cloudberryforest-lantern

[cloudberryforest-lantern]

No Such Thing as a Minor Creature

Airi, a junior veterinarian in the Gourmet Age, got her job at the Animal Health and Hazard Control Department, a poorly funded branch under the IGO. She didn’t expect to be thrown into cases from whatever field they deemed convenient. Screw her specialization. But she also didn’t expect to explore the world alongside Bishokuyas. Guess being paid dirt is worth the memories after all.

Chapter 2.1

The Bishoku-maru pulls away from Pier Nine just as dawn begins.

Airi sits near the bow, cap tugged low, hand playing with her ponytail as the breeze tugs gently at her overalls. She sips a thermos of questionably hot coffee, minding her own business and trying to pretend this isn't going to turn into another field assignment where things go wrong.

Komatsu sits in traditional seiza, back arched in a way that's just shy of inappropriate, seemingly unaffected by the wind rustling through his clothes. Toriko devours food, having polished off a stack of sandwiches and now tearing into a rainbow trout like it personally insulted him. Clearly living his best life just existing on a moving boat. Airi can feel him radiating good vibes and muscle mass like a human space heater.

Tomu, of course, stands at the helm. Hands steady, gaze forward.

Mostly.

Every now and then, Airi catches him in the corner of her eye, sneaking a quick glance over at Toriko. A little twitch of his mouth. The tiniest upward curve.

She stares at her coffee. "You have got to be kidding me."

Tomu, to his credit, doesn't crash the boat while doing it.

Not yet.

The gentle thrum of the engine, the cool sea breeze, and the sound of waves slapping gently against the hull lull the boat into a comfortable rhythm. No one talks much. No one needs to.

Airi sighs, pulls out her clipboard, and starts reviewing Hayama's field notes again. Camera grids, sample locations, sensor logs. Anything to keep her eyes off the disaster happening three meters to her left.

Out of the corner of her eye, Tomu sneaks another glance at Toriko.

This time, he smiles properly.

"Jesus," she mutters into her thermos, "I'm third-wheeling a bromance on a government job."

She goes back to her paperwork, actively ignoring the rising levels of homoerotic tension fogging up the deck.

Which, of course, is when Toriko decides to speak.

With his mouth full.

Airi looks up. Instantly regrets it.

She can see the half-chewed trout. The bones. The glint of stray scales. The glimmer of wet meat still dangling from his molars.

She closes her eyes. Please stop. I do not want to see that.

"Sorry for bothering you, Tomu," Toriko says around the fish (you should be apologizing to me), "but why'd you decide to come with me?"

Airi blinks. Wait. They didn't come together?

"My superiors asked me to investigate the biology and habitat of the Galala Crocodile," Komatsu says.

And god—what does he do to arch his back like that so tastefully? He's calm when he speaks, which surprises her. Airi had pegged him as the nervous type back at the docks, but maybe he just made a bad first impression.

Same.

"Are you a chef?" continues the blue-haired giant.

"Huh? How did you know?" And there's the anxiousness. The slight tremble in his voice is noticeable.

Today is officially the day of getting everything wrong. Airi had thought these two were close friends, but it's starting to feel like it's a miracle they even know each other's names.

"I mean, it's true that I'm the Head Cook at the Gourmet Hotel, but—"

"That's a five-star hotel!" Toriko interrupts, eyes wide. "I caught the aroma of high-grade ingredients on your hands."

Okay, Airi thinks. Now the giant finally has a role in her mental filing system. And this time, she's sure she isn't wrong.

CREEP, CREEP, CREEP

"They're imbued with the scent of daily prep work,"

"Toriko's smell is better than any hound dog!" Tomu says proudly.

Okay, man. Yes, that's an impressive achievement.

But it's not yours. Chill.

Wait a second. Sense of smell better than a hound dog…

"Hey, Toriko…" she swallows, "Just from curiosity. Do I smell… funny"

Komatsu looks curiously between them as Airi stares intently at the man in the orange jumpsuit, daring him to lie. But he doesn't. Not even for a second.

