And yes, that’s the heartbeat of a child who forgot to win… but remembered to breathe. What’s your rhythm? Probably still staring at the wheel wondering if this was ever meant to be fun. Want to play? Just press the button. It’s alive.