Yo.
With the new season of Dr. Stone airing, I finally decided to do something I've wanted to do for a long time: update my very first story on this site to match my current writing style and retell the story that encouraged me to publish my fics in the first place.
I have to say, this is more of a passion project than anything else. My main focus is, and will continue to be, my MHA story—for now, at least. Who knows what the future has in store?
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Leave a review and all that—it would make me very happy to know you like what I write.
Disclaimer: You already know this, but I don't own anything. Dr. Stone is the intellectual property of Inagaki and Boichi.
Underlined and italicized text = Characters speaking in languages other than Japanese (for the sake of the story).
Chapter I: An Unexpected Encounter
June 10th, 5739.
Senku Ishigami was wrestling with the aftermath of what had undeniably been the worst week of his life. The memory of Tsukasa's brutal betrayal and the moment his life had been cut short replayed in relentless loops every time he closed his eyes. His mind, a fortress of logic and reason, now felt like a chaotic battlefield strewn with unanswered questions: How had everything gone so wrong?
As he moved through the dense forest, the cool air carrying the scent of damp earth, his thoughts swirled. Rebuilding civilization—that was his mission. It was a goal anchored in science, in the pursuit of progress for all, not in the arbitrary moral judgments of who deserved to stand in this new world. The very notion of discarding petrified humans simply because they were adults, deemed 'corrupt' by someone else's twisted logic, was abhorrent to him. It reeked of arrogance, the kind of hubris that belonged to someone who fancied himself a god.
Senku despised that mindset. The idea of deciding a person's worth based solely on their past or their age went against everything he believed in. Who was he—or anyone else—to play judge, jury, and executioner? To leave someone entombed in stone because of an assumption about their "purity" or "decay" wasn't just wrong; it was a betrayal of the very foundation of humanity.
Humanity wasn't about purity or perfection—it was about progress, collective effort and the stubborn refusal to give up. It was about resilience, no matter how flawed our actions might seem.
His steps slowed as the weight of his thoughts deepened, the forest around him a blur of shadows and sunlight. That's why Tsukasa's vision grated against him like sandpaper on raw skin. It wasn't just a philosophical difference—it was an existential threat. Tsukasa's dream world, built on the rubble of selectively preserved lives, would be nothing more than a dictatorship of ideals, where strength and youth dictated value. It was, in every sense, the antithesis of what Senku hoped to achieve.
But the forest wasn't the place for answers. His pace quickened, boots crunching against fallen leaves and scattered twigs as he tried to shake the argument from his head. What was the point of endlessly debating Tsukasa's motives? Every perspective seemed riddled with contradictions, each more exhausting than the last. The world was too raw, too precarious, for abstract philosophy. This wasn't a problem that could be solved by reasoning alone. The clash between their visions wasn't some intellectual exercise—it was a war waiting to erupt. Sooner or later, he and Tsukasa would meet again, and when they did, there would be no middle ground. One ideology would prevail, and the other would crumble into dust.
His thoughts shifted, reluctantly, toward something more tangible. Chrome had set off to a nearby cave earlier that morning, excited to uncover new minerals that might aid their work. He was eager to bring back the amazing discoveries humanity had made in the twenty-first century, the same knowledge Senku had shared with him the night before.
As Senku continued his walk, his mind briefly returned to Kohaku, who had gone to care for her sister back in her village. It struck him how much the village seemed to represent an anomaly in this world—surviving when everyone else had been reduced to stone. He had no answers for how this was possible, but the thought lingered. Could it really be that the village antecessors were untouched by the global catastrophe that had petrified the rest of humanity?
Could it be possible? But then, why did they devolved to a Stone Age level of knowledge? Senku knew there was more to the puzzle, but for now he had a bigger problem than mere speculation. As brilliant as he was, there was only so much one person could do alone. Rebuilding civilization wasn't just about science—it was about cooperation. Time and resources, both in short supply, would be necessary for the long haul. He couldn't do it all himself. And no matter how many brilliant ideas he came up with, none of them would work if he didn't have the strength of a community behind him.
A man didn't discover fire by himself. It was the collective knowledge of generations that made every breakthrough possible. Senku knew that.
Community. That was the key.
As Senku walked deeper into the forest, the canopy above was a patchwork of green, light filtering through the branches in long, slanted beams. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss, and the silence felt profound, almost sacred. The steady rustle of leaves in the wind, the call of distant birds, and the occasional snap of a twig beneath his boots. It was beautiful.
His thoughts drifted once again, this time toward Taiju and Yuzuriha. It had been a while since he had last seen them, and a nagging concern settled in his chest. Tsukasa might not harm them directly, but the world they now lived in was far from kind. If they had been forced to hide, to fend for themselves without any support, how were they managing? Were they safe? Would he ever see them again?
