Yo!

Here's the second chapter—hope you enjoy it! Drop a review if you can; it'd mean a lot to me to know you're enjoying what I write.

Disclaimer: You already know this, but I don't really 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 II: Iron Sand

June 14th, 5739.

"And that's Vega. It forms part of the Lyra constellation," Senku said, pointing at the glistening dot in the vast expanse of the night sky. His tone carried casual authority and unshakable pride, like a teacher giving his lecture. "It's one of the most brilliant stars up there—and it's relatively close to Earth. Well, close in cosmic terms."

Chrome's eyes widened, their usual spark of curiosity now an uncontainable blaze. "Whoa... It's like a precious gem just floating in the sky!" he exclaimed, his voice alight with wonder that felt almost tangible, as if the stars themselves were reaching down to him.

Perched on a sturdy tree branch, Kohaku tilted her head, narrowing her sharp gaze at the distant light. Even from this vast distance, the star's brilliance was striking—far brighter than any she had seen before. It shimmered with an intensity that caught her off guard. Blinking in surprise, she leaned back against the trunk, her voice tinged with quiet awe. "It really does shine like fire."

The three of them had been talking about the stars for over an hour, yet Chrome's enthusiasm refused to wane. Every new revelation seemed to electrify him, hitting him like the first drop of rain after a drought.

Kohaku's gaze drifted upward again, the sparkling canopy above pulling her into the depths of memory. The stars reminded her of the Hundred Stories i loved to tell. One particular story came to her, unbidden, like a soft whisper from the past.

"Ruri once told us a story about a man who fought with his family and ran away from home." She began, her voice quiet, almost reverent. "He drifted into the sea, lost and alone. A terrible storm rolled in, and he thought he was going to die. But then, a merciful sea spirit appeared. It pointed to the stars before vanishing, leaving him with nothing but the sky to guide him. At first, he doubted it. But with no other choice, he followed the stars. And against all odds, he found his way back home."

For a moment, silence blanketed them, save for the rustling of leaves and the faint symphony of crickets. Senku, who had been listening with detached interest, suddenly straightened. His eyes sharpened, a gleam of intrigue flickering behind them.

Then a faint smirk tugged at Senku's lips. Brilliant. The story wasn't just a tale, it was a lesson. Teaching people to navigate using the stars. Simply amazing to think how knowledge passed from generation to generation.

Chrome practically jumped to his feet, the excitement bubbling out of him. "Oh, I loved that one! Senku, did people in your time actually travel by following the stars?"

Senku chuckled softly, but his attention shifted momentarily to Joe. The man sat a little apart from them, lying on his back and gazing up at the sky. His silence wasn't unfamiliar—he often seemed lost in thought—but tonight, it carried an air of quiet longing.

Noticing Senku's glance, Kohaku and Chrome followed his line of sight. Their expressions softened as realization dawned—they had been so engrossed in their conversation that they'd left Joe out.

He caught their looks and raised a hand, offering a reassuring grin. "Hey," he said, his tone warm and easy. "Don't worry about me. I don't know what you're saying, but I'm guessing it's something about the stars, right? I can tell just by the way you're looking at them. Keep going—I'm good."

Senku translated briefly, and Kohaku and Chrome exchanged sheepish smiles, their postures relaxing.

Senku turned back to them, a teacher's spark reigniting in his voice. "That's right, Chrome. For thousands of years, humans used the stars to navigate. But here's the crazy part—the stars aren't always in the same place in the sky."

Both Chrome and Kohaku leaned in, their brows furrowing in unison.

"The Earth is a sphere," Senku continued, the words falling from his lips as easily as a breath of air.

"A... sphere?" Kohaku echoed, tilting her head in disbelief.

"Like a ball?" Chrome added, his eyes wide.

"Exactly. Well, technically, it's a slightly flattened sphere—what we call a geoid—but for now, just think of it as a giant, spinning ball. The equator divides it into two halves, or hemispheres, and each hemisphere has its own constellations. Depending on where you are, the stars you see change."

Chrome's gaze darted between the stars and Senku, his mind racing. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he asked, "Wait… If the stars change… does that mean… the Earth is moving too?"

Senku's grin widened, pride flickering in his eyes. "That's exactly right. The Earth rotates on its axis and orbits the sun. That's why the stars appear to move across the sky."

Chrome gasped, clutching his head as though the weight of this knowledge might make it burst. "The Earth moves?! But if it's spinning, why don't we just fly off into space?!"

