Chapter 29: Fun Meal - Sea Otter Hot Pot

Summer means the sea.

Just like that ridiculous conversation Sensei and I had back when we were so overworked our tension shot past the limit and our sanity evaporated, the sea is a quintessential symbol of summer—an indispensable seasonal keyword. Even a shut-in like me immediately thinks of “sea” right after “summer” in a simple association game.

But still.

"...This isn’t quite what I imagined..."

A sea with drifting icebergs—does that really match the image? No. Obviously not. Just look at it.

"...Yeah. This is taking ‘summer resort’ a bit too far."

"Summer resort…? This is more like… being stranded…"

Standing there, dumbfounded beside Sensei, we watch a group of heavily mechanized PMC soldiers—who very clearly should not be touching water—fishing from a small boat they somehow dragged over here. I really hope they waterproofed that gear properly.

After that, maybe because it truly was freezing, a PMC reconnaissance unit came over as we warmed ourselves by the campfire—with Director Kanna sitting with us—and reported that they’d found two exploration points nearby.

One was apparently the ruins of an abandoned coal-mining city. The other was what seemed to be an abandoned fishing village.

Since splitting up and getting separated would be the worst outcome, everyone traveled here as a group from the airship crash site, mapping the route along the way. That much went fine—but…

"So… what do we do…?"

"………What do we do."

There’s nothing to do.

"Not catching anything…"

"Hey, Imo! Your rod’s getting pulled!?"

"What!? Whoaaa—oh, oh—"

"...Ta-daa. Black Crystal Imo has obtained an empty can. I see, I see. Planning to fish up nothing but junk and sink the boat with the weight?"

"It’s not like that, Homura-san!? I didn’t do it on purpose!"

The former director and the information brokers are happily fishing, and the man in black is holed up in the fishing village ruins, glaring at scraps of paper spread across a desk. Director Kanna is probably off doing some other fishing-related task too.

There’s nothing to do—no, more accurately, there’s nothing we’re allowed to do. That applies both to Sensei, who has no halo and could literally freeze to death if he fell into the sea, and to the two of us who do have halos but were stopped anyway because everyone unanimously agreed: Yeah, if these two fall in, they’ll die for sure.

Medical supplies and fuel for warmth are precious right now. That’s why those of us whose lives would be in danger can do nothing but stand here and stare at the scenery.

"Wooaah… Sheeensheee… the sea’s so preeetty…"

"We don’t have any games—has Amari-chan’s sanity finally hit its limit!?"

"How rude… I’m not that far gone… probably…"

My hands are trembling a little, but that’s definitely just because it’s cold. I’m wearing the coat I borrowed from Director Kanna, plus the former director’s scarf on top of that, so it has to be.

"...Amari-chan."

"…Whaaaat…?"

"Sensei did say he wanted to go to the sea in summer, but…"

"Yeah…"

"This is absolutely not what he meant."

"...I object to this being the summer event too."

A summer event is supposed to be the perfect swimsuit showcase—so why are we fishing in a freezing wasteland?

"Haa… nothing biting… at this rate, food’s gonna be a problem…"

"Hm. Hey, Imo! Look over there!"

"Huh? Oh, it’s a little sea otter."

"Waaah, it’s trying to crack a shell—"

"So cuuute!"

"……Haa." click

"Eh, Homura-san? Why are you pulling out a gun—"

"Ah!"

"Aah!"

"Mr. Sea Ottoooootteeerrr!!"

"...You’re loud. Grown adults crying is disgusting. Here—we’ve got one meal covered."

"Do you even have a heart???"

…Somehow, it looks fun.

"What do we do…? Should we fish too…?"

"No. …It annoys me to agree with that guy in black of all people, but if Amari-chan went fishing, she’d get dragged in by the fish instead."

"Hold on, hold on, hold on. Sensei? Guy in black? What do you two think I am…?"

"...? A shut-in small animal."

"A black fuzzball, right?"

Whoa!? Don’t talk right behind me so suddenly, former director!

"…Wait. Black fuzzball—"

"Did you catch something?"

"Sensei? Don’t cut me off—"

"Yeah. A bunch of junk. And the sea otter Homura shot."

"……Se—"

"Can you even eat sea otters?"

"……"

"……Dunno?"

"……I think… you can…"

"Really!?"

He totally heard that. While explaining how to cook a sea otter, I kick the former director’s shins—hard. He barely reacts. What are those legs made of?

"Sea otter… the only thing I’ve heard of is hot pot… Honestly, I don’t remember where I saw it, but if it’s hot pot, you just throw it in, so it’s probably fine."