Senku's gaze drifted up, catching the movement of birds darting between the trees. The forest seemed to swallow every sound, leaving only the soft crunch of leaves beneath his feet. He frowned, his hand brushing against the rough bark of a nearby tree as he walked.
He tried to push these thoughts away, tried to convince himself that they were strong, that they would be okay. But the truth was, he missed them. In his own way, he really did. The big oaf, with his relentless optimism and strength, and Yuzuriha, with her kindness and unwavering loyalty, had been there with him since even before the petrification. They weren't just allies; they were his friends. His real friends. Despite Senku's usual detachment, despite his self-imposed distance from others, the absence of them was a void he couldn't ignore.
Lost in the silence of the forest, Senku's foot suddenly caught on something solid hidden beneath the layer of fallen leaves. He stumbled forward, arms flailing to maintain his balance, but it was no use. With a soft grunt, he tumbled to the ground, narrowly avoiding a face-first collision with the forest floor.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up quickly and brushing dirt and leaves from his clothes. His eyes narrowed in irritation at the unexpected obstruction. His foot had hit something—something solid, but strangely out of place. He crouched, frowning, and began clearing away the leaves and tangled vines, revealing a large, petrified foot.
For a moment, he froze, his heart skipping a beat. Another human. Another victim of the global petrification. Senku's mind raced as he cleared the rest of the body's form, revealing the lifeless figure lying in the forest, its posture frozen in an eerie stillness.
The face was angled slightly to the right, the left arm across the eyes as though attempting to shield itself from something. The light, Senku realized, remembering the strange green glow that had swept across the planet, turning everyone to stone in an instant. The image of the body—the position it had frozen in, its last moments, the terror it must have felt—struck him harder than he expected.
He stood there in silence for a long while, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. His fingers clenched into fists, his mind refusing to cooperate with the swell of thoughts that began to churn.
Was this the same as before? Would reviving this person bring him nothing but more danger? He had already brought Tsukasa back from the stone, and look where that had led. A merciless betrayal, his life almost extinguished too soon. The memories of that day flooded him once more, and Senku felt the creeping sense of fear at the thought of awakening another potential threat.
For a moment he wanted to run. But he steadied himself—he couldn't afford to think like that. He was smarter than this, more logical.
He glanced at the body again. The man had been petrified, just like Tsukasa, but there was no guarantee of the same outcome. Every individual was different, every revival an unknown factor. He needed people. That was the simple truth. He couldn't do this alone.
After a long moment, Senku stood, dusting off his pants. The heavy weight in his chest didn't disappear. He could feel the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears as he looked at the petrified figure one last time. With a deep breath, Senku turned away from the body, his eyes scanning the path ahead, the forest stretching out in front of him.
In Chrome's hut was his last vial of revival fluid. But that wasn't his only motive. He needed to talk. To discuss this new figure with Chrome and Kohaku. Perhaps they would offer him a fresh perspective, something he couldn't see through the haze of his own doubts.
-AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY-
Several hours had passed since the discovery. The quiet embrace of night settled around them, the sky above a velvet canvas scattered with starlight. By the crackling campfire near Chrome's hut, the orange glow of flames danced across the faces of Senku, Chrome, and Kohaku. Their simple meal lay forgotten, the heat of the fire a short-lived comfort against the chill that seemed to seep deeper with every passing minute. The cool night air carried the faint scent of pine and earth, mingling with the sharp crackle of the fire. The forest around them stood still, except for the occasional whisper of leaves swaying in the wind, or the distant, hollow call of an owl echoing in the night.
At the entrance to the rope bridge leading to the village, the guard brothers, Kinro and Ginro, stood like hawks, their eyes sharp, scanning the dark horizon.
Chrome, his usual enthusiasm impossible to contain, held up a chunk of meat with a broad grin. "I found a bunch of baaad rocks in that cave, Senku," he said, practically glowing. "You've gotta see them! I bet you'll love them."
Bemused, but patient, Kohaku raised an eyebrow. To her, rocks were just rocks—simple, practical, and far from the complexities of survival. But she'd long since learned that interrupting Chrome's excited rants was as futile as it was pointless. Still, her attention remained on Senku, sensing his mind was elsewhere.
Senku stared into the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes, yet his thoughts were far from the warmth that radiated from it. His fingers absently poked at the embers, but the heat did nothing to chase the cold that had settled in his chest. The heat from the fire didn't reach him; it couldn't. cold knot twisted in his stomach as his thoughts clung to the discovery of the day—something that had burrowed deep inside him, gnawing at his focus.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, heavy, and far away, drawing both Chrome's and Kohaku's attention. "Today, I found something interesting in the forest." His gaze didn't leave the fire.
