10. Mountaineering-Style Delicacy (2)
The beginning of the taste-based climb.
The entire mountain was unified in an aqua-blue tone reminiscent of a refreshing soda, just as described earlier.
A unique ecosystem breathed there.
Trees and weeds grew thick, but naturally, they were not green like plants on Earth. Translucent cyan leaves, trunks like crystal icicles. Everything was a sugar crystal composing this sweet mountain, radiating a cool, refreshing air.
Just as we were about to climb, a single "beast-man" stood in our way.
He had the head of a Thomson's gazelle and a human-style body from the neck down—seemingly a guide of some sort.
He blocked our path and asked:
"Do you intend to climb in that outfit?"
Shizuku and I were currently in our school uniforms.
It might be unsuitable for mountaineering, but this is an emergency.
"Is there something wrong with it?"
When I asked back, the Thomson's gazelle showed a strange movement.
He lowered his neck deep down to his feet as if grazing on grass, yet raised it again without eating anything. After repeating this overly exaggerated and time-consuming "nod" two or three times, he said:
"Naturally. Clothing is extremely important. Uniforms are strictly a dress code for leading school life and are significantly ill-suited for the time, place, and occasion of mountaineering."
"But isn't an attempt to break such stereotypes good once in a while?"
"This is not a matter of stereotypes!"
He raised his voice, but there was absolutely no change in his expression.
Those round, inorganic eyes peculiar to a Thomson's gazelle.
maintaining a flat, default expression that likely wouldn't change whether he was sprinting, grazing, or even in the final moment of having his throat bitten out by a lion, he continued his lecture.
"This is a problem of 'flow.' I understand the importance of going against the flow, but in accordance with the Pareto principle, chaos should be kept to about 20% of the whole. Do you understand? The idea of forcing a climb in uniforms exceeds a chaos rate of 50%, which constitutes a gross 'nuisance' to this mountain."
There it is.
The magic word: "Nuisance."
I am fed up with the trend where anything and everything gets justified by slapping the "nuisance" label on it, but this time I was at a disadvantage. My sociality program of "not wanting to cause trouble for others" outweighed my "rebellious spirit wanting to break stereotypes."
I decided to obediently fit into the cage called stereotype just this once.
"But even if I want to change, I don't have any other clothes."
When I presented the problem, the Thomson's gazelle pointed—no, indicated with his hard hoof—at a strange building nearby.
There stood a pure white, square structure that looked like it had been built temporarily.
It was about one story high, a perfect cube with no seams. The surface was painted evenly in pure white paint; though it seemed meaningless, it was a building with a mysterious charm that stirred an intense desire to "enter" or "take a photo."
"That is the changing room," the gazelle guided us in a monotone voice. "Appropriate wear should be auto-generated to match the entrant's personality. Now, please enter and change."
We followed his instructions and stepped into the white cube.
The interior was perhaps 24 square meters. About the size of a business hotel's single room.
The decor was like a calm dressing room, and in the center, a curtain like a beautiful veil shimmered, separating the spaces for men and women.
Shizuku and I entered our respective spaces and changed.
The gazelle had said "appropriate wear," and while the quantity of clothes was indeed abundant, there was only one type available.
Gym clothes.
And it was the exact designated gym uniform of the "747th Hydrogen High School" that Shizuku and I attended.
When we exited the white cube in our gym clothes, the Thomson's gazelle welcomed us with his usual default poker face, but his tone had become considerably softer.
"Well, isn't this fine. It suits you very well. Wonderful. I now permit the climb."
Thus, we began our attack on the cake mountain.
On the mountain path, not only the crystal-like trees mentioned earlier but a unique ecosystem also spread out before us.
At the tips of branches, squirrels with cobalt blue fur were leaping about.
From between the trees, the chirping of birds unique to Mercury rained down. Their calls seemed not only to be processed as auditory data but also turned into physical sweet syrup raining onto the mountain surface.
And bears, which should normally be hibernating, were also making appearances.
Perhaps forcibly woken by the influence of the Summer Hole, they had dreamy, drowsy eyes like sleepwalkers. There was not a shred of aggression in them; as if dancing in a dream, they took the hands of nearby foxes and wolves, indulging in elegant ballroom dancing.
As we climbed further, semi-transparent jelly butterflies danced, scattering fine sugar powder every time they flapped their wings. Candy-sculpture chameleons mimicked the colors of the clothes of passing climbers on the rocky areas. Carbonated water sprung forth in the streams, the fizzing sound resonating like background music.
We advanced while gazing at such scenery.
This was not merely movement. It was a taste-based climb where "walking" itself was directly linked to "ingestion."
Just by gaining altitude—just by climbing the mountain—sugar filled our whole bodies, and our batteries recovered.
We could move our legs with a delicious feeling.
Our steps were surprisingly light.
Partly because we had shrunk from macro to micro size, but there was also a sensation that the load on our actuators decreased the more we climbed.
To use an analogy, it was an exhilarating feeling like floating above electron clouds, or lightly skipping over clouds of probability—a parallel processing of "walking" and "floating."
As for Shizuku, although it was my arbitrary profiling, I had predicted that being introverted, she might dislike such sporty activities.
Even if it was a "delicious cake climb," I thought she might resist the act of moving her body itself.
But that seemed to be a needless worry.