Heat crept up Haibu's neck as both women remained plastered against him, their bodies molded to his torso and side with no apparent intention of separating. Mutsumi's breasts pressed against his chest through layers of fabric, soft and yielding even through her camouflage jacket and white undershirt. Ayumi's athletic frame created firm pressure along his ribs, her toned muscles evident where her tracksuit-clad thigh brushed his leg.
His pulse accelerated for entirely different reasons than the adrenaline that had sustained him since the crash. Colour bloomed across his cheeks, warmth spreading beneath his skin as awareness of their proximity crashed through his usual composure.
Years of solitary tracking through forests and long silent hours beside rivers had left him woefully unprepared for sustained physical contact with women. His father's lessons covered survival, navigation, reading weather patterns—not how to handle two attractive classmates draped across his body like he was their personal anchor point.
"I woke up on the beach," Mutsumi said against his chest, her breath warm through his shirt. Her fingers remained locked around his back, showing no signs of releasing him. "Sand everywhere. I was able to find Gomaotto but I couldn't find anyone. Just debris washing up in the surf."
Ayumi's hand stayed buried in his hair.. "I found her maybe an hour later, searching the shoreline. We've been looking for other survivors since then."
Mutsumi lifted her head slightly, brown eyes meeting his from inches away. Her face carried dirt smudges and scratches, but underneath the exhaustion he recognized the same focused intelligence he'd witnessed at the terminal.
"The vegetation patterns are significant." Her words picked up speed, tumbling over each other as her analytical mind engaged. "The fern species match subtropical classifications, and the ambient humidity suggests we're in the Kuroshio Current zone. Factor in flight duration before the crash—we were airborne approximately ninety minutes, cruising speed would place us roughly 800 kilometers from Tokyo—which means the Ogasawara Islands are the most likely location. Though Yaeyama can't be completely ruled out if the pilot adjusted course south before we went down."
Her chest rose and fell against his with increasing rapidity as she continued, each breath pressing her generous curves more firmly against him. Haibu's flush deepened, spreading down his neck.
"We need to establish a base camp near fresh water but elevated enough to avoid high tide marks," she rushed on, the words spilling faster. "Signal fires during daylight hours using green vegetation for smoke visibility. Three fires in a triangle pattern following international distress protocols. Shelter construction takes priority—palm fronds for roofing if we're coastal, though I haven't seen coconut palms yet so we might need to improvise with—"
"Mutsumi-chan." Ayumi's voice cut through the verbal flood with gentle firmness. "Breathe."
Mutsumi's jaw snapped shut, her eyes widening as she registered how fast she'd been talking. Red bloomed across her cheeks, matching the colour heating Haibu's face.
"Sorry." She ducked her head, pressing her forehead back against his chest. "When you're lost in the mountains, you inventory resources and establish priorities. Keep your mind focused on concrete actions instead of—"
Her voice caught, trembling on the last word. Haibu felt the shudder run through her frame, small tremors betraying the fear she'd been holding at bay through sheer force of analytical thought.
"She's been like this since we found each other," Ayumi said quietly, her own voice carrying traces of strain. "Non-stop survival planning and environmental analysis. Kept us both moving forward when the shock might have frozen us up."
Mutsumi's fingers tightened on his back, clutching fabric hard enough to stretch the weave. "When you're lost, you stay calm and work the problem. Panic kills more people than exposure or hunger."
She lifted her head again, meeting Haibu's gaze with determination bleeding through the exhaustion. "Right? That's what your father taught you too, isn't it? When we were talking at the terminal about tracking in Africa—you said the first rule was staying alive long enough to be found."
Haibu nodded, his throat working around sudden thickness. Her recalled advice aligned perfectly with the lessons his father had drilled into him since childhood. Survival wasn't about dramatic heroics but systematic attention to fundamental needs and maintaining rational thought under pressure.
"You're right," he confirmed, his voice emerging steadier than he felt with both women still wrapped around him like they feared he'd vanish if they let go. "About all of it. The island classification makes sense based on flight time and current patterns. Fresh water and shelter are immediate priorities. Three signal fires in a triangle."
Mutsumi's shoulders relaxed fractionally, her analytical framework validated by someone who understood wilderness survival. Some of the manic edge faded from her expression, replaced by cautious hope.
