Evan sidestepped a squawking chicken as he followed the girl through the village. The bird barely spared him a glance, lean and scrappy compared to the plump, overfed ones he was used to seeing in the modern world. Beneath the stilted huts, cats slinked through the shadows like miniature predators, their wiry bodies and sharp eyes tracking every movement. Nothing like the pampered house cats of his time. He frowned. Despite the abundance of natural resources, everything here, people and animals alike, seemed to still be struggling for survival.
The girl led Evan through the village until they arrived at a shaded courtyard beneath a large tree. Even from afar, Evan can already hear their gossiping of the women and the cheers of the children playing. Seated among a group of weavers was an older woman with sharp eyes and hands that moved with practiced ease.
"Timbina," the girl greeted her, tilting her head slightly. "This is Aso. Father wants him to help out."
Timbina eyed him, skeptical but not unkind. "So, you're the foreigner, huh? Big man like you, why not help the hunters instead?"
The girl shrugged. "Hunt is canceled today. And we don't have the resources to handle freeloaders."
Timbina huffed, shaking her head. "Help, hm? Just don't get in the way." She gestured toward an empty spot on a woven mat before setting a bundle of abaca fibers in front of him. "Try not to ruin the fibers. They're not easy to make." The gossiping sounds of women stopped as they all stared at him.
The chatter around them quieted as the women turned to stare at him. Evan nodded hesitantly, picking up the rough strands. The fibers felt stiff and uncooperative between his fingers.
Timbina clapped her hands once, snapping the group's attention back to their work. "Keep weaving, and mind the children." Then, without another word, she returned to her own task, offering him no further instruction.
He watched her for a moment, noting the effortless way her fingers wove the fibers together, the rhythmic motion almost hypnotic. How hard could this be? Just alternating, right?
A young mother swatted at a toddler who had wandered too close to the mats. "Oi! Step on that, and you'll be grinding rice until your arms ache!"
Cross-legged, he attempted to mimic what he had seen. Within moments, it was obvious, he had no idea what he was doing. The fibers twisted the wrong way, slipped from his grip, and bunched unevenly beneath his fingers. Seeing this, the ladies chuckled and turned away from him.
A loud shriek made the weavers turn. "Baya, let go of that chicken! It's not yours, and it definitely doesn't want a hug!"
Timbina sighed and shook her head at Evan's pitiful attempt. "Look, first, put these long fibers down straight, like this." She pressed them flat with her hands. "If they're messy now, your whole mat will be messy later."
She picked up another strand and held it up. "Now, take this one and go under, then over, then under again. Like a mermaid swimming in water." She guided his hands to show him. "Pull it tight, but not too tight, or the mat will scrunch up like a crumpled leaf." She gave his knuckles a little tap. "Make both sides the same, or it'll all fall apart."
Mermaids? Do they have that here, or is she speaking metaphorically?
"Okay, ma'am. Straight and alternating. Got it," Evan muttered, exhaling through his nose. He was already sweating, and the sticky tropical air wasn't helping. Evan tried to focus, his brows knitting together as he hunched over, shoulders tense with concentration.
A weaver across from them nudged Alunay with a teasing grin. "Alunay, you chose well, strong back, thighs like a carabao, and arms made for battle. With your fire, your children will be warriors among warriors!" Her unexpected praise sent the group into laughter.
Alunay's face turned scarlet. "It's not like that!" she sputtered.
"If her hips can even handle a child that big," another woman quipped, setting the group into another fit of laughter. Alunay, clearly unwilling to endure any more teasing, spun on her heel and hurried off, much to everyone's amusement.
Alunay's face turned scarlet. "It's not like that!" she sputtered.
"If her hips can even handle a child that big," another woman quipped, sending the group into another fit of laughter. Alunay, clearly unwilling to endure any more teasing, spun on her heel and hurried off, much to everyone's amusement.
Evan chuckled along, hoping to blend into the laughter rather than become its next target. He didn't exactly succeed. The women wasted no time turning their attention to him, showering him with backhanded compliments for the rest of the afternoon.
He took it in stride, keeping a good-natured grin as he focused on his weaving, or, at least, on not completely failing at weaving.
Evan followed her instructions carefully, and soon, the weave started to take shape. It wasn't perfect, far from it, but at least it was holding together. However, he quickly realized that every time he moved his hands too much or shifted the mat the wrong way, the already-woven sections would loosen. He had to keep everything steady, pressing down on the finished parts while working on the new ones. If a section slipped now, fixing it later would be a nightmare.
