if dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?

Just below, Taiju lingered beside the stone form of Yuzuriha, her preserved body propped gently against a nearby tree. His voice dropped tenderly. “Hang on just a little longer, Yuzuriha. We’ll bring you back as soon as we get more of that miracle water… the something-or-other acid.”

Tsukasa’s gaze lingered on the stone girl. Then back at the site, he walked forward, his steps slow and measured, and tilted his head at the sign above the hut.

“Huh… You’ve got a laboratory?” he said softly, more out of curiosity than surprise. It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular—Senku was already out of earshot, adjusting something up in his lookout hut. And it’s not like Taiju was paying him any attention. 

“Yep,” you said, stepping forward. “You’ve officially entered the Stone Age Science Department.”

Tsukasa turned toward you, eyes flicking over your face—not assessing, not exactly. Just… reading. It unnerved you a bit. You couldn’t seem to get a read on him.  

His expression was mild, pleasant even, but too composed. Like someone who was always thinking two steps ahead. His eyes, warm brown and insanely calm, gave away nothing. No judgment, no interest, no disdain. Just… quiet consideration. And for some reason, that felt worse.

You shifted slightly under the weight of his gaze, more aware of your posture than you wanted to be.

Most people in this world wore their emotions on their sleeves—like Taiju, for example. He could barely contain a single thought without blurting it aloud. Senku, though, was a different story. It took you a while to read him, even though you clicked with him almost immediately. He didn’t emote the way everyone else did—at least not normally. His energy was restless, like a nuclear bomb ready to explode. But over time, you learned to understand the complicated language of him.

The way his fingers twitched when he was itching to get his hands on something—most likely a new experiment. You noticed how his knee would bounce when his thoughts were spinning faster than he could explain. Saw the slight squint of his eyes when someone said something scientifically incorrect—like it physically pained him not to correct them.

You noticed how he tapped his pen—or an eraser, or, on the rare occasions when you were allowed to sit near one another, how your fingers would end up intertwined with his, his own digits twisting or tugging at any rings you wore—basically anything within reach—in tight, repetitive patterns when he was focused. How he’d run his tongue along the inside of his cheek and furrowed his brow when he was trying not to snap. You studied him like he was the only book worth reading, and it paid off. His irritation, his excitement, his rare flickers of pride—they were all there if you knew what to look for.

But Tsukasa? His calm wasn't laziness. It was deliberate. Measured. He only acted upon things that seemed efficient for him. 

And the way he was looking at you now… it felt like being studied by a predator who hadn’t decided if you were prey. Not in a threatening way—at least not yet—but in a way that said he could be dangerous. If he wanted to be.

And the worse part… you couldn’t tell if that was entirely a bad thing.

Tsukasa lets out a quiet huff, “I don’t doubt that. You’ve built quite a bit, considering how long you’ve been awake.”

And you finally remember the conversation—if you can even call it one—at hand. You didn’t answer right away. His tone wasn’t accusatory—just observant—but something about it rubbed at the ends of your nerves. Like he was pulling on a long, tangled thread you weren’t ready to unravel. Still, he wasn’t wrong.

Senku had been the first to wake. Alone. Months before anyone else, clawing his way out of stone and into the ruins of a world that had long since stopped running the way it used to. He spent weeks scouring what was left of humanity and longer still deciphering the miracle fluid—collecting nitric acid, recreating the right ratios, testing and testing until something worked. It took nearly half a year to bring back Taiju. Another stretch of time passed before they revived you.

Six months of patient planning, trial, error, and something more akin to faith than science—just to make sure you’d wake up safe.

You knew because Senku had told you. Not in a bragging way. Just… plainly. Like it was obvious. Like of course he waited. Of course he wanted to do it right. Whatever ‘right’ meant in a crumbling society with a population of 2 people.

And then Yuzuriha. She was supposed to be next. The final piece to your group, and complicated puzzle before you all embarked on the true mission of eventually reviving everyone.

But instead, Tsukasa had emerged. 

A necessary move, but still unexpected. A calculated risk that you had no way of knowing if it would pay off in the end.

Tsukasa’s gaze moved past you then, settling on Yuzuriha’s stone form, propped carefully beneath a tree like she was only asleep. The faint crease between his brows softened. “It’s good you have each other,” he said. “Most people wouldn’t have made it this far alone.”

You followed his gaze, and your chest tightened. Yuzuriha’s face was so serene, so untouched. Like she’d never known the world could end.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “We’re lucky.”

Tsukasa didn’t respond. He just nodded once—more to himself than to you—and turned his attention back to the settlement.

The creak of wood underfoot signaled the slow ascent up the rope ladder, one after the other, into the makeshift shelter nestled high in the trees. A repurposed watchtower of sorts—Senku’s domain of blueprints, clay sketches, and carefully stored minerals. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in fractured beams, casting gold across the roughly patched walls. The air smelled like old wood, ozone, and something faintly metallic.

You sat cross-legged on a rolled mat, fingers absently tracing the ridges in the bark floor while Tsukasa ducked into the space, straightening to his full height with a quiet sort of grace. He took in the cramped lab with a flick of his eyes—observant but unintrusive.

Then he turned toward you, toward all of you gathered loosely around the center.

“Let me introduce myself properly,” he said, voice steady, casual but not careless. “I’m Shishio Tsukasa. But you can just call me Tsukasa.”

“Last names don’t really mean much in this world, do they?” Senku said, arms crossed as he leaned back on his heels, clearly watching for a reaction.

“I’m Senku,” he added, blunt and unbothered. “The sane one who’s in charge of science.”

He didn’t gesture, but his tone changed just slightly as he went on. “That’s Taiju, the simple one who’s in charge of heavy lifting.”

Taiju stepped forward first, eyes bright and hand outstretched like he hadn’t just met the strongest man alive. “I’m Taiju! The simple one!” he said with a laugh, shaking Tsukasa’s hand like they were old companions.

You barely held back a laugh.

Tsukasa took it all in stride, expression unreadable but definitely watching—measuring, maybe. Then his gaze slid over to you.

“And you?”

His voice wasn’t demanding, but it carried the weight of someone used to answers. His eyes were back on you now—steady, unreadable, that same calm calculation threading through them like spiders silk through a needle.

You straightened up from where you’d once been sitting on the wooden floor, brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve with a theatrical little flick—like you were about to take a bow on some makeshift stage. “And I—”

“You can ignore most of what she says,” Senku interjected flatly, not even bothering to glance up from the small project in his hands. “Chronically indecisive, occasional hypochondriac, pathological nuisance—and, if you catch her on a good day, vaguely helpful in keeping us from dying of infection.”

You blinked, mouth still half-open, the introduction catching mid-air. “Pathological nuisance?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse you, if it weren’t for me, your weak-ass immune system would’ve tapped out on Day Three.”

Senku didn’t miss a beat. “Sure. Thank you for your dedicated service, Dr. Overreaction.”

“Love to see your scrawny ass make it through winter alone,” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest—but not before the corner of your mouth twitched. Just slightly.

Senku’s smirk mirrored yours, subtle but unmistakable. It wasn’t warmth, exactly, or sentiment—but it was familiar in his own weird, standoffish way. The kind of dry, deadpan exchange only the two of you would find funny. A silent equation solved between glances—unspoken, precise, and weirdly comforting. The kind of thing that reminded you why you stuck around, even on the days when your own mind was a little too loud.

Still, the weight of someone else’s attention hung in the air—heavier now, somehow.

You shifted, just enough to glance to the side.

Tsukasa was watching.

Not in a rude way. Not even intense. Just… observant. Careful. The kind of gaze that didn’t flinch or drift or apologize. The kind that made you aware of every inch of yourself—your posture, your tone, the way you’d fumble with your hands when nervous.

He wasn’t watching the banter like it was a joke.

He was studying it. Studying you.

Noticing the hitch in your voice. The glance down before you pulled yourself together again. Like he was memorizing patterns, reading a language he wasn’t fluent in yet—but had every intention of mastering.

It made your skin crawl, just a little.

Not because he seemed hostile. But because he didn’t. Because whatever conclusions he was drawing—he kept them to himself.

And somehow, that felt worse than if he had said something. At least then you’d know what page he was on.

You told yourself it wasn’t fair. That he hadn’t done anything wrong. Hadn’t been rude or cold or anything to deserve that kind of wariness—well, besides punting a lion through the forest. But even then, that was to save the rest of you. Still, the unease lingered. Guilt crept in right behind it.

You didn’t like that feeling. The way it coiled up in your ribs.

You weren’t trying to judge him.

But some part of you already was.

You crossed your arms, eyes drifting away from his profile. Maybe you were overthinking it. Wouldn’t be the first time. He hadn’t earned your suspicion. If anything, you were the one holding too tightly to the old habit that’s probably done you more harm than good.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers restless at your side.

“So you’re a—” Tsukasa tried to speak up, but was interrupted.

Grrggkk—

The sound came low and loud, like something ancient had just stirred beneath the floorboards. Your head snapped toward it, alarm jumping instinctively in your chest.

Taiju blinked owlishly, both hands wrapping around his stomach. “...Was that me?”

You stared unimpressed. “Seriously, Taiju…” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You couldn’t have waited five more seconds to digest quietly?”

A beat of silence passed, heavy with secondhand embarrassment.

Tsukasa’s brow lifted, but he didn’t look away. If anything, he seemed faintly amused. “What exactly have you all been eating?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Regret,” you said flatly. “Regret and moral compromise.”

A pause. Then, without looking up, you added, “And oversalted mushrooms,” aiming a pointed glance in Senku’s direction.

Senku didn’t even pretend to look guilty. He just shrugged and shifted his weight to stretch, one arm pressing to the small of his back with a grimace. “Mostly wild greens. Mushrooms. Occasionally a rabbit, if luck decides to throw us a bone.”

“Luck,” you echoed under your breath, brushing a speck of dust off your sleeve. “If you count slowly starving to death as a form of luck.”

Tsukasa’s mouth twitched at the corner—barely there, but noticeable. A flicker of something softer, maybe even a little entertained. “Well,” he said, stepping toward the window and peering out past the foliage, “you won’t have to live like that any longer.”

The light filtering through the canopy dappled across his shoulders as he scanned the tree line, his posture effortless but alert. “I’ll handle hunting and defense. You’ll have meat again—real meat. No more chewing on disappointment.”

Taiju nearly vibrated beside you, a grin splitting across his face. His eyes were practically sparkling with cartoonish joy. “This is awesome! All I ever dream about lately is eating meat until my belly’s about to explode!”