"Your methodology's sound," Haibu continued, pulling fragments of his father's training into focus. "Inventory resources, establish base camp, prioritize signals for rescue. We follow that framework, we maximize survival probability."
Haibu stepped back carefully, untangling himself from both women with deliberate movements. The loss of contact felt abrupt—like stepping from warm water into cold air—but he needed space to think clearly. Both Mutsumi and Ayumi remained within arm's reach, orbiting him with unconscious proximity that suggested they had no intention of letting him wander far.
"Chitose?" Mutsumi's voice cracked on the name, her eyes searching his face with desperate intensity. "Was she with you? Did you see her after the crash?"
Haibu shook his head, the motion feeling heavier than it should. "No. I woke up alone in the wreckage further inland."
The light drained from Mutsumi's expression. Her shoulders sagged, hands curling into fists against her camouflage jacket. Ayumi's jaw tightened, her athletic frame going rigid as she processed the information.
"Damn it." Ayumi's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I was hoping she'd be with you, but—"
"She could still be out there," Haibu cut in, refusing to let the darker possibilities take root. His father's lessons echoed through his mind: Never assume casualties until you have confirmation. Hope keeps survivors moving. "The crash scattered debris over a wide area. She might have landed further down the beach or deeper in the jungle."
Mutsumi nodded shakily, latching onto the thread of possibility. "Right. Statistical probability suggests survivors would be distributed across multiple impact zones based on fuselage breakup patterns and trajectory variance."
Her analytical framework reasserted itself, but Haibu caught the tremor underneath—fear dressed up in technical terminology to keep itself manageable.
"But that dose not mean I am alone," Haibu said, deliberately shifting the focus. He turned, scanning the nearby vegetation for green hair and borrowed jacket.
Nozomi stood partially concealed behind a thick cluster of ferns roughly five metres away, her blue eyes fixed on the three of them with an expression Haibu couldn't quite parse. Something tight.
"Nozomi," he called, gesturing for her to join them. "Come here."
She emerged from the foliage with careful steps, her movements precise and measured. His jacket hung loose on her smaller frame, the sleeves extending past her fingertips. Her green hair framed her face in slightly disheveled waves, bits of leaf debris still clinging to the strands.
"This is Nozomi Aoyama," Haibu introduced, noting how both women beside him straightened slightly—instinctive assessment of a new element in their survivor group. "She's in a different class, so you might not know her."
Mutsumi's brow furrowed as she studied Nozomi's features. "I've seen you in the halls between periods. Third floor near the science labs?"
"Sometimes." Nozomi's response came clipped and neutral, her gaze flicking briefly to Mutsumi before returning to Haibu.
Ayumi's expression shifted, recognition sparking in her eyes. "I think I have seen heard of you. You're in the art club, aren't you?"
Nozomi's face darkened, her jaw clenching so hard Haibu could see the muscles jump beneath her skin. Red crept up her neck.
"Used to be." The words came out flat and cold, each syllable precisely enunciated. "I left recently."
Before anyone could respond, Nozomi moved. She closed the distance between herself and Haibu with three quick steps, positioning herself directly beside him. Her hand found his arm, fingers curling around his bicep as she tucked herself against his side with deliberate intimacy.
Haibu froze, confused by the sudden contact and the possessive way her body angled toward his. Her breast pressed against his ribs through the borrowed jacket, soft and yielding. The scent of sweat and fear clung to her skin, mixed with something floral—shampoo or perfume that had somehow survived the crash.
Confusion flickered across Ayumi's athletic features, her head tilting slightly as she studied the intimate positioning.
"Did something happen between you two?" The question emerged cautiously, probing without accusation. Ayumi's gaze shifted between Nozomi's grip on Haibu's arm and the borrowed jacket hanging loose on the smaller girl's frame.
Nozomi's fingers tightened on Haibu's bicep, her nails digging through fabric to press against muscle. She lifted her chin, blue eyes blazing with sudden intensity that transformed her pretty features into something fierce.
"Haibu saved my life." The declaration rang through the humid air with absolute conviction. Her voice carried weight—gratitude mixed with something more complicated. "I would be dead right now if he hadn't been there."
Heat crept up Haibu's neck, spreading across his cheeks in crimson waves. The memory of Nozawa's body tumbling over the cliff edge flashed through his mind—the sickening moment of realization as he'd pushed too hard, sent her plummeting into the canopy thirty metres below.