"Yeah. You like poop," Toriko says cheerfully, flashing a big, unapologetic smile.

Airi stares at him, face blank.

Toriko adds helpfully, "It's not strong, but it's there. Just a little. Probably from your boots?"

Airi looks down at her boots with an expression caught somewhere between betrayal and existential despair. "I scrubbed these."

"I believe you!" Komatsu squeaks, already rummaging through his supplies. "I have wipes! I'll get the wipes!"

Airi groans and buries her face in her hands. "I knew Jewel cursed me. I'm going to smell like that damn Chicken Muffin until I die."

Toriko, utterly unfazed, picks up a giant onigiri. "Eh. Kinda impressive you got that much out. That stuff sticks."

She peeks at him through her fingers. "Toriko, please. Stop talking."

Tomu lets out a quiet, helpless wheeze from the helm.

"It's impressive, nonetheless," Komatsu says, weirdly serious after handing the wipes to the girl who, apparently, smells like poultry-based sin. "A refined sense of smell is essential when analyzing flavors. That's part of what it means to be a Bishokuya."

"Someone who hunts and tastes ingredients no one's seen before," Komatsu says, almost reverent now. "A Bishokuya is a food investigator."

He turns to gesture at the giant.

"This man is said to have discovered 3% of the world's 300,000 known ingredients. Bishokuya Toriko. He's more than impressive."

Airi stares at them both, face blank.

Goddammit, she thinks. Now there's two.

She takes a slow sip from her thermos. "So. Is this your first crush, or your second?"

Komatsu immediately flushes beet red. "W-What? N-No! I just respect him a lot!"

Toriko lets out a booming laugh behind them.

Airi stands and stretches, eyeing the horizon where a cluster of dark shapes are rising slowly into view. "Well, lovebirds, at least you'll get to see an ecosystem on the brink of collapse as a honeymoon gift. Straight from whatever's happening out here."

She raises her thermos in a mock toast. "Hurray."

"Baron Archiepielago in sight!" exclaims Tomu just a second later.

Toriko stands from where he sat, and goes to the bow, standing next to Airi in their examination of the main island. Arms crossed and serious expression. Komatsu stands just behind him, quietly whimpering and shoulders shaking. The main island is known for being cold and damp. Nurturing mangroves, red alders, sitka spruce, red maple and more.

The boat slows as they reach the rock formations that surround the area. All four of them are quiet, in an eerie sort of way. Inspecting their surroundings.

It isn't long until Airi makes an annoyed sound.

"What are they?" asks Komatsu, voice trembling.

"Friday Monkeys."

"They won't attack," Airi adds before Komatsu can panic. The other two don't look worried. "They're not in their home territory and they know it. Attacking would cause more problems than they can afford."

"You said something earlier," states Toriko. "You'll get to see an ecosystem on the brink of collapse. What did you mean by that?"

Airi doesn't look away from the shoreline.

"What else could it mean?" She flips a page on her clipboard. "It's not a secret the archipelago's going through a bad phase. Massive emigration in bird species, rising mortality rates, falling birth rates. Beasts are dying. And when they go, the plants that depend on them go too."

"The plants go, and the microbiome follows, and with that the insects," Airi says flatly. "Without roots, the soil becomes unstable. And with the amount of rain this island gets, floods will come easier than ever. Erosion's going to be a serious problem."

She flips another page, not bothering to look at them.

"But city management doesn't care. They'll build housing for the poor, or a resort for the rich. Either way, the soil won't hold. And when the rain comes… People will be buried. Trapped by floodwater and mountain soil that was never meant to hold their weight."

"But who cares," she sighs. "At the end of the day, the only reason the Baron Archipelago is protected by the IGO is because of the animal species."

She flips a hand loosely toward the dense treeline. "The endemic plants here aren't enough to make it legally plausible to keep the status as protected land. And without that label, the regional authorities can do whatever they want with the terrain."

