Chapter 1

Sitting in front of a small campfire, my sister handed me a cup with a "Here!"

I gratefully accepted it, took a sip, and looked around.

The night forest was quiet, with no sound to be heard.

Occasionally, the small sound of the firewood crackling could be heard.

Seeing my sister drinking her cup of coffee while blowing on it, she must have felt my gaze, as she looked at me and smiled. She was either completely at ease or completely carefree...

After all, the reason we were having a campfire in such a place was probably due to my sister.

Yesterday evening, when she came home, she said, "Tomorrow, we're going mushroom hunting!" and left.

From then on, things got hectic.

I took out my backpack, emptied it, and repacked it.

Emergency kit, emergency medicine, emergency food, portable cooking pot and utensils, a titanium cup with solid fuel... Furthermore, a multi-tool, a knife, a military canteen, a change of clothes, and a set of compressed underwear.

When I packed all this, the backpack swelled up, but there were still pockets. I put some snacks in them, and the preparations were complete.

I put my GI boots by the front door and went back to my room to prepare the things I would wear.

I folded my jeans, G-shirt, sweater, and thick socks and placed them by my pillow.

Finally, I took out a mountain vegetable harvesting sickle from the back of the closet.

It was a sturdy oak staff. The top had threads, and the sickle was screwed into it. The sickle was a forged item. It looked more like a chisel with a blade attached, but it was supposed to be for harvesting mountain vegetables.

The next day. I woke up at 6 in the morning, washed down my breakfast bread with coffee, and waited at the front door for a while. Then, my sister walked up in similar clothing.

There was a reason for the similar clothing.

My clothes, down to my underwear, were bought according to my sister's taste.

My mother, who handed me money with a "Here, please!" also had a problem...

The backpack she carried was larger than mine.

This meant she had brought something outrageous again.

The outrageous item was a large composite crossbow.

She said, "I hate stray dogs!" but if she used that, it would pierce through a stray dog. Really...

The two of us left the small town and climbed the mountain path behind the house.

There couldn't be mushrooms nearby. The mushrooms in the nearby area were for the enjoyment of the elderly. We aimed for the mountains further up.

We took a break at a lookout point and continued climbing the mountain path.

The path gradually narrowed and eventually became a game trail.

Still, we kept moving forward. With a military compass and a map, it was possible to determine our current position.

I had received plenty of training in this kind of thing from orienteering competitions since elementary school.

"There it is!"

My sister was waving her basket around, excited.

Looking at it, there was a large chestnut tree. Many burrs had fallen below.

We immediately started peeling the burrs with our boots and collecting the chestnuts.

After picking dozens, we continued along the game trail. Then, we decided to pick our main target mushrooms on a sunny slope.

Mushrooms don't grow in sunny spots. They grow in places that are usually in the shade of trees.

After picking about ten, I peeked into my sister's basket. There were many, but most were poisonous. I carefully identified and removed the poisonous ones, then added the ones I had picked.

Looking at my watch, it was well past noon.

We ate the large onigiri my sister had made in the shade of a tree.

Just as we were about to head back, we noticed something strange.

The sun was hidden by clouds, and fog was rolling in from the bottom of the mountain.

We hurriedly packed our things and started down the mountain. However, the path was a game trail, and we realized we were heading in a different direction.

The weather forecast for last night said it would be sunny today. If the fog was due to the morning sun, it should clear up in a short time. It would clear up faster if the wind picked up.

We continued walking and found a slightly open area, so we decided to rest here.

Even if we were late getting back, our parents wouldn't worry as long as we were together. The same went for my sister's house. We decided it was best to stay put and wait for the fog to clear.

The fog didn't seem to be clearing even after some time. It was getting even denser.

We made a small campfire, and my sister started preparing a simple dinner.

My sister isn't my real sister. She's the daughter of the Yajima family next door. She's about a year older than me, but she has been taking care of me since I was born.

My first word was apparently "Oneesan." In a way, I was like her toy, but once I started walking, she always followed me around and took care of me, as my mother told me.

The Yajima family consists of my sister and her grandfather, who runs an aikido dojo at home. I started practicing aikido with my sister when I was very young.

In middle school, she quickly earned the right to wear black hakama and now even teaches the younger students.

My sister has gone even further and teaches middle school students of her own age.

The senior instructors teach the high school and above groups, but if she continues training, she could earn the instructor's qualification upon graduation.

At the dojo, there is a 4-foot staff technique, a sub-school of aikido. This was also taught to me by my grandfather, almost forcibly.

When she became a high school student, my sister started working part-time instead of joining the aikido club. When I entered high school, she almost forcibly got me to work with her at a convenience store.

The part-time job salary was spent entirely on strange equipment. My sister seems to know a procurement network that completely ignores Japanese regulations... It seems she has connections with strange foreigners at the dojo.

Thanks to this, we got special forces equipment from overseas, but things like a 40 cm Gurkha knife, which can only be stored in the closet, are now in my backpack.

Despite our suspicious appearance, we are quite popular with the local police.

This is because we thwarted two robberies at the convenience store. However, both times required an ambulance in addition to the police.

The first robbery resulted in abdominal lacerations from a glass door that my sister threw the robber into. He almost died from blood loss.

The second time, I injured the robber's collarbone and ribs with a floor mop.

Both were handled as self-defense, but we received a stern warning to not overdo it, along with a certificate of appreciation.

This morning, when we met a patrolling police officer in this outfit, he simply said, "Be careful. Watch out for stray dogs!" after my sister said, "We're going mushroom hunting!"

However, this fog is abnormal. As night fell, it became even denser.

It felt as if only a few meters of space illuminated by the small campfire existed.

I felt a weight on my shoulder. It seems my sister had fallen asleep wrapped in an emergency blanket.

I started to feel small compared to my sister, but she is still 170 cm tall. Maybe it's because I've grown to 180 cm.

I heard a rustling sound, as if something was approaching.

I didn't sense any hostility, but I moved my staff closer as a precaution.

A small old man appeared from the bushes.

However, the old man was wearing something like a worn-out kimono. He approached the campfire with a wooden staff and sat on the ground opposite me.

His stillness was like that of a moss-covered stone Buddha.

Since he didn't seem harmful, I decided to leave him be. After all, "No harm comes from not touching a god."

"I have decided to grant the wish of the daughter of one who respects me. ...I do not know your will, but I will accompany you.

I will give you three things: protection from aging and illness, understanding of words, and a slight increase in physical strength... Live modestly as your daughter wished..."

He ended his one-sided speech, stood up, and disappeared into the fog.

If this were a daydream, it would be too realistic. The grass where the old man sat was flattened.

This means the fog could be the work of the old man.

He led us here, made us lost, and guided us... something like that.

In any case, there is no night that doesn't end. The fog will clear tomorrow.