His stomach clenched, cold sweat beading along his spine despite the tropical humidity. He'd killed someone. Accident or not, justified or not, his teacher was dead because he'd acted without thinking through the consequences of his strength and momentum.
Nozomi's gaze met his, sharp and knowing. Haibu remembered her words from earlier. I won't tell anyone she told him.
"It wasn't anything special," Haibu managed, his voice rougher than intended. The lie tasted like ash on his tongue. "She was in trouble. I helped."
Mutsumi's expression softened, her analytical framework momentarily displaced by open admiration. "That's exactly like you though. Always watching out for others even when—"
"That's incredible." Ayumi cut in, her protective instincts clearly approving of rescue efforts. A smile curved her lips as she looked at Haibu with newfound respect. "Most people freeze in crisis situations. You acted."
"Anyone would have done the same." Haibu deflected automatically, discomfort crawling beneath his skin as both women's praise washed over him.
The weight of Nozomi's body against his side increased fractionally, her curves molding more firmly to his ribs. Possession radiated from every point of contact, claiming territory through proximity.
Ayumi shifted her weight, rolling her shoulders back. The tracksuit stretched across her athletic frame as tension bled into her posture. "We need to figure out our next move. Standing around talking isn't getting us rescued."
Her practical nature reasserted itself, cutting through the emotional reunion with sharp focus. Blue eyes scanned the surrounding jungle, cataloguing threats and resources with the systematic attention of someone trained to assess tactical situations.
"Right." Mutsumi straightened, her analytical mind engaging again. The fear that had trembled beneath her earlier verbal flood retreated behind structured thought patterns. "Based on crash dispersal patterns, other survivors would logically be distributed along—"
"Who put you in charge?"
Nozomi's voice cracked like a whip, cold and sharp. The aggression came from nowhere—sudden violence that shattered the tentative group dynamic. Her fingers dug harder into Haibu's arm.
Silence dropped over them like a physical weight. Mutsumi's mouth hung open mid-sentence, brown eyes wide with shock. Ayumi went rigid.
Haibu felt his own confusion crystallize into wariness. The shift in Nozomi's demeanour didn't match anything that had come before—no gradual build-up, just instant confrontation that left everyone off-balance.
"I was just suggesting—" Mutsumi started, her voice smaller now.
"Suggesting." Nozomi's lips curved downword. Her blue eyes remained hard, fixed on Mutsumi with unsettling intensity.
She turned her face up toward Haibu, the harsh expression melting into something softer and more appealing. Her breast pressed more firmly against his ribs as she angled her body toward his, feminine curves emphasized by the movement.
"What do you think we should do, Haibu?" The question emerged sweet and deferential, completely at odds with the venom that had laced her previous words. "You have the most survival experience. We should follow your lead."
Ayumi's jaw clenched, muscles jumping beneath her fair skin. Red crept up her neck as anger displaced shock. "What the hell is your problem?"
"Problem?" Nozomi blinked with theatrical innocence, still pressed against Haibu's side. "I'm just asking for input from someone qualified. Is that wrong?"
"The way you said it was wrong." Ayumi took a step forward, her athletic frame radiating barely-contained aggression. Blue eyes blazed as her protective nature focused on defending Mutsumi from the unexpected attack. "Mutsumi was trying to help. We're all trying to survive here."
"And I'm trying to make sure we survive intelligently." Nozomi's voice hardened again, losing the sweet tone she'd used with Haibu. "Following someone who starts babbling statistics under pressure doesn't inspire confidence."
Mutsumi flinched as if physically struck. Her shoulders hunched inward, hands curling into fists against her camouflage jacket. The colour drained from her face, leaving her pale beneath the dirt and scratches.
"That's enough." Ayumi moved between Nozomi and Mutsumi, her body language shifting into protective positioning. "Whatever your damage is, work through it without taking shots at people trying to contribute."
"Or what?" Nozomi challenged, her grip on Haibu's arm tightening until her nails bit through fabric into skin.
Mutsumi stepped forward, positioning herself slightly ahead of Ayumi with hands raised in placating gestures. The analytical framework that usually governed her thinking gave way to desperate peacekeeping instincts.
"Please, everyone just calm down." Her voice emerged higher than normal, strained by the effort to project calm she clearly didn't feel. Brown eyes darted between Ayumi's rigid posture and Nozomi's challenging expression. "We're all exhausted and scared. Fighting each other doesn't help anyone."