You leaned against the post of the shelter, arms crossed, and gave a half-lidded look of mock sympathy. “Well this must seem like a fever dream for you, huh,” you deadpanned.

Tsukasa didn’t turn from the tree line. Didn’t crack a smile. But his voice was steady, final. “Now that I’m on your side,” he said, quiet and certain, “you’ll never go hungry again.”

He was true to his word. 

Tsukasa did handle all of the hunting.

You watched him sprint after a wild boar—fast. Faster than you’d ever seen anyone move, like the forest itself had cleared a path for him. The animal barely made a sound before it dropped. 

Later, he scaled a tree like it was second nature, hands curling around branches with the ease of instinct. When he dropped back down, he held a bird in one hand—neck limp, wings trailing like fallen leaves. He hadn’t even ruffled a feather.

And then the river.

You’d glanced up to the splash of movement—there he was, waist-deep in the current, soaked to the skin and unbothered by it. His grip on the makeshift spear was sure, eyes narrowed just slightly. Focused. Patient. Until—

One quick jab. A flick of silver. Then another. And another. He emerged from the water with a bundle of fish slung through a twist of twine, dripping and glistening in the sunlight like something out of a fable.

You didn’t say anything.

Just watched from the riverbank, one arm slung over your knee, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

⏾𖤓

Later, the four of you had gathered by the shore.

The sun was dipping low, casting everything in amber, and the breeze carried the thick scent of salt and smoke. A little ways back from the surf, Senku knelt over a crude rack he’d rigged up from twigs and vines, the last of the fish hanging above a controlled column of curling gray smoke. The rest of the meat Tsukasa had caught—cleaned, salted, expertly portioned—was already set aside.

Taiju hovered nearby, visibly vibrating, his eyes glossy with hunger. “So if you cook it immediately,” he said slowly, watching the fish intently, “you don’t… need a fridge to keep it from going bad?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I pray for whatever goes on up there in your brain, Taiju…”

Senku didn’t even glance up. “I’m not cooking the fish. I’m using the aldehydes in the smoke to kill the microbes.” He adjusted a few stones to redirect the airflow, casually dodging the smoke curling toward his face. “In words your feeble brain can understand: I’m smoking them.”

“Smoking them,” Taiju repeated reverently, eyes practically shining. “Like… smart cooking!”

Tsukasa sat nearby, his arms loosely draped over his knees as he watched the process. “With me and Senku working together,” he said calmly, “we should have plenty of preserved food for a while.”

A low, agonized sound escaped Taiju as another wave of savory smoke drifted past him. He leaned forward, hands on his thighs like the smell alone was physically painful. “I’m gonna die before it’s even done! The smell is too good—it’s cruel.”

Senku finally rose to his feet with a sharp crack of his neck, spine stretching like it had been holding civilization together on its own.

“Well, we can finally take the first real step toward civilization now,” he said, eyes shining bright with excitement.

Taiju nearly fell over. “SO WE’VE BEEN ON STEP ZERO THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

You leaned back on your elbows, staring up at the dusky sky, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Step zero,” you groaned, “and I already want to retire.”

Senku didn’t miss a beat. From where he stood near the smoking rack, he glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You can retire once civilization is up and running. For now—” he tossed a small twig onto the fire for emphasis, “—we’re gonna need you, doc. So try not to up and run on us.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes—but it was half-hearted at best. “Yeah yeah. No promises.”

The fire crackled softly beside you, its smoke curling lazily into the dusk. For a moment, things felt still. Not peaceful, exactly, but settled in that rare kind of way—like everything else had paused just long enough for the world to catch its breath. You leaned back into your palms, eyes drifting to the shifting colors in the sky, your body heavy with the day’s exhaustion.

But then, through your peripheral vision, Tsukasa moved.

He stepped away from the group without a word, heading toward a large, jagged rock at the edge of the clearing. The quiet crunch of his footsteps in the sand drew everyone’s attention.

You sat up straighter, frowning slightly.

Taiju turned his head, blinking. “Huh?”

Senku’s arms remained crossed, his expression unreadable, but his eyes followed Tsukasa’s, unblinking, calculating.

“Hey, Tsukasa,” Taiju called out, his voice laced with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

There was no response. Just the slow walk—then a halt beside one of the larger rocks near the edge of the clearing.

And then, without warning, a sudden, sharp yell—followed by the crack of stone.

You flinched.

The rock shattered under Tsukasa’s fist, splitting clean down the middle.Dust plumed into the air in soft clouds as shards of the rock tumbled down in uneven chunks.

Everyone was still. Even the fire seemed quiet.

You watched, breath caught, as the dust began to clear. Tsukasa stood at the center of the wreckage, his fist slowly lowering, the muscles in his arm still tensed from the impact.

But he wasn’t looking at the broken stone.

He crouched beside it, reaching into the rubble with careful hands, sweeping debris aside. Something pale and human-shaped began to emerge. It took a second to register what you were seeing—until the shape became clearer. A statue.

Taiju gasped again, eyes widening. “Wha—was that—?”

She was curled in on herself—arms up, knees drawn in. As if shielding herself in the final moment. Her face was turned slightly, mouth parted in the middle of a breath that had never finished. The pose was almost too human—too desperate.

Tsukasa knelt, brushing the residual gravel from her face with a quiet reverence. Then, without hesitation, he slipped one arm under her legs, the other at her back, and lifted her from the sand as if she weighed nothing.

Turning to face them again, he spoke evenly. “Sorry if I startled you.”

He carried her a few paces before kneeling beside a flatter rock, easing the statue down like someone laying a person to rest. “Just noticed this person buried under that rock.” he said simply, brushing the dust from his hands.

Taiju’s eyes softened as he stepped closer, lips twitching into a grin. “Told you he was a solid dude, didn’t I?”

Senku let out a low chuckle under his breath, the tension in his shoulders easing by degrees.

“It’s like having a superhero on our team, huh?” he said, watching Tsukasa from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t say anything.

But your gaze lingered on the fractured stone where the statue had been.

⏾𖤓

The sky had deepened into that burnished orange where sunset starts to blur into night, gold fading to bruised purple at the edges. The fire popped and cracked steadily behind you, the scent of woodsmoke clinging to your clothes, hair, skin. Embers floated up like tiny stars, chasing the last of its light.

Bellies were full. For once.

Taiju lay flat on his back in the sand, limbs sprawled out in every direction like someone had just dropped him from a great height. He patted his stomach with both hands, eyes shut, totally content. “My belly’s so full…” he groaned, dragging the words out like they physically weighed something. “It’s like I ate a whole cow.”

You rolled onto your side to look at him, one arm tucked under your head. The sight of his ridiculously round stomach—inflated like a beach ball—made you snort. “You look pregnant.”

Taiju wheezed a laugh without opening his eyes. “Maybe I am.”

You shook your head, dragging your fingers idly through the sand. A few quick strokes, and you started tracing lines without thinking—stars, spirals, anything to give your hands something to do. The grains of sand got stuck under your nails, but you didn’t mind.

By the fire, Senku was still crouched with his elbows on his knees, a long fish bone stretched between both hands like he was reading its future. The firelight reflected in his vermillion eyes. He hadn’t looked up once, but the grin spreading across his face was unmistakable.

“Alright,” he said, tone suspiciously dangerous, “time for a fun little pop quiz.”

You groaned instantly, loud and dramatic, flopping back like your soul had just left your body. “Why are you like this?”

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “For a technological civilization, what’s the most important component to have?”

He paused. Just long enough to make it irritating.

“Correct answer gets you ten billion points,” he added, smug as ever.

You sat up halfway, propping yourself up on your elbows, face already twisted in mock seriousness. “Oh, oh! I know!” You decided to play along, waving a hand enthusiastically in the air like a kid who didn’t actually know the answer but still wanted the attention.

“No, not you,” Senku deadpanned, without even glancing in your direction.

You dropped your hand with a groan, head falling back against the sand. “What’s the point of asking all of us if you’re just gonna pick someone to humiliate?”

Taiju sat up a little straighter, squinting hard like the question physically hurt his brain. He scratched his head, then rubbed his chin like a philosopher, eyes narrowing into deep, painful concentration.

“Well, it’s gotta be… something that’s, techy,” he said slowly. “But what exactly…”

You turned your head to watch him, amused.

He trailed off, face scrunching tighter and tighter—until finally, a lightbulb practically exploded above his head.

“I’ve got it!” He lit up suddenly, like he’d just cracked a divine code. He leapt to his feet and pointed both hands at Senku with the force of someone declaring a prophecy. “Smartphones!”

You just closed your eyes and prayed for his poor soul. Head dropping to shake in disappointment.

Senku turned to him with the fakest, most exaggerated smile you’d ever seen. Full teeth. Pure sarcasm.

“Oh sure!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Smartphones would be great, wouldn’t they?”

And then his entire face dropped flat. “We’re not jumping ten billion years into the future, dummy!”

Taiju recoiled, visibly wounded, and laughed nervously.

Tsukasa, who had been mostly silent, sitting off to the side with his arms resting loosely over his knees, spoke up at last. “Maybe… iron?” he offered, voice calm, thoughtful.

Senku actually considered it for a second. “Iron’s important. But not at this stage.” He pointed upward with a single finger. “There’s something even more essential.”

You huffed and flopped fully onto your back again, arms spread out like a starfish. “Why can’t I just say it? I get the most use out of it anyway.”

Senku raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s no fun if you get the answer right away.”

You scooped a fistful of sand and let it drizzle between your fingers. “Fuck you and your stupid point system.”

“Anyway,” he said, sitting back with a flourish like a game show host revealing the prize behind the curtain, “since you’re all out of guesses…”

“—it’s calcium carbonate.”

You groaned again, louder this time. “I could’ve told you that.”

He grinned. “And yet, you didn’t.”

You scowled, digging a rough line into the sand with your finger. “I’m taking your stupid points and shoving them right up your—!”

“Uhuh, save your breath,” Senku cut in smoothly, his pinkie twisting in his ear unamused, but his tone had a little too much satisfaction in it—like he enjoyed shutting you up.

Before you could retort, Taiju suddenly sat up with a jolt like he’d just solved the mystery of the universe.

“Of course!”

Everyone looked at him. His face was lit up with understanding—except it absolutely wasn’t.

“Once again,” he added cheerfully, “I have no idea what you’re saying!”

Tsukasa, who had been sitting quietly just a few paces away, offered a calm guess. “Do you mean lime?”

Senku snapped his fingers. “Yep. Let me think of a way to explain it so even someone like Taiju could understand.”