"Besides, the whole plot of plants, the microbiome and people dying is kind-of exaggerated. That won't happen for years."

There's a long pause.

Komatsu has gone still, his hands hovering halfway where he had clung to Toriko in the middle of her soliloquy. His trembling and shivering have vanished, he's just staring at her, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly.

"…That's awful," he finally says. Quiet. Honest. "I didn't… I didn't know it was that bad."

"It's not totally lost," Airi says quietly. "We may be too late to figure out why the beasts are dying, but there are already plans in motion. Restoration work. Seed banks. Migration studies. Whatever's happening on that island…" She exhales. "…the land won't be completely gone. Even if it'll never be the same."

"You don't know why?" Komatsu asks gently.

"Not officially, no." She pauses, flipping her clipboard closed. "But there are theories. Some with more merit than others."

"We're here," says Tomu. "The Devil's mouth, the only entrance to The Baron Archipelago. You'll need to take one of the inflatable boats. Water's too shallow for the Bishoku-maru to go any further."

The three of them head to the lone dinghy. Toriko takes hold of both wooden paddles and starts rowing inward without a word.

Thank god. After that whole speech, Airi has no energy left to row anything, anywhere.

Never mind that she'll be walking in barely a couple of minutes.

Fuck her life.

"Guys…" Komatsu whispers. "We're surrounded."

"They're called Baron Sharks," explains Toriko. "Capture Level 1. Though that varies with their size."

"Huh? Capture Level 1?" Komatsu gasps. "That's ten professional hunters needed to take one down! And there's so many!"

Airi doesn't respond to the trembling mess beside her.

Turns out he's a nervous wreck. She hadn't misjudged him after all. Score.

Still, she watches as he clutches his rifle tighter to his chest. Standard issue, given out by the IGO to new hunters. She recognizes it immediately. It was her first rifle too, even though she'd never gone through the official Hunter Academy.

She'd switched to a custom firearm a couple years before her college graduation. The one strapped to her back now has a much stronger punch than the standard model, because it has to.

In her line of work, conservation and treatment of wild beasts isn't just about bandages and sedatives. It's about survival.

And sometimes, sedating something means getting through skin that could stop a bullet. Or worse putting the bullet through it.

It's always sad when they have to put a beast down. They've sworn, as veterinarians, to protect life, to look after health and wellbeing wherever they can.

But beasts are still wild. Expecting them to understand that this time, the one shooting just wants the best for you is sacrosanct at best, sacrilegious at worst.

And at the end of the day, you have to prioritize your own survival.

A sudden noise makes Komatsu jump from his seat, clutching his rifle like it might save him.

Airi feels mildly concerned he might start shooting blindly at the flock of Monday Pelicans circling above their heads. Thankfully, Toriko steps in, calmly resting a hand on the man's shoulder and murmuring something to steady him.

"…The Galala Crocodile."

The King… Does it count as war? Considering that they aren't from these islands, but still want its head?

She has to admit… She's glad his reign of terror might finally be over. When she told the senior ecologists that Marcus was still alive, they'd laughed. "He'd be over a hundred by now." Too big. Too slow. He would've died of old age, hunger, or been replaced by a younger male.

She smiled at the time. Sheepish. Polite. Nodded like she agreed.

But she never stopped believing.

"I decided to do this, but I have to admit that I'm scar—" The honest confession is interrupted when the dinghy bumps against the sand.

"We're here."

Damn it, man. He just told you he's scared and you leave him behind. Have compassion for your little friend.

"Well, guys," Airi claps her hands before the two men can get too far ahead. "Nice traveling with you. We should do it again sometime." She turns on her heel. "But I've got somewhere else to be. See ya."

She steps in the opposite direction, toward a patch of thinner foliage where the underbrush isn't as dense. It looks like she can walk through it without getting scratched to hell.

She moves closer to the clearing.

And closer.