"I'm perfectly calm," Nozomi replied, her tone suggesting anything but. The sweetness she'd directed at Haibu had evaporated, replaced by sharp edges that made each word cut. "I'm just pointing out that panic-babbling isn't productive leadership."
Ayumi's hands balled into fists at her sides. The athletic woman took another step forward, closing distance despite Mutsumi's attempt to create space. Red flushed across her cheeks, spreading down her neck as anger overrode her usual protective restraint.
"You're being a bitch for no reason," Ayumi bit out, her voice dropping to dangerous levels. "Mutsumi's been nothing but helpful since the crash while you've been—"
"While I've been what?" Nozomi's nails dug deeper into Haibu's arm, her body pressing even more firmly against his side as if claiming territory. "Standing here? Asking questions? Not making myself leader without anyone asking?"
The temperature between them climbed with each exchange, voices rising in volume and hostility. Mutsumi's attempts to interject went unheard as both women focused entirely on their conflict.
Haibu's chest tightened, pressure building behind his sternum as the argument escalated. He had no idea what to do about mediating fights between classmates who'd survived a plane crash and might be descending into shock-driven aggression.
His mind raced through options, discarding approaches that seemed likely to make things worse.
Mutsumi looked increasingly panicked, her peacekeeping efforts failing as the other two women drowned her out with rising volume.
"Mutsumi's right."
The words emerged quieter than the argument but carried weight through their simplicity. Haibu pitched his voice low and steady.
Both women's heads snapped toward him. The sudden shift in focus created a pocket of silence that felt fragile and temporary.
"About finding more survivors," Haibu continued, maintaining the calm timber despite his racing pulse. "That should be our priority. Search patterns, signal fires, establishing base camp—she laid out the right framework."
Relief flooded Mutsumi's features, her shoulders dropping from their tense hunch. Brown eyes found his with desperate gratitude, clearly appreciating the validation after Nozomi's attacks.
"Exactly." Nozomi's entire demeanour transformed in an instant, the sharp hostility melting into warm approval. She gazed up at Haibu with open admiration, her breast pressing more deliberately against his ribs through the borrowed jacket. "That's perfect reasoning. Your experience gives you the perspective to make these decisions."
Her fingers loosened on his arm, transforming from painful grip to gentle caress as she stroked his bicep through the fabric. The possessive undertones remained but wrapped in softer packaging.
"And you mentioned survivors earlier," Haibu pressed, seizing the shift in her mood before it could swing back to aggression. "You said there was a group when you first woke up. Where are they?"
"Yes!" The word burst from Nozomi with sudden energy, her eyes brightening. "You're absolutely right. There were a few others near the fuselage when I came to. We should find them immediately."
Ayumi's jaw clenched so hard Haibu could see muscles jumping beneath her skin. Red still flushed her cheeks, anger radiating from her athletic frame despite Nozomi's sudden cooperation. Blue eyes burned as she stared at the green-haired girl latched onto Haibu's side.
"That's the exact same thing Mutsumi suggested," Ayumi bit out, each word sharp with barely-contained fury. "Finding survivors. Searching for other people. She said it first and you attacked her for—"
"The difference," Nozomi interrupted smoothly, her voice taking on lecturing tones, "is that now the decision has backing from someone with actual survival experience. Mutsumi's academic knowledge is charming, but Haibu's spent years tracking through African wilderness with his father. Anyone at school knows about it. His approval validates the strategy."
The condescension dripping from her words made Haibu's stomach clench. He opened his mouth to object, to point out that Mutsumi's framework had been sound before his input, but Nozomi continued before he could speak.
"Real field experience trumps textbook theory." She smiled up at Haibu with warmth that didn't extend to her eyes. "That's just practical fact."
Ayumi looked ready to explode. Her fists trembled at her sides, knuckles white with pressure. The protective fury that had driven her to defend Mutsumi now threatened to boil over into physical confrontation. Her body coiled with tension, weight shifting forward onto the balls of her feet.
"Ayumi." Mutsumi's voice cut through the rising violence, softer but carrying unexpected firmness.
The athletic woman's head turned, surprise flickering across her flushed features.
"It's fine." Mutsumi forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, exhaustion evident in every line of her body. "Really. We're all stressed and frightened and probably in shock. People say things they don't mean when they're running on adrenaline."
