Winter Island Survival: Day 4
Survivor Breakdown:
Men: 7
Women: 2
Okama: 3
No casualties so far.
We've managed to keep the same members alive up to now. Thanks to a reasonably comfortable base and a surprisingly steady food supply, our days have settled into a stable rhythm. Little by little, that stability has loosened the despair that had been strangling everyone's hearts, giving us room to breathe again.
Unfortunately, that kind of composure doesn't always mean something good.
"Hey, c'mon. What's wrong with a little fun?"
"Yeah, man. We're all stressed out, aren't we?"
Two pirates—grinning like they owned the world—cornered Shere, their intentions so obvious it was almost insulting.
Shere's face twisted in open disgust. No—worse than disgust. It was irritation, heat, the kind of anger that meant she was actively forcing herself not to swing first.
Whenever they tried to touch her or me, we slapped their hands away or shoved them off without hesitation.
"Shut up," Shere snapped. "If you've got that much energy, go help with someone's work."
She cut them off and strode away.
The pirates glared after her, spitting curses under their breath.
Tch. Stuck-up bitch…
They slunk off in the opposite direction, clearly furious.
Now that we'd gotten a handle on survival—now that we finally had a little room to breathe—the urges we'd been able to ignore were starting to claw their way back up to the surface.
Yeah. Those kinds of urges.
After all, those three pirates hadn't exactly bothered to hide their hungry stares at Shere and me—the only two women in the base.
Before, when we were one misstep away from freezing or starving, nobody had the luxury of acting on anything.
But now we had shelter where we could sleep without dying in the night, warm meals, the bare essentials… a real chance of making it.
And the moment people felt that chance, wouldn't you know it—restlessness started spreading. The kind that makes idiots think they're entitled to whatever they want.
Shere isn't the only one. I've been hit on too. More than once.
Of course, I turned them down every time.
Shere, looking half-exhausted and half-ready to strangle someone, came over and sat on my bed… right beside me.
Just to be clear, I'm sitting on a cardboard bed.
The floor is so cold it bites through everything. Layering paper underneath barely helps. Being up off the ground is simply better.
"He said, 'It's colder than usual tonight. We'll stay warmer if we sleep together. Snuggled up.'"
"I just got the same line," I said. "Like that's all they're after."
The three pirates tried to look indifferent, but their eyes kept sliding back toward us.
They haven't given up.
Will they try sweet-talking again? Or will they sneak in while we're asleep?
If they tried the second option, we'd have no choice but to fight back. Even then, I wanted to subdue them without killing them if I could.
Not because I felt sorry for them. Not because I was squeamish about taking a life.
Because I didn't want to ruin the atmosphere.
We'd only been together for a few days, but I could already feel it—some thin thread of camaraderie, a fragile sense of "us," starting to form in everyone's hearts, even if they weren't aware of it.
In that context, killing our "temporary allies"—people we'd worked with, bled with, survived with—would poison the whole group dynamic.
Of course, they'd be the ones at fault. Trying to force yourself on someone is unforgivable.
I'm sure everyone understands that logically. I doubt anyone would blame us for defending ourselves.
But logic doesn't stop the weight that settles on people when someone who was here yesterday isn't here today. When the group fails to reach tomorrow together.
You can't underestimate unconscious emotions… especially in a situation like this.
(Besides… it's not only the pirates.)
I glanced over. The three adventurers were stealing looks our way too.
Unlike the pirates, they hadn't made any moves. But they were definitely thinking things. They're boys, after all.
And we're all crammed into the same tiny room, sharing everything. Even when we change or wipe ourselves down, we're only separated by a screen. That kind of setup is going to get into their heads, no matter how well-behaved they act.
They don't look like they're about to explode, but they're holding back. I can feel it.
To be honest, the fact that I even have the space to think about this is… kind of a good sign. It means we aren't drowning in immediate panic anymore.
But once you notice it, being forced to stay aware of it becomes its own stress. Not that I want any of them to act on it.
For now, it seems like they're either enduring it normally… or dealing with it by themselves.
Both the adventurers and the pirates.
You can tell sometimes—like when they come back from the toilet looking strangely refreshed.