He tapped a finger to his chin in mock concentration, “It’s the stuff they use to mark athletic fields.”

Taiju’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas day. He gasped and shot up, pointing at senku once more. “Cool! So we’re gonna have to find a gym storage locker and grab some whatever-that-was carbonate?”

Senku’s entire expression froze. His lips twitched into a wide, terrifyingly fake smile.

“Oh sure! Yeah! Let’s just head to the gym,” he said, all teeth.

Then, instantly, the mask dropped. His face twisted into something feral, full of utter disbelief and rage.

“DON’T BE SUCH AN IDIOT! YOU THINK WE’LL FIND A GYM AFTER 3,700 YEARS?!”

A beat passed. Somewhere nearby, a wave crashed dramatically against the rocks.

You sighed too, dusting some of the excess sand off your arm. “Come on, Taiju. Think.”

You sat up, brushing hair from your face and shooting him a look. “You know those shells you’ve been using to shave that big, oafish face of yours?”

Senku picked one up from the sand beside him and held it between two fingers like a delicate petri specimen.

“If we pulverize them into a fine powder,” he continued, “we’ll have all the calcium carbonate we need.”

Taiju didn't wait to hear another word. He was already on his feet, suddenly energized like someone had flipped a switch. You had no idea where the basket came from—possibly summoned from his sheer enthusiasm—but he slung it over his back like a backpack and sprinted toward the shoreline.

“Well then! Looks like I’m needed for some serious brawn duty!”

You watched him go, one eyebrow arched, fighting back a laugh. “He really is something.”

Senku snorted, gaze following the big oaf’s retreating form. “That man is a golden retriever in human form,” he muttered, almost fondly.

You didn’t disagree.

⏾𖤓

Several coarse linen bags filled to the brim with soft, chalky powder.

Senku crouched beside one, his hand already buried in the fine white grains, expression glowing with exhilaration. He sifted it through his fingers like treasure, and then—because he just couldn’t help himself—he murmured with all the glee of a man high on chemistry:

“Calcium carbonate actually gets me excited.”

You didn’t even glance up. You were still hunched beside a flat slab of stone, pestle in hand, the muscles in your forearm flexing slightly as you helped grind down another handful of shells. Your bare legs were half-covered in sand, and you had your hair pulled back, skin glistening with salt and sweat. You rolled your eyes, letting a scoff pass your lips—but the smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your amusement.

“Try not to blow your load prematurely,” you muttered, bone-dry, eyes still on your work.

Senku didn’t dignify it with a real response—not verbally at least. He shot you a slow, sidelong glance, mouth twitching like he was holding back either a laugh or a sigh. His gaze lingered for a second too long before he finally tore it away, brushing off his knees as he stood.

“Check it out,” he said instead, switching gears without missing a beat.

He held up four fingers like a teacher who couldn’t help himself, even if no one was technically enrolled in his class. His face lit up—not the sarcastic grin he wore when Taiju said something stupid, or the sly smirk he saved for mocking you—but with a real, unfiltered kind of excitement.

“There are four super useful things you can do with it.”

You didn’t answer, not at first. Your hands kept working, pestle scraping slow circles in the stone bowl, but your eyes flicked toward him. You didn’t mean to watch him the way you did—like gravity had just pulled your attention there. That excitement of his—it was infectious, even if you’d never admit it. Heaven forbid you feed into his already gigantic ego.

“First is agriculture,” he said, holding a finger up as he listed each of the compounds uses. “We can use it to neutralize acidic soil by blowing away the hydrogen ions. That’ll be a major upgrade for the farmland.”

“Second is construction,” Senku continued. “If we heat the calcium carbonate and mix it with sand, we get mortar. A less sophisticated cement. We can use it to build houses and furnaces.”

“Third is hygiene,” he added, tone dipping slightly—heavier.

You held up a still damp clump of seaweed you’d fished out earlier, a faint grin curling at your mouth. “Take calcium carbonate from seaweed,” you said, flicking a bit of saltwater at him for good measure. “Add oil, heat it up, and—ta-da! Basic saponification. Soap.”

Senku paused. Tilted his head at you like he wanted to argue the stolen spotlight, but couldn’t quite hide the flicker of pride that passed across his face. “I was getting to that,” he muttered, almost grinning.

You tossed him a look over your shoulder. “This world’s brutal. Getting sick means game over, remember?”

He nodded, suddenly serious again, tone softer. “A little bar that gets rid of harmful microbes is a lifesaver in a world without doctors.”

You stretched out a leg, the grass cool beneath you. “There’s only so much I can do at this stage of civilization,” you muttered, almost to yourself. 

“With the limited fauna and flora left around here—and most of it local stuff that barely scratches the surface medicinally—I’m kind of stuck. If anyone comes down with something serious, we’re screwed.”

He glanced over at you then. Really looked at you, like maybe he’d heard the quiet exhaustion beneath your voice—but all he said was, “We’ll fix that.”

You looked over at him, skeptical. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I intend to rebuild civilization exactly as it was. Every last bit of it. Medicine. Industry. Technology.” His voice gathered strength like momentum pulling downhill. “All of it. Down to the last microchip if I have to.”

You blinked at him. He wasn’t smiling—but he didn’t have to. That fire in his eyes said enough.

“And when we get there,” he added, a little quieter now,  “you won’t be stuck anymore.”

You huffed a quiet breath, something like a laugh caught halfway in your chest. The corners of your mouth twitched.

“Guess that means I’m stuck with you forever then, huh?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Ten billion percent correct!”

You snorted. “Ehh. I guess it’s not that bad. I’ve survived this long with whatever the hell you’ve got going on… what’s a little eternity?”

A few feet away, Tsukasa looked up from where he’d been silently watching. You hadn’t even realized he was listening. He just studied the two of you—something unreadable in his expression. Then, voice calm and even:

“I have to hand it to you, Senku. You’re pretty amazing.”

Senku didn’t look up right away. “Hm?”

Tsukasa took a step closer, his shadow flickering from the fire. “I mean, you freed me in the middle of a lion attack. Yet you were calm and spoke clearly.”

He paused, tone softening just enough to make the words feel genuine. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Yeah, truly one of a kind,” you muttered as you tossed another bit of crushed shell into the mortar bowl, not even glancing up. “An egocentric know-it-all is really a marvel of science.”

Senku scoffed, barely pausing his movement. “If someone’s got to know it all, better me than someone who used to think that dividing by zero would unlock infinite energy.

Your head snapped up, “Oh my god will you ever let that go? I was like—eight?!”

Tsukasa chuckled faintly, watching the back-and-forth with a glimmer of amusement. “You two make quite the pair.” Then letting his gaze settle on Senku again.

“You truly have my respect.”

Senku didn’t answer right away. He gave a sidelong glance, subtle and brief—but sharp all the same. Then he looked back down, scooping calcium carbonate into a shallow dish like the conversation had already ended.

The fire crackled beside him, casting thin wisps of smoke into the air. His hands moved with clinical precision, measuring without even needing to look.

“For the last ten billion years or so,” he said flatly, “almost without exception, a man who praises another to his face is either flirting or scheming.”

That earned a quiet snort from you.

“Aww, are you flirting with us now, Tsukasa?” you asked, keeping your tone light, trying to cut through the rising tension with a little edge of humor. “You sure you’re not just trying to sweep him off his feet? He’s pretty hard to please.”

Senku, however, didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He looked up sharply, narrowed eyes locking on Tsukasa’s face. His voice, while still calm, dropped lower—more focused.

“So what are you getting at?”

His tone wasn’t explosive—it didn’t need to be. His eyes were venomous enough.Those crimson eyes, sharp and analytical, burned. Controlled. Calculated.

Tsukasa blinked, then furrowed his brow slightly, clearly not expecting the escalation. He gave a small, almost confused pout, but then his expression softened and he smiled.

“It’s nothing like that,” he said, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “I’m really not doing either one of those.”

He paused again, choosing his next words more carefully.

“I was just thinking…” His gaze landed firmly on Senku now. “If there’s anyone who could rebuild modern civilization from scratch—it’s you.”

Another beat. 

“Yeah,” he said simply, his voice settling. “That’s all I was trying to say.”

Senku didn’t respond. His posture didn’t shift—shoulders squared, gaze locked. Whatever easy rhythm had existed a few minutes ago had vanished. His expression was unreadable, but something colder lingered in his eyes now. Analytical. Like he was trying to solve Tsukasa the way he’d solve an equation—with absolute precision, no room for error.

Tsukasa stood over the both of you, his silhouette tall and unmoving, shadows cast long by the low-burning campfire. He wasn’t being aggressive, not exactly. But his presence commanded the space. You could tell he wasn’t expecting pushback—at least not this kind, anyway.

You glanced between them, internally wincing. The tension was too thick now, and you were absolutely not interested in becoming collateral damage. You shifted your weight, rubbing your hands together like you were brushing off excess dirt.

“I’m gonna go rinse off by the river,” you said, already backing away. “Shell dust’s starting to cling to everything ya’ know…”

Neither of them stopped you.

Thankfully, Taiju came barreling back just in time.

“Yo!” Taiju called out, breath hitching a little as he reappeared through the trees, arms full of snapped branches and dried brush. He dropped the bundle down between the three of you with a heavy thud, bits of bark scattering into the grass. “Got more for the fire!”

Perfect timing. You ducked away before anyone could rope you back in.

You didn’t look back.

Behind you, the boys carried on. 

Taiju rolled his shoulders with a groan, spine cracking faintly as he stretched. “Man,” he huffed, “so this is the kind of stuff you gotta do to build a civilization, huh?”

Senku finally looked away from Tsukasa, turning his focus to Taiju instead.

“That’s right,” he said, voice leveling out. “One step at a time. The journey is a slow one, that's for sure. But we keep on getting closer.”

Taiju gave a thoughtful nod. Then blinked. “So… are you just waiting for her to come back?”

Senku raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You said there were four uses for the seashells,” Taiju said, puzzled, “but you only told us about three.” 

That caught Tsukasa’s attention again. He didn’t say anything, but the way his head turned—just slightly—made it clear he was listening again.

Senku looked up at him, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he smiled, holding up three fingers.

“No, they’re only three.”

“I said three earlier. Didn’t I?”

“Oh! Did you?” Taiju frowned, scratching the back of his neck. “Huh. Maybe you did. Man, my memory is all screwed up!”

⏾𖤓

You were half-submerged in the river when you heard the soft patter of footsteps near the bank—barely audible over the quiet rush of water. At first, you figured it was a bird. Maybe some wild animal, rustling through the underbrush. Nothing worth worrying about.

