Comic strip: Survival on a deserted island, surrounded by heroines

"Hmm?" Her tone carried a lighthearted air, as if she had just pulled off a prank.

"If you move again, you won't be sleeping tonight."

“I can’t sleep right now.” She blinked, her red pupils reflecting the flickering firelight.

"I have such a high fever that I can't sleep even with my eyes closed."

"Why don't we chat with Aoyama-kun to distract ourselves?"

Aoyama was silent for two seconds, then asked, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Whatever."

Kasumigaoka Utaha rested her chin on his shoulder, adjusting to a more comfortable position.

"For example... has Aoyama-kun ever been in a relationship before?"

"no."

"As expected." Her tone carried a certainty of 'I knew it'.

Do you have someone you like?

"no."

"So... how do you feel about me?"

Qingshan lowered his eyes to look at her.

She was tilting her head back, her bright red pupils glistening, though they were veiled with tears due to her fever, but the seriousness within them was genuine.

When she asked the question, the corners of her mouth still held that composed smile, but the fingers gripping the hem of his clothes tightened slightly.

Aoyama said, "...You should get your fever down first before asking this kind of question."

"You are avoiding the problem."

"I'm making sure you don't say anything you'll regret while you're not in a daze."

Kasumigaoka Utaha gave a soft hum, as if she wanted to refute him, but then felt that what he said made sense.

She buried her face in his again, her forehead against his neck, her warm breath brushing against his pulse.

"Okay, answer me after my fever breaks."

“…”

Aoyama took a deep breath, determined to give her a firm answer to that question when the time came.

Otherwise, it would be a betrayal of one's own forbearance.

"And..." Her voice was muffled by her clothes, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain.

"Are you planning to hold me like this all night?"

Are you tired?

Aoyama Tanzhan You: "Tired."

"But there's nothing we can do."

Kasumigaoka Utaha was silent for a moment, then her fingers moved slightly, changing from clutching his clothes to opening her palm and placing it on his waist.

The warmth that seeped through my clothes felt like a small hand warmer.

"Thank you, Aoyama-kun."

Her voice was very soft, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain.

But Aoyama heard it clearly.

He didn't say anything, but simply tightened his arms around her, making her more secure.

The shelter fell silent again, with only the sounds of rain, wind, and the overlapping breaths of the two people.

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Chapter 11: Even if I kill you, all these things will still be mine!

When the sunlight shone in, Kasumigaoka Utaha opened her eyes.

Her vision was still a little blurry, but the warm, comfortable feeling on her forehead had disappeared.

She reached out and touched it; the hot compress towel made from her underwear had been taken away, folded, and placed on the stone next to her. Beside it were some smoked crocodile meat and a cup of still-warm water.

The fire was still burning, but the person sitting beside it was gone.

The backpack is gone, and the steel bars are gone too.

"....Aoyama-kun?"

No one responded.

The shelter was empty, with only the fresh air after the rain and the fragrance of grass and trees, so fresh that it felt as if the whole world had been washed clean.

Kasumigaoka Utaha propped herself up and sat up.

She was still a little dizzy, but the burning sensation of her whole body being on fire had subsided considerably.

She touched her forehead; her temperature had dropped considerably. Although it wasn't completely normal yet, at least it was no longer a high fever.

"Where did you go so early in the morning...?"

She muttered something to herself, picked up the water glass next to her, and took a sip. The warm water slid down her throat, making her feel a little better.

As for whether Aoyama has run away, Kasumigaoka Utaha believes in Aoyama-kun.

......

At this moment, Qingshan was walking along a forest path deeper into the forest.

The forest after the rain looked as if it had been repainted, with bright green everywhere.

Water droplets clung to the leaves, and sunlight streamed through the gaps in the canopy, casting golden beams of light.

He held a steel bar in his hand, and a sharpened ballpoint pen refill knife was tucked into his waistband. His steps were neither fast nor slow.

The eyes are constantly observing the surrounding environment, looking for anything that might be useful.

He paused as he passed the roots of an old tree.

Beneath a clump of damp plants, he recognized several herbaceous plants with fine, fuzzy leaves and serrated edges, each bearing small yellow flowers at its tip.

Bupleurum chinense.

Qingshan squatted down and carefully pulled up several plants by the roots, shaking off the soil from the roots.