Senku laughed, a sound equally amusement and exasperation. "Ah, that's where gravity comes in. It's the force pulling us toward the Earth's center. It keeps everything—us, the air, the oceans—from flying off. Science is awesome, isn't it?"

Chrome's awe-filled silence was quickly replaced by a new question. "But if the stars keep changing, how did people figure out how to navigate back then?"

Senku held up his sextant, the metal catching the moonlight like a talisman of human ingenuity. "With the help of two key stars—Polaris in the north and Crux in the south." He pointed to the North Star, its steady glow unwavering. "As long as you can find them, you can orient yourself. Plot your course. It's a billion percent reliable."

"Uh, are you sure, Senku?" Chrome asked, squinting at the star Senku had pointed to. His voice carried a note of uncertainty, but his curious expression betrayed that he wasn't just doubting—he was theorizing. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a smooth, dark stone, its faint shimmer catching the moonlight. "Because look at this! I found this rock on the riverbed, and when I tried to wash it, it… moved. It wouldn't stay still, like it was alive or something! But every single time, it floated in the same direction. Here, watch."

He grabbed a small clay water container. The others watched as Chrome crouched, setting the stone gently on the water's surface. All eyes were on it as it began to drift—not aimlessly, but purposefully, aligning itself toward the left of the star Senku had identified as Polaris.

Senku's sharp eyes widened, the pieces of a puzzle snapping together in his mind. "No way... Magnetite?!" His exclamation slipped out in English, the word charged with disbelief and excitement.

Kohaku blinked, leaning closer to the water as if proximity might reveal the mystery. "What was that?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

Joe, standing behind them with his arms crossed, tilted his head. He didn't understand the conversation, but he caught the word Senku had used. "Isn't that some kind of iron ore?"

Senku let out a sudden laugh, short and sharp, as if the realization had hit him like a bolt of lightning. He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Of course!" he said, now in Japanese, his voice rising with both amusement and exasperation. "What kind of scientist am I? The Earth wouldn't just sit still for us—it's been moving this whole time! The axis shifted, and Polaris isn't the North Star anymore!"

Chrome's jaw dropped, his gaze darting between the floating stone and Senku. "Wait, the Earth moved?! But how?! When?!"

Still grinning, Senku crouched beside the water, dipping his fingers into the cool surface as he spoke. "It's called axial precession," he explained. "The Earth's axis sways over thousands of years—like a spinning top as it slows down. Over time, this changes which star is closest to true north. Polaris is just one name on a long list of North Stars."

Kohaku tilted her head, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. "So… what does that have to do with this rock?"

Senku blinked, momentarily distracted by his explanation. He glanced back at her, realizing he'd lost her somewhere in the science. His grin softened into something more focused as he pointed at the floating stone. "That rock," he said, "is magnetite—iron ore. And as Joe mentioned, it's magnetic. It always points toward the magnetic north, no matter how much the Earth's axis wobbles."

Kohaku's frown deepened. "And that's important because…?"

"Because where there's magnetite," Senku said, his voice brimming with triumph, "there's iron! Think back to the steps we took to make the antibiotic for Ruri. With iron, we can make tools, machines, and more. It's the first step in our plan to rebuild civilization."

Chrome's eyes lit up, and a wide grin spread across his face. "So this little rock is like a sign pointing us to iron?"

"One billion percent correct!" Senku said, holding the stone up like a prize. "This rock isn't just a tool for navigation—it's a map to one of the most important resources humanity has ever used. And now that we've found it, we're officially on the right track."

Joe, who had been piecing together the scene from their body language, raised a hand. "So… good news, then?" he asked

Senku flashed him a confident smirk. "Great news, Joe."

-AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY-

June 15th, 5739

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, its golden rays cascading over the river, transforming the surface into a shimmering tapestry of liquid diamonds. Every ripple caught and fractured the light, scattering it in dazzling patterns that danced across the water's edge. The scene was so breathtaking it almost—almost—made the grueling labor worthwhile. A soft breeze meandered through the dense canopy above, rustling the leaves and offering brief moments of relief from the unrelenting heat.

Chrome lay sprawled atop a broad, sun-warmed boulder near the riverbank, his arms stretched wide in theatrical surrender. His chest rose and fell steadily, his skin glistening with sweat. He let out an exaggerated groan, dragging a hand over his sweaty face to shield his squinting eyes from the blinding sky.