Kohaku, ever the one to read between the lines, arched an eyebrow, a spark of curiosity flickering across her face. Senku rarely spoke of anything beyond the realm of science—data, numbers, and experiments. His emotions were usually buried beneath layers of rationality. When he ventured beyond that, it was a rare event.
Chrome, mouth half-open in the midst of chewing, froze. "What is it?" His voice was tinged with the excitement of someone who knew Senku's words meant something important.
Senku's gaze drifted slowly between them, his expression unreadable. "I found the petrified body of someone from my time. Buried under a pile of leaves and plants."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unsettling, as the crackling of the fire filled the silence. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the shadows around them stretching long and thin as if waiting for something.
Chrome, leaning forward, his eyes wide with a mix of wonder and disbelief, broke the silence. "You can bring the statue here, right? You've got the liquid—just one vial left, right? You said you could bring him back, Senku. We have to help him!"
Senku didn't answer immediately. Chrome's words hung in the air like a promise, laced with an optimism Senku no longer allowed himself to indulge in. His mind wrestled with the idea. He knew exactly what Chrome was asking, but there was a deeper hesitation gnawing at him. The pull of his own self-preservation. His stomach twisted at the thought, and his heart pounded in his chest. His fingers tightened around the bottle at his belt, his knuckles white. The vial—the last vial of revival fluid—felt like a weight he couldn't escape.
Kohaku's voice broke the stillness, measured but firm. "Is that really a good idea?" she asked, her gaze wandering to the moonlit shadows that stretched between the trees. "We don't know who he is or what he might do. What if he's dangerous? What if bringing him back puts us all at risk?"
Senku's fingers grazed the bottle at his belt, a quiet, almost unconscious gesture. Her words held weight. He knew the risk. But his mind lingered on a darker thought. What if he kept it for himself? The idea presented to him like a selfish itch he couldn't scratch away. What if, the next time Tsukasa came for him, he could use it to avoid death? Could he justify using the last of it on a stranger when his own survival hung by a thread?
Chrome's face shifted from excitement to confusion, his brow furrowing in concern. "What are you saying, Kohaku?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "We can't just leave someone to rot, not when we have the means to help him. You told us yourself, Senku, that Tsukasa's coming—if we don't act now, it might be too late."
Senku didn't answer. His mind raced with the consequences, the weight of his choice pressing down on him. A selfish thought bloomed in the pit of his stomach. Couldn't he keep the vial for himself, just this once? If he died, if Tsukasa succeeded... all the knowledge he had fought so hard to collect would be lost. Humanity would start again from nothing. After all, he couldn't make more of the liquid if Tsukasa kept reigning over the Miracle Cave. If he died again, all the knowledge he had painstakingly gathered would be lost, and humanity's progress would be set back to nothing. He didn't doubt Chrome's ability to help rebuild civilization, but the process would be slow, too slow. Senku knew the risks, and yet his mind kept returning to that single, undeniable truth: he could make a difference. But only if he survived. Could he truly justify risking everything for the sake of a stranger?
Kohaku's gaze never left him, her eyes steady, unwavering. She saw beyond the scientist, beyond the genius. She saw the man struggling with the weight of impossible choices. The vulnerability was raw, exposed. He was human, just like them. For the first time, Senku wasn't the answer-man, the one who always had a plan. He was just a man, caught in a storm of doubt.
She leaned forward, her voice a soft anchor in the storm. "Senku," she said, her words gentle but firm. "I understand. It's okay to be selfish sometimes. But holding onto that bottle... do you really believe it's for the greater good?"
For a heartbeat, Senku remained still, his gaze fixed on the flames. Her words reverberating on his mind, soft and steady—but with and edge to it, a hint of the warrior she was, the one that fought every day for her sister.
Chrome, too, leaned in, his voice quieter, more serious than before. "I get it, Senku. Really. Believe me, I've found some rocks I'd never want to share with anyone. But you said it yourself—science exists to help others. If we're not willing to use what we have to help even one person, what's the point of all this? Can we still call ourselves scientists if we're too afraid to take that first step?"
The words lingered like an unspoken challenge, a choice that hung between them like a fragile thread.
Senku's gaze stayed fixed on the fire, but his thoughts were anything but still. The flames before him seemed to flicker farther away, as though the very warmth that had once comforted him was now an alien thing. His fingers, without thought, traced the vial on his belt—its weight a constant reminder of the decision that lay before him. The truth Chrome spoke cut through him, sharp and clear.