Huh…? Where did I hear about that? Sea otter hot pot is a pretty unusual dish. A past life? No—my past-life self definitely didn’t eat anything that weird. This life? Even less likely. I wouldn’t have had the chance.

"Well, anyway, looks like today’s meal is settled."

"…Y-yeah, I guess… better than using up our limited rations…?"

Still—where did that knowledge actually come from?

"Alright, first let’s call Imo and the others back from hauling the junk—"

The former director was about to call Imo and the others, who had gone to dump their haul in a storage shed—when it happened.

A black-clad figure—acting completely unlike his usual self—comes sprinting toward us, waving his arms and shouting—

"───Avalanche!!"

White. So white. A wall of snow.

"Haa… haa… We’re alive…? We’re alive…"

In a blind dash, we threw ourselves into the sturdiest-looking hut nearby and slammed the door shut. Immediately, heavy thuds slammed against the door and the wooden shuttered windows, accompanied by the shrill howl of icy wind blasting through the gaps.

A blizzard? No—this wasn’t a blizzard anymore. This was a full avalanche.

"…Phew. The blizzard ravaging the so-called ‘Provisional: Red Winter Hinterlands’ was mentioned in the materials I reviewed earlier."

"M-materials…?"

Brushing snow off his suit, the man in black begins explaining.

"Abydos often suffers sandstorms. You remember those, Sensei."

"……"

"This snowstorm is likely a similar phenomenon. According to records, it began back when a different academy—separate from Red Winter—still existed in this land. These periodic storms froze everything solid and buried it in snow. Much like Abydos today, that former academy fell into ruin and eventually vanished without anyone knowing."

"That’s…"

Peering through the gaps in the wooden planks nailed over the window, we try to look outside. But the fishing village ruins we could see moments ago have vanished—replaced by a blank canvas of white. You can’t even see one step ahead. If storms like this happened regularly, it’s no wonder an entire academy disappeared.

Grrrrr—

"……Mm."

"Amari-chan, are you okay?"

"………I’m hungry."

A little embarrassed that Sensei heard my stomach growl, I rub my protesting stomach and glance around the room, searching for food.

Inside the hut are Sensei, the man in black, the former director, and me—four people total. I don’t know whether the others are safe, but all we can do is pray.

More importantly—I’m starving. Even more than worrying about the information brokers or the PMC soldiers, I just can’t take this hunger.

"…Gulp."

"?"

My eyes drift to the sea otter corpse in the former director’s hands.

Gurgle, gurgle.

On top of a heated iron pot, the once-graceful sea otter dances in boiling water. That elegant creature, once gliding freely through the sea, now captivates us even in death—

"It stinks."

Stinks. Well—maybe not “stink.” It’s… a distinctive smell. It should be edible. Natto smells terrible but tastes great, right? And people in this world apparently eat surströmming. So at the time, I didn’t think much of it.

Looking back now, that may have been a mistake.

"...Something feels… off…"

The man in black rubs his eyes—or whatever counts as his eyes. He senses something strange happening in his body, though he can’t tell whether it’s from the snowstorm or something else.

For the sake of his honor, let me clarify upfront: while he once detained Takanashi Hoshino for research, his objective was purely the study of mysticism. He is not—absolutely not—that kind of immoral adult who gets excited over small-framed students.

And yet—

(Why does Komori-san look so… alluring…?)

"...Hah…"

He rubs his eyes again.

Now then—did you know, dear observers? Among certain cultures, there exists a curious legend regarding the consumption of sea otter meat.

It goes like this: whenever sea otter meat is eaten, there must be an equal number of men and women present in the room.

"Hey, man in black. You alright?"

Because—

Bang!!!

"Oops… Another button popped…"

"Ah…!"

(This former director… he’s way too lewd…!!)

They say the smell of boiling sea otter meat stimulates desire so strongly that, if you’re alone, you’ll pass out from it… or so the legend claims.

The former Kaiser PMC director uses his proudly sculpted chest muscles to launch the remaining buttons of his shirt, while Amari Komori swallows hard at the sight of those exposed pectorals, which practically shine with a dramatic “Mmmwaaaah” sound effect. At this very moment, the room is filled with the simmering smell of sea otter meat.

"Ugh… my head is spinning…"

"Sensei…!? A-are you okay…!?"

"Y-you should lie down! Immediately!"