"I don't think I've ever worked this hard in my life," he muttered, his tone a blend of misery and grudging admiration. "I feel like my arms are going to fall off. But hey, at least we've got a lot of it now, right? Please tell me we're done. No more picking!"

Beside him, Senku sat with a serene, cross-legged posture, his unruly hair defying gravity as always. His sharp eyes flicked from Chrome to the two woven baskets sitting between them, both brimming with fine, black iron sand. The corners of Senku's mouth tugged upward into a faint smirk, the kind that usually signaled bad news—or, at least, the kind Chrome hated hearing.

"'A lot of it,' huh?" Senku's voice carried a teasing lilt, a subtle mockery that flew right past Chrome. "In total, we've got about 40 kilograms of iron sand in those two baskets."

Chrome perked up, momentarily reinvigorated by what he thought was good news. "See?! That's gotta be tons of iron, right?"

Senku's lips curved into a sly smirk, the kind that spelled trouble for anyone on the receiving end. "Not exactly. From those 40 kilograms, we'll get maybe… 2.5 kilograms of actual iron."

Chrome froze, his face a portrait of disbelief. He bolted upright, staring at Senku like the man had just confessed to stealing his lunch. "Wait. Two and a half?! That's it?!"

Senku leaned back slightly, leaning his weight on his palms as if he were preparing for a long explanation. "Exactly," his tone so maddeningly casual it made Chrome's eye twitch. "And by my calculations, we'll need at least fifty times that amount—probably more if we're factoring in every worst-case scenario."

Chrome's mouth fell open, his mind scrambling to process the sheer scale of their task. He flung an arm toward the river, where hours of backbreaking effort had already sapped his strength. "So you're telling me we'll need hundreds of these baskets?!"

"Not hundreds," Senku replied with a lazy shrug, though the glint in his eye suggested he wasn't ruling it out entirely. "But close enough. That's science, Chrome. You try, you fail, and then you try again until you get it right. That's what humans are all about—persistence in the face of inevitable failure."

Chrome groaned loudly and flopped back onto the boulder, throwing an arm over his face like a melodramatic hero in a tragedy.

"Quit whining," Senku said with a chuckle, his gaze drifting toward the riverbank. He gestured toward Kohaku and Joe, both of whom were hard at work. Kohaku's movements were sharp and efficient, her lithe frame working with the precision of a seasoned warrior, while Joe, drenched in sweat but grinning, tackled the task with the ease of someone who saw it as a casual workout.

"Look at them," Senku said, smirking. "With two gorillas like that on our side, we can fail as much as we want and still come out on top." His laughter echoed loudly across the riverbank.

Joe snorted, shaking his head, but his amusement turned into full-blown laughter when Kohaku, visibly fuming, shoved her basket into his arms. "I am NOT a gorilla!" she shouted, her voice loud enough to send birds scattering from the nearby trees. She stormed toward Chrome and Senku, her footsteps firm with indignation. Joe's grin widened as he shifted the weight of the basket in his arms, the strain making his steps slightly heavier.

"Dumbasses," he muttered under his breath, chuckling to himself as he made his way toward the riverbank. His eyes scanned the ground, spotting a promising patch of dark sand near some low bushes. The faint sparkle of iron sand caught his attention, glinting in the sunlight like tiny stars scattered in the dirt.

Joe set both baskets down with a soft grunt and crouched, reaching out to inspect a particularly dense rock partially embedded in the soil. But as his hand hovered over the find, something caught his attention.

From the corner of his eye, just past the bush, he noticed a pair of small legs, bare except for the village's signature sandals. His brow furrowed in confusion, and his gaze followed the legs upward. His breath hitched as disbelief settled over him.

A melon?

Joe blinked hard, leaning slightly closer as he squinted. The figure crouching just among the bush was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Atop the small, childlike body was a perfectly round, green melon, its striped surface shining faintly in the sunlight. Two crudely cut openings where eyes should've been gave it an almost eerie semblance of a face. The melon tilted slightly, as though it were watching him, and for a moment, the world seemed to go silent.

"Am I losing it?" Joe whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, half-expecting the strange sight to vanish like a mirage. But when he looked again, the figure was still there—crouching and nervous, as if aware it had been caught.

And then it bolted.

