Winter Island Survival: Day 1
Survivor Breakdown:
Men: 7
Women: 2
Okama: 3
We agreed to cooperate—for now.
It's simply smarter for twelve people to divide tasks and optimize our efforts than for everyone to flail alone. If we work as a unit, the odds of survival rise for everyone.
Shere and the three okama were the only ones who supported the idea wholeheartedly. The rest accepted it with the sour resignation of people who know they don't have a better option.
Well. Beggars can't be choosers.
As long as everyone pulls their weight and does the bare minimum, that's enough. I'm not asking for miracles.
…Though if they can't even manage that, I'll take appropriate measures.
Same if anyone acts recklessly and endangers the group.
For assignments, Shere and I—the two strongest fighters here, most likely—would handle hunting.
The men would cover odd jobs: repairing the base, standing watch, butchering whatever we brought back, and anything else that needed doing.
Aside from the slave, all of them looked capable of fighting.
But not on our level.
As for the remaining okama, they were probably skilled in combat too, but they seemed even more confident in domestic work—cooking, cleaning, that sort of thing—so they volunteered to handle the base's chores.
"All thanks to my bride training!" one of them declared proudly.
So, the moment the blizzard eased even a little, Shere and I went out.
We cut down a few conveniently nearby trees and hunted.
For a place called Winter Island, the trees were surprisingly large. And we got lucky—we spotted a bear lumbering through the snow.
I handled the wood. Drawing the blade hidden inside my Japanese umbrella, I felled the trees in clean, swift strokes.
I usually fight with the umbrella itself, so this sword doesn't get much use… It's been a while since I last swung it.
While I worked, Shere dropped the bear with a single kick.
One strike.
And the Shere standing there afterward looked nothing like the slender woman from moments before—black feathers, like her hair, had spread across her body, her legs hardened with a steel-like sheen, and sharp, hooked claws jutted from her toes.
"I figured you didn't have any weapons," I said, watching her carefully, "but… you're a Zoan-type Devil Fruit user?"
"Yeah. The Bird-Bird Fruit, Model: Cassowary," Shere replied. "It's a bird, but it can't fly. Instead, it has insane leg strength."
Cassowary…
Isn't that the one listed in the Guinness World Records as the most dangerous bird?
Fast enough to run at fifty kilometers per hour, with claws sharp enough to rip you open—one kick can kill a person. For a martial artist who fights with her body, it's practically perfect.
"So what about you?" Shere asked. "Paramecia?"
"That's right," I said. "The Paper-Paper Fruit. I'm basically a Paper Human."
We cut the wood down into manageable pieces—about what one person could carry—and loaded everything onto a large sheet of paper along