Still, the pirates worry me. Restraint isn't exactly their strong suit. What if one day they snap and do something stupid?
And the adventurers… even if they're decent, being pent up for too long messes with your head.
They say when your life is in danger, your instincts take over.
…If things get truly desperate, Shere and I might have to make a decision.
Not the kind where we appease troublemakers to avoid conflict. Never that.
I mean we'd drive out anyone causing chaos—or if it came down to it, eliminate them—to protect ourselves.
Even if the atmosphere at the base soured afterward… we have pride and dignity too. There's a line we won't let anyone cross. And if someone complained about that, they can choke on it.
…For now, all we can do is pray it doesn't come to that. Pray we're rescued before the situation rots any further.
If you don't want to die, you idiots, don't get any strange ideas.
"…But it really is colder than usual today," Shere muttered. "A bonfire alone might not be enough."
"Should we add another Cardboard Blanket?" I asked. "No… that would put too much strain on Sue again…"
"The burden isn't the issue," I said, thinking it through. "It's just… adding more layers won't solve everything. We're basically trying to trap our own body heat. There's a limit."
On top of the original Cardboard Blankets, we'd gotten more supplies: thin sheets of paper we could stack to thicken the insulation.
At this point, I think we'd hit the maximum warmth you can reasonably squeeze out of paper.
It wasn't unbearable, so we'd probably be fine… but I really didn't want to wake up frozen stiff, joints locked, unable to move for a few terrifying seconds.
…Wait.
"…How about we just sleep really close together?" I said. "Me and Shere."
"Huh? I mean… we're both girls, so I don't mind," Shere said, cautious. "But what about Sue?"
"She'll be fine with it," I said. "Besides, Shere… if you sleep in your Human-Beast Form, or even full Beast Form, it'll be way warmer."
Like a duvet.
A duvet made of feathers.
Shere stared at me like she couldn't decide whether to be impressed or tired.
"How do you even come up with this stuff…?"
By the way, that cliché in fiction—people stranded in snow huddling together for warmth? It actually works. At least a little. Humans run warmer than you think. Using each other as living hot water bottles is surprisingly effective.
And no, you don't need to be naked for it. Keeping your clothes on is obviously better for insulation.
But in situations where your clothes are soaked—shipwrecks, heavy snow, sweat freezing on you—wet fabric drains heat fast. In that case, stripping and sharing warmth skin-to-skin is the best way to keep someone from slipping into hypothermia, while you dry the clothes properly over a fire and put them back on the moment they're usable.
I once heard someone joke that those "stranded in the snow" stories where people end up naked and "getting cozy" were basically the erotic version of that survival advice.
Human imagination is truly something else.
Anyway. Tonight, we decided to go with my plan and sleep pressed close together.
We connected our cardboard beds into one wider bed. Shere transformed, feathers blooming out to wrap me in a warm, soft embrace.
On top of that, I wrapped the whole thing—bed and both of us—in more cardboard.
Ah… perfect.
So warm.
Since Shere and I handled hunting and heavier work during the day, we weren't assigned to the night watch. So as long as nobody disturbed us, we should be able to sleep soundly…
Hopefully.
Tch… are those two showing off or something…?
"Damn it, I wanna smash…"
"Should we just pounce? If we pin them down while they're asleep, taking care of a woman or two wouldn't be hard…"
If only there weren't any interruptions.
The pirates, at least, were predictably disgusting.
"Ugh… I, uh… need to go to the bathroom…"
"Hey, take it easy… I get how you feel, though."
"It's intense, isn't it? Both of them are beauties, and they're already so… glamorous…"
"…Sacred…"
Wait.
If I'm not imagining things, there was a weird one mixed in there just now. Who said that?
"…We should stay on guard, just in case," Shere said quietly.
"Agreed," I murmured. "…I'll set up some precautions."
"A precaution?"
"…Origami: Alarm Cock."
Without drawing attention, I placed Origami—paper-crafted servants—around the bed where Shere and I slept. Chicken-shaped constructs that would threaten anyone approaching with hostile intent, and if they didn't back off, they'd shriek loud enough to wake the dead.
I set one at the base's entrance too.
