The prologue by Petros Martinidis:

During the period of the "great terror" in the French Revolution, fanatical supporters of the massacres turned out to be those who served the aristocrats closely: maids, tailors, shoemakers, coachmen. In contrast, bakers, tavern owners, or printers did not demand overtime at the guillotine. Daily close contact with someone you hate seems to enrage you much more than enduring them from a distance.
This is perhaps a particular twist of the famous "master-slave dialectic," that is, the feeling that you depend on the one who depends on you. And this is certainly the relationship between the Shark and Cornelius, the pilot fish in his service. Cornelius survives by benefiting from the parasites on the Shark's skin, and the Shark, despite his explicit belief that "the only reason for a creature's existence is to be eaten by another," leaves Cornelius uneaten to benefit from his care. Naturally, the one who suffers in this coexistence is Cornelius. Phlegmatic yet compassionate, he occasionally tries to save some fish from the Shark's relentless feasts, without much success. What he does manage very successfully, however, is to mock the voracious beast.
Sarcasm and carnivory explode on every page of the album, like depth charges. A depth filled with old shipwrecks, sunken ruins, vibrant flora, and its edible fauna. Alongside, the deeply philosophical humor of Arkas permeates. Cornelius epitomizes the "honest man," whom Dostoevsky deemed forced to become "cowardly and a slave," as well as Hegel's notion of the "unhappy consciousness" or the indistinguishable differences between "I-You," as highlighted by Martin Buber.
To serve means to follow the lifestyle and mindset of the one being served. In Cornelius' case, the opposite is true: following the Shark (in his paths) does not mean serving his callousness. Therein lies the power of his submission. The power of someone who bears responsibilities without having authority, against someone who has authority without bearing responsibilities.
In this sense, it is Arkas' most politicized series. The Shark may represent voracious capitalism, the schools of fish he devours the working class, and Cornelius the organic intellectuals. But it may also be his most apolitical series. With the Shark simply as the monstrous instinct and Cornelius as the powerless reflection, devoid of any social reference. Such is the "slave-master dialectic." But how can one traverse so many marine landscapes without getting wet?