Until it spoke.

You flinched, shoulders jerking out of the water as your head snapped toward the sound.

Sure enough—just your luck.

Senku.

He was crouched casually at the river’s edge, arms resting on his knees like this wasn’t the most compromising goddamn moment of your life.

“Are you serious right now?” you said flatly, shoulders tensing just under the surface of the water. “I’m literally bathing, you degenerate.”

“I know,” he said, as if that excused anything. “But we need to talk.”

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

Water rippled around your arms as you sank slightly lower, submerging up to your chin. “Senku,” you said slowly, “you’re my closest friend. You’re probably one of the smartest men alive. But holy shit, do you have any idea how little class you have?”

He blinked, picking up a small flat stone and turning it over in his hand. “We’re living in a stone world. Class is a social construct.”

“Oh my god, get help.”

“You want me to come back in five minutes?”

“Try fifteen.”

Still, he didn’t budge. Instead, his voice shifted—low, steady, serious. “It’s about Tsukasa.”

You stopped swearing. That alone should’ve told him just how quickly your attention had snapped back.

Senku continued, eyes fixed on the stone in his palm, thumb brushing grit from its surface like he was grounding himself with the texture. “I don’t think he’s shown his hand yet. Not fully. I can’t prove anything. But I know people like him. And I know the way he looks at us when he thinks we’re not watching.”

Your fingers found a pebble beneath the surface and flicked it toward a nearby rock. It hit with a soft plink.

He looked up at the sound.

“I’m not saying he’s a threat,” Senku went on, “but I am saying... if something does happen, I need you and Taiju to be ready. Taiju’s strong and you’re smart enough to know what to do to survive.” 

There it was. That same stubborn, self-sacrificing logic you’d come to expect from him. He could devise an entire roadmap to humanity’s revival, but not one that included him being saved.

You wrinkled your nose, half from the water up your sinuses and half from where this was clearly headed. You exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Yeah… no. That’s not gonna happen.”

His head turned toward you now. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m being loyal, jackass.”

He went quiet.

You tilted your chin up, water catching on your collarbones. “If something goes wrong, we handle it together. I’m not running off and leaving you behind. And Taiju sure as hell isn't either. Not happening.”

“You don’t understand—”

“No,” you cut in, voice firmer now. “You don’t. You’re not invincible, Senku. You can’t fight worth a damn, and you think two steps ahead of everyone else but never about yourself. Someone’s gotta watch your back. You know I’m—we’re—not going anywhere. So you better start getting used to that.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

You dunked again, water rushing over your scalp. When you came back up, you blew out a breath. “Besides. It’s not like you can fight for yourself.”

“I have science,” he said, completely serious.

“That won't get you anywhere is Tsukasa crushes you with his bare hands”

A tiny sound escaped him—half a huff, half a breath of laughter. You didn’t have to see it to know his mouth quirked a little at the corner.

You turned your head fully toward him, water lapping gently at your shoulders. “You’re stuck with me, Senku. Just get that through your dumb thick skull already.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. But he didn’t argue, either.

Then—very softly, almost like he didn’t mean for it to slip out—

“…Good.”

And just like that, he stood up, dusting off his hands and turning to go.

Then, he paused—glanced back over his shoulder, just barely.

“You still got good aim, right?”

You blinked. “Yeah? Why do you ask?”

His expression didn’t shift. “Just making sure.”

And then he walked off.

You sank deeper into the river, heart thudding slowly but hard. You knew, then—whatever was coming, he was already preparing to face it alone.

And you were already planning not to let him.

⏾𖤓

You tried to sleep. Truthfully, you did.

But with the way you could still hear Taiju snoring like a damn horse, it was kind of hard to.

You were used to it—years of childhood sleepovers had prepared you for whatever strange noises could come out of that boy’s mouth—but still, no matter how many times you shifted positions or buried your face deeper into the thin blanket, you just couldn’t slip into that peaceful abyss. No matter how hard you tried.

And it wasn’t just Taiju.

Tsukasa, for all his silence, had barely moved. He was curled onto his side, back to the room, but his breathing—steady and measured—felt too intentional. Like someone pretending to sleep.

You hadn’t even tried to lie down with them. From the jump, you made it clear: three guys in a tree hut wasn’t exactly your idea of comfort. Senku didn’t argue, none of them did really. Instead, he’d tossed you an extra blanket and told you to crash in the “lab”. You jumped at the chance and immediately took your sleeping back and made your way out.

But sleep still wouldn’t come.

Eventually, against better judgement, you decided to call it quits and take a stroll. You barely made your way out of the laboratory before you spotted him. Senku was crouched at the base of the tree, just outside the hut. No fire, no lantern. Just moonlight threading through the canopy in pale streaks, catching on the sharp lines of his hair and the shadowed dip of his brow.

But you noticed his hands moving—He was working.

You stalked from afar as he looped twine through carved wood, testing the tension of a tightly notched bend. It wasn’t elegant—crude by modern standards—but its silhouette was unmistakable.

A crossbow.

You stopped a few steps away, not wanting to startle him. But he didn’t look up. Just gave a small twitch of his fingers—barely a gesture, but one you understood. An acknowledgment. An invitation to stay.

So you moved in slowly, sitting across from him, cross-legged in the dirt. You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

There wasn’t a need.

Unlike the heavy quiet inside, this silence had no weight to it. It moved, pulsed gently between you. Unsaid, but understood. You both knew Tsukasa wasn’t sleeping. Both felt the shift in air since earlier that evening. Both knew something was coming. Even if neither of you said it.

Senku adjusted a knot, tugging gently at the string, pulling it taut. You leaned in, elbows on your knees, watching closely. He didn't explain what he was doing. He didn’t have to.

Behind him, the crickets sang into the open dark. A slow breeze rustled the trees above, tugging gently at the ends of his hair. The moon cut sharp through the branches overhead, draping you both in pale, silver light. Summer air clung to your skin, thick and warm—but you barely noticed.

You just kept thinking how badly you hoped it wouldn’t come to this. That whatever this was, whatever he was bracing for—you’d never have to use it.

⏾𖤓

The sun was just barely cresting the horizon, gold peeling slow across the edge of the sea. Early enough that the air still felt a little cool, the kind of soft chill that only stuck around before the day took over. Wind carried salt and morning mist, curling lightly in your lungs as you sat perched up on a sun-warmed rock, watching the beach below.

Taiju’s voice rang out, too loud for how early it was.

“Shells! Shells! Shells!”

You blinked slowly, eyes still adjusting to the light of the sun peaking its way above the coastline. You watched him bound across the shoreline with impossible energy—the basket strapped to his back full of white fragments and whole pieces alike, feet barely sinking into the sand. No human being had the right to be that energetic before sunrise. And yet, here he was.

You raised a hand lazily. “You missed one on your left, musclehead!”

He twisted mid-run, spotted it, and lit up like you’d just handed him gold. “Thanks!”

Senku, crouched beside you on the rock, didn’t say anything, but you caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Below you both, Tsukasa stood in the shallows—ankle-deep, water curling around his calves. His spear was resting loosely in one hand, but his posture was anything but relaxed. His gaze was fixed on the sea, and his back—broad, still, unreadable—held a tension that said he wasn’t admiring the view.

Senku watched him from above, eyes narrowed slightly, silent. Not blinking much. Not looking away. Senku hadn’t moved in minutes, elbow resting loosely on his knee, eyes closed as though lost in thought. The breeze tousled the framing pieces of his hair, but his posture never shifted.

You shifted slightly, the edge of the rock digging into your thigh. The sunlight stretched farther now, catching glints of white off the scattered stone statues still half-buried in the sand and surf. Some had clearly broken. Some remained whole. All of them watched in their own silent, terrible way.

Then, Tsukasa spoke.

“We have so much freedom in this Stone World,” he said, voice light. “Nobody is around to claim that shells are their personal property.”

He held something in his hand. A small pink shell, soft in color, oddly delicate in his grip. It caught a glint of sun as he turned it slowly between his fingers.

“Or the ocean. Or the land.”

You and Senku both remained silent. The waves lapped at the shore. The sun reached higher.

Tsukasa kept speaking.

“A long time ago,” he said, voice lowering just slightly, “there was a poor boy whose little sister was going through surgery.”

You felt your breath catch.

“He collected seashells to make a necklace for her. Something to help her feel better. She loved The Little Mermaid.”

He was still staring at the horizon, but something had changed. His stance. His voice. The softness from moments ago had drained slowly, replaced by something sharper.

“But along came an older man. He reeked of booze.”

“The boy thought he was collecting shells, but the man, the man accused him of stealing the shells, and beat him so badly, he was almost unrecognizable.”

You felt Senku shift beside you.

Tsukasa's grip tightened.

“He never got the chance to make his sister feel like The Little Mermaid.”

Then, without warning, his hand clenched. The shell shattered in his palm.

And with one sharp step forward, he drove his fist into the face of the stone statue in front of him. The head broke clean from its shoulders, cracking loose with a heavy thunk as it rolled toward the rocks. It stopped just shy of your feet.

You looked down. Then slowly, over to Senku. He was already watching. Not Tsukasa—just the broken face in the sand, his gaze slightly lowered, unreadable. But something had shifted behind his eyes.

Not shock. Not fear. Just the slow, sinking weight of confirmation. The kind that feels less like victory—and more like grief.

“You do know what you just did, don’t you?”

He glanced up, meeting Tsukasa’s gaze now. There was the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That may have been a statue. But we both know you just killed a man.”

Tsukasa didn’t flinch. His expression remained steady as he turned in the water to face you both.

“Of course I know.”

His voice was calm. Steady. Almost too steady.

“Tell me something, Senku.” He didn’t even glance at you. “Are you planning to bring back all the greedy, black-hearted adults who ruined the world we came from?”

You tensed where you sat, trying to steady your breathing. The rock beneath you felt colder now. But Tsukasa continued, unbothered.

“Sure, they’ll be grateful at first. But once civilization returns, the rich and powerful will crawl right back to the top.” He took a step forward, water rippling at his shins. “They’ll say, ‘This used to be my property. You better start paying me rent.’ Then they'll collect taxes. Strip us down. Rob the young people—us—of the future all over again.”

He was getting closer now, moving across the sand toward the base of your rock. His voice never rose, but the weight behind it grew heavier.

“We live in the Stone World now. A paradise that hasn't been ruined by greed. I think we should only revive the young and pure-hearted, and make sure that we keep this world natural and not owned by anyone. This is our chance to purify humanity.” 

