The others still didn't get it. Noritoshi could see it in the way they held themselves—that particur stiffness people get when they've decided they're right and you're just not smart enough to see it. They'd accepted that there might be other ways to get stronger. Fine. But the idea that Naofumi could ever be useful? That was apparently where they drew the line.

  But why? Pride, maybe. Arrogance. Or just the kind of self-deception that came from thinking this was still a game.

  Whatever it was, the root was the same. They were drowning in it. And now they were his comrades.

  Great.

  Perhaps they believed him and not Naofumi because of the impression he had been intentionally cultivating. In his world, he could never afford to appear weak. Though he had mellowed after leaving the cn, being forcibly brought here had triggered an instinct he hadn't felt since his days within the Kamo compound. It was the sensation of eyes watching when he least expected it, of walls that seemed to have ears, of murmurs and whispers dissecting his every move. The pinprick feelings of a knife heading towards his back when he least expect it. These familiar but unwelcome sensations.... he couldn't help but fall back into the old habits he thought he'd stripped away. Unintentionally, his former self had resurfaced.

  So from the start, he'd made sure to look like a threat. Present himself as someone capable of violence. Someone who'd bite back if provoked. Same reason he still called himself the Kamo heir, exile or not.

  There was a saying for that, wasn't there? Appear strong when you are weak; appear weak when you are strong. In this new world, adrift with barely any information, he was at his most vulnerable. This was his weakest moment.

  And his comrades were treating a deadly world like a game. The odds were getting worse by the minute.

  He fixed the Sword and Spear Heroes with a level gaze, his own expression a study in calcuted calm. "So you refuse to believe the Shield could be useful," he stated, his voice even. "Why?"

  Ren, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, offered with a faked looks of detachment. "I already told you why."

  A humorless, knowing smile ghosted across Noritoshi's lips. He was leading them to the precipice of their own fwed reasoning. "Because this is a game?"

  "Yeah. Isn't it obvious?" Motoyasu chimed in with a bark of ughter, throwing his hands out as if to encompass the entire world. His tone was thick with condescension as he listed the evidence on his fingers. "This world has status menus, csses, magic, levels, and skills. It's practically Emerald Online—"

  "Brave Star Online," Ren corrected quietly, his eyes fixed on some middle distance, his voice a soft but firm counterpoint.

  "—Right. Whatever," Motoyasu waved a dismissive hand, as if the precise title of their shared fantasy was trivial. "It's that game's world." He concluded with a finality that brooked no argument, a pyer stating an immutable rule. "That's just how it is."

  The statement hung in the air as their bedrock truth. And Noritoshi felt the gulf between them widen into a chasm.

  Noritoshi looked at Naofumi. The guy's face had gone through about five different emotions in two seconds—hurt, then disappointment, then something harder. The disappointment seemed aimed at himself, which was... not what Noritoshi expected.

  But Ren wasn't done. He never was, apparently, when he had something to say.

  "It also doesn't help the fact that because the Shield couldn't deal any damage, they're very reliant on other people's ability to deal damage for you. Sure the King said he will hire people to help us, but working with other people by its nature is unreliable. They could be just in for the money, the fame that came with being the party and comrade of heroes, and if they feel like they don't like you, they could just leave you behind. At that point, what could you do? Hire more people? And risk repeating the same cycle all over again?"

  Hearing the taciturn Ren spit out so much words at once momentarily surprised everyone in the room. Including him. Ren must've thought about this for quite awhile now.

  "Then I'll prove it."

  Naofumi's voice cut through the tension, low but firm. He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over each of them in turn—a look not of pleading, but of burning resolve.

  "I'll prove to all of you that the Shield is useful. That it isn't worthless."

  The determination in his eyes was visible even with just naked eyes. When his gaze hit Noritoshi, there was something there for just a second—gratitude, maybe, or just acknowledgment that someone hadn't immediately written him off. Then it was gone, buried under that fire.

  "I will become the strongest shield in this world," Naofumi vowed, the words leaving him not as a boast, but as a solemn oath etched into the air between them. "On my title, I vow on it."

  Noritoshi blinked. Where did this sudden courage and resolve comes from? He'd pegged Naofumi as someone who'd fold under pressure, internalize the criticism and go quiet. Wrong call. The guy had spine after all.