A little closer…

…

Why aren't they saying anything?

Maybe her goodbye wasn't good?

She glances back, just a quick look.

They're already well on their way.

Oh, Fuck me.

She grumbles as she enters through her own path.

Here she is, alone after showing the tiniest shred of vulnerability back on the boat. Men are all the same.

It isn't the first time she's set foot on this island, and it won't be the last. She doesn't need those guys to guide her or protect her.

But still…

Was a "Have fun," or "Take care," or even a "Hopefully we'll never see each other again" too much to ask?

A good old-fashioned goodbye?

Sure, they aren't friends, but she found them funny.

Whatever. She has a camera site to reach.

[cloudberryforest-lantern]

No Such Thing as a Minor Creature

Airi, a junior veterinarian in the Gourmet Age, got her job at the Animal Health and Hazard Control Department, a poorly funded branch under the IGO. She didn’t expect to be thrown into cases from whatever field they deemed convenient. Screw her specialization. But she also didn’t expect to explore the world alongside Bishokuyas. Guess being paid dirt is worth the memories after all.

Chapter 1.2

Airi stands at the edge of Pier Nine, jaw tight, duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and a clipboard already crumpling in her grip.

Boats. So many boats.

Fishing boats, research vessels, sailboats with names like Miss Cleo and Poseidon's Petty Revenge. None of them labeled in any way that makes sense. And absolutely none of them screaming I'm the government-assigned sample-retrieval ride.

Well, she's arrived early. Dawn is in half an hour—maybe more—so it's entirely possible the IGO-designated boat isn't here yet. Plausible; makes the most sense.

She pulls out her radio and jabs the button. "Dispatch, this is Airi. Where the hell is my boat?"

Crackling static, then the chipper voice of Hayama: "It should be docked already, my beloved Junior! White hull, cabin with solar panels on the roof. Name's Bishoku-maru."

So she's just stupid. Makes sense.

Airi slowly turns to scan the chaos again.

Eleven white hulls.

Every third boat has solar panels.

She stomps down the pier, scanning names and paint jobs like her life depends on it.

Miss Sakura. No.

Tonari no Umi. Still no.

Bishoku-maru.—

She halts.

There it is, tucked behind a gaudy tourist ferry, bobbing in the shadow of a stack of lobster traps. White freeboard, red draft. Clean enough to be official, scuffed enough to have survived something.

Her eyes narrow. "Finally."

She approaches cautiously, hauling her duffel over the railing and onto the deck before stepping aboard. A man lounges at the helm with one leg propped up, sipping canned coffee like the world isn't three degrees away from collapsing. He wears a sun-bleached yellow cap embroidered with GOURMET, and sunglasses so reflective she can see herself scowling in them.

Also? Big-ass scar slashing down his left eye.

“You’re the captain?”

She knows she's being a bitch. But she's basically a toddler in green overalls—early to bed, late to rise, and cranky when denied either. She'll apologize later. Probably.

He doesn't move, just raises his can slightly in greeting.

Okay, scratch that. She'll never apologize. He's a bitch too.

The bitch-off has begun.

"You don't talk, or are you just waiting for me to guess your tragic backstory?"

He takes another sip, smirking. "Both."

"Goddammit." She steps further onto the deck and gives the pilot a long, suspicious once-over. "So, do I get a name, or do I have to keep calling you Captain Gourmet?"

The man's smirk just gets more smug. "Tomu."

She squints. "That short for something?"

"Just Tomu."

"Great. Mysterious and monosyllabic. Let me guess, you cook gourmet meals with seaweed and resentment."

He finally cracks a grin, lowering the can. "Mostly resentment."

Airi snorts, already halfway to a comeback, when footsteps echo on the dock behind her.

She turns, halfway expecting Caleb to come waltzing in with a suitcase and a fresh insult. Instead, two men approach the boat.

The taller one hops aboard with surprising grace for someone built like a tree trunk. He gives Airi a wide grin and a casual wave. "Yo! Sorry to barge in. I'm Toriko, and this here's Komatsu."