He reached out, hand resting gently on the head of another statue.

Senku’s mouth had drawn into a thin, quiet line. His body was still, but you saw the muscles in his jaw shift. Just barely.

“Don’t you agree with me, Senku?”  

And then Tsukasa moved to strike. But Senku’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder. Not forceful—more like a pause. A warning. Almost… gentle.

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm. Clear. Unshaken.

“That speech didn’t move me one millimeter.”

And then—he looked up. Eyes sharp. Smile returning, crooked and stubborn and so entirely Senku.

“I’m the kind of guy who absolutely loves technology. I get excited by space, and mechs, and Doraemon, and stuff like that.”

Your heart skipped, partly from secondhand embarrassment, partly from pure, unfiltered fear. Because this was Senku we were talking about.

A man who could barely lift a log. Someone who looked like he was on the verge of passing out after taking the school mandated mile. Facing someone who could probably punt him across the forest with his bare hands. And he didn’t even blink.

“I’m going to use the awesome power of science,” he said, grin widening, “to rescue every last person.”

For a moment, no one moved.

You were frozen on your perch, hands clenched in the fabric of your pants, heart pounding loudly in your ears. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to do something—but what? Tsukasa barely even acknowledged you as a presence. You knew he could snap your ribs like twigs if he wanted.

And Senku…

Senku just stood there. Close—too close. Barely a step between them, the wind tugging gently at both their clothes. But neither of them moved.

This guy’s gonna be trouble, Senku thought, teeth gritted behind a calm expression. But if we hadn’t woken him up right then, we would’ve been lion chow for sure. His gaze stayed locked on Tsukasa’s. The situation forced our hand.

And now Tsukasa was talking about saving only the young—deciding who was worth reviving, like it was a moral absolute. Like he was some self-appointed gatekeeper for humanity’s second chance.

He won’t do anything rash. Not yet. Not until he figures out how to make the revival fluid himself.

Senku didn’t blink. So no matter what…His hands stayed at his sides, steady. I have to stay tight-lipped about the miracle fluid in the cave.

The tension between them pulsed, tight as a drawn bowstring. Neither flinched. The air felt brittle with it—one wrong move, one wrong word, and it would all snap.

And then—A voice. You heard him before you saw him.

“HEEEEEEEEY!!”

You turned sharply—just in time to see Taiju barreling down the beach toward you like a freight train made of good intentions and absolutely zero survival instincts. His arms were sloshing with something—some kind of pot? He was beaming.

“Awesome news, you guys!” he called, practically glowing as he skidded to a stop in front of you. “Check this out! You see? I got a whole pot full of the miracle fluid from the cave!”

The words dropped like a bomb.

You didn’t breathe.

Senku’s expression fractured instantly—his whole face tensing, eyes blown wide, jaw slack with horror so intense it almost looked comical. You saw the exact moment his soul left his body. If you weren’t seconds from cardiac arrest, you might’ve laughed.

Instead, you stared in raw, ringing silence as Taiju held the bottle aloft like a prize, completely unaware of the look Senku was giving him—a look that screamed I’m going to strangle you.

“And that means we can finally use this stuff to bring back Yuzuriha!” Taiju beamed.

You saw Senku twitch. Actually twitch. One of his eyes spasmed at a different speed than the other.

Taiju blinked at him, still clueless. “Huh?”

Tsukasa straightened slowly, that dangerous curiosity settling over his features like a calm fog. He turned fully toward Taiju now, eyes sharp but smile untouched. “So, what's this miracle fluid you’re talking about?”

Time stopped.

Before Taiju could even think about answering, Senku sucked in a sharp breath—like rebooting a system on the verge of total failure. His head snapped toward Tsukasa, back stiffening as he pulled himself back together, his composure returning. You could almost hear the mental gears grinding.

And then—crack.

Senku tilted his head with a sharp pop of his neck, followed by a low, too-casual chuckle.

“I won’t waste my breath trying to explain the science behind it.” He met Tsukasa’s gaze head-on now, “Showing you will be 10 billion times faster.”

You all made their way back to the grove where Yuzuriha’s statue rested—a quiet, half-sheltered patch at the edge of the woods, where the earth rose just slightly into a gentle mound, crowned by moss and fallen leaves. Light slanted through the branches in golden shards, catching on her stone form almost as if nature itself had chosen to spotlight her.

Yuzuriha’s expression remained as peaceful as ever, lips caught mid-smile, her hair frozen in the delicate sway of a long-gone breeze. It was eerie, seeing her like that—like time had tried to keep her safe by pressing pause. Like the universe had been kind enough to cradle her moment.

“Okay, Yuzuriha…” Taiju’s voice broke the hush, low and solemn.

“I promised we’d save you, and it’s happening for real this time.”

You stood a little off to the side, arms stiff at your sides, chewing the inside of your cheek so hard you could taste bitter copper of blood. Your eyes flicked to Senku, crouched beside you, as calm as if he were preparing afternoon tea instead of conducting the single most dangerous science demonstration of your collective lives. He filtered the nitric acid with surgeon-like precision, his sleeves rolled, fingers steady, completely unbothered by the fact that a man who could fold him like a lawn chair was watching his every move with predator-level focus.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you fought the overwhelming urge to bury your face in your hands—not that it would help. Not with the way your heart was pounding in your ribs like it wanted out.

Tsukasa stood just a few meters away, a statue among statues, his arms loosely crossed, eyes half-lidded in patient observation. But his stillness was deceptive. A glacier looked still too, until it collapsed and took half the coastline with it.

Tsukasa's ideology wasn’t just strong. It was calcified. Hardened like old resin—an amber-encased wasp of conviction and vengeance that nothing, not logic nor sentiment, could touch. Not without shattering in the process.

You weren’t cracking that with words. Not today. Which meant… kiss your dreams of a new wardrobe goodbye. Or a pillow. Or a phone. Or, well, maybe surviving the week.

You exhaled through your nose, quiet and slow, and forced yourself to scan the landscape—not for escape, but for leverage. Anything that resembled an opening, a pressure point, a sliver of uncertainty in Tsukasa’s expression.

A crack. A seam. Give me something.

But there was nothing. Just towering pine silhouettes against the now blue sky, and the sharp mineral tang of stone and seawater settling into your lungs.

Because this wasn’t a disagreement. It wasn’t even a debate. This was a collision. A war of philosophies dressed up like a strategy meeting. A renaissance reimagined as a powder keg.

On one side: Humanity, messy and whole. Flawed, corrupted, scarred—but worth reviving.

On the other: Selective salvation. A future hand-picked, scrubbed clean of power-hungry elders and systemic rot. A world where strength was right—and compassion was rationed like oxygen on a lost spaceship.

And the terrifying part?

The truly, deeply horrifying part?

Sometimes—when you really let yourself think about it—he almost sounded right.

The world had been broken. Not just cracked, but diseased. A society so terminally ill with greed, inequality, and negligence that maybe—just maybe—it did need to be wiped clean.

And Tsukasa? He had the gall to try. To reset the board. Not out of malice, but belief. Real, raw, immovable belief.

You didn’t know if that made him noble… or terrifying. Probably both.

So instead of spiraling further into that existential rabbit hole, you did the only logical thing: you shook the thought loose like static clinging to your skin and turned your eyes back to Senku—who was still crouched like some gremlin chemist beside the container.

You stared. No—you glared, hoping, however irrationally, that your increasingly hostile death-beam of a look might sear a warning into his oblivious side profile.

No luck.

Senku was completely absorbed, brows pinched together in ruthless calculation, mouth set in a thin, unimpressed line. You envied that singular focus, that terrifying detachment. Because whatever chaos was chewing up your nerves from the inside out didn’t seem to touch him at all.

And then—He stiffened. Just slightly.

You followed his gaze in time to see Tsukasa re-enter the clearing, backlit by shifts of the morning sunlight, a freshly-killed bird slung over his shoulder like an afterthought. The very picture of casual menace.

Senku didn’t look away. Instead, he turned back to the bottle, brow furrowing deeper as he tipped the ceramic container over the filter. A single drop—just one—clung stubbornly to the rim before falling with an anticlimactic plip.

And then… nothing.

“…What the hell?” Senku muttered, rotating the vessel in his hands as if mass alone might convince it to give up a few more precious milliliters. He tipped it again. Still empty.

A beat passed, tense and silent. “For some reason, we don’t have enough revival fluid for even one person.”

Taiju flinched like he’d just been sucker-punched. His arms instinctively tightened around Yuzuriha’s statue, adjusting his grip with the frantic care of someone holding something both priceless and on the verge of shattering.

“Crap! Did I really grab it too early?” His voice cracked under the strain, eyes wide with a guilt that went marrow-deep.

Senku exhaled sharply through his nose and stood, flicking the bottle once like it had personally offended him. Then he turned to Taiju with exaggerated ease. “Just grab some more,” he said flatly. “We’ll hang back and play twenty questions or something while you’re gone.”

A bluff. You could see it. Hell, you could feel it. But Senku, the absolute menace, wasn’t done.

He smirked—just enough to bait the hook—and turned his head a fraction toward Tsukasa, his voice rising half a note louder than necessary.

“But do try and make it quick, would you, big oaf?”

Tsukasa’s head tilted in that quiet, unreadable way of his. His spear glinted faintly in the light—then he set it down beside him with deliberate care, eyes narrowing in thought.

“I’m the fastest,” he said calmly. “So it makes more sense for me to go.”

You stiffened, spine locking with involuntary dread.

“But I’ll need to know exactly where to find this ‘miracle fluid.’”

There it was. The bait, swallowed whole.

Senku, without much hesitation, gave out the location of the cave. Tsukasa gave a curt nod in response—no dramatics, no bravado. Just a single pivot, a clean turn of his heel. Then, he moved. Not a run. Not a sprint. A launch.

Like a bullet shot through silence, he disappeared into the woods, cutting through the trees with the kind of terrifying grace that wasn’t just trained—it was innate. Something primal. Built into his bones. Leaves kicked up behind him in swirling gusts. Birds erupted in protest from the canopy, startled into a frenzy.

And then he was gone.

The clearing, once tense, now felt eerily hollow—like someone had pressed pause on the whole world and the residual energy hadn’t caught up yet. The silence didn’t feel peaceful; it felt haunted. Like the wind itself was holding its breath. The trees swayed with that slow, sleepy cadence only found in early morning woods, their long shadows pooling at your feet like ink. The grass shifted in Tsukasa’s wake, blades still quivering from the force of his exit. A few displaced leaves spiraled lazily through the air before settling in the dirt.