  Ren didn't see it that way. He snorted, actually turned his back on them. "Proof. Determination isn't data. You can't break a fundamental design fw by wanting hard enough. Don't waste our time."

  Motoyasu tried on a sympathetic older brother expression. It fit about as well as a clown wig on a corpse. "Hey now, little buddy, don't get so worked up! We're just being realistic. It's a tough world out there. I'd hate to see you get hurt because you overestimated yourself."

  The words were soft. But there's a reason why people said eyes are the window to the soul.

  And in that moment, Noritoshi saw it with perfect, chilling crity. The true obstacle that had been hindering them all along. Why they could accept his expnations of cursed energy and advanced strengthening methods, yet reject Naofumi's potential outright. It wasn't about logic or game mechanics.

  It was pure, unadulterated pride.

  He had seen this scene py out time and again in Jujutsu society. The inherent, corrosive need to feel superior to those around you. Seasoned sorcerers and cunning curse users—those with deep reserves of knowledge and power—were often the most susceptible to this trap. They grew confident, even arrogant, convinced they could handle any threat the world presented. (The sole, gring exception being Gojo Satoru, a force who operated beyond such petty hierarchies.) And more often than not, they died for it. Their ego became a blindfold, obscuring logic and leading them to underestimate their enemies right up until the moment their defense was ripped open.

  They probably believed him because, on some subconscious level, they had already slotted him above themselves in their internal hierarchy. They'd accepted him because he carried himself like someone who'd already been through worse. Like someone who understood power—real power, not just stats. And Naofumi? He was at the bottom. And keeping him there made them feel safe.

  Noritoshi let out a soft sigh, a sound lost to the tense air of the room.

  "Naofumi."

  He waited until the other hero met his eyes. Noritoshi's expression softened into a small, albeit tense, smile—a calcuted gesture, but not an insincere one.

  "I'll hold you to those words, then."

  He let the statement hang for a beat, his voice dropping, meant for Naofumi alone. "A vow is a powerful thing where I come from. It forges a bond to your words, and it imposes a weight. That weight will either crush you or temper you into something unbreakable. I suggest you focus on the tter. And for what it's worth," he added, his gaze briefly flicking toward the dismissive backs of Ren and Motoyasu before returning to Naofumi, "you won't be proving it to them nor myself. You'll be proving it to yourself first. That's the only proof that ever truly matters."

  He was acutely aware of the repercussions. The temperature in the room dropped. Ren's stare went icy, like Noritoshi had just failed a logic check. And in his eyes, maybe he really did disappoint him. While Motoyasu's face twisted—not quite angry, but offended in that particur way people get when you viote an unspoken rule they didn't even know they had.

  He'd picked a side. The losing side, in their eyes.

  Good. Let them think that.

  But it was a necessary alienation. He was aligning himself with the one person in this room who, however inexperienced, seemed to have his head on straight. Naofumi was not treating this like a game. The determination in his eyes spoke of someone who understood, on a fundamental level, that failure here had real, dire consequences. The Shield Hero was taking this world—and his own vulnerability within it—more seriously than the other two could yet comprehend.

  Noritoshi didn't know if the Shield could actually become useful. Naofumi was naive, still soft in ways that would get him killed if he didn't harden fast. But he had that spark—the willingness to learn, the drive to survive. In a situation this votile, that was worth more than all of Ren's "hard data."

  An unpleasant, heavy silence settled over the room, stretching thin with unresolved tension. Awkwardness seeped into the space as Motoyasu and Ren deliberately wandered to the far side, putting palpable distance between themselves and the pair they now saw as outsiders. Noritoshi could only sigh inwardly, a deep, weary sound of exasperation he kept locked behind his teeth.

  Naofumi noticed. Offered a look of apology.

  Noritoshi waved it off. Not your fault. It was inevitable. The bitter irony wasn't lost on him: the Waves of Catastrophe hadn't even begun, and the so-called legendary team had already shattered into factions.

  Weariness settled into his bones. It hadn't even been a full day since he was ripped from his world. His right hand rested casually in his pocket, his fingers curled around his safeguard: a notably big but still small, dense orb of heavily compressed blood, concealed and ready. It was the ultimate proof that this was no dream, no game. In the world he came from, you only crafted such hidden measures when your life was already on the line. And here he was, doing it again, before the first day had even ended.