Then, without warning, Kohaku's hand found its way to his arm. Her touch was warm but resolute, a grounding presence in the chaos of his mind. No words were needed. Her gaze spoke everything—trust, conviction, and a promise that, whatever came next, they would face it together.
She wanted him to be the man she had come to trust. Someone that was determined to his goal.
The fire crackled one last time, a final spark leaping into the air, as though answering him. Senku exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing, if only slightly.
"…Alright," he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside. "We'll do it. Tomorrow, we'll revive him."
-AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY–
The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting golden rays through the dense canopy of the forest. Dew clung to every surface, shimmering like scattered jewels as the trio made their way through the underbrush. Birds chirped sporadically, their calls weaving into the rhythmic crunch of footsteps as Senku, Chrome, and Kohaku made their way to the clearing.
Chrome, practically bouncing with excitement, walked a step ahead of Kohaku, his bag of tools jostling with every enthusiastic stride. "We're almost there, right, Senku?" he asked with awe in his tone, barely able to contain himself, as if they were heading to a treasure trove rather than a petrified human.
"Yeah," Senku replied without turning, his voice casual but with a tinge of focus. "Just past that hill."
Kohaku followed a step behind, her eyes scanning the forest around them with practiced ease. One hand rested on the shaft of her spear, her body relaxed but ready. "Try to keep it down, Chrome," she said mildly, her gaze flicking toward a rustle in the underbrush. "You're going to scare away every animal in the area—or attract something we don't want to meet."
"Oh, come on!" Chrome shot back, his grin wide as he hopped over a fallen branch. "This is a big deal! It's the first time we're bringing someone back from stone, Kohaku. Don't you feel even a little excited about that?"
Kohaku smirked faintly but didn't answer. Her focus was on the forest, ears tuned for any sign of danger. While she knew the big animals usually avoided this part, the wilderness was unpredictable, and as the only warrior of the scientific kingdom, her role was to keep watch for threats.
Senku, leading the way, adjusted the strap of his satchel and glanced back briefly. "Don't burn through all that energy just yet, Chrome. You'll need it when we start the process."
Chrome snorted but fell in line, his excitement undimmed. "As if, Senku. Trust me I've got enough energy. Specially for something this bad!"
They crested the hill, and the forest opened up before them. A small clearing lay ahead, bathed in soft sunlight. At its center was the statue, every detail of his skin and hair preserved in stone, naked and vulnerable. It's form exposed to the golden light that bathed the forest.
"There he is!" Chrome exclaimed, practically running ahead. He crouched beside the statue, setting down the bundle of clothing as he inspected the figure with wide eyes. "Look at this! It's incredible! The details, this is so much cooler than I imagined!"
Kohaku stopped a few steps away, her spear planted lightly against the ground as she scanned the edges of the clearing. Satisfied that they were alone, her blue eyes shifted toward the statue. As her gaze settled on the figure, she hesitated for a moment, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. It wasn't like she saw naked strangers every day—or ever, really.
Senku, crouched beside the statue, didn't seem to notice her reaction. He was busy trying to drape the leather clothing Chrome had brought onto the stranger's petrified form, muttering under his breath about how he hadn't to do this on Taiju.
"So, this is who you found," Kohaku said quietly, her voice steady but carrying a slight edge of awkwardness. Her gaze lingered on the figure for a moment before she quickly looked away. "He doesn't look that dangerous to me." She cleared her throat, gripping her spear a little tighter. "Did… Did you wake up naked too?"
Senku paused mid-movement, glancing over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow. "Of course I did," he replied matter-of-factly, his tone carrying his usual blend of nonchalance and dry humor. "Petrification doesn't come with a wardrobe. Why do you think I told Chrome to bring clothes with us?"
Chrome, crouched nearby and examining the statue with wide-eyed fascination, straightened at Senku's response. "Wait, why doesn't the clothing get petrified too? Shouldn't it have turned to stone with them?"
Senku smirked faintly, as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask. "Good question, Chrome. Ten billion points to you. The petrification only affects living tissue—skin, hair, nails, that sort of thing. Anything else? Completely untouched. That's why any clothes, jewelry, or gadgets people had on them just… rotted away over time."
Chrome frowned, his mind already racing. "Rotted away? Even the stuff from your time? I mean, wasn't it supposed to be super strong?"
"Some of it was," Senku admitted, adjusting the makeshift shirt over the statue's shoulders. "But even the strongest materials degrade eventually. Cotton, wool, leather—it's all biodegradable. Some plastics and metals might last longer, but we're talking thousands of years here. Long enough for nature to take back pretty much everything. That's why civilization looks like it never existed, except for a few lucky remnants here and there."