He huffed in frustration, trying to use his fingers to hold multiple strands in place, but there just weren't enough of them. How did these weavers make it look so easy? He could really use an extra set of hands, or maybe just a few more fingers.
Lunch was simple: rice and sweet potato. Evan hadn't expected much, but the natural sweetness of the tubers and the familiar texture of rice made it oddly comforting. The women ate in small groups, chatting idly between bites. Some of them offered him little portions of side dishes, roasted fish, salted greens, without a word, as if he were a stray dog being quietly adopted. He guessed enduring their teasing earlier was paying off now.
After the meal, Punay joined them, though she seemed far more interested in watching Evan than in helping. She sat cross-legged near him, hands resting on her lap, her eyes never leaving him.
By early afternoon, the tropical heat had done its job. One by one, the women stretched out on their mats, dozing off alongside their children, completely at ease in the shade.
Evan sat there, idly twisting a fiber strand between his fingers, glancing at the sleeping women. Then at Punay.
Punay, staring directly at him.
He looked at the sleeping women again. Then back at Punay.
Punay, still staring.
It was like a meme come to life.
The women woke up around late afternoon. Noticing his abysmal progress, Timbina sighed and shifted closer.
She picked up a loose strand and, without waiting for permission, pressed his hands down on the half-finished mat. "Hold this part steady. Like this."
Her calloused fingers guided his clumsy ones, reinforcing the movements he had struggled with all morning. Evan watched her work, noting the effortless way she moved, her hands following a rhythm she probably never had to think about.
"Here," she said, nudging his hands. "Try again."
He followed her lead, slower this time, more deliberate. The fibers still resisted him, but at least they weren't slipping apart like before.
By nightfall, his mat was only about the size of his arm, while the weavers had each finished one, with Timbina already halfway through her second.
They all had dinner together, roasted fish, more rice, and something that smelled strongly of ginger. The village never seemed to waste food. Even the scraps were saved, probably to be fed to the animals wandering around inside the village.
After eating, the weavers gathered their finished mats, chatting about the day's work, the upcoming hunt, and the latest village gossip. Evan was relieved when they finally left him alone. His fingers ached, his back was sore from hunching over, and all he wanted to do was collapse onto something soft.
As the others lingered, Punay led him back to his hut. On the way, Evan hesitated before clearing his throat.
"Uh… I need to, uh… you know. Take a shit."
Punay gave him a flat look, unimpressed by his awkward phrasing. "Then go."
Evan blinked. "Where?"
She sighed and motioned for him to follow.
The village didn't have outhouses in the way he thought they would have. Instead, she led him past the last few huts, toward a more secluded part of the area where a narrow dirt path disappeared into the trees. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, rotting leaves, and distant woodsmoke. They stopped near a small clearing where the ground sloped slightly downward. A few flat stones and wooden planks were positioned to serve as makeshift footholds, and nearby, a collection of smooth, rounded stones sat in a woven basket.
Evan stared. "This is it?"
Punay crossed her arms. "Where did you think people shit?"
He exhaled through his nose, resigned. "I dunno. A proper latrine? A hole in the ground? Anything with a little dignity?"
She scoffed. "We dig when needed. But the rain will wash it away soon enough." She kicked at the loose earth, gesturing to the surrounding trees. "We don't waste good water just to carry shit away like you foreigners do."
Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Fine. And, uh… what's with the rocks?"
Punay gave him a bemused look before picking one up and tossing it between her hands. "For cleaning."
He stared at her. "You're telling me you wipe your ass with a rock."
She tilted her head. "What else would you use? Your hand?"
Evan grimaced. "You guys don't use leaves or something?"
"Leaves are for wrapping food, not wiping shit," she deadpanned.
Evan hesitated. "Can I just go to the river instead?"
Punay wrinkled her nose. "What? No."
"Why not? The water will carry it away."
She shot him a sharp look. "And then everyone who drinks that water gets sick. You want to be the reason the whole village shits their guts out?"
Evan opened his mouth, then closed it. "...Fair point." Right, at least they know about dysentery.
Punay huffed. "My uncle got sick like that once. Some idiot upstream used the river like a latrine, and next thing we knew, he was curled up for days, shitting and puking until he nearly died. The babaylan was barely able to help him. You want to go through that?"
Evan winced. "Yeah, no. I'll take the rocks."