  No, what's important now is to break the silence, to dissolve the thick, awkward air between them. In the end, they were his allies. However prideful, however delusional, they were the only other assets he had in this unfamiliar world. The strategic necessity was clear. He didn't need friendship, but he did require a functional, cordial alliance—a working retionship where cooperation was possible without the interference of personal sentiment. Or, at the very minimum, a stable détente.

  The theory was simple. The execution? Not so much.

  He'd studied cn politics. Jujutsu society. Cursed energy manipution. Lethal techniques. His education covered a lot of ground.

  Fragile egos of genre-savvy isekai protagonists? Not on the sylbus.

  He breathed. Slow. Deliberate. The weariness didn't disappear, such simple thing seems so far away. But he continued on regardless. When he turned from Naofumi to face the others, his movements were measured. His voice, when it came, had an edge it hadn't had a moment ago.

  "Regardless of personal assessments," he began, his gaze resting coolly on Ren and then Motoyasu, "we have been summoned as a set. The Waves, by all accounts, will not care about our internal rankings or preferred party compositions. They will come for all four of us."

  He let that sit for a moment. He wasn't asking for friendship or even agreement. He was establishing a common, external enemy—a cssic unifying tactic. Merely ying out the one undeniable thing they could all agree.

  "Therefore," he continued, his tone shifting colder. He's being transactional now, "I propose a simple pact for the interim: we share actionable intelligence on threats and resources. We do not actively sabotage one another. We maintain a perimeter of professional civility. This isn't about trust. It is about increasing our individual odds of survival through basic coordination. Do you find these terms objectionable?"

  Strategic offer. Business decision. Appeal to self-interest while hiding his own need for a stable front.

  Ren took his time answering. Uncrossed his arms slow, like he wanted everyone to notice him thinking about it. His eyes did that narrowing thing again—not angry, just... assessing. Reading fine print that wasn't there.

  After a beat that sted just long enough to be annoying, he nodded once. Sharp.

  "Efficient." Ft. Clinical. "Wasteful infighting is an unnecessary drain on resources and focus. A non-aggression pact and intelligence sharing is the baseline logical course. I accept it."

  Motoyasu lit up the second Ren finished. Cpped his hands together like he'd just won something.

  "See? Now that's more like it!" His voice boomed, all warmth and confidence. He strode over and threw an arm around Naofumi's shoulders. Naofumi went stiff as a board. Motoyasu didn't notice. Or didn't care.

  "We're a team! We gotta stick together!" Beaming. "I'm gd you came around, Noritoshi. It's always better when the smart one agrees with you first."

  The words were friendly. But the truth of what he truly means is infuriatingly annoying. Oh, so in the end you finally saw things our way. Good boy.

  Noritoshi met Motoyasu's beaming smile with a pcid, unreadable expression. He didn't correct him. Let the Spear Hero believe what he wanted. The objective—a fragile, workable framework—had been achieved.

  But still... what a mess.

  He had harbored a faint, quickly extinguished hope that his retionship with these summoned comrades could be… more natural and friendlier, at least. Functional and cordial. Instead, Motoyasu misunderstood every single one of his action, mistaking his pragmatism for submission. With Ren, it was harder to gauge; was his analytical acceptance genuine, or was he merely posing to uphold his self-image as the logical one? The only one who seemed remotely reliable was Naofumi.

  Great. The guy everyone else had already written off. Maybe the King already did too based on his earlier attitude. He really hoped Naofumi made good on that vow. Because right now, that hope was about all he had.

  Thankfully, he was saved from spiraling further into that bleak assessment by a sharp, formal knock on the chamber door. The sound cut through the fragile quiet. Thank god. He was nearing his breaking point with this internal politics of a broken team. This was a welcome reprieve.

  He hurried to the door and opened it, revealing several maids waiting in the corridor.

  "Lord Heroes," their leader said with a polite bow. "His Majesty has prepared dinner for you."

  Dinner already? The sun had just set, st traces of crimson still fading. Early, but a reprieve was a reprieve.

  Turning back to the room, he reyed the message to the others. "Dinner's been prepared for us."

  "All right! I'm starving!" Motoyasu cheered, immediately striding forward. He led the group out, the other heroes following with varied expressions of weariness and curiosity. The maids fell into a practiced formation, two taking the lead to guide them through the castle's ornate halls toward the Knights' dining room.