The smaller man scrambles up behind him, clutching a cooler and a backpack like his life depends on it. "H-Hi! Thanks for letting us ride along!"

As soon as Toriko finishes introducing himself, Tomu straightens in his seat like someone just plugged him into a wall socket. He stands up, sets his coffee aside, and strides across the deck with a rare flash of genuine energy.

"Toriko!" he calls out, voice actually lifting past his usual low drawl.

What, a giant appears and he suddenly smiles? She's only known the guy for, like, fifteen seconds, but he didn't strike her as someone capable of emoting.

Toriko turns with a grin. "Tomu! I thought that was your boat. What's it been, two years?"

Tomu gives a sharp nod, then—in a move that nearly makes Airi drop her duffel—claps Toriko on the back. He's smiling. Not smug, not crooked, not caffeinated. He looks like he's just seen God.

"Still alive," Tomu says simply.

"You say that like you're disappointed," Toriko laughs, thumping him back. "Good to see you, man. Still keeping to yourself?"

Tomu shrugs, then glances around like he remembers there are other people here. His usual calm returns, but it carries an undercurrent of contentment now. He pads back to the helm like a well-trained dog finally allowed to relax off-leash, stealing glances at Toriko as if to confirm he's real.

Airi watches this entire transformation unfold, eyes narrowing. "What the hell just happened?"

"Oh! Sorry, forgot we had company." Toriko scratches his chin. "Tomu and I went on a few hunts together back in the day. He shared his bento with me once. That's practically a marriage vow in some circles."

Airi looks at Tomu, who—yep—is still sneaking little looks over his shoulder, practically wagging an invisible tail.

"I am so outnumbered," she mutters.

Tomu finally speaks again, voice soft but clear. "We're gonna have a good trip."

Airi blinks. "...You're actually being optimistic now?"

He looks at her and offers a small, lopsided smile. "Toriko's here."

[cloudberryforest-lantern]

just noticed that I write almost exclusively in past tense… but writing fight scenes is so hard . So I rewrote my fanfic to be in present tense.

Hopefully this makes it easier

[cloudberryforest-lantern]

No Such Thing as a Minor Creature

When Airi, a junior veterinarian in the Gourmet Age, got her job at the Animal Health and Hazard Control Department, a poorly funded branch under the IGO. She didn’t expect to be thrown into cases from whatever field they deemed convenient. Screw her specialization. But she also didn’t expect to explore the world alongside Bishokuyas. Guess being paid dirt is worth the memories after all.

Chapter 1.1

A whistle echoes in the office. “Thank goodness she likes you.”

Airi growls, setting down the box of equipment on the floor and wiping her sweaty forehead. The man she’s talking to remains unaffected, sadly. There was a time when just a glare would send him scrambling to the far corner of the room. Good times, really.

The door clicks softly behind her. “After today? No, she doesn’t. I believe with all my heart that she wants me dead just as much as anyone in this damn service.”

The first voice laughs, loud and clapping, entirely too amused. “Well, can’t have them giving you all the love, can we? Lovely Jewel doesn’t like anybody near her when she’s in heat, and you went in reeking of female bitch. She’s thinking that you’re a cheater.”

Well, now she was reeking of more than just “female bitch,” seeing as Jewel had found it fitting to kick her straight into her own pile of shit. Hopefully, her overalls caught the worst of it. She really didn’t want another instance of smelling like crap for the rest of the day, at least not until she could crawl into her apartment and straight into the shower.

She glowers as the man in front of her keeps laughing at her expense. Caleb is truly a “fun guy,” sure, if your definition of fun includes finding joy in other people’s suffering. The kind of man who’d rupture a blood vessel cackling at a compilation of kids face-planting off trampolines.

Well, there’s a reason they’re friends after all. Two peas in a pot, or something like that.