She gestured vaguely at the surrounding jungle, at the humidity and strange vegetation and the reality of their situation pressing down on all of them. "None of this is normal. Fighting about who suggested what first doesn't matter. We're all trying to survive."
The forced calm in her voice made Haibu's chest ache. She was clearly hurt by Nozomi's attacks but choosing to swallow the pain in favour of group cohesion. Her brown eyes pleaded with Ayumi to let it go, to prioritize survival over pride.
Ayumi's jaw worked, grinding teeth as she wrestled with her protective instincts. Her gaze shifted between Mutsumi's forced smile and Nozomi's smug expression. The internal battle played across her athletic features—fury versus pragmatism, righteous anger versus survival necessity.
"Fine," she finally ground out, the word emerging through clenched teeth. Her fists remained tight at her sides, tension still radiating from her frame. "But if she keeps—"
"She won't," Mutsumi cut in quickly, shooting a meaningful look at Nozomi. "Right? We're all on the same team here. Survivors working together."
Nozomi's smile widened, sweet and utterly insincere. "Of course. Team survival. Led by Haibu's expertise."
Her fingers resumed their possessive stroking of his arm, claiming ownership through touch while her words claimed deference to his leadership.
The silence that followed sat heavy and damp as the jungle air pressing against their skin. Mutsumi studied her boots. Ayumi's jaw remained clenched, her athletic body radiating residual heat from the confrontation. Nozomi continued stroking Haibu's bicep with her thumb, serene as a cat in a sunbeam while everyone else stood marinating in discomfort.
Haibu's gaze drifted across the three of them, reading the tension the way he'd read animal tracks in soft earth. Mutsumi's hunched shoulders. The vein pulsing at Ayumi's temple. Nozomi's calculated calm. None of it would resolve itself standing here. The jungle didn't care about their interpersonal dynamics, and neither would dehydration or nightfall.
"We should move." He kept his voice flat, operational. "Nozomi's group is still out there. The longer we wait, the harder they'll be to find if they decide to relocate."
Three heads nodded. Different speeds, different motivations behind the agreement, but consensus nonetheless.
He glanced down at the fingers wrapped around his arm. Nozomi's grip had settled into something comfortable and familiar, as though she'd been holding onto him for years rather than hours. Her blue eyes tracked the direction of his gaze and understanding registered instantly.
"Nozomi. I need my arm."
She released him without hesitation, her fingers uncurling one by one with a grace that made the action look choreographed. No resistance, no flash of displeasure. Just immediate compliance paired with a warm smile that curved her lips upward.
"Of course."
Haibu rolled his shoulder, blood flow returning to where her nails had been digging crescents into his skin. He oriented himself toward the cliff face visible through gaps in the canopy—the same cliff he and Nozomi had tumbled down. If he could retrace their path back to its base and follow it to where the slope became navigable, they'd reach the clearing where Nozawa had brought Nozomi. From there, Nozomi had walked roughly twenty minutes to reach that point from her survivor group. Reverse the route, find the group.
Simple in theory. The jungle would make the execution considerably less elegant.
He pushed into the undergrowth without ceremony, boots finding purchase on exposed roots and packed earth. The vegetation closed around him within three steps, broad leaves brushing his shoulders, vines trailing across his path like lazy tripwires. Behind him, three sets of footsteps fell into rhythm—Nozomi's quick and precise, Ayumi's solid and grounded, Mutsumi's slightly uneven as she navigated terrain her hiking boots were built for but her exhausted legs protested against.
Nobody spoke.
The absence of conversation pressed against Haibu's awareness with almost physical weight. Jungle sounds filled the void—insect drone, bird calls, the distant crash of surf against shoreline—but human silence dominated. The argument had poisoned the air between them, left behind an invisible residue that made casual speech feel impossible.
Haibu kept his eyes forward. His gaze swept the terrain in practiced quadrants: ground level for obstacles and tracks, mid-height for hanging branches and hidden threats, canopy for breaks in coverage that might indicate clearings or water sources. The cliff face served as his primary navigation reference, its rocky surface visible in flashes through the foliage to his right. He adjusted their bearing every few minutes, angling toward the gentler slope he remembered from their descent.
The humidity intensified as they moved deeper into the jungle, away from the coastal breeze that had provided marginal relief near the beach. Sweat gathered along his hairline and traced slow paths down his temples. His thin white t-shirt—all that remained after losing his jacket to the creature at altitude and giving his field jacket to Nozomi—clung to his torso like a second skin, outlining the lean muscle beneath.