  There was no particur feeling of surprise on his end. It was only logical. A king, of royal blood, would hardly host a formal banquet for strangers he had just met, regardless of their title as heroes. This was a pragmatic welcome. It's not like they had done anything to deserve a state welcoming dinner party or something grand like that.

  Motoyasu, however, bristled immediately upon seeing the long, sturdy tables of the knights' hall.

  "Hey, why are we eating here?" he protested, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. He gestured around at the empty benches. "Shouldn't there be, I don't know, a grand banquet hall for us? A feast? Why are we being shuffled off to eat with the guards?" He turned, his expression one of genuine affront, seeking an ally. "Hey, Noritoshi, say something. Isn't this insulting?"

  Noritoshi, who had been observing the room's functional yout with a detached air, gnced at Motoyasu. His tone was calm, almost clinical. "It's not an insult, Motoyasu. We are unknown variables, summoned with powerful weapons. There is also the King's image to keep in mind. It would be considered frivolous and strategically unsound for the sovereign to extend full court honors before even assessing our capabilities or dispositions. This," he said, indicating the setting, "is probably a tactical pcement. Efficient and easily monitored."

  Before Motoyasu could sputter a retort, the head maid, who had been waiting silently, stepped forward and offered another shallow bow.

  "Forgive the confusion, Lord Spear Hero," she interjected smoothly. "The knights will not be joining you. This hall was simply prepared for your comfort and convenience this evening. The knights stationed here are for your security and to attend to any requests." She gestured toward a few armored figures standing at respectful attention near the doors. "Your meal will be served to you presently. His Majesty extends his apologies for the informality and looks forward to a proper audience once the necessities of the summoned have been fully addressed."

  Motoyasu crossed his arms, somewhat mollified but still frowning. "Well... I guess that makes sense. But the food had better be good."

  Not wanting to deal with Motoyasu's compints any longer, he took a seat. Giving the table a quick gnce, he questioned whether a formal banquet was even necessary. The table seems to groan under its burden—a staggering array of ptters and tureens that seems excessive. Far from simple fare, it was a spectacle of abundance: whole roasted fowl with skin crackled to a perfect gold, haunches of meat glistening with herb-flecked juices, and towers of pastries so delicate they seemed to defy their own architecture.

  But what truly caught his eye was its unfamiliarity. Though, roasts glistened alongside steaming pies and vibrant seasonal vegetables but his eyes lingered on several unfamiliar dishes—strange, jewel-toned fruits and a stew with an aromatic spice he couldn't pce—likely native to this world. A simmering potion of a stew that shifted between indigo and violet, bulbous fruits with semi-transparent skins that pulsed with a soft inner light, and cuts of meat marbled with colors found in deep-sea creatures.

  The kingdom was showing off. This is nothing, the spread seemed to say. Wait until you see the real thing.

  Motoyasu dug in first, obviously. Grabbed a leg off one of the birds and tore into it like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

  "Not bad," he said around a mouthful. "Bit gamey. Could use more salt."

  Ren took a smaller portion. Cut it carefully. Chewed. Considered.

  "The seasoning is different from what I'm used to." Not a compint, just observation. "They use something like pepper but... sweeter? Less heat."

  He tried the purple-blue stew next. His eyebrows went up.

  "This is good. Tastes like... I don't know. Like nothing back home." Another spoonful. "The umami is intense."

  Motoyasu grabbed one of the glowing fruits. Bit into it. Juice ran down his chin.

  "Whoa! This one's sour! Like, really sour!" He made a face, then took another bite anyway. "But then it gets sweet after. Weird."

  His hand hovered over a spoon. Old habits—check for poison, check for cursed energy, check for anything wrong. Nothing. But the hesitation was already there.

  Then he gnced at Naofumi and forgot about eating entirely.

  The man was feeding his shield.

  "I didn't know you could do that," he said, his voice low. "But why? Is there a purpose?"

  Naofumi didn't look up, methodically offering a herb-strewn tuber to the shield. "Yeah. It seems to be a weapon strengthening method." He finally gnced over, his expression beaming but matter-of-fact. "It should be in your menu now. Could you use it?."

  The flicker feeling of bewilderment was quickly overridden by curiosity. He focused inward, accessing his status, and this time, he searched for the function.

