**Chapter 3: Survival Camp, Fish Dinner, and One Sticky Goddess (Now With Extra Chaos)**
**MC POV**
A few minutes later—or what felt like a few minutes, because who can tell time when you've been isekai'd into a jungle by a god with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel—I finally got my head straight enough to test the goods. You know, the shiny new powers RBG promised me before yeeting me into this pint-sized body. Gotta make sure I wasn't shortchanged in the cosmic deal, right? I mean, I died via Truck-kun; I deserve at least a few functional cheat codes.
First good news: Conqueror's Haki was like a light switch—toggle on, toggle off. Sweet. I could feel it humming in my chest, a low buzz like I'd chugged an energy drink and was ready to intimidate a flock of seagulls. RBG didn't lie about that one, at least. Second good news: the knocking techniques from Jiro (Toriko pressure-point master) were downloaded into my brain like a pirated PDF of a martial arts manual. I could sense the muscle memory for basic strikes, plus a decent chunk of Jiro's knuckle arsenal—fancy moves with names like "Gentle Tap of Doom" and "Finger Flick of Mild Discomfort." Okay, I made those names up, but you get the vibe.
Bad news: the "arsenal" was more like a starter pack than a full-blown armory. Why the hell does a simple knocking technique require so much knowledge? It's not just poking someone in the right spot—it's angles, pressure points, breath timing, even the exact force needed to make someone's arm go numb versus, say, making them sneeze uncontrollably. I had the instruction manual, but not the practiced hands of a pro. It was like being handed a guitar and a chord chart but no muscle memory to actually play "Wonderwall." I could probably knock out a squirrel if I got the drop on it, but a pirate? Yeah, I'd need some practice.
I glanced over at Aqua, who was sitting cross-legged on a rock, fussing with a leaf like it had personally insulted her divine heritage. She was muttering something about "unworthy foliage" and "subpar jungle aesthetics." Typical goddess nonsense. Her blue hair was still damp from my earlier river-dunking incident, and she looked like a soggy kitten trying to reclaim her dignity.
"Okay, Ego," I said aloud, hoping my snarky AI buddy would give me some clarity. "If I tried to knock Aqua out right now—realistic chance? Like, could I send her to nap town with one well-placed poke?"
{Ego}: Its voice buzzed in my head, cool and clinical like a robot therapist. "Probability calculation: 62% chance of successful knockout using current strength, assuming surprise, correct striking point, and absence of external interference. Confidence interval: ±12%. Recommendation: Train strike precision and timing to increase probability. Warning: Subject 'Aqua' may retaliate with excessive noise pollution."
"Sixty-two percent?" I snorted, kicking a pebble into the dirt. "That's surprisingly optimistic for whatever your cold app brain is. I was expecting, like, 10%."
{Ego}: "Commentary: Emotional interference from subject 'Aqua' increases variance. Additionally, subject exhibits unusual resilience for current physical age, likely due to residual divine energy. Suggest focus training and situational practice. Avoid provoking subject unless prepared for auditory assault."
"Unusual resilience?" I muttered, eyeing Aqua as she dramatically tossed the leaf into the air like it was a rejected Oscar speech. "She's whining, not a tank. Unless whining is a superpower now."
**Aqua POV**
Why is he taking so long to answer my very reasonable complaints? I'm starving! We're lost in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees that look like they're plotting against me! If he doesn't respond RIGHT NOW, I will scream so loud the ocean will file a formal complaint with the universe. I'm a goddess, not some jungle camper! Where's my temple? Where's my fruit basket offerings? Where's my divine wine?! I deserve better than this muddy, bug-infested nightmare!
I ramped up the volume of my complaints, letting my voice echo through the jungle. The surrounding birds took one listen and decided to migrate to a safer tree—like, across the island. Pure intimidation technique. If I can't have my divine throne, I'll at least rule this patch of dirt with my vocal cords.
**MC POV**
Aqua's whining hit a pitch that could shatter glass or summon a kraken. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying for patience. "Okay, Aqua, chill. We need food and shelter before nightfall. Unless you want to sleep in a tree with the monkeys mocking you."