It was too quiet now. Like the forest itself was waiting. Watching.

You swallowed hard. You didn’t breathe—not yet.

Only once the last faint echo of Tsukasa’s footfalls had dissolved entirely into the underbrush did Senku finally exhale beside you. Not sharply. Not even with relief. Just... tired. Quiet and hollow, the sound of a man bleeding out energy at a microscopic rate.

Then he yawned.

Actually yawned.

Arms stretching overhead like a cat just waking from a sunlit nap, his back arching in a slow curve, fingers flexing toward the sky with all the urgency of someone not seconds away from an impending ideological implosion.

You stared at him, equal parts bewildered and furious.

“Are you fucking serious?” you muttered, somewhere between a hiss and a prayer.

Senku, still mid-stretch, cracked one eye open to glance sideways at you. His expression was half-lidded, entirely nonchalant—but that glint, that cursed little spark of mischief in his eye, burned like static.

“Well, it was either this, or go head to head with the strongest high school primate. Of course I chose the less physically draining option.”

A beat. His smile curled just slightly.

“Of course, if you’re feeling brave, you’re more than welcome to catch up with him and try. Although, you'd be lucky if you even have enough time to say anything before you pass out.”

“You know the second he comes back you’re as good as dead right?”

You could only gape at him for a moment, struggling between the urge to scream or laugh or both simultaneously. The audacity of this man.

“You know the second he comes back, you’re as good as dead, right?”

And for a moment—just a moment—Senku’s expression changed. Subtle. Not fear. Not panic. But a quiet acknowledgment. His next breath came slower, heavier, like gravity had curled into it. “Doesn’t matter,” he said simply. “Tsukasa’s gone for now, isn’t he?”

You didn’t reply. What was there to say?

Taiju, despite the delayed reaction in this accelerating spiral, perked up like someone just turned his volume knob back on. “Yeah! Like a bolt of lightning! I’ve never seen a guy move so—uh—!”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because Senku moved.

It was like flipping a switch. One moment he was just stretching, spine bowed in a lazy arc, fingers flexing like a bored cat, and the next—sharp purpose sliced through the air. He shifted from stillness to motion like a blade being drawn, rising with practiced ease and a quiet snap of movement that made your pulse catch.

In his hand, the same ceramic bottle he’d sworn was empty. But now, as the slanted light of morning hit it just right, you could see the faint shimmer of liquid inside. Nitric acid, cold and deadly and gleaming like the answer to an impossible question.

You didn’t think. You moved.

Heel pivoting in the dirt, you snatched the container of distilled alcohol from the ground without a word. Your body fell into rhythm beside his like muscle memory. No plans needed. No cues. Just action born from fear induced urgency.

Senku didn’t waste a second.

“Hurry it up,” he muttered, already peeling away the waxy seal. “We need to revive her before he gets back.”

“Yeah yeah, I know—I’m rushing too!” You felt your heart racing, but your hands stayed steady. The rhythm mattered more than panic.

Behind you, Taiju blinked. He looked between the two of you like someone flipping through a conversation ten pages too late. “Huh? What’s the rush? Tsukasa just left, didn’t he?”

Senku didn’t even glance up. “Exactly. Which means we’ve got a narrow window before he realizes I lied through my teeth.”

You couldn’t help it—you barked out a laugh, sharp and short. “Props to you for telling him a bold-faced lie.”

Taiju’s brow crumpled. “Wait, what’s going on? You literally just said there wasn’t enough revival fluid!”

“Taiju, please try to keep up,” you said, eyes on Senku’s hands as he measured each drop with ruthless precision. “That’s what he was lying about.”

Senku, as focused as ever, didn’t even look at Taiju. “Do you really believe I’d set out a collection pot that was the wrong size?” He sounded almost offended.

Taiju shook his head, eyes wide. “No, you wouldn’t! Then why did you send Tsukasa out to get more?”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Senku replied, already stirring the mixture. “I wanted him gone before we revived her. Even if it meant revealing the cave location.”

Taiju still looked lost. “Why would you want to get rid of Tsukasa? He's like, totally awesome!”

You turned to him, trying to lace your tone with something firm enough to break through the confusion. “That’s why he’s a threat. He wants to remake this world into a place where only the young and strongest survive.”

Senku’s voice dropped just slightly, his next words tinged with something colder. “And that kind of thinking doesn’t move me one millimeter.” His eyes narrowed, flint and steel in the morning light. “But a civilization-building game? Now that gets me excited.”

And that was what finally clicked. You could see it settle behind Taiju’s eyes. His shoulders pulled back. His stance evened out. There was still a flicker of uncertainty, but it was steadier now—tempered.

“Yeah. Okay. No need to explain,” he said after a long breath. “I trust you both to make the right decision.” Then, quieter: “Something happened while I was gone, huh?”

You looked toward the edge of the forest, still feeling the air shift where Tsukasa had vanished like a storm. “You could say that. And you’re right, Shishio Tsukasa is an awesome guy.”

You didn’t stop there. You let the truth hang heavy in your voice.

“Who also happens to be a murderer.”

By the time the mixture was fully prepared, the three of you were already moving—feet pounding the forest floor, ducking under branches, leaping over roots slick with dew. Senku clutched the bottle tightly, his breaths short and controlled. You followed close behind, lungs burning but unwilling to slow, and Taiju surged ahead like an unstoppable force fueled by sheer hope.

He reached the statue first. Yuzuriha stood exactly where you’d left her.

“Yuzuriha…” Taiju’s voice cracked with something raw and trembling as he stood in front of her, the precious bottle cradled in both hands. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I’m here.”

He tipped the revival fluid forward, slow and deliberate. The first drops fell like holy water, gliding over her forehead, trailing down the bridge of her nose.

“Just like I promised,” he whispered. “I’ll help you.”

You stumbled into the clearing behind him, bent double with your hands braced on your knees, breath coming in ragged pulls.

“Taiju…” you wheezed. “We kinda don’t have the—”

But the sentence cut off as Senku tore into the clearing behind you like a missile in a lab coat, his hair practically windblown from the sprint.

“Did you forget that we’re in a hurry, you big oaf?!”

He didn’t even break stride. One long lunge brought him to Taiju’s side, where he yanked the bottle from his hands and poured the rest over Yuzuriha’s statue with clinical precision.

Taiju staggered back, eyes wide. “Senku! You just dumped it on her?!”

He whipped his head toward you, flustered. “Shouldn’t we—I don’t know— gentle?"

You glance at the statue. The fluid glistens as it weaves through the fine cracks in her petrified form, tracing the fossilized strands of her hair, seeping down the delicate features of her face.

For a moment, the three of you fall into a taut silence, the kind that clings to the skin like humidity before a storm. The revival fluid seeps into the fine fractures across Yuzuriha's petrified form, darkening the stone where it flows, tracing paths down her hairline, her cheeks, her arms.

A small pool gathers at her feet.

The silence that followed was unnatural. It pressed against your eardrums, thick and buzzing, like the charged stillness before lightning splits the sky.

The three of you stood there—breath held, hearts pounding, caught in the space between hope and dread.

Nothing moved.

Taiju shifts beside you, fidgeting, his brow furrowed deep with tension. "Wait, why is nothing happening?"

You don’t answer immediately. You’re too busy watching Yuzuriha’s statue, searching for any sign of change. The silence is unbearable. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

Taiju circles her, scanning her form from different angles, as though he might uncover some obvious flaw or misstep just by looking hard enough. “Don’t worry, Yuzuriha, it’s fine!” His voice is laced with that desperate, fragile optimism people use when they’re trying to delude themselves by believing whatever they’re saying. Then he turns to you, eyes wide and glinting with fear. “This is fine, right?”

“The reaction’s not instant,” you say, still a little breathless, your mind flashing back to the moment Tsukasa had revived—stone skin cracking, breath hitching, life crashing back in a wave. “It takes a second.”

Senku nods beside you, crouched low to observe every detail like a scientist watching the universe take its first breath. “The petrification is much like cryostasis,” he begins, his tone more focused than dramatic. “The stone shell acts as a protective coating formed from trace metals present in the human body. An unknown process causes them to undergo a phase shift, locking the organic structure in place and preserving it indefinitely.”

Taiju glances between you and Senku, visibly struggling. “You totally lost me, Senku! That’s so complicated…”

Senku gives a small smirk. “That’s my theory, anyway. Based on an entire year of painstaking experiments and a mountain of guesswork.” He turns his gaze back to Yuzuriha. “Anyway, my point being—if even a single part of the body is exposed to the revival fluid and starts to break down that outer shell, it sets off a chain reaction—”

He doesn’t get to finish.

Because it starts.

A thin crack races across the surface of Yuzuriha’s stone form with a sound like dry twigs snapping underfoot. The statue twitches, ever so slightly—an almost imperceptible shudder. Then more fractures blossom across her arms, her neck, her cheeks, like the veins in a tree after being struck by lightning.

Senku’s voice drops. “—that ripples through the entire organism. And the petrification is undone.”

The next crack is louder. The stone splinters along her collarbone, then her waist, then down her legs. And then she begins to fall.

“Yuzuriha!” Taiju’s arms shoot forward, catching her with all the urgency of someone trying to stop time from slipping through his fingers. Her weight crashes into his chest—not heavy, but startlingly real. He sinks to his knees with her cradled in his arms, fingers splayed against her back like he still doesn’t quite believe she’s there.

“Please—please open your eyes.”

His voice is raw, torn at the edges, cracking beneath the weight of years spent screaming into silence—all of it condenses into that one broken plea. His fingers clutch her shoulders, trembling, as if loosening his grip for even a second might send her crumbling back into stone.

And for a moment, the entire forest holds its breath.

The wind dies. The birds go quiet. Even the sun filtering through the trees feels slower, gentler, like the world itself is waiting.

Then—just a flicker.

Her eyelids twitch.

Once.

Twice.

Then they part, hazy and unfocused, catching the morning light like glass touched by fire. fluttering faintly like wings breaking free of frost. Her lips part, dry but alive. She draws in a shaky, shallow breath. And in a voice he hasn't heard in what feels like lifetimes, she whispers—light, disoriented, but unmistakable

“…That you, Taiju?”

It hits him like a landslide. The laugh bursts out of him in a wild, uneven sound that crashes into a sob. He presses his forehead to hers, shoulders heaving with emotion too big for words, too real for logic. His whole body aches with it—with the sheer overwhelming truth of hearing her voice aloud once more.

