Plus a few sausages on top.
Walking up to the register all the while continuing to argue with that bunch in the group about “whether superpowers count as part of sports or not.”
“Thank you for your purchase — that’ll be 34 yuan in total.”
Aoyama Nanami bagged everything up, her tone gentle.
Natsuka pulled out his wallet and paid.
Just before leaving, he still couldn’t quite give up, and tacked on a casual question.
“Aoyama-senpai.”
“Are you really not going to consider joining my group?”
“The people inside are all really impressive — they might even be able to help out with your dream.”
Aoyama Nanami blinked, but in the end she still shook her head with a smile.
“Sorry, but I’ll have to pass.”
“Please come again next time.”
She gave a little wave, her smile polite and soft.
The thing she didn’t say out loud, though, was that she couldn’t even bear to use up extra mobile data, let alone spend every day chatting away in a group.
Natsuka felt a touch disappointed.
He stuffed the instant noodles into his backpack, turned, and stepped out of the convenience store.
The night wind blew against his face — a little chilly.
He glanced down at his phone, only to catch a system notice that had just popped up in the group.
[morisunmer has left the chat group.]
“So we’ve reached this point in time already, huh…”
Natsuka murmured to himself, his expression barely shifting.
Things like this weren’t exactly rare.
At the end of the day, it was just an ordinary chat group.
There was no way he could turn over a hundred-some people into actual friends, every single one of them.
But the one who’d left this time, of all people, happened to be someone he was personally acquainted with.
Natsuka stared at the chat interface, and sure enough, saw that Dekomori Sanae had already blown her top.
[Thunder Warhammer Wielder: “It’s absolutely the Bureau that’s made a move!
Mori-sama’s every last trace in the Electronic Sea has been wiped clean — how detestable, death!”]
[Jet-Black Blaze Wielder: “Probably just graduated out of chuunibyou.
We haven’t been middle school brats for ages now.
By the way, dog-of-a-group-owner, are you still chasing after that so-called Unseen Horizon?”]
Natsuka stared at that message for a moment, his finger came down, and he tapped out a line.
[Natsuka: “Yeah.”]
[Natsuka: “This one thing, and this one thing alone — I will never give up on.”]
[Natsuka: “‘The Mysterious’ has to truly exist.”]
He hit send.
But on the screen a circle popped up and just kept spinning.
A moment later, a notice surfaced.
[Out of Range]
“Huh?”
Natsuka blinked, and reflexively tapped the screen several times in a row.
In that very instant, a bright, clear cicada cry suddenly reached his ears.
Not that distant, hollow sort of sound you got in the city.
But close — as if right on a branch above his head.
Right after, a beam of warmly tinted sunlight suddenly spilled down from above, dazzling his eyes a little.
“What’s going on, why’d the signal cut out all of a sudden?”
Natsuka furrowed his brow and kept frantically jabbing at his phone.
But the next second, as though he’d realized something, he abruptly snapped his head up.
A breeze, carrying the fresh fragrance of soil and greenery, blew straight into his face, lifting up the slightly long bangs across his forehead.
What was revealed beneath was a pair of emerald-green pupils that had contracted, in an instant, to needle points.
Before his eyes was no longer the street, no longer the streetlights, no longer the front of the convenience store.
In their place stretched a forest so dense it was nearly primeval.
The trees were exaggeratedly tall, branches and leaves layered upon layers.
Sunlight leaked down through the gaps, dappling the ground.
Birdsong rose and fell, one call after another, far too crisply real.
The sensation underfoot had completely changed too.
Soft.
Damp.
When you stepped on it, you could feel the soil sink gently down a little.
The air was full of the primal scent of grass-leaves and tree-bark mingled together.
And most critically, that conspicuous [Out of Range] notice on the screen of his phone was honestly, no-holds-barred, telling him one thing.
This place wasn’t within the coverage range of any modern electronic signal whatsoever.
In other words.
Nine times out of ten, he’d gone and transmigrated again.
This miracle, which had shown up without so much as a hello, was just far too sudden.
Natsuka stood there frozen for several seconds, his head as blank as a short-circuited fuse.
It was a good long while before he slowly raised a hand and covered his face, as if he had at last accepted reality.
“My bad.”
“I forgot.”
“A spot like the front of a convenience store late at night — it’s not only where you might run into a silent, white-haired, armor-clad beautiful girl, it’s also, apparently, one of the classic transmigration flags…”
“In any case…”
“First things first — do a sweep of all the supplies on me.”
Natsuka drew in a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
Transmigration was, by now, no longer a first-time experience for him.
Compared to his first transmigration — when he had been a four-year-old kid with no household registration, not a single coin to his name, no identity at all, the very definition of a hell-mode start — the present situation honestly counted as downright friendly.
“First, check the phone.”
“Then, one pack of instant noodles, a few sausages, the bento box, a bottle of pure water…”
Natsuka rattled the list off as he pulled the items out of his backpack, his movements as snappy as if he were organizing an emergency kit.
Looking at this environment, it was obviously a wilderness forest.
Before figuring out which world exactly he’d dropped into, the most important thing wasn’t dreams, and it wasn’t adventure — it was making sure he didn’t starve to death, didn’t die of thirst, and didn’t end up doing himself in first.