She huffed, crossing her arms. "Hmph! A goddess does not sleep in trees! I demand a proper bed with silk sheets and—oh, fine. Food first. But it better be gourmet!"
"Gourmet," I deadpanned. "Right. I'll see if the jungle has a Michelin-star chef hiding behind a fern."
We followed the river because, duh—water means fish, and my eight-year-old stomach was growling like a Sea King with indigestion. Plus, RBG's idea of "good starter resources" included this river, which was... weirdly perfect. The water was crystal clear, sparkling like it had been filtered by angels. It tasted clean—too clean, like bottled water from a fancy spa. And it felt... charged? Like it was buzzing with some kind of energy. I dipped my hand in, half-expecting it to glow or turn me into a merman. Nope, just water. But opportunity-flavored water.
At the riverbank, I decided to test Conqueror's Haki. I focused, letting a low-level pressure ripple outward, like flexing a mental muscle. The palm leaves around us shivered like they'd seen a ghost, and a couple of fish jumped out of the water in panic. Nice. But Aqua? She just stood there, arms crossed, pouting like I'd stolen her last cookie. "Aqua," I said, raising an eyebrow, "I wasn't trying to—"
She pointed an accusing finger, nearly poking my eye out. "You tried to use Haki on me! You're such a bully! I demand an apology in triplicate, written in gold ink, on sacred parchment, delivered by doves!"
{Ego}: "Observation: Subject 'Aqua' demonstrates high mental fortitude and significant resistance to short-range Conqueror's pulses, possibly due to residual divine core. Emotional volatility increases resistance by 23%. Caution: Provocation may lead to tantrum escalation."
"What, she's immune?" I asked, dodging another finger jab.
{Ego}: "Not immune. High tolerance and unpredictable response patterns. If upset, subject may exhibit combative behavior far beyond physical age. Caution advised. Recommend de-escalation via flattery or snacks."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Right. So not easy to KO, but not immortal either. Just... annoyingly durable."
We set up camp on a small cleared patch of sand by the river. It was less "picturesque beach" and more "patch of dirt that didn't immediately try to eat us." Aqua insisted on being fanned with a giant leaf while I did the "manly survival stuff." Step one: hunt fish. I grabbed a stick, sharpened it with a rock (feeling very caveman chic), and waded into the shallows with extreme enthusiasm. Picture an eight-year-old flailing a pointy stick like it's a lightsaber. I speared a fish after, like, 20 tries. Victory!
Step two: fire. I tried the whole "rub sticks together" thing, which was about as fun as it sounds. After what felt like an eternity of cursing and splinters, a tiny spark finally caught. I whooped like I'd invented fire itself, only to realize Aqua was lounging on a rock, critiquing my form. "You're doing it wrong," she said, waving her leaf like a queen. "Fire needs elegance. You're just... angry rubbing."
"Angry rubbing got us fire," I shot back, fanning the flames with a palm frond I'd woven into a makeshift grate. Step three: cook the fish. I skewered them and propped them over the fire, feeling like a budget Gordon Ramsay. The smell was... edible. Ish.
While the fish cooked, I tested Bang's Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist. I stood in the shallows, mimicking the flowy movements I'd seen in One Punch Man. It was supposed to be smooth, like redirecting a waterfall with your fists. My version? More like a blender trying to pour soup. Awkward, choppy, but when I struck the water, it snapped with a small, satisfying *crack*—like I'd high-fived the river itself. Progress!
{Ego}: "Projection: At current training rate and physiological adaptation, mastery of Bang's intermediate techniques will require approximately 1–2 years of continual practice. Factors increasing rate: focused daily repetition, improved stamina, access to water source with high mana convergence (present)."
"One to two years?" I laughed, a hollow sound that echoed my despair. "Great. I'll be a grandmaster by the time I'm—what, ten? Just in time to fight preschool pirates."
{Ego}: "Clarification: Estimate assumes continuous training and survival conditions. Acceleration possible via targeted feedback loops and skill learning protocols. Translation: Practice, get feedback, repeat. Additional note: RBG granted a water node calibrated for Bang-style comprehension in this river. Use it."