Kohaku listened quietly, her gaze shifting briefly to the statue before scanning the treeline again. "It's hard to imagine everything just... disappearing like that. Makes you wonder what kind of world was back then."
Senku's expression softened slightly, though his hands didn't pause in their work. "A world a lot like this one, Kohaku. Just noisier, faster, and filled with billions of people."
Chrome tilted his head, still processing. "So… everything we're building now? It'll all be gone someday too?"
"Eventually," Senku replied with a shrug, his tone lighter now. "But that's the beauty of science, Chrome. It's not about building things that last forever. It's about giving people a chance to build something better while they can."
The statue now stood fully dressed in the leather clothing the trio had brought—a simple tunic and trousers. Senku stepped back, brushing his hands off as he eyed his handiwork critically.
With a sharp intake of breath, Chrome's excitement returned. "Time for the big moment, right?!"
Kohaku, who had been silent up to this point, shifted her weight and tightened her grip on her spear. Her gaze flickering warily between the statue and the forest.
Senku gave her a quick glance, the smallest hint of a smirk on his face. "Relax, Lioness. Animals aren't used to people as they were on my age. They won't approach no matter what."
He crouched before the statue, ignoring the blonde girl screams about her not being a lioness. He pulled out the last vial of revival fluid from his satchel.
"This is it." Chrome murmured, his voice filled with awe as he stepped closer, trying not to jump of the emotion.
Senku uncorked the vial with a soft pop, the faint scent of the liquid mixing with the earthy aroma of the forest. Tilting the vial, he let the first drop fall onto the statue's face.
The liquid began to flow more steadily as Senku tipped the vial further, letting it trickle over the statue's face. The shimmering fluid slipped beneath the edges of the clothing, seeping down the petrified surface of the body. It moved like a living thing, spreading outward in intricate patterns beneath the leather tunic and trousers.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Chrome leaned in closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Uh... Senku? Is this supposed to be happening? Or not happening?" His voice was a mixture of excitement and confusion, his eyes darting between the statue and the still-dripping vial.
"Patience," Senku replied, his tone calm and deliberate. He straightened slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on the figure before him. "Chemical reactions take time. You'll know when it starts."
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the soft drip of liquid. Chrome opened his mouth to say something else but stopped short as a sharp crack split the air.
It came from the statue's face.
Kohaku's grip on her spear tightened as her eyes locked onto the source of the noise. "There," she said under her breath, her voice steady but edged with tension.
A thin fracture had formed at the base of the statue's lip, a jagged line running diagonally upward toward the nose. The sound came again, louder this time, as the crack widened, small fragments of stone falling away.
Chrome gasped, stepping back instinctively. "Whoa... It's really happening!"
Senku remained crouched, observing with a detached intensity. His sharp eyes tracked every shift, every hairline break. "The fluid's breaking down the petrification layer," he said, his voice low and measured. "It's starting with the thinnest areas—places where the stone layer is weaker or thinner."
The fracture deepened, running the length of the figure's chin to just below the nostrils. As more of the stone broke away, a patch of pale skin emerged beneath it, marred by the scar that mirrored the line of the break.
Kohaku exhaled softly, her knuckles white against the shaft of her spear. "A scar?" she murmured, her brows furrowing.
"It's common," Senku replied without looking away. "The cracks during the revival process sometimes leave marks like that. Think of it as a side effect of being frozen in stone for millennia."
Chrome, still wide-eyed, pointed at the slowly spreading cracks. "But it's not stopping, right? The fluid's still working?"
Senku smirked faintly, tipping the last of the vial's contents onto the statue's chest. "Oh, it's working. Just keep watching."
-AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY–
The vapor from the liquid began to intensify, curling upward like smoke from a fire as the cracks multiplied, spreading outward from the scarred face. Beneath the surface, skin, muscle, and warmth began to return to the stone-cold figure, though the process remained agonizingly slow.
A sharp pain sliced through the deep blackness—an abrupt crack, shattering the silence. Coldness seeped into his mind, prying open the veil of unconsciousness. How long had he been trapped? Frozen in time? For a moment, there was nothing—only a hollow, oppressive silence. Then... warmth. A gentle warmth, spreading across his skin, creeping into his body, awakening a strange, unsettling sense of awareness.
Every part of him screamed in confusion, but there was no sound—no voice to match the panic rising in his chest. His limbs felt heavy, encased in something hard, unyielding. He could feel it now: something crawling over him, pulling the stone away inch by inch. A slow, painful process that filled him with dread and desperation.
He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like lead. For a moment, there was only darkness, and the overwhelming sensation of being torn apart from within. Then, a sliver of light pierced through the abyss. His eyelids fluttered, struggling against the weight. A faint glimmer of the world reached him—distant, out of focus. The light... it wasn't right. It wasn't bright enough.