Perhaps overwhelmed by the heat, Sensei clutches his head. Letting out a strangely sultry "Ahh…" as he sways, he collapses into the former director’s magnificent chest—fully exposed now—and is gently lowered to the floor.

"Wouldn't it be better to open his chest and let him breathe easier!?"

"We should take off the bottom too…! No—everything! Everything should come off! Yes, let's do that!!"

The man in black and the former director begin undoing the buttons of Sensei’s dress shirt one by one—slowly, carefully—while struggling to contain the strange emotions boiling inside them. Beneath the fabric is a sculpted torso: sharply defined abs, sweat gleaming as it trails down his stomach. Even the gunshot wound along his side looks like it accentuates the shape of his body.

Sensei breathes in shallow gasps.

"Hah… hah…"

At that moment, the wooden door slides open with a clatter.

"So cold…!? S-snow got inside my clothes…!"

A tall, long-limbed blonde woman steps in, shrugging off a coat that’s different from the one she lent me earlier. She discards her dress shirt as well, leaving herself in nothing but a sports bra.

"…Phew. Everyone. You’re safe."

"Director… Kanna… gulp."

Standing there is Director of the Public Peace Bureau, Kanna.

"Kanna-san."

"I was fishing with the PMC soldiers, but a blizzard hit out of nowhere… I got separated from them."

"I see… I hope those guys are okay."

It must have struck too suddenly for her to react. She carries no fishing gear and none of the catch we saw earlier—completely empty-handed.

"More importantly…"

Director Kanna casts a lingering, damp-eyed look toward the man in black.

"Man in black… have you grown more handsome since the last time I saw you…?"

"P-please stop…"

(Cute.)
(…Cute.)
(Cute.)

As the man in black turns away, light flickers from the seams in his armor—an emotional response he clearly doesn’t know how to process. The three of us flush bright red.

"…Director Kanna, you too… somehow you look more lively than before, and… really cool…"

"I-is that so? …Heh. Well? Former Director…"

"Nngh…!"

Smiling at my words, Director Kanna bends her arm and flexes—displaying a trained bicep to the former director. Beautifully sculpted despite belonging to a high school girl, those muscles are built through relentless training and discipline, radiating an overwhelming presence—like Gehenna’s Mount Hinom.

(What is this feeling…!? I can’t suppress it…!)
(Hah… hah… this is strange… I’ve never felt anything like this before… what is this… what do I do…?)

"……"

Bathed in that overwhelming aura, the heat churning in our chests insists on being acknowledged. It swells, heavier and hotter, refusing to be ignored.

Our breaths grow shallow.
Our hearts pound.
Our body temperatures rise.

And as if synchronized with our emotions, the sea otter hot pot continues to boil furiously.

The swelling inside us grows beyond our ability to suppress it, tormenting us with no outlet.

"I can’t. I can’t hold it in anymore…!"

"—!"

The one who shatters the atmosphere is a single “man,” who jumps to his feet and throws off his trademark black coat.

"Let’s wrestle sumo!!"

—I see. So that’s it!!

Snap. Like a single decisive call from a crane, the most tactically gifted man present finds a perfect outlet to vent these emotions.

Bam!!

"Nuoooooh!!"
"Nufuuuu!!"

Bam!!

"Uoooooh!!"
"Naaahh!!"

Bam!!

"Nngaaaah!!"
"Uffuuuu!!"

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

Again and again, the sound of flesh slamming against flesh echoes through the hut, each impact accompanied by cries that could be mistaken for either delight or pained screams. In stark contrast to the freezing world outside, the room feels like a sauna—“Mmmwaaaah”—thick with humidity and heat. Sweat and steam mingle as our breaths mix.

Eventually, after venting everything, they collapse in the center of the hut and murmur the same words:

"Good bout…"

"…It seems the blizzard stopped at some point."

"………Shall we keep what happened today a secret?"

"…I’d appreciate that…"

"Ugh… my waist… my whole body hurts…"

"Komori-chan. That phrasing is dangerous."

After that, lingering in an awkward haze, we regroup with the PMC soldiers—who had taken shelter in another hut—and the two information brokers, who refused to meet anyone’s eyes for mysterious reasons. Together, we made our way back to the wreckage of the airship.

It seemed the blizzard had trapped us far longer than we realized. By the time we returned, the sun was already sinking. A deep red sunset vanished behind towering, snow-covered mountains. Each of us gazed at it, lost in our own thoughts… and still wrapped in that awkward mood, we turned in for the night.

"Komori-san. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about…"

—That is, everyone except the man in black, who called out to me in the middle of the night, and myself.