In an instant, the melon-headed figure sprang to life, its movements unnervingly swift. Joe's eyes widened as it darted toward the riverbank with the grace of a wild animal. Before he could even call out, the figure leapt into the water, its small frame forming a perfect arc before disappearing beneath the surface with a soft splash.

Joe froze, his mouth hanging slightly open as he stared at the ripples spreading across the water's surface. The figure was gone, swallowed by the river as though it had never been there at all.

"What the hell did I just see?" he muttered, his voice laced with disbelief.

He glanced over his shoulder, half-hoping someone else had witnessed the bizarre encounter. Kohaku, however, was too busy shouting at Chrome, who was kneeling dramatically in front of her, his arms raised in mock reverence. Senku, on the other hand, sat nearby with an exasperated expression, scratching his ear absently as he muttered something about 'annoying lionesses.'

Joe turned back to the river, his gaze scanning the water for any sign of the strange melon-headed figure. The surface offered no answers, only the dazzling reflection of sunlight mocking his bewilderment.

With a heavy sigh, Joe shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering unease creeping into his thoughts. "Must be the heat," he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. "Or I'm losing my damn mind."

Deciding not to dwell on it, he crouched back down, his gaze landing on the rock he'd been after. With a grunt, he picked it up. "At least you're real," he said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement as he turned the rock over in his hands. Tossing it lightly into the basket, he dusted his palms on his thighs

Satisfied with his find, Joe stood, his smirk returning as he grabbed the handles of the baskets and slung them over his shoulders with practiced ease.

As he made his way back toward the others, the chatter and bickering of the group was already audible over the gentle rustle of the river's breeze.

"Definitely the heat," he muttered to himself with a small chuckle, shaking his head as he trudged on, his steps steady.

Once that part of the river was silent and empty, the stillness of the water broke with a faint ripple. A soft, almost imperceptible splash followed, and seconds later, the melon girl emerged.

The sunlight glinted off the water droplets that clung to her strange, round head. Her small frame moved with practiced ease, her steps light as she waded to the shallows. She paused near the bank, the water lapping softly around her ankles. For a moment, she stood motionless, tilting her head slightly as if listening for something—or someone.

The breeze swept through the trees, ruffling the leaves above and carrying with it the faint echoes of distant voices. The girl's head turned in the direction of the sound.

She had found the man… interesting.

Well, to be fair, all of them intrigued her in their own way. Even before they'd left the hut on the outskirts of the village, she had silently observed them. From her hidden vantage point, she had crouched in the shadows, giggling softly at their silly jokes and marveling at how seamlessly they worked together despite their differences.

But with that strange man—the one who babbled in unintelligible sounds that only the spiky-haired man seemed to understand—there was something else. Something different.

She couldn't quite place it, but it was there, a feeling as faint and fragile as a thread spun from spider silk. She and the man shared something, she was certain of it. A quiet bond that neither of them had spoken aloud. No matter how much the others tried to pull him into their chatter, the truth was plain to see: he didn't fit.

Just like her.

The villagers tried, of course. They fed her, protected her, and treated her kindly, even going out of their way to include her in their routines. Yet the hollowness lingered. It was the kind of loneliness that came not from cruelty but from kindness that only served to highlight her differences. She didn't belong, and she doubted she ever would.

Her small fingers grazed the edge of her melon-shaped mask as she waded in the shallows, the water cool against her ankles. The mask wasn't a symbol of strength or defiance. It was a necessity—a clumsy disguise that allowed her failing eyes to make sense of the blurry, sunlit world around her.

Her parents had once told her she wasn't a burden, that she was special in ways the villagers couldn't understand. They had shielded her from the unspoken pity that always seemed to linger just beyond reach. But the famine had taken them, as it had taken so many others. Since then, the weight of her inadequacies—however gently the villagers carried it—had been hers to bear alone.

She wanted to be more than a burden. She wanted to be useful.

That's why she had taken the smooth, blackened stone from the riverbed, its surface glinting faintly with the peculiar sand the group seemed to treasure. She had carried it carefully, cradled like an offering, before tucking it into the bushes near the bank. It was a gift, one she imagined would bring them excitement or perhaps a laugh of surprise.

But her curiosity had undone her. Instead of slipping away like she had planned, she stayed hidden among the leaves, crouched low with her small hands gripping her knees. She wanted to see their faces when they found it. She wanted to witness their reactions, to know if her small gesture had mattered.

It was foolish. She knew that.

