He hadn’t found iron ore.
The smelting achievement would have to wait.
For now, he was as prepared as he could be — in his current best state, armed and ready.
Time to start thinking about weapons for himself and the others.
Natsuyū set aside the freshly crafted stone axe and pickaxe, took out hay and sticks, and crafted another basic backpack.
Yukino had picked up one of the near-metre-long stone axes and was swinging it slowly, arms visibly straining with the weight, expression focused and earnest.
He walked over with the backpack.
“This is for you — take one of the stone axes as your weapon.”
Yukino immediately put the axe down and looked at the backpack with a small, surprised tilt toward herself: “I can use this impossible dimensional bag too?”
“Made it for you — might as well test it.”
Those words had a particular power.
Yukino instinctively took the backpack, eyes eager, and stuffed the stone axe inside — and it fit, completely.
A small flash of delight crossed her face.
Then Yukino, with single-minded focus, began testing: put the axe in, take the axe out, put it back in, take it back out — and then started loading other objects in, exploring the bag like a child who’d just received a new toy.
While she played, Natsuyū gathered resources close by until both their backpacks were full, then stopped.
Final combined inventory:
Natsuyū’s backpack: Stone x40, Logs x20, Sticks x40, Hay x40, Stone Crafting Table x2, Stone Axes x2, Stone Pickaxe x1, Stone x40.
And confirmed: crafting tables do stack.
Yukino’s backpack: near identical, minus the crafting tables, plus a wooden axe.
The stone axe’s weight was slightly much for someone as slender as Yukino.
Duly noted.
Redundant and low-durability tools were left where they sat.
Old habit from his Minecraft days — when resources were plentiful, worn tools felt untidy.
He only carried fresh gear.
They set out again.
Yukino shouldered the backpack casually, pretended she wasn’t watching Natsuyū, and asked quietly: “How do I retrieve items from the bag without physically reaching in?
Like you do.”
As she said it, she extended her clean, pale hand and grasped at the air, miming the idea of pulling something from nothing — endearingly oblivious to how it looked.
Gap between advertised and actual version.
The truth was that Natsuyū could do it through the system interface — a thought, and items moved.
Yukino couldn’t do that.
She’d have to reach in and think at the right object to retrieve it — an extra step.
He didn’t want to explain that.
“I’m not sure either,” he said, and left it at that.
Yukino nodded, repositioned the backpack to the front for easy access, looked at him with those steady large eyes, and said simply:
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He waved it off — and added, deliberately softening his tone to reinforce her sense of belonging in the group:
“We’re friends.
Thinking of you when there’s something useful — that’s how it should be.”
Yukino pressed her lips together and said nothing.
But she didn’t refuse the label.
Friends…
Natsuyū was her only friend.
The feeling that settled over her was complicated — not quite happy, a little strange, as if someone had quietly moved into a private space she’d kept entirely to herself for years.
But she didn’t resist the idea of growing closer to him.
Wait.
Something struck her suddenly.
Her eyes widened a fraction.
She had no friends.
Her social circle was almost entirely her family.
Which meant — outside of family — Natsuyū was currently the closest person to her.
Not just the closest among boys.
Even counting girls — Natsuyū was the single closest person to her.
That friendship came together rather fast.
She turned it over internally, feeling increasingly awkward.
But making herself refuse this friendship outright — she lacked both the willingness and the emotional intelligence for that.
She didn’t want to refuse it.
Yukino glanced sideways at Natsuyū — he was focused on walking, clearly unaware that he had just become her closest person outside of family.
And the slightly complicated significance of that.
She quietly exhaled.
Act as if nothing happened.
“Yukino,” Natsuyū said, breaking the silence, “do you think Ema and the others will find water?”
Why does he call me Yukino but call her Ema—
Wait.
Why am I even thinking about that.
Yukino twirled her hair around a finger, eyes on the ground: “Uncertain. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Their direction probably doesn’t lead through the forest — don’t count on it too much.
The chances are better on our side.”
Natsuyū said quietly: “Then let’s go deeper.
If we hit a creature or the search goes dry, we head back and regroup.”
“Alright, Natsuyū-kun — you could also…”
“Mm?
You stopped mid-sentence.”
Yukino’s quick mind rerouted at speed, and she offered up a graceful smile: “Once we’re back, you should make backpacks for Ema and the others too.
More hands, more carrying capacity.”
Natsuyū agreed immediately.
“Was thinking the same.
Can’t play favourites — everyone gets one.”
Yukino breathed out quietly.
She was starting to come to terms with it: Natsuyū was her only friend — but she was not his only friend.
Well.
They were just ordinary friends.
She twisted her hair tighter, felt a sharp tug at her scalp, then stared at the two long hairs she’d pulled loose.
This friendship was too hasty.
For Yukino — who had been exceptional at everything from childhood, who had always set her sights on surpassing even her sister Haruno — the idea of coming in second in something she had never experienced before and therefore cared about far more than she’d admit… was something she was struggling to accept.
But that was purely competitive pride.
Absolutely, completely unrelated to anything else.
Natsuyū said suddenly: “Yukino — I appreciate you being reasonable about it.
Remember to keep the secret.”
“Mm.” About time you acknowledged it.
Yukino’s lips curved slightly.
She said lightly: “Consider your gratitude received.”
They had planned to find water.
They had agreed — run into a monster, pull back immediately.
A perfectly sensible arrangement, designed to maximise safety.
So then how, exactly, had it come to this.
A clear stream trickled over stone, the air rich with moisture, the soil a deep wet black.
Natsuyū and Yukino were pressed nearly shoulder to shoulder behind a boulder, heads peeking out at different heights, staring at the opposite bank.
Between three oaks across the water — a large, pale web of silken threads.