Behind him, fabric rustled. The soft click of a zipper. Mutsumi had opened Gomaotto.
He caught the sound without turning—catalogued it automatically the way he catalogued every noise in unfamiliar terrain. Her fingers worked through the backpack's contents with methodical precision, each item producing a distinct acoustic signature as she shifted it aside. A metallic click that might have been a pen or small flashlight. The crinkle of a wrapped granola bar or similar snack.
She was inventorying resources. Even now, even after the argument and the forced smile and the hurt she'd swallowed for the group's sake, her analytical mind refused to stay idle. Survival demanded data. Data demanded cataloguing. The backpack represented their only confirmed supply cache, and Mutsumi was documenting every asset it contained.
Something in Haibu's chest tightened with a feeling that had nothing to do with exertion.
He wanted to fall back. Walk beside her. Ask what she'd found in the bag, let her rattle off the contents with that breathless enthusiasm she reserved for things that mattered. Listen to her voice climb in pitch as she explained why a particular item could prove critical for their survival, watch her hands gesture with increasing animation as the analytical framework overtook her anxiety.
He wanted to talk to her the way they'd talked at the terminal. Just the two of them, trading observations about beetles and leopards and the statistical irrelevance of mammals compared to insects.
But the group dynamics made that impossible right now.
He'd find a moment alone with her. When the group settled, when tensions eased. He'd pull Mutsumi aside and talk. Really talk. About the crash, about the island, about Chitose, about the things neither of them could say with an audience.
The resolution settled into his chest beside the other one—the older promise, made at the terminal, about finding her an insect worth confessing over. That plan felt distant now, belonging to a version of himself who hadn't been ripped through an airplane fuselage by something that defied biology. But the core of it remained. He'd find the right moment with Mutsumi. He was good at patience.
A vine snagged his boot. Haibu stepped over it without breaking stride, his attention snapping back to immediate terrain. The cliff face had curved northward, its angle shifting from vertical to a more gradual sixty-degree slope covered in loose scree and stubborn vegetation. Closer to where they'd fallen. The clearing couldn't be far.
He risked a glance over his shoulder.
Nozomi walked three paces behind him, her blue eyes fixed on his face with an intensity that hadn't wavered since they'd started moving. When his gaze met hers she smiled instant and radiant. His borrowed jacket still hung from her shoulders, the sleeves dangling past her fingertips, the oversized fabric somehow making her look smaller and more vulnerable despite the hard edge he'd glimpsed during her confrontation with Mutsumi.
Behind Nozomi, Ayumi's blue eyes were locked on the back of the green-haired girl's skull with the focused hostility of a guard dog watching an intruder. Her jaw hadn't unclenched since the argument. The white stripes on her tracksuit caught dappled sunlight as she walked, the athletic fabric pulling taut across her frame with each measured stride. Her fists stayed loose at her sides but the tendons in her forearms stood rigid.
And at the rear, Mutsumi walked with her head bowed over the open backpack, one hand steadying Gomaotto's strap while the other sorted through contents by touch. Her Stetson shadowed her face, hiding whatever expression she wore. The camouflage jacket had slipped off one shoulder again, exposing the curve of her neck and the rumpled white undershirt clinging to skin damp with sweat. Her lips moved silently—counting, maybe, or cataloguing items under her breath in that habitual whisper she fell into when her mind worked faster than her mouth.
Four people. One jungle. Zero trust between half of them.
Haibu turned forward and kept walking.
The scream tore through the jungle canopy like a blade.
Haibu's boots stopped moving before his mind caught up with the decision, his body operating on the same animal instinct that had frozen him above the treeline whenever something large moved through undergrowth. Every nerve ending sharpened into focus, ears straining against the ambient insect drone.
Then the scream curdled. Twisted in on itself, losing its sharp edges and melting downward into something thick and wet—a moan that vibrated at a frequency he felt in his sternum rather than heard with his ears.
His blood went cold.
He knew that sound. He'd heard it rising from the base of a cliff thirty metres below where he'd stood with Nozomi, standing over empty air and looking down at a canopy that had swallowed his teacher whole. The same throaty resonance. The same quality of something between pain and pleasure that made his skin crawl.