  Absorption: Legendary Weapons can absorb loot such as items, materials, and consumables to unlock new Weapon Forms and enhance existing ones.

  Before he could process it fully, Motoyasu, who had been eavesdropping, chimed in with a loud, "Whoa! Seriously? So I can just…" He stuffed a handful of gzed nuts into his mouth, then, with a theatrical flourish, pressed his palm against the shaft of his spear. A simir light glowed briefly. "Hey, it works! But if that's the case then something like a weapon copy should work, too!"

  "Weapon Copy?" Noritoshi asked, his analytical mind tching onto the term. "What does that entail?"

  It was Ren, not Motoyasu, who answered in his usual clipped tone, not looking up from inspecting his own sword. "You copy a weapon by holding it. It's locked by your level, though. The quality and stats of the target weapon determine at which level you can use it."

  As the sword hero's expnation concluded, a new line of text scrolled into view on Noritoshi's mental dispy, the system responding to the now-shared understanding.

  Weapon Copy: The user can copy weapon variants of a simir css to their Legendary Weapon that they encounter and store them for ter access. Equip bonuses may still require materials to unlock.

  Naofumi interjected, his voice a low, weary counterpoint to Ren's dismissal. "There's more to it than that." He focused, and the air around his shield seemed to warp. The familiar disc of iron and wood rippled like disturbed water, its substance dissolving into a wet, glistening mass. It reconstituted into a damp, pinkish sb veined with white fat, unmistakably a cut of raw meat. A faint, coppery scent mingled with the aroma of the feast.

  "It says this is 'Livestock Meat,'" he read aloud, his tone a little shaky and high with barely concealed disgust at the weapon's new form. "Grants Equip Bonus: Defence +1." He let the grotesque, butcher-shop shield linger on his arm, a stark contrast to the elegance of the dining hall. "But the help section crifies. If I keep this equipped and use it, I'll eventually 'unlock' that +1 Defence. It gets baked into my base stats. A permanent, passive boost that stays with me, even when I switch to something else."

  Ren snorted, not looking up from polishing his bde. "Pointless grinding. In Brave Star Online, if two weapon forms share the same unique bonus—like a Poison Resistance—unlocking it on one just repces the duplicate on the other with a minor stat increase." He finally looked over, his expression one of pure gamer pragmatism. "It would be better to focus on unlocking the special effects of powerful weapons, not waste time on mundane things like these foods. The gain is too minimal to bother with. Efficiency lies in finding the strongest form and mastering its unique skills, not collecting fractions of a stat point."

  Noritoshi listened, but he silently disagreed. He was a sorcerer from the Kamo cn, one of the Big Three in Japan. Their strength was not born from a single, world-shaking talent, but from the meticulous accumution of small, reliable advantages across generations—countless sorcerers, each contributing their share of power and technique, eking out their unshakable spot among the elite. They got there by accumuting small advantages across generations—countless sorcerers, each adding their piece, until the weight of all those pieces became insurmountable.

  Ren's pursuit of a single perfect bde seemed reckless, likely a failure to understand compounded growth. A thousand minor, permanent gains were the path to an insurmountable advantage.

  As if his focused interest alone were a command, the full Weapon Transformation menu unfolded in his mind's eye, its detailed hierarchies and progression paths glowing with potential. He couldn't help the little smile on his face.

  This is truly Kamo cn doctrine made manifest. His initial caution didn't vanish, merely rerouted, refined into a sharp, focused intent. A thrill, hot and bright, fshed in his chest at the prospect, but he drew a slow, controlled breath, letting it settle into a steady hum of determination.

  His movements were precise. He selected a silver goblet, his fingers steady as he tipped it. The rich wine vanished not into his mouth but into the air before his bow, absorbed in a ripple of soft light. The bow's hum pitched slightly higher, a sensation that vibrated up his arm and spread through his core like a quiet pulse of confirmation. It was working.

  Weapon Form Unlocked: [Vintage Carafe Bow] [Common]

  Equip Bonus: Toxin-Coated Arrows (Minor) | +1 Perception

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: [LOCKED]

  He suppressed a smile, letting it show only as a slight tightening of his focus. He reached next for a dense loaf of dark rye bread. As it crumbled into golden motes, he felt a subtle warmth seep into his palms where he held the bow.