Thankfully, none of them triggered that night.
To cut to the chase: we were lucky. No one tried to break in while we slept.
By the way, have you heard of the "Suspension Bridge Effect"?
It's the phenomenon where two people cross a swaying suspension bridge together. The fear, the racing heart, the heightened adrenaline—sometimes people mistake that for attraction, and they come out the other side convinced they've fallen in love.
It's basically an urban legend, but there's a kernel of truth in it.
When people are pushed to their limits and struggle together to survive, they can form unusually strong bonds—deep camaraderie, a sense of connection that feels sharper than anything normal life produces.
You see it among soldiers who've survived battle together. Among disaster survivors. Among people stranded in dangerous situations. It isn't a delusion. Those bonds can be real, powerful, and lasting.
And if the people involved are of opposite genders, those shared experiences can sometimes slide into romance—into something more intimate.
Of course, it doesn't happen to everyone. Some people feel it. Some don't.
And that imbalance—that difference in perception—can create a dangerous seed for conflict later.
For example… imagine two soldiers. One is seeing combat for the first time, terrified to the point of paralysis.
After surviving something horrific together, that soldier might cling to the other like a lifeline, convinced they share something profound.
But the other soldier is a veteran. He's been through life and death a dozen times already. For him, it's just another day in hell. No special bond. No emotional awakening. Just a tired, "That was rough. Good job."
If they meet again later, you get the ugly mismatch:
"We're best friends, right?!"
"…Uh. We're colleagues."
That misunderstanding alone can twist into resentment or obsession.
And when this dynamic happens between men and women, it can get even messier. Camaraderie turns into romance. Romance turns into entitlement. Entitlement turns into "We faced death together, so you must be my soulmate."
A story that could've been heartwarming becomes stalking, harassment… or worse.
Honestly, I'd been wary of that too.
The okama are mentally tough. They'll probably be fine.
But what about the three adventurers? Or the slave child, who was fragile to begin with…?
What if, once they started to feel safe again, "special feelings" began to bloom—and those feelings latched onto us?
I know. I might be overthinking it.
And I want to be.
But if this concern becomes reality, it won't be funny. Human relationships are complicated. Delusions only grow stronger when they're fed by stress and proximity. And when those delusions crash into reality, the odds of someone spiraling into something dangerous aren't exactly low.
You know the type.
If I can't have you, I'll kill you and myself.
Not that I'd ever let myself be killed. I'd fight back and win. One hundred percent.
Anyway… after all that rambling, the reason I brought it up is—
I truly didn't think the Suspension Bridge Effect would be our problem.
With the three adventurers and the slave, I never sensed that kind of emotional fixation. At most, it was simple physical desire—which is still questionable, but at least it wasn't "special feelings" running wild. Not yet.
The pirates were lust too, not affection… just louder about it.
Straightforward. Firm rejection, constant vigilance. That should've kept things under control.
And the okama?
They're fine. Their hearts are pure and maidenly. Honestly, it's a relief.
Lately, I've even stopped feeling any resistance to calling them "she" and "her."
So, yeah.
Everything should be fine.
...That's what I thought, anyway.
"…Hey, Shere?" I whispered. "Aren't you… getting a little too close?"
"No," she said quickly. "It's just warmer this way… right?"
"I mean, yeah, but… eep!? H-hey! Your hand is in a weird place…"
"S-sorry. What position would be… more comfortable? Mitsu… Ah…" Her voice went strange. "I was just checking if you were warm enough."
"I am warm enough, but… wait. Were you about to say something else just now?"
"…Inhale… exhale…"
"Shere? Hey, why are you breathing so heavily near my neck? I'm probably sweaty. I wiped myself down, but I haven't had a proper bath in days."
"It's fine. No problem." Her feathers tightened around me. "Here. I'll wrap you up a little more… so your voice won't escape."
"O-okay, th-thanks…" My stomach dropped. "Wait. 'So my voice won't escape'? Does that mean you're going to do something that would make me… scream—"
"Don't worry. It's fine if it's between girls!"
"What the heck are you talking about?!"
…When you're pushed to the absolute limit, it's terrifying, you know?
To be continued...