The thought hadn't finished forming before Ayumi blew past him.
Her boots hit the earth in powerful, rhythmic strikes, blue tracksuit flashing between tree trunks as she accelerated toward the sound without hesitation. No calculation, no threat assessment. Someone needed help and Ayumi Matsuoka ran toward that reality the way water ran downhill.
Nozomi shot a glance at Haibu, waiting for his signal. Mutsumi had already snapped Gomaotto shut and was moving. He ran.
The vegetation blurred past his shoulders, vines and leaves whipping across his bare forearms as he followed Ayumi's path through the undergrowth. Behind him, two more sets of footsteps—Mutsumi's uneven rhythm and Nozomi's precise, quick steps. The moaning grew louder with each stride, richer and more complex, layered in ways that made his jaw clench.
Light opened ahead. A clearing.
They broke through the treeline and stopped.
A cluster of his classmates stood at the clearing's edge, ten or twelve of them arranged in a rough semicircle with their backs pressed toward the jungle. Their faces wore expressions Haibu had no framework to categorize—horror and arousal occupying the same features simultaneously, mouths hanging open, eyes wide and fixed on the center of the clearing with the paralyzed attention of people whose bodies had decided conflicting things.
Haibu followed their collective gaze.
Ai Ino lay face-down in the grass, her orange zip-up jacket bunched around her shoulders and her dark green cargo shorts still on but twisted sideways, her skirt rucked up to her hips. Her white and blue sneakers pressed into the earth as her legs shifted, thighs pressing together and releasing in helpless rhythm. Her long light brown ponytail splayed across the grass in a disheveled fan.
Beside her knelt two women.
Haibu's mind rejected the word women the moment he used it, because the anatomy didn't support the classification. They were shaped like women—exquisitely, obscenely shaped like women, with proportions that seemed engineered specifically to dismantle rational thought. Their skin carried an iridescent quality, shifting between deep black and electric blue depending on the angle of light filtering through the canopy, the same way oil moved across water. From their shoulder blades spread wings that defied the clearing's scale, massive butterfly wings rendered in velvet black trimmed with vivid cobalt and white spotted margins, veins of deep teal running through the membrane like rivers seen from altitude. Each wing spanned wider than their bodies. At rest they angled upward, brushing canopy leaves.
Their faces were devastating. High sharp cheekbones, lips black as lacquer, eyes that held no white whatsoever—just solid iridescent blue-black that caught light and threw it back in prismatic fragments. Their hair fell in dark waves past waists that curved into generous hips, and those hips led downward into thighs built for kneeling, for pressing close, for the precise positions they currently occupied.
Their bodies were completely bare. Every inch of them.
Breasts that defied gravity hung full and heavy, dark nipples stiff in the humid air, swaying fractionally with the motion of their torsos. Their curves were architectural with no blemish or asymmetry, just endless smooth iridescent skin that caught green jungle light and transformed it into something luminous.
The one positioned beside Ai's hips had both hands pressed flat against Ai's lower back, holding her pinned to the earth. Her face was buried between Ai's thighs, beneath the rucked fabric of the skirt, her head moving with slow, grinding deliberateness. When she shifted her angle, Haibu caught a glimpse of what her mouth was doing—her tongue, impossibly long, had extended far beyond any human range and was driving itself into Ai's rear with rhythmic aggression that made the grass ripple outward from where Ai's fists dug into the soil. Each thrust of that elongated tongue corkscrewed deeper, withdrew slightly, then plunged again with a wet sound that carried across the clearing with perfect clarity.
The one at Ai's face held her cheeks between both palms with something resembling tenderness, tilting the girl's chin upward. Ai's dark yellow eyes were rolled back, visible only as crescents of amber beneath fluttering lids. The butterfly woman pressed close, and then her tongue emerged.
It unspooled. Kept unspooling. The thing was obscene in its length—black and glistening, tapering to a fine point at the tip, extending with hypnotic slowness past Ai's lips and disappearing down her throat. Ai's neck moved, her throat working in swallowing motions, her body accommodating something that should have been impossible. The butterfly woman maintained the connection, her lips sealed over Ai's in an aggressive kiss that wasn't a kiss so much as an insertion—her tongue filling Ai's throat completely, moving in deep pulses that matched the rhythm of the one working below.
Ai moaned around it. The sound vibrated the membrane of the buried tongue, transmitted back through the butterfly woman's body in waves that made her wings shiver.