When the man approached, her breath caught. He moved differently from the others, with a deliberate, grounded air, as though his thoughts weighed heavy on his shoulders. She watched as he paused near the bushes, his eyes scanning the ground. For a moment, she worried he wouldn't see it.

Then, his gaze settled on the stone.

She froze, her heart hammering against her chest. But just as he reached for it, his movements stilled, and his eyes lifted—straight to where she crouched.

Their gazes met.

Time seemed to stop, the sound of the river fading into a quiet hum. His expression shifted—confusion first, then disbelief. Her fingers dug into the wet earth as she stared back at him, her mask tilting slightly with the movement of her head.

She wanted to speak, to explain herself, but the weight of his gaze held her in place. Then, without thinking, she moved.

Water splashed around her as she bolted toward the river's center, her small frame cutting through the current. The cool rush of the river surged against her legs as she leapt, her mask catching the sunlight in one fleeting glint before she disappeared beneath the surface with a soft splash.

She emerged from the water minutes later, her small figure almost invisible against the shimmering waves. Wading back to the shallows, she crouched near the bank, her gaze fixed on his retreating figure.

He had taken it.

Her fingers skimmed the water's surface as she lingered in the quiet moment, her thoughts a tangle of emotions. He hadn't rejected her gift. That small, insignificant stone had mattered—if only a little.

The thought filled her with a quiet determination. Enough of hiding, enough of watching from the shadows. Her grip tightened around the edge of her mask as she drew in a shaky breath.

Now was the time.

Her steps were cautious but firm as she followed the path he had taken, her grip tightening around the edge of her mask. For the first time in years, she allowed herself the fragile hope that she might belong. And with that hope came the courage to step into the sunlight.

-AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY–

"Suika?!"

Kohaku was the first to react, her sharp eyes widening as she recognized the small figure wading through the river.

Joe turned at the sound of her voice, his muscles tensing on instinct. His gaze landed on the girl—tiny, cautious, yet undeniably real. He blinked, half-expecting her to vanish again like a mirage in the heat. But she didn't. She kept coming, each hesitant step carrying her closer, her slight frame barely making a sound against the water.

"The melon was real?!" he blurted, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

She stopped just a few feet away, clutching something tightly in her hands. Joe's eyes flicked down, and his stomach did a strange little flip. The object was unmistakable.

"Uh… you put that in the bushes, didn't you?"

Suika flinched at the sudden attention. She didn't understand his words—he could tell from the way she tensed, how her fingers curled tighter around the stone as if second-guessing herself. But she didn't run. She didn't look away.

Joe exhaled, forcing himself to relax. Slowly, he crouched down to her level.

Up close, she was even smaller than he thought, a tiny thing barely casting a shadow in the golden afternoon light. Her mask shifted ever so slightly as if she were trying to make sense of him, her head tilting in that quiet, searching way.

"Thanks a lot," he said, his voice softer now.

She stiffened at his words. Her grip on the stone wavered. Joe had no idea what she was thinking, not really. The mask obscured her face, but something about the way she held herself—the slight stillness, the hesitance—made it clear. She wasn't used to this. She was struggling to process the moment.

And then, it hit him.

"Right." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling like an idiot. "I forgot."

She didn't understand him.

His first instinct was to look to the others, to ask Senku to translate. But when he glanced their way, they only watched in silence. Senku had probably already explained what was happening. Joe could ask for help—he should ask for help—but something about that felt wrong.

He had told himself he wouldn't be a nuisance. He had told himself he'd figure things out on his own.

Joe hesitated for only a moment before reaching into his basket. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out the stone she had left for him. The same smooth black rock with its strange, glimmering sand.

For a second the girl didn't move.

Then, cautiously, her fingers uncurled just enough to show him the rock she had brought. A perfect match.

Joe smiled, feeling something in his chest loosening—just a bit. Gesturing toward the stone in her hands, he pointed at himself. "Uh, ehm… T-Thanks."

The word felt clumsy on his tongue, a leap of faith into a language he only had started to learn a few days ago. He had no idea if he had said it right. He had no idea if she even recognized what he was trying to do. But he hoped she did. And if she didn't—if the words meant nothing—he hoped she could see it anyway. The gratitude, the sincerity.

For a moment, Suika was utterly still. Then, slowly, her fingers closed around the stone again. And though she said nothing, Joe could've sworn—just for a second—that she was smiling behind that melon.