"You've been holding out on me?" I said, splashing the water in frustration. "Thanks for the memo, Ego. Could've used that info before I spent an hour stabbing fish like a noob."
Aqua sauntered over, sniffing indignantly and plopping down opposite me on the sand. "Are you thinking evil thoughts about me? Because if you are, I will—" She banged the palm frond "table" for emphasis, sending a shower of splinters into the air like tiny wooden missiles. "—yell louder than ever!"
"Oh, please," I said, rolling my eyes. "You already scared off every bird in a five-mile radius. Save some lung power for when we actually need it."
She launched into an impromptu lecture about how disgraced goddesses deserve proper rites—like temples, offerings, and daily worship. It spiraled into a demand for a five-course meal, complete with "divinely inspired flavors." I pointed at the fish and two kinds of wild leaves I'd scrounged up. "This is your five-course meal: fish, leaves, more fish, different leaves, and... water. Bon appétit."
Dinner was a comedy routine straight out of a sitcom. Aqua theatrically tasted one bite of fish, holding it up like a food critic on a reality show. "Acceptable," she declared, "if served in a palace with golden cutlery and a choir singing my praises." Then, in one dramatic swoop, she grabbed most of my portion and stuffed it in her face like a seagull stealing fries. I retaliated with what I called the "Iron Fist of Love"—a gentle, affectionate-but-firm bop to her forehead, meant to say, "Stop being a drama queen." She smacked my hand away, glaring, then immediately cuddled up like a cat who'd decided I was her personal heater.
{Ego}: "Emotional status: attachment forming. Probability of enduring partnership: 79%. Social friction: persistent due to temperament mismatch. Additional note: Subject 'Aqua' exhibits kleptomaniac tendencies regarding food. Recommend securing rations."
"Ego, you're a real mood killer," I muttered, poking the fire with a stick. "But yeah, noted. Next time, I'm hiding my fish."
{Ego}: "Fact: Social harmony improves survival chances by 27.3%. Recommendation: Tolerate subject's behavior within reason. Avoid food-related conflicts to maintain alliance."
After stubbing out the fire and arranging a crude shelter—basically a lean-to of palm fronds that looked like it would collapse if a butterfly sneezed—we tried to sleep. The jungle was alive with sounds: waves crashing in the distance, monkeys chattering like they were gossiping about us, and Aqua muttering half-sacred curses at the wildlife. "Stupid bugs, unworthy of my divine presence," she grumbled, swatting at nothing.
At some ungodly hour, I woke up because something sticky was clinging to my side. Aqua. Of course. She'd curled up against me like a human burrito, snoring lightly with a trail of drool that glistened in the moonlight. Her small chest rose and fell, and despite her tantrums, I felt a ridiculous protective warmth. Like, okay, she's a pain, but she's *my* pain now.
{Ego}: "Notice: RBG provided localized water mana nodes designed to facilitate comprehension of Bang-style metaphysics. Practical effect: water instincts are amplified; muscle memory consolidation accelerated in aquatic environments. Suggest integrating daily water drills and meditation to expedite mastery."
"Oh," I whispered, staring at the river, which now seemed to shimmer with a faint, mystical glow. "So *that's* why the water felt charged. RBG, you sneaky bastard, throwing in a training buff without telling me."
{Ego}: "Advisory: Retain access to water node. Monitor for external interference from RBG or similar entities. Additional note: Subject 'Aqua' is currently drooling on user's arm. Recommend gentle repositioning to avoid prolonged contact with divine saliva."
I glanced at Aqua, now tangled in palm fronds like a goddess-shaped burrito, drooling slightly and muttering about "stolen wine" in her sleep. She looked ridiculous and majestic at the same time—like a fallen deity who'd tripped into a comedy sketch. I let out a tiny, embarrassed laugh and curled back into sleep, one arm awkwardly shielding my shirt from her drool.
The island was weird, chaotic, and full of things I didn't understand—mana nodes, divine crybabies, and fish that fought back. But with a smug AI in my head dishing out stats and a whining goddess glued to my side, it suddenly felt less like the end of the world and more like the start of one very strange, very funny adventure. Here's hoping we don't get eaten by a Sea King before breakfast.
(Word count: 1,632)