Suddenly, a sharp inhale filled his lungs. He gasped, as if for the first time in forever, and tasted the air—cold, fresh, alive. He couldn't remember the last time he had breathed.
A groan escaped him, weak and ragged, as though his voice had forgotten how to speak. The sound was alien to him, unsettling in its unfamiliarity.
There was movement now. Faint, distant voices. The warmth grew closer. People. He could feel them, hear them, but he couldn't reach them. He wasn't sure if he even had the strength to move. His mouth, dry and cracked, parted slightly. Another ragged breath escaped him, his body twitching involuntarily.
He tried again, gathering whatever strength he could muster. Once. Twice. Then, finally, the stone cracked again, a loud and final sound. Something inside him broke free.
His chest heaved, desperate for air, as the pressure of consciousness flooded back into him. Then, suddenly, his throat constricted and a sound escaped—a sharp, strangled cry. A sound born of pure, unrestrained release. Years, no, centuries of silence—the quiet of frozen time—had built up within him, and now, it was breaking free. The cry was of wonder, confusion, and something deeper still: a feeling of recognition. For the first time in so long, he could feel. He could feel anything.
He could now put a face to the voices—people, alive, staring at him with expressions of curiosity and surprise. He swallowed hard, taking in another deep breath. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. A soft, bewildered chuckle escaped him, almost too soft to be heard. The sound of it surprised him. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed, or anything close to it.
He raised a shaky hand to his face, feeling the unfamiliar warmth of skin, the absence of the stone that had encased him. His fingers trembled as he moved them down to his chest, touching clothes.
"What's this? Where I am?" The question came out as little more than a whisper, his voice hoarse from the long silence. It was the only thing he could manage to say as he stood there, caught between wonder and disbelief.
The language was foreign to Kohaku and Chrome, their expressions stiffening as the unfamiliar syllables hung in the air. Kohaku instinctively tightened her grip on her spear, casting a cautious glance at Senku.
But Senku's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He exhaled a quiet breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He recognized it immediately—English. His mind translated the words as naturally as breathing.
"Well, that's one less thing to worry about," he murmured to himself. Kohaku shot him a confused look, but he didn't elaborate.
He'd been bracing for a worst-case scenario—a violent awakening, a dangerous individual out of control. But seeing the man disoriented and confronted by a language barrier was oddly reassuring. Conflict felt unlikely for now.
Still, his scientific mind remained alert. Let's see how this plays out, he thought. His gaze sharpened as he addressed the man in fluent English.
"You're awake. It's June 10th of 5739. We are in what used to be Japan. The world you and I knew is gone—changed beyond recognition."
The man's head jerked up at the statement, and he sat up almost too quickly, his movements forced and unsteady. His wide eyes locked onto Senku, disbelief etched into his face.
"Five thousand... seven hundred thirty-nine?" he echoed, his voice trembling. "Fuck! No… That's not possible."
Kohaku's shoulders tensed, her eyes narrowing as she instinctively shifted her weight forward, ready to act if needed. She searched the man's face. There was something deeply human in his voice—confusion, desperation, and something else she couldn't quite name. She could grasp that even if the words spoken sounded almost like witchcraft. Her grip on the situation faltered, her instincts torn between suspicion and empathy.
"What... what is he saying?" Chrome's voice was hushed, barely audible. His usual curiosity was edged with unease as he glanced at Senku, seeking answers. "It sounds... weird. Like he's casting some sort of spell."
Kohaku shot Chrome a sharp look but didn't reply. Her focus remained locked on the man, watching as his hands trembled slightly, his gaze darting around the clearing as though trying to piece together fragments of a broken reality.
Senku finally broke the silence, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of thoughtfulness. "It's not a spell, Chrome. It's English—a language from our time. He's asking who we are, where he is and how any of this is real."
Kohaku's breath hitched. "How can you understand him?" she asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and something softer—relief, maybe.
Senku's gaze lingered on the stranger, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The tremor in the man's hands, the shallow breaths, the way his lips parted as if he were searching for words but finding none. He turned his gaze to Kohaku. "English was the universal language before the petrification. All the knowledge was written in it. Regardless of the language the author spoke. No competent scientist would skip learning it."
Kohaku's gaze flicked back to the man. Her posture softened slightly, though her eyes remained cautious. "Then... what does he want?"
Senku didn't answer right away. He took a step closer to the man, crouching to meet his gaze. The stranger's wide eyes latched onto Senku, searching desperately for understanding in the sea of unfamiliar faces and sounds.