Further back, Kohaku, Senku, and Chrome stood in quiet observation, their gazes fixed on the subtle, wordless exchange between Joe and Suika. The afternoon light stretched their shadows long over the earth, casting golden hues across the swaying grass. The river waters catching glimmers of the sun, its gentle murmur blending with the soft rustle of leaves overhead.

Senku's arms were crossed, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, like a scientist observing an experiment. His expression was unreadable, a mask of detached curiosity—until he broke the silence, his voice low and almost absentminded. "Is Suika her real name?"

Kohaku didn't answer immediately. Her eyes lingered on Suika, on the way the girl's melon helmet caught the sunlight, casting a faint green glow over her small frame. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but there was a weight to it, a quiet undercurrent of something unspoken.

"No."

She paused, her arms tightening slightly across her chest. "In the village, children aren't given names at birth. When they turn four, their parents name them. Most choose from the stories Ruri tells."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Chrome shifted beside her, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the earth itself carried the weight of her next sentence.

"But Suika never had that chance."

Senku's sharp eyes flicked toward her, his curiosity piqued. Kohaku continued, her voice steady but laced with restraint. "Years ago, a famine struck the village. We lost many people—too many." She hesitated, just for a moment, her gaze drifting back to Suika. "Suika's parents were among them."

Chrome exhaled softly, his hands clenching at his sides. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of river water and damp earth, as if nature itself were holding its breath.

"She was just three years old when it happened," Kohaku murmured. "And after that day, she changed."

Her voice softened, but the firmness in her tone remained. "She stopped speaking as much. She barely played with the other children. And the day they died was the first day she wore that melon helmet."

Senku raised an eyebrow, his mind already piecing together the implications. "So she wasn't always—?"

Kohaku shook her head. "No. Before that, she was just a normal child." She paused, her gaze distant, as if she were seeing a memory play out in the rustling grass. "At first, we thought it was a game. A way to distract herself. But it wasn't. She wore it every day. Even when the other kids teased her."

In the distance, Suika bent down to pick up another stone, her small hands brushing the iron sand with deliberate care. She handed it to Joe, who accepted it with a quiet nod, his expression unreadable but his posture softening ever so slightly.

"When the naming ceremony came," Kohaku said, "my father, as village chief, was the one to name her. He called her Suika."

Senku hummed, barely audible. "Watermelon."

Kohaku nodded. "She didn't protest. She never did. Maybe because she was too young to care. Maybe because, by then, she had already become Suika." Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, a subtle gesture of tension. "Or maybe… because the name was the last thing tying her to her parents."

Chrome added quietly, his voice tinged with reverence, "They loved to tell her the story of Momotaro."

The wind brushed past them, carrying the sound of rustling leaves. Senku was silent for a moment, his sharp mind processing the information. Then, almost as if the thought had only just caught up to him, he spoke again.

"Wait. Momotaro?"

Kohaku nodded. "Yeah. About a man born from a melon."

Senku stopped. Blinked once. Then, with slow, deliberate incredulity, said, "…Momotaro was born from a peach."

Chrome turned to him so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. "What?"

"A peach," Senku repeated flatly. "The original story says a woman found him inside a peach floating down the river."

Chrome stared at him as if he had just declared the sky wasn't blue. "That's not right. Momotaro was born from a melon. Ruri told us the story countless times. And he had awesome friends—a gorilla, a crocodile, a lion, and a bear."

Senku's brain screeched to a halt. "…What kind of overpowered Momotaro is that? The original version had a dog, a monkey, and a pheasant."

Chrome scoffed. "That makes no sense. A dog and a pheasant would just fight all the time."

Senku groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. But even as he did, his mind was already racing, unraveling the implications. They knew about animals that weren't native to Japan, almost as if the founders of the village expected animals from the zoo to escape, creating a story to prepare for them. Not only that, they knew about celestial navigation, metals, and scientific materials. Somehow, they had transmitted this knowledge through oral tradition, carried by a single storyteller.

"The more I hear," Senku muttered, his voice tinged with both exasperation and fascination, "the more I want to meet this Ruri."

Chrome's eyebrow twitched, a faint but unmistakable flicker of irritation crossing his face. It was an unconscious reaction, the kind that betrayed more than he intended. His hands, which had been loosely clenched at his sides, now tightened into fists, though he didn't seem to notice.