Nobody in the clearing moved. Nobody breathed.
Then the two butterfly women began to move around her without ever withdrawing their tongues—circling, repositioning, their wings folding and extending for balance as they worked Ai's clothing off her body with their free hands. The zip of the orange jacket. The pop of a button. Fabric peeled back from skin with a patience that felt ritualistic.
Her form revealed itself gradually as each garment fell away. First her shoulders appeared, pale skin flushed scarlet down to where her neck curved. Then the arch of her spine, sleek and quivering with every thrust of the tongue embedded deep within her. Her middle tapered inward before flowing to hips that swelled with lush roundness—fair flesh blazed crimson where the butterfly woman's mouth had sealed itself, the tissue branded by the ferocity of devotion lavished upon it. Her legs were thick and squeezed tight even as her pelvis rolled in reflexive grinding motions against the earth, her flesh pursuing pleasure her consciousness could no longer comprehend.
When the last of her clothing was gone Ai lay completely bare in the clearing, her ponytail a tangled mess around her face, her curves lit by jungle light filtering through the canopy above.
Her body convulsed.
The orgasm hit her in visible waves starting at her hips and rolling upward through her torso. Her back arched off the ground, both tongues maintaining their aggressive occupation as her thighs snapped together and her fists tore at the grass. The moan that escaped around the tongue filling her throat was ragged and enormous, spilling into the clearing and scattering birds from the canopy in a flurry of panicked wings.
She kept coming. The shuddering didn't stop—built instead, crescendoing past what seemed physiologically possible, her body locked in sustained trembling as her eyes snapped open wide and fixed on nothing at all.
Then her back split.
Not violently—not with blood or tearing. The skin parted along her shoulder blades in two neat lines and something pushed through. Wet membranes, veined with the same teal and cobalt as the wings flanking her on both sides, unfolded from the new apertures in her skin and spread outward in slow, gorgeous expansion. Butterfly wings emerging from the membrane as it dried—black, deep blue, white marginal spots, teal veins threading through the sweep of each wing.
They were beautiful.
Ai's dark yellow eyes had shifted. Lighter now, carrying the same iridescent quality as the two women kneeling beside her. Still amber but with prismatic depth when the light caught them.
Ai's dark yellow eyes had shifted. Lighter now, carrying the same iridescent quality as the two women kneeling beside her. Still amber but with prismatic depth when the light caught them.
Ai's dark yellow eyes had shifted. Lighter now, carrying the same iridescent quality as the two women kneeling beside her. Still amber but with prismatic depth when the light caught them.
The tongues withdrew simultaneously.
The extraction created a prolonged, carnal noise—slick and indecent. Ai stayed prone, using one limb to prop herself into a half-sitting position. Her freshly emerged wings flexed tentatively, measuring their span. Her other hand travelled to the meeting point of her legs without pause or embarrassment, digits locating the summit of her pussy with the same instinctive ease as drawing breath, stroking herself openly before the paralyzed spectators encircling her.
Her eyes cleared slightly. Focused outward. Swept the clearing.
Found the males.
Her gaze dropped lower. Fixed. Locked.
"Cock." The word came out of her in a moan, drawn and resonant, nothing like her normal voice—deeper, vibrating at that same low frequency the butterfly women projected. Her dark yellow eyes hadn't moved from the front of Haibu's trousers. "I need—cock—"
The two butterfly women beside her turned their heads in the same motion, those solid iridescent eyes sweeping the assembled students with slow assessment.
The jungle rustled.
Not wind. Something deliberate.
Haibu heard them before he saw them—the soft heavy displacement of air that large wings produced on the downstroke, the sound of something considerable moving through foliage without touching it. He turned.
Three more butterfly women stepped through the treeline behind the group.
They were identical in their devastating construction—the same iridescent skin, the same swallowtail wings half-spread for balance, the same black-lacquer lips and fathomless prismatic eyes. Their bodies moved with the unhurried confidence of things that understood they occupied the apex of whatever hierarchy governed this clearing. Full breasts swayed with each step. Bare hips cut through the jungle air. Their gazes moved across the assembled students with patient, hungry interest.
They positioned themselves behind the group, cutting off the path back to the jungle with five metres of open ground and three pairs of wings spread wide enough to brush the vegetation on either side.
And they all were saying one thing.
"Cockkkk."