  Weapon Form Unlocked: [Hearth-Grain Longbow] [Poor]

  Equip Bonus: Steady Aim (Reduces sway) | +1 Endurance

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: [LOCKED]

  His heart beat a quicker rhythm against his ribs, but his breathing remained even. This was better than any cn archive, any inherited technique scroll. This was strength he could build with his own hands, piece by piece. He moved to a porcein pte, his movements smooth and deliberate, not a single motion wasted in his eager move. The delicate porcein pte, painted with the kingdom's crest, dissolved into a shimmer against the bowstring.

  Weapon Form Unlocked: [Ceramic Bow] [Common]

  Equip Bonus: Arrow Durability +1 | +1 Agility

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: [LOCKED]

  A fine silver fork was next, its tines gleaming before they were absorbed.

  Weapon Form Unlocked: [Silvered Bodkin Bow] [Common]

  Equip Bonus: Armor Piercing (Small) | +2 Strength

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: [LOCKED]

  Finally, he took a crystal shard from a decorative centerpiece. It vanished into the bow with a sharp, clean light.

  Weapon Form Unlocked: [Prism Arc] [Rare]

  Equip Bonus: Light Refraction Shot (Unlocked at Mastery) | +1 Intelligence, +1 Perception

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: [LOCKED]

  Yet, not everything yielded a full transformation. When he touched the heavy iron candebra, his bow didn't change shape. Instead, a brief, translucent notification fshed in the corner of his vision.

  [Bckiron Ingot] obtained.

  [1/4]

  A moment ter, a dim entry lit up in his weapon's internal material log. A simir event occurred with a slice of the strange, opalescent fish.

  [Glimmerfin Scale] obtained.

  [1/5]

  "So this is how the Legendary Weapons truly work," Noritoshi murmured to himself, his cn-honed mind immediately categorizing the information. Just as the king said, nothing about this weapon screams immediate power. Significant growth could only be seen after a long-term resource pnning. He felt blessed. If the king had set this up intentionally—let them discover it themselves with a feast full of materials—then Noritoshi owed the man more credit.

  Noritoshi's eyes snapped back to the ptter holding the opalescent fish. The entry for the [Abyssal Gill Bow] had specified a material requirement.

  Without a word, his methodical excitement overriding etiquette, he took not one, but five more sizable slices from the ptter, his bow fshing softly with each absorption, curious what would happen if he overfeed it.

  [Glimmerfin Scale] obtained.

  [5/5]

  Weapon Form Unlocked: [Abyssal Gill Bow] [Rare]

  Equip Bonus: Aquatic Arrow (Water affinity, usable underwater), +2 Dexterity

  Ores Equipped: [0]

  Status: [LOCKED]

  "Hey!"

  Ren's voice cut through. Sharp. Annoyed.

  "What are you doing? I wanted to eat that."

  Noritoshi paused, the st piece halfway to his bow. For a second, he actually felt bad. Then he focused inward, navigated the weird intuitive sense of his weapon's internal space, and realized—

  "The absorption doesn't consume the item's essence. Not after a form is unlocked. They're just... cataloged. Stored in the weapon's repository."

  Ren stared at him. Then at the nearly empty ptter. His brow furrowed in annoyance closer to anger.

  "Then chuck it back out! The menu has to have a discard function. That was the st of it, and I was going to try it."

  The attitude was so childish and so surprising that Noritoshi almost ughed. He bit it back, concentrated on finding a release function—

  A soft glow. A moment ter, a perfectly reconstituted slice of Glimmerfin fish appeared on his pte, gleaming like it had never been touched.

  "...Fascinating," Noritoshi murmured.

  "Yeah, fascinating. Now pass it over." Ren pointed with his fork.

  Noritoshi slid the pte down the table. His lips twitched.

  In the end, he didn't eat much of the actual meal. But the gains were worth the sacrifice. As they were ushered back to their chambers by the maids, a clear formation emerged. Motoyasu strode at the front, chatting amicably with the lead maid about castle decor, while Ren walked just behind, silent and observant, his hand resting on his sword's pommel.

  Noritoshi and Naofumi gged several paces back.

  The hallways smelled of beeswax and something floral he couldn't name.