Senku, still lost in thought, didn't catch the subtle shift in Chrome's expression at first. His sharp eyes were focused on some invisible point in the distance, his mind racing through the implications of what he'd just learned. But then it hit him—Chrome's reaction, the way his jaw had tightened ever so slightly, the way his gaze had flickered away for just a moment.

Senku groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're one ofthoseguys."

Chrome blinked, caught off guard. "What? One ofwhatguys?"

Senku leveled him with a flat stare, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The kind who gets all weird and possessive when someone mentions the girl they like. Seriously, Chrome, it's not a good look."

Chrome's face flushed a deep red, his hands flying up in protest. "I—I'm not—! It's not like that! Ruri's just… she's important to the village, that's all!"

Kohaku, who had been quietly observing the exchange, let out a soft snort of amusement. Her arms were still crossed, but there was a faint smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Sure, Chrome. Keep telling yourself that."

Chrome whirled on her, his embarrassment quickly turning to indignation. "You're not helping, Kohaku!"

Senku sighed, shaking his head as if he were dealing with a particularly stubborn lab experiment. "Unbelievable. Here I am, trying to piece together centuries of lost knowledge, and you're over here getting flustered because I mentioned Ruri. Priorities, Chrome."

Chrome opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Instead, he deflated slightly, his shoulders slumping as he muttered under his breath, "It's not like you'd understand…"

The crunch of boots on dry grass caught their attention, and they turned just in time to see Joe approaching from the riverbank, rolling his shoulders with a casual ease. Suika trailed behind him, her melon helmet bobbing slightly as she skipped to keep up. Joe's basket of iron sand was slung over one arm, and his expression was unreadable—until his gaze landed on Chrome.

Chrome, still red-faced and visibly flustered, looked away the second Joe made eye contact.

Joe squinted. Then his eyes flicked toward Kohaku, then Senku, then back to Chrome, taking in the awkward stance, the clenched fists, the way his mouth opened and closed like he was struggling to defend himself from something.

Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, hell. This is about a girl, isn't it?"

Senku quickly translated, omitting the blasphemy for Suika's sake. Chrome's head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "What?!"

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered by Chrome's outburst. He gave him a knowing look, tapping his temple with one finger. "So, who's the little bird that got your attention?"

Senku barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and unexpected. Kohaku outright grinned, her smirk widening as she caught the translation. Chrome, meanwhile, looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I… I wasn't," he spluttered, eyes darting between all three of them, searching for an escape. "You're all ridiculous!"

Joe smirked, his tone teasing but not unkind. "Got it. Definitely about a girl. She must be pretty, huh?"

Chrome groaned, dragging his hands down his face in pure frustration. But his torture wasn't over.

"Oh, oh," Suika piped up, her voice bright and innocent. "You're talking about Miss Ruri."

With that, Kohaku was openly laughing now, her shoulders shaking with mirth. Even Senku had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, his expression screaming,'This is the best entertainment I've had all day.'

Joe, satisfied with the chaos he'd unleashed, clapped Chrome on the back, nearly making him stumble forward. "You got this, buddy."

Chrome grumbled something incoherent under his breath, his face still burning. Desperate to change the subject, he blurted out, "How did Joe even guess…"

Joe cut him off, his grin never faltering. "That look on a guy only means he's thinking about a girl."

Chrome buried his head in his hands, his voice muffled as he groaned, "I hate all of you."

Suika tugged Senku's sleeve, her head tilted to one side, "What's everyone laughing about?" she asked innocently.

Senku, still grinning, patted her on the head. "Nothing you need to worry about, Suika. Just Chrome being Chrome." He paused, his grin softening into something more genuine. "So, you want to help us rebuild civilization?"

Suika's eyes widened, her small hands clutching the edges of her helmet as if it might fly off from sheer excitement. "Really? I can help?"

Joe grinned. "'Course you can. You're a pro at digging up sand." Then, as an afterthought, he added with a smirk, "And you work harder than Chrome."

Chrome peeked through his fingers, his voice strained. "She's just a kid, Senku."

Senku shrugged. "And you're just a lovesick idiot, Chrome."

As the group trudged back toward the village, Suika skipped ahead, her shadow stretching long and hopeful in the golden light.

So yeah, that's it for this second chapter.

Suika joins the party, and the gang has their fun teasing Chrome.

I don't think I have anything else to add—or write, in this case.

Until next time,

—FarXs.