The sunlight spills around them like liquid gold, filtering through the branches in warm, dappled light. It glows against her skin, lingers in her eyes—still hazy, still unfocused—like the world itself is welcoming her back from a dream.

She’s here.

She’s back. 

And you honestly couldn't feel any happier in a moment like this. There's a strange, quiet warmth that seeps in beneath your skin, the kind that lingers in your chest long after the adrenaline fades. 

You glance up at Senku, whose reaction is...well, expected. Arms crossed, shoulders stiff, he looks like a man waiting impatiently at a terminal where the intercom keeps announcing delays. His expression hovers somewhere between deep existential regret and secondhand embarrassment, the particular kind worn by someone who realizes—against every fiber of logical foresight—that he's wandered into a completely different genre than the one he signed up for. 

You feel it too, in a way. That sense of being in a moment that’s not meant for you, and yet still being moved by it. An emotional current you can’t fully explain—but don’t want to deny. “Even after all these years, they’re both as oblivious as ever,” you murmur, the words slipping out like an observation and a sigh at once.

Senku groans, low and sharp, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear, at this point I’m convinced they’re biologically immune to emotional self-awareness.”

You give him a questioning look, but don't reply.

But he doesn’t look away. For all his exasperation and sarcasm, his gaze remains fixed on Taiju and Yuzuriha—Taiju’s voice still trembling as he speaks, Yuzuriha barely nodding, as if grounding herself in each syllable. There’s something vulnerable about it. Something honest. And despite himself, Senku watches.

You let out a breath—half sigh, half laugh. “Still allergic to romance huh?”

Senku clicks his tongue, the sound sharp and practiced, and turns just enough to meet your eyes. His expression is flat, unimpressed, the universal face of a man being dragged into a conversation he wants no part of. “Yeah, real shocker,” he replies, dry as ever. “Turns out dramatic confessions don’t exactly rank high when you’re trying to reverse centuries of technological regression

“Right, because clearly there’s no emotional nuance involved in rebuilding society,” you counter, your voice dry.

“None that can’t be solved with infrastructure and running electricity,” he fires back without missing a beat.

“You know,” you say, stepping a little closer, “one day you’re gonna be hit with this thing called feelings—real ones—and it’s gonna bite you in the ass so hard, you won’t even have a scientific theory prepared for it.”

Senku rolls his eyes with such force it’s a miracle they don’t detach and begin orbiting his skull like rogue satellites. “Please. Emotional compromise is a waste of neural bandwidth.”

“You’re emotionally stunted.”

“I’m scientifically optimized.”

You narrow your eyes. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Debatable,” he mutters, and just like that, the moment slips into familiar banter. Comforting, maybe—but short-lived.

Because the clock is ticking.

Senku’s posture straightens with clinical precision, as if a switch has flipped. The ease in his voice vanishes, replaced with clipped efficiency. “Pardon the intrusion on your big emotional breakthrough or whatever,” he says, turning toward Taiju and Yuzuriha, “but you need to make a decision before he gets back.”

He holds up two fingers—steady, deliberate. “There are only two options, so choose carefully. Plan A: The three of you run away this instant, and find a new place to live. Put as much distance between yourselves and Tsukasa as possible. The farther, the better.”

A pause. Heavy.

“Plan B: We join together and fight to stop Tsukasa’s murder spree, using the only weapons we’ve got—the tools of civilization.”

Taiju looks at him like he’s just asked him to choose between breathing and blinking. “Come on, man! Obviously we’ll stay and fight by your side. I mean, really—what kind of people do you think we are?!”

You flash a grin and elbow Senku lightly. “I asked him the same thing, Taiju. Never seems to get it though.”

Yuzuriha, barely steady on her feet, is already nodding, fists clenched, eyes bright. “Mm-hmm! I have no idea what’s going on,” she admits, voice chipper but earnest, “but I’ll help however I can!”

Senku sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s suddenly aged ten years. “I’m not making assumptions,” he says, quieter now but no less firm. “And I’m not trying to be nice. It just seemed logical to give you the option to flee. That’s all.”

But Taiju’s already gearing up, fists clenched, jaw set. “Listen, Senku!” he shouts, voice rising like a tidal wave. “If Tsukasa is killing people, then we’ve got no—”

A voice cuts through the forest like a blade through silence.

“So I’m ‘killing people,’ now?”

The temperature drops. And you swear you can feel every muscle in your body lock.

He steps out from between the trees like he was born from them, silent and effortless, each movement soaked in that unnerving calm—the kind of stillness that only exists when someone is completely, terrifyingly sure of themselves. His lion-skin coat flutters slightly in the breeze before he shrugs it off in a single, fluid motion. The air around him seems to thicken.

“Huh,” he muses, tilting his head just slightly, eyes narrowing as they settle on the group. “I’d say that’s a matter of perspective.”

You, Taiju, and Senku all gasp in unison—caught off guard, completely unprepared for how quickly he returned.

“I call it culling,” Tsukasa says, voice low and unwavering. “For the benefit of the new world.” 

He begins walking toward you—slow, purposeful steps that somehow feel louder than they should. Every footfall slams into the ground like a countdown.

Taiju immediately throws an arm out, stepping protectively in front of Yuzuriha, Senku, and you. His voice cracks as the weight of the situation finally hits him full-force. “Hey—if things go bad… take care of Yuzuriha, okay? I’m gonna stop him. Right here. Right now!”

Before you can stop him—before anyone can stop him—Taiju lets out a yell and charges forward, a mess of wild energy and desperation.

“Okay wait, let’s not get overconfident now—!” you shout, hand instinctively reaching out, even though you already know it’s pointless.

Senku groans sharply. “This guy killed a freaking lion with his bare hands! You’re 10 billion percent screwed, you idiot!”

But even as he says it, Senku’s already turning on his heel, sprinting to the half-buried clay pots that lie below the hut and pulling out a sleek, makeshift crossbow. The same one you watched him build nights prior. 

An arrow is already drawn, string taut.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Hey—catch!” he barks, tossing the weapon to you in a single, precise motion.

Your hands close around the grip almost before you realize you’ve moved. Training? Muscle memory? Instinct? Doesn’t matter. The moment it’s in your hands, your body’s already adjusting, anchoring your stance, raising the sightline, locking onto your target.

Tsukasa. 

He doesn’t flinch.

You fire.

The arrow wasn’t meant to hit—not this one. It was a distraction, a disruption. Something to make him blink, even for half a second to at least try and break up the fight. That’s all Taiju would need.

But Tsukasa moves.

Not out of fear. Not with panic. No—with precision.

A blur of controlled force, he pivots sharply on one foot, body twisting mid-stance with terrifying grace. One arm snaps outward.

And he catches the bolt.

He doesn't deflect. He doesn't dodge. He caught it.

The reaction time alone is staggering—but it’s the technique that freezes you cold. With seamless precision, his palm redirects the arrow’s momentum downward, burying it into the soil at his feet like a snapped twig. The movement isn’t flashy. It’s not some grand display of power. It’s dismissive. The way you swat a fly.

But Tsukasa doesn’t pause to gloat.

With that same effortless momentum, he spins—fluid, brutal, measured—and closes the distance to Taiju in a single breath. One blink and he’s already there.

Then—

CRACK.

His knee slams square into Taiju’s crossed fists just as the boy regains his footing, bracing instinctively. A solid, bone-deep impact sends a shockwave rippling through the clearing. Loose leaves scatter. Yuzuriha gasps and you flinch as Taiju is launched backward.

His boots tear twin scars in the earth as he’s thrown like a ragdoll on invisible strings. For a split second, it looks like he might go down—but he doesn’t.

He plants his foot. Slides. Stumbles. But stays up.

Coughs once. Arms still raised. Gritting his teeth.

You stare, breath caught halfway between awe and terror.

Tsukasa pauses, expression unreadable. “No one’s ever taken one of my kicks full-force and remained standing,” he says calmly. “It's true but what's even more interesting…” His eyes narrow, sharp as cut obsidian. “...is the feeling I get that you actually refused to attack me just now. You had a clear opening—and you didn’t take it. Why?”

Taiju wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, voice rising with conviction that sounds more like a war drum than a plea. “I don’t hit anyone! You can punch me, kick me, do whatever the hell you want! But I’m telling you—”

He jabs a finger forward, breathless but unwavering.

“You have to stop breaking those statues, man!”

The words hang in the air, louder than they should be. Like he just screamed the world’s biggest moral in the middle of a high-speed car crash.

Tsukasa blinks.

Senku deadpans.

Yuzuriha has her hands half-covering her mouth, frozen.

And you?

You just stare at him. Dumbfounded.

“Wow. What a real riveting realization, Taiju,” you mutter, blinking slowly. “Thanks for the ethics lesson, Gandhi.”

Your words hang in the clearing with a weight that’s half sarcasm, half stunned disbelief. Even Tsukasa seems taken aback, visibly thrown. He pauses, arms folding over his broad chest, brows furrowing slightly as he studies Taiju with something approaching genuine confusion.

“Taiju,” he says, his tone slower now, deliberate, like he’s double-checking the logic on a math problem that doesn’t quite compute. “Let me make sure I understand you. You’ll let me pummel you as much as I want... if it means I’ll stop breaking those statues.” He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing, disbelief flickering beneath the calm. “That’s what you’re saying, right?”

Taiju, bless him, doesn’t flinch. He just nods, firm as ever. “Yeah! Exactly!”

Tsukasa just… blinks. Actually blinks. The man who fought a lion with his bare hands—visibly caught off guard by one human anomaly in front of him. He brings a hand up to his mouth, eyes drifting off to the side like he needs a second to process, jaw tightening faintly as he exhales through his nose.

When he looks back down at Taiju, there’s no smugness in his voice—only confusion. Honest, genuine, grounded confusion.

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly, his head tilting. “You aren’t making any kind of deal.”

And the thing is, he means it. He’s not mocking Taiju. He’s not playing games. He just truly can’t wrap his head around the idea of someone offering themselves without asking for anything back.

Senku chuckles under his breath, that familiar dry amusement threading through the tension. It’s not that he finds the situation funny—more that the sheer absurdity of Taiju’s honesty has momentarily short-circuited even Tsukasa's ruthlessness. He paused. Just for a second. But sometimes a second is everything.

“But,” Tsukasa says, the weight returning to his voice like a stone dropped into water, “if you insist on getting in my way—”

“I don’t care how many times you wanna come at me!” Taiju shouts, voice full-throated and loud enough to cut through the trees. “I’m not gonna stop trying to stop you!”