  "Your bow has a material compendium too, right?" Naofumi asked, his voice low. He kept his shield subtly angled between them and the others, its surface shimmering briefly as he cycled through a basic form—a rough sb of [Grey Stone] that repced the default iron.

  "It does," Noritoshi confirmed, his own bow held loosely, its string humming with a faint, almost inaudible resonance. He focused, and the wood gained the subtle greenish hue of young willow. [Young Willow Bow – Equip Bonus: Flexibility +1 | Mastery: 0.0%]. "It catalogs everything. And it's not just a list," he added, his brow furrowing slightly as he navigated the mental interface. "The forms are arranged… in a series? I'm not certain, but it seems like unlocking and mastering one basic form reveals more advanced variants branching from it. It's an arborescent structure."

  Naofumi gave a slow, understanding nod, his eyes distant as he checked his own shield's internal map. "Yeah. I see it too. The [Grey Stone Shield] I just showed you has three faint, greyed-out branches leading from its node. One looks like it needs more stone, another some kind of ore… The progression looks exactly like that of a skill tree. So that must be the case."

  Noritoshi gnced at him. Ahead, Ren and Motoyasu walked with the easy confidence of people who'd already won. Naofumi had no such illusion. He was studying the system like his life depended on it—because it probably did.

  A point clicked into Noritoshi's mind. The fact that Naofumi are the most important ally he currently has.

  "It catalogs everything I absorb," Noritoshi confirmed, his tone matching Naofumi's pragmatic gravity. "The forms are unlocked, but mastering them for the permanent stat gain requires time equipped, though."

  "Same," Naofumi nodded. "But the gains look different. Show me your lowest form."

  Noritoshi obliged, shifting his bow to the [Fallen Leaf Bow]. A description shimmered in his mind, and he recited it sotto voce. "Equip Bonus: Pnt Identification (Small), plus one to Perception. The stats are varied—Agility from grass, Vitality from roots."

  Naofumi's shield morphed from stone to a dense block of [Hardened Cy]. "Mine are not varied. My lowest forms are all +1 to Defense. The secondary bonuses are all resistance-based or utilitarian. Splinter Guard, Minor Shock Absorption, Heat Resistance." A faint smile touched his face. "It's all pure defense. I suppose it fits. I'm a shield after all. Every gain reinforces that singur purpose. Your bow… it seems designed to make you a more versatile hunter. Knowledge, perception, agility."

  "It reflects our supposed roles," Noritoshi mused, shifting his bow back to its default form, the brief equips ticking his mastery up by infinitesimal fractions. "The Shield is an absolute defender. The Bow is usually a flexible scout and striker. Our growth paths are diverging already at level one."

  Ahead, Motoyasu ughed at something. Naofumi's eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to the hallway ahead, his expression hardening.

  "Then I'll grind what I'm given," he said, finality in his tone. "I'll stack my defense as much as possible.... and I'll become immovable." He paused, the silence stretching for a heartbeat before his gaze, still fixed forward, shifted minutely toward Noritoshi. "And… thank you. For not dismissing me from the start merely because I'm the Shield."

  Noritoshi gave a slight, agreeing nod, understanding the Shield Hero's resolve. Against his usual control, a faint, wry smirk escaped—less a smile and more a crack of dry amusement at their shared, grinding fate. Naofumi caught it, his head tilting with a puzzled frown.

  "What?"

  "I'm gd to see you're no longer looking quite so much like you've bitten into a lemon," Noritoshi said, the dryness in his voice now unmistakably pyful.

  Naofumi blinked. "To be honest," he stated bluntly, "you look kinda creepy when you try to smile."

  Noritoshi's smirk didn't vanish; if anything, it grew a fraction more pronounced. "Careful. Keep that up, and I might have to punch your shield. For science, of course. To test its durability."

  A scoff escaped Naofumi. "Heh. You'd just break your hand. My defense mastery would tick up, and you'd be stuck nursing your pride."

  "A sacrifice for the advancement of our shared knowledge," Noritoshi retorted, though the absurdity of the image for the character he's now pying—the pristine heir to a prestigious family bashing his fist against a sb of rock—finally hitting him.

  A low, quiet chuckle escaped Naofumi, more a breath of sound than ughter. It was echoed by a soft huff of amusement from Noritoshi.

  Perhaps it wouldn't be as terrible as he thought.?