"He wants to know what's happening," Senku said finally, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. "And honestly… who wouldn't?" He knew he was fortunate—retaining his consciousness during petrification had spared him the disorientation of losing time. But to fall asleep in one world and awaken in another? That was a terror he could only imagine.
Chrome shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming against the pouch at his side. "I mean, yeah, sure. But... doesn't this freak anyone else out? He just woke up, started talking in some old tongue, and—"
"Chrome," Kohaku interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. She turned to him, her expression firm but her voice carrying a strange gentleness. "Senku's right. Look at him. He's scared. Confused. Wouldn't you be, too?"
Chrome blinked, his protests faltering. He glanced back at the man, whose face was now etched with a raw, unfiltered vulnerability. For a moment, Chrome said nothing. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah... I guess I would."
Senku straightened, keeping his gaze steady on the man. He took a deliberate step closer, his movements measured and unthreatening. "Let him process this at his own pace," he said, his voice tinged with a calm authority that left little room for debate.
Kohaku crossed her arms, but she nodded. Her expression softening further. "Fine. But if he tries anything dangerous—"
"He won't," Senku cut her off, glancing at her briefly before focusing on the man again. His tone was unwavering, as though he was stating a fact rather than an opinion. "Trust me on this."
-AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY–
The stranger stared at his trembling hands, fingers curling slightly as if testing their newfound freedom from the stone. His gaze flickered to the distant horizon, blocked by a wall of trees that swayed gently with the breeze. The world felt so open, yet suffocatingly unfamiliar. He closed his eyes, drawing a slow, deliberate breath. The air was sharp and crisp, carrying a purity he hadn't tasted in what felt like lifetimes. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the wind broke the heavy silence that had settled around him.
Memories clawed at the edges of his mind, refusing to be ignored. Fragmented images came rushing in—flashes of a life that now felt impossibly distant. Faces swam in his thoughts, some clear and dear, others blurred by time. Echoes of laughter, words spoken in heated debates or casual moments, reached him like distant thunder. They overwhelmed him, yet he clung to them, terrified of losing even a single fragment.
For a moment, he let himself drown in those memories, clutching at the remnants of a world that had moved on without him. But the harder he reached for them, the more they slipped through his grasp, leaving behind an aching void.
His lips parted, and a whisper escaped, almost inaudible. "You were there too, right? The day when the green light covered the sky." His voice, though hoarse, carried the weight of an unspoken plea. His eyes remained closed, as though opening them might shatter what fragile composure he had left.
Kohaku tensed, her sharp instincts catching the subtle shift in the stranger's tone. "What's he saying?" she murmured, leaning closer to Chrome, her brows furrowed in concern.
"I... I don't think so," Chrome whispered back, though his unease was evident. "He looks more... lost than dangerous. But still, this guy's impossible to read."
Senku ignored them, his sharp gaze fixed on the man. He didn't interrupt, allowing him to continue at his own pace.
The man's shoulders slumped, his body sagging under an invisible weight. "Do you miss it? The old world, I mean." He paused, his voice quiet, almost fragile. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes that were distant, haunted. "I remember it all—the cities, the lights, the noise. The life we took for granted. And now…" His voice faltered, lost under the weight of that reality. "It's gone. Just like that."
Kohaku's eyes darted toward Senku. "He sounds... sad," she murmured cautiously.
Chrome tilted his head, watching the man's body language. "No, it's more than that. He's... breaking, isn't he?"
Senku's expression softened, though his analytical gaze remained unwavering. "He's figuring it out," he muttered, more to himself than anybody else.
The stranger's trembling hands slowly steadied, his breaths deepening. The tension in his posture melt away, replaced by a quiet acceptance. "Maybe that's the point," he said, his voice growing firmer with each word. "No amount of wishing or grieving will bring it back."
Kohaku frowned, uncertainty creeping into her thoughts. Had he really given up? A glance at Chrome told her that he, too, was troubled by the stranger's words.
Senku's eyes remained steady. He could see it—the subtle shift as the stranger crossed the threshold from despair to reluctant acceptance.
The man looked up, scanning the unfamiliar landscape. His voice, though quiet, was resolute "This sucks," he muttered, his voice quiet but resolute. "But I guess I gotta move on."
Senku, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward. His tone steady but carrying a note of encouragement. "You've figured it out faster than most would. The old world is gone. What are you going to do with this one."
The stranger hesitated, his lips parting as though words were just out of reach. His eyes dropped to the ground, and his hands clenched into tight fists. What could he say? The enormity of it all pressed on him, leaving him with only one thought: survival.
Senku watched him carefully, his sharp eyes taking in every reaction—the flicker of hesitation in his expression, the slight shift in his stance. This man was calculating, cautious, and yet... lost, as if he missed a piece to complete the puzzle.