He walked a little further and found another herb at a bend in the wetland.

The leaves are heart-shaped and purplish-green, and when crushed, they have a rich fragrance.

"This is perilla, a commonly used herb for dispelling cold and relieving exterior syndromes."

He wrapped the two herbs separately in large leaves and stuffed them into his backpack.

Just as he was about to turn around and walk back, a strange sound suddenly came from the depths of the dense forest ahead.

"That was a human voice?"

Qingshan immediately hid behind a large tree and listened intently.

The sounds grew closer, mixed with heavy breathing, disordered footsteps, and a man's hoarse shouts.

"...Please, don't...please..."

Leave your stuff behind! You can't escape!

Immediately afterwards, two figures rushed out of the bushes one after the other.

Running ahead was a man in his early thirties, wearing a jacket stained with mud and blood, and carrying a bulging backpack.

His left sleeve was torn open, blood dripped down his fingers, his face was pale, and he looked utterly disheveled.

The man chasing after him was slightly younger, with dark skin, and held a long, polished knife with dark red bloodstains on the blade.

His eyes held an almost manic ferocity, and his steps were steady and fast, clearly much more skilled than the man in front of him.

“…”

Aoyama stood behind the tree, motionless.

But the man with the backpack running ahead had already seen him.

In the face of life and death, he seemed to have grasped at the last straw, roaring as he charged toward Qingshan, trying to drag him into the vortex of the chase.

"Brother...help me! He's going to kill me..."

After chasing for a few steps, the man with the long sword also saw Aoyama.

He paused slightly, his gaze quickly sweeping over Qingshan.

A boy in a school uniform is holding a steel bar in his hand. He is tall and slender but does not look muscular.

His expression quickly changed from wary to one of surprise and disbelief.

"Brother, don't listen to his nonsense!" the man with the long sword shouted, his voice carrying a deliberate warmth to build rapport.

"That bastard stole my things!"

"He has lots of food and medicine in his backpack. If you help me stop him, we'll split it equally!"

The backpacker's face turned deathly pale. He glared at the man with the long knife, then turned to look at Qingshan, his lips trembling as he tried to explain.

But Aoyama ignored him.

He didn't even glance at the man with the backpack.

"This distance is enough."

The moment the man with the long sword shouted those words, Aoyama had already moved.

His speed far exceeded the two men's expectations; he dashed out like a black shadow.

A short, sharp sound of wind breaking through the air rang out; it was the sound of steel bars cutting through the air at high speed.

The man with the long sword was still 'calculating' and hadn't even changed his expression when the steel bar in Aoyama's hand pierced his chest.

"puff--!!!"

A crisp, piercing sound, penetrating flesh, piercing the heart, bursting out from behind.

The tip of the steel bar, carrying a cloud of dark red blood mist, was exposed to the air again, and blood gushed down the steel surface.

"you...."

The man with the long sword lowered his head in disbelief, looking at the steel bar piercing through his chest. He made a few muffled gurgling sounds in his throat, his eyes bulging out as if he wanted to say something but could no longer speak.

Green Mountain did not let go.

He gripped the end of the steel bar with one hand and suddenly raised his arm upwards.

The man with the long sword, weighing over 100 pounds, was lifted off the ground with a single arm, hanging in mid-air like a heavy bag of cargo.

"...Is this even human?"

The man with the backpack stood frozen in place as if his soul had been ripped out, his mouth agape enough to fit a fist, and his eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets.

With a flick of his wrist, Qingshan flung the long-sword man's corpse off the steel bar.

The body tumbled halfway through the air before crashing heavily into the mud a few meters away, splashing up a cloud of mud.

The long sword slipped from his loosened right hand and fell with a thud onto the stone.

"Having a knife makes things much easier."

Qingshan bent down, picked up the long sword, and examined it carefully.

The blade is about fifty centimeters long, single-edged, and has a thick back. Although it is not well maintained, it is clearly a genuine metal weapon.

He weighed it in his hand; it felt good and was more suitable for close combat than the steel bar in his hand.

He gripped the knife and turned toward the man with the backpack.

"You...you...you...."

The man with the backpack's face had turned from deathly pale to ashen, his lips were trembling, and his whole body was shaking like a sieve.