“Stop it now, Caleb. With how Mister Horikoshi called so suddenly, everyone thought there was something wrong with Jewel. And I was just coming back from helping Mr. Rambo with his Butter Pigs—they’re in heat right now—so I was the only one who volunteered to check it out. Hold my word when I tell you: my kindness is too good for this entire office.”

Caleb, finally pulling himself out of his hysterical giggles, scratches his stubble with a shit-eating grin. “Well, Jewel’s in heat, right? You literally went around cheating on her. Poor soul. But don’t worry—oh no, no. Now that you’re firmly on her bad side, it’s finally my time to be crowned her favorite.” He wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “Fret not thy simple head. I shall see to her with tender devotion… until the day she doth awaken, and know 'twas I who should have worn the crown of favor from the first. Now, do thy best not to weep, wilt thou?”

Airi stares at him, dead-eyed. “You keep talking like that, and I will weep. For your funeral.” She steps past him, boots squelching faintly, and adds, “Seriously, Caleb. One more ‘doth’ and I’m setting the pigs on you. They bite, they’re hormonal.

She finally reaches the employee lounge, Caleb trailing after her, where the lockers are, and finally peels off the shit-covered overall. With a sigh, she rubs her temple. “Do you even hear yourself? ‘Thy simple head’? Caleb, she kicked me into a pile of her own crap. That is not romantic tension. That is war. She’s dead to me.”

“I don’t know…” Caleb goes on. “She made sure you got up close and personal with her bodily… functions.” He cracks a smirk. “Keep it up, pipsqueak. Wait until she forgets your transgression, she’s gonna present her cloaca to you in all her glory.”

Caleb leans against the lockers, clearly pleased with himself. “What? I’m just saying, maybe Jewel sees something in you. Something primal. Something… filthy.” He gives her a meaningful once-over. “Might be the shit aura. Kinda suits you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Airi turns, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. “Okay. That’s it.”

She balls up the soiled overall still in her hand and launches it straight at his face.

It hits him with a wet slap.

Caleb yelps, stumbling back into the lockers. “OH GOD—WHY IS IT WARM?!”

“Because it’s fresh, jackass!” she shouts. “Next time you wax poetic about my aura, I’ll rub your face in it personally!”

The door slams open with enough force to rattle the lockers.

Both Airi and Caleb freeze mid-chaos: him with a damp overall clinging to his face, her mid-step in what looks like the prelude to a full-body shove. Mister Yamamoto stands in the doorway, briefcase in hand and eyes narrowed just enough to imply a headache. “Airi.”

“…Sir?”

“Tomorrow, you’re heading to The Baron Archipelago.”

Airi blinks. “That group of islands out north? I thought Hayama and her team were in charge of that sector.”

“She is,” Yamamoto says, stepping into the room and setting the case down on a nearby table. “But she sent a request for assistance. As I’m sure you’ve known, there’s been a steady decrease in all beasts’ populations over the past ten years—mammals, birds, amphibian, everything. Lately, her reports have mentioned odd behavioral patterns. Cave-dwelling species, like the Friday Monkey, are showing up on the shoreline. Sunday Mice are gathering in daylight. Baron Dulin are migrating way ahead of schedule.”

He clicks the briefcase open, revealing a tablet and a printed folder. “Your senior installed sensors and camera traps across several islands. You’ll retrieve the current data and replace the old units with the new ones. You’ll also be collecting soil, water, and fecal matter samples from designated points. The list is inside.”

Airi takes the folder slowly. “Sounds like a two-day job.”

“At least.” Yamamoto’s brow furrows. “Travel will be by boat. You’ll leave from Pier Nine tomorrow at dawn. You’ll report to Hayama once you land.”

Caleb, finally peeling the soiled fabric off his face with a disgusted noise, mutters, “Wow. Cave critters going on vacation. I told you your aura was throwing off the ecosystem.”

Airi doesn’t even look at him. “Sir, permission to leave the overalls on his pillow before I go?”

Yamamoto sighs. “Denied. But noted.”