He groaned, running a hand down his face. "Alright. This is happening."
Punay, clearly entertained by his suffering, smirked. "Make sure to rub it smooth on the ground first, unless you want scratches."
Evan waved her off. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."
With that, Punay turned and walked off, leaving him to figure it out on his own.
After an uncomfortably long struggle, both physically and emotionally, Evan finally stumbled back to his hut, silently vowing to delay his next trip for as long as humanly possible.
Evan lay on his mat, staring up at the thatched roof of his nipa hut, but sleep refused to come. Every shift sent a soft rustle through the hut, the dried palm fronds overhead swaying with the occasional breeze that slipped through the gaps in the bamboo walls.
The village had long since quieted, save for the distant hum of night insects and the occasional rustle of leaves as something unseen moved through the darkness. Somewhere outside, a dog barked, followed by a villager's irritated shout to keep quiet.
Did they even have night guards here? He figured they must, Punay had left someone stationed outside his hut, and the glow of firepits still flickered outside, casting long shadows against the huts.
Evan sighed, rolling onto his side. His body ached, from the unfamiliar labor of weaving, the strain of walking barefoot over uneven ground, and the sheer exhaustion of adjusting to a life so far removed from everything he knew. And then there was his ass, still raw from the unforgiving scrape of the shit stones earlier.
He shut his eyes and exhaled slowly, willing his mind to settle. But the silence only made his thoughts louder. The reality of his situation pressed in on him, how far he was from home, how little he understood about this world, how much he still had to endure just to survive.
What was he even doing? He had been isekai'd, and all he had to show for it was a pathetically small, shoddily made mat and a sore ass. That was his grand contribution to this era so far, an ugly piece of woven plant fiber and a newfound appreciation for smooth toilet paper.
Sure, he had bits and pieces of modern knowledge floating around in his head. He knew that a spinner's wheel and a loom existed and that both made weaving infinitely easier, but could he actually build one? Not a chance. He knew they required pulleys, tension systems, and something about foot pedals, but the specifics? Completely blank. The same went for plumbing. The fundamental issue was simple: don't shit where you drink. The village already had its designated shit cliff, but if he wanted even a fraction of modern sanitation, he needed to figure out how to redirect water from the river to help with cleaning. Pipes. He needed pipes.
Bamboo. That was his best bet, right? He was pretty sure bamboo husks could be used to channel water. He even vaguely remembered something about capirally, or was it capillary?-something. Whatever it was that let water move against gravity through tiny spaces. But how tiny? He doubted he'd find straw-sized bamboo around here. Maybe if he cut the stalks at an angle? Stacked them a certain way?
Hell, if he had YouTube, he could've figured this out in five minutes. Just one quick search, and he'd have a step-by-step tutorial with clear visuals, probably narrated by some DIY guy with a soothing voice.
Every isekai story seemed to hurtle toward the same thing, innovation, power, world domination. Could he do that here too? The Philippine islands had plenty of resources, iron, oil, coal. He knew metal could be refined, that even the simplest machines could revolutionize labor. Steel required iron, carbon, and a massive rotating furnace. Could he generate electricity? Copper and iron had to exist here, right? If so, he had everything he needed to kickstart an industrial revolution.
He even understood the principles of flight, curved wings plus high speed equals lift. Air superiority. Add that to the list. It almost sounded easy, like he was ticking off boxes in some grand strategy game. Step one: gather resources. Step two: build infrastructure. Step three: profit. Almost everything he needed to rise above these chumps.
But did he even want to?
And these so-called "chumps" weren't actually chumps. They were people. Smart, resourceful, and hardened by a world far more brutal than the one he came from. If he tried to seize power, someone, somewhere, would rise to challenge him. That was the core of every epic humanity had ever told, from the city-toppling tales of the Odyssey to the giant-slaying myths in his own province. That's just how humanity is.
And was it even worth it? That was the real question, wasn't it? Just because he could do something didn't mean he should. He wasn't a leader. He wasn't a warrior. Hell, he couldn't even weave a decent mat.
The idea of reshaping history, of taking control, was tempting. He had plenty of issues with the modern world, inequality, corruption, idiots in charge. And even a lot of ideas on how to fix it, UBI, wealth cap, etc. Maybe he could fix all that. Build a utopia.
But he also knew how utopias ended. Badly. Sometimes really fast. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be the guy laying the bricks.
So… what the hell was he supposed to do now?
The question had no answer. Eventually, he just fell asleep.