There’s a flicker in Tsukasa’s eyes. And then he lowers his gaze, his next words slipping out like a blade drawn slow from its sheath.

“That girl you just revived... what if I told you I’d kill her instead?” His tone doesn’t rise. It doesn't need to. It's laced with cold intent, the kind that silences everything around it.

Before anyone can move, Taiju reacts—pure instinct. He throws himself in front of Yuzuriha in a blur of motion, arms outstretched like a shield made of flesh and willpower.

And then—He stops. Freezes. Mid-motion.

His eyes go wide, unnaturally wide, like something’s gone suddenly, horribly wrong. A thin, dark line of blood begins to trail from his temple, cascading slowly down the side of his face. For a moment, he sways there—upright, statuesque.

Then he drops.

Not like someone falling asleep. Like a marionette with its strings cut.

Yuzuriha’s gasp cuts through the silence. “Taiju!?”

She drops to her knees beside him, scrambling to catch his weight as it hits the forest floor. Her hands hover, unsure where to press, what to do, her voice cracking around his name again and again.

You blink, a sharp sting of disbelief in your chest.

“Oh, great…” you mutter. “Fantastic. That’s... not ideal.”

Senku strides over, crouching beside Taiju with that same calm, clinical detachment he reserves for life-or-death assessments. He gives the unconscious boy a once-over, eyes narrowing at the blood seeping down the side of his face.

“Well,” he says dryly, “seems like it did hurt him. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig. He’ll need a couple days to sleep it off—if we’re lucky.”

You hear Yuzuriha’s breath hitch beside you, her hands still pressed uselessly against Taiju’s shoulder as if willing him back awake.

Tsukasa’s voice cuts through the moment like a crack of thunder.  “Yeah. So let’s not fight each other.”

He steps forward again, calm as ever, and grabs his discarded lion-skin pelt from the ground, flinging it back over his shoulders like a king reclaiming his crown. His spear rests easily in his grip, an afterthought to the threat that’s still hanging in the air.

“You just protect your girlfriend,” he continues, casting a glance at Yuzuriha, “and quit worrying about some random statues.”

Then, without another word, he turns. The clearing seems to part for him as he walks, his silhouette fading back into the trees like a nightmare slipping out of reach. “Meanwhile, I’ll do what I need to do.”

His voice echoes once more, low and final, as he disappears into the forest.

“Stay out of my way.”

The second you’re certain he’s not going to leap out of the shadows again, you finally release a shaky sigh of relief. Your knees feel weak, threatening to buckle beneath you, and every fiber of your body wants nothing more than to fold forward, face planting into the dirt, and stay that way for the next business week. But, of course, Senku doesn’t have time for self-pity or dramatic collapses.

“Please, never make me do that again...” you mutter.

Senku, never missing a beat, is already back to his usual brisk, no-nonsense demeanor. “That arrow was going at over 200 kilometers per hour,” he states matter-of-factly.

Yuzuriha’s eyes widened. “That’s crazy. And he just grabbed it?”

But no one really answers. Senku’s attention has shifted as he stomps impatiently on Taiju’s unconscious form. “Naptime’s over! Rise and shine, Taiju! Come on, get up!” he demands, repeatedly kicking him.

Yuzuriha, clearly panicked, shouts, “You said he needed a few days to sleep it off!”

Senku shoots her an exasperated grin, dark and slightly mischievous, as he continues his assault on Taiju’s ribs. “Oh, give me a freaking break. Is this it? You’re just gonna lose that easily, you big oaf?”

You can’t help but defend your friend. “Cut him some slack. You’d have been as good as gone if you took that hit.”

Just when you think Taiju is out for the count, his eyes snap open with a spark of determination. “No way! Not me!” he snaps, hauling himself upright in one smooth, surprisingly energetic motion.

Yuzuriha exhales in relief. “Oh wow! Are you really okay?”

Taiju pumps a fist in the air, grinning like a kid who just won a game. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that! And I’m still full of crazy energy!”

You exchange a glance with Senku, who shrugs with an amused smirk. But your caring, analytical instincts kick in immediately.

“That’s nice to hear and all, but I should probably still check if you have a concussion… and patch that wound up,” you say, already shifting gears into caretaker mode.

Taiju’s eyes blaze with determination as he suddenly tries to dart off in the direction Tsukasa disappeared. “But we gotta stop him! Before he can murder anybody else!”

Luckily, Senku grabs hold of his collar—well, tries to. More like he slows him down, getting dragged along by Taiju’s sheer strength as they struggle against each other.

“Wait, you big oaf!” Senku grunts, tugging with all his might, which is practically nonexistent.

Taiju shakes his head fiercely, refusing to be held back. “I won’t give up that easily!”

“Don’t you understand what just happened?!” Senku huffs, pulling harder. “He showed us we can’t stop him with brute force!”

Taiju finally freezes, that hard truth sinking in. “Still... we’ve got to do something.”

Senku releases his grip and strides over to where the arrow shaft is buried deep in the soil. He kneels down, tapping the earth thoughtfully.

“In the Stone World,” Senku begins, voice low and steady, “there’s only one surefire path to defeating a S+ tier boss."

Taiju and Yuzuriha gasp at him, wide-eyed and breath caught, but you already know exactly where this is headed. Senku’s voice drops to that familiar mix of excitement and unshakable certainty. “By advancing civilization, and crafting weapons of science!”

“How exhilarating…” You roll your eyes, half amused, half bracing yourself for the inevitable grind.

“Hell yeah it is, get excited!”

an: hey guys... heh? you still here???? bro never trust me when I say imma post at a set date, it never works out in my favor. typically I blame my pookie @lo1itado11 for it but she wasn't even available at the time I should've been writing so this is all on me... and then when I did try to lock in I got sick and rotted in bed--also i like a Roblox addict rn, I've been playing 99 nights in a forest like one of those 24 hour streamers, and I'm not even good....BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT!

i'm back! slightly longer chapter than usual but I genuinely couldn't find a decent part to finish this chapter off so I just cut it... next chapter will be SIGNIFICANTLY longer as well because of all the scenes I plan to get done so you can look forward to that!

I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I will be taking a break from writing for this specific series for like a week or so(lies, i'll find a way to slowly write for it) but I want to focus on shorter one shots, also for senku... but my inbox is always open (I'm begging for requests, PLEASEEEEEEEEE I love writing wtv crazy little scenarios anyone can come up with as long as they fit my guidelines)

anyway, I hope you all have a great day!!

taglist: @jmclouds @hyperl0gic @gingerthorns @jinu-x-rumiii

Idle Thoughts

Senku Counts Himself Awake

Senku Needs A Nap

Why I Love Senku

Senku and Emotion

Dr STONE Characters and How They Are Drawn

Senku Is Not Physically Inept

Senku Might Be Vaguely Suicidal

Dr STONE Has Horror Movie Potential

Horror Movie AU

Stanley & His Hair

StanXeno: Ultimate Girl Dads

Considering Tsukasa x Gen

Gen and Makeup

American Colony Has Cannabis

I'm Feral For Sai Nanami And I Will Not Apologize For It

Fics/Headcanon Lists

To the Moon and Back

Fanfiction Dream

To the Moon and Back (Senku x OC on ao3)

Last Texts Between Senku and his Long Distance crushFriend (Senku x OC)

Senku's First Stone World Letter (Senku x OC)

Texts Between Senku and Odie (Senku x OC)

A Segment of a Letter (Senku x OC)

Senku is Only Human (Senku x OC)

Senku Finds Odie in a Picture (Senku x OC)

Senku Has Some PTSD

Senku and Odie Friendship (Senku x OC)

More About Odie (Dr STONE OC)

Stanley and Odie: Complicated Siblings (Dr STONE OC)

The Snyder Siblings: A History in Complication (Dr STONE OC)

Any

Platonic SenKasa

Platonic SenKasa + Nightmares

Senku vs Siren

Character Music [feat. Senku, Gen, Tsukasa, Stan, Xeno]

Xeno helping Stanley with Nicotine Withdrawals

Stanley vs Nicotine Withdrawals p2

Yo in Uniform

Xeno Getting Pulled By His Tie

Evil Scientist Senku (with a dash of x reader)

Senku Witnessing Witchcraft

Senku + Witchcraft Thoughts p2

StanXeno: Girl Dad Beginnings

Stanley vs Bullet Fairy

Dr STONE Partner Getting De-petrified Instead of Suika [mild manga spoilers]

Dr STONE Partner Getting De-Petrified Instead of Suika p2

Senku Ask NSFW Headcanon

Ukyo + Mermaid Girlfriend

Manolo x Tsukasa First Kiss (friend oc x canon)

Manolo x Tsukasa Angst (friend oc x canon)

Gen x Tsukasa Flirting Fails

x Reader

StanXeno Adopted Child x Senku (x Reader)

StanXeno x Reader

Senku With An Unhinged Partner

Ryusui Nanami and the Only Girl He's Ever Had to Chase (x Reader)

StanXeno x High School Sweetheart (x Reader)

Stanley x Senku's Older Sister (x Reader)

StanXeno With A Partner Who Crashes Out Starting Thoughts

StanXeno With An Insomniac Partner

Gen With Someone With Similar Skills As Him

What if [reader] Doesn't Like Stanley Smoking?

StanXeno x Reader Relationship Confusion [fic]

Gen Crushing on Senku's Historian Sibling

StanXeno x Reader High School Sweethearts

StanXeno x Reader Rollerblading

StanXeno Soft Yandere/High School Dates w/ Reader

StanXeno x ace!Reader

StanXeno x Depressed Reader

Ryusui x Reader Childhood Friends to Lovers

Ryusui x Reader Childhood Friends to Lovers p.2

Ryusui x Stanley x Reader Smut/HCs

StanXeno x Reader (sort of) If One Of Them Dies

Gen x Depressed Reader

Xeno x Reader with an Eating Disorder

Birthday Celebrations

Ryusui Is Always Ready To Celebrate Your Birthday

StanXeno x Reader [Stanley Takes Care of his Partners]

Gen NSFW Headcanons

Contact [Tsukasa x male!Reader]

Tsukasa x male!Reader Injuries

StanXeno x Reader Vacation Day

Ukyo x Reader [lullaby]

Senku x Reader Breakup

StanXeno x Reader [Full Government Name Panic]

Touchstarved Headcanons

Senku

Stanley

Xeno

Ryusui

Tsukasa

Gen

Ukyo

Relationship Headcanons

Stanley

Gen

Xeno

Senku

Ryusui

Ukyo

Tsukasa

SFW/NSFW Alphabets