"It's a hard question," Senku said, his voice steady, but there was a weight to the words. "You're not wrong to focus on surviving. After all, what's the point of anything if you can't make it to tomorrow?"
The stranger's head lifted slightly, his brow furrowing in thought.
"But," Senku continued, his voice firming, "I agree, lamenting the past—wishing things could go back to the way they were? That's a waste of time. The old world is gone, but I'll bring it back. That's my goal."
The man's eyes narrowed slightly, introspection giving way to curiosity, a spark lighting within their depths.
"I'm going to rebuild civilization," Senku declared, his tone almost casual, as though this were just another conversation. "From the ground up. Science, technology, everything. I'll catch up—and then we'll go forward."
The stranger blinked, stunned. The declaration was absurd—impossible even. One man, claiming to recreate the constant scientific development of humanity? It sounded insane. And yet, there was no hesitation in Senku's voice, no trace of doubt in his eyes. He meant every word.
Chrome and Kohaku exchanged a glance, the man's reaction confirming what they'd suspected—Senku had just laid out his bold plan.
"That's why I'll ask you again," Senku said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze unrelenting. "What are you going to do?"
The stranger remained silent, his thoughts swirling like a storm within his mind. His chest tightened, the weight of Senku's words threatening to crush him. This wasn't just survival. This was a chance to start over, to build a new world from the ground up. It was overwhelming. And yet...
"You're serious about this?" the stranger finally asked, his voice low but steady, almost in disbelief.
Senku nodded, his expression unwavering.
The stranger's eyes darkened with a new resolve. "And if you succeed... will you just repeat the mistakes of the past? Let the same systems, the same greed, destroy everything again?"
Senku's gaze sharpened, but his voice remained calm. "I can't promise we won't make mistakes. I'm not some god or savior. I'm just one guy who happens to know a lot about science." His words softened slightly, but the conviction remained. "But I do know this—science isn't the problem. It never was. It's just a tool. What matters is how we use it. And I plan to use it to give humanity another chance."
The stranger's lips quirked upward in a faint, unexpected smile. "That's a good answer."
Kohaku and Chrome exchanged puzzled looks, unsure of what to make of the stranger's shift in tone. "Is that good?" Chrome whispered. Kohaku merely shrugged, her weapon still gripped tightly in her hand.
Senku raised an eyebrow, momentarily caught off guard by the response. "Your goal sounds like bullshit." The stranger's smile widened, not mocking, but filled with an odd respect. "Yet, I do believe in it. That's why I wanted to see if you were just another egomaniac who thought they could play god. But you're not. You're grounded. Practical. I respect that."
Senku exhaled quietly, a rare moment of relaxation creeping into his posture. "So, what's your answer?"
The stranger tilted his head, scanning Senku and the strange new world that stretched before him. "It's not like I have a choice, do I?" he said, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "I'll stay. Help you with your crazy plan to rebuild civilization... and save everyone." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But I have one condition."
Senku crossed his arms, curious. "Understandable. Let's hear it."
The man gestured toward Kohaku and Chrome, who stiffened under his gaze. "You're going to teach me Japanese," he said, surprising Senku.
Kohaku leaned forward, her hand tightening on her weapon, but Chrome stepped in quickly, trying to hold her back. Senku raised a hand, signaling them to stop.
"I'm no idiot," he said plainly. "Your friends speak it. If I'm sticking around, I need to know what's going on without you translating everything. I'm not interested in being a burden."
Senku's lips quirked into a small smirk. After all Kohaku had her own condition too. "Fair point. I'd probably ask the same if I were in your shoes. Deal."
The stranger extended his hand, his expression still guarded but his posture easing ever so slightly. Senku took it without hesitation, his grip firm and confident.
"I'm Joe by the way." The man's smile deepened, a flicker of genuine warmth in his eyes. "It's going to be fun working with you…"
Senku gave a short nod. "Senku. Welcome to the Kingdom of Science."
Chrome scratched his head, still baffled. Kohaku narrowed her eyes but decided to trust Senku's judgment. Together, the four of them disappeared into the forest, the rustle of leaves the only sound that remained.
So, yeah, that's it for the first chapter.
Having a character who can only communicate with one person is always fun to read. Honestly, I loved the idea when I came across it in Communicating with Cavemen for Dummies on AO3. Of course, it was executed far better there—only Senku spoke Japanese, while the others had an entirely new language. Props to the author for that!
But hey, what did you think? Did you enjoy the chapter? Let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Stay tuned for the next one!
After saying all that, I don't think I have anything else to add—or write, in this case.
Until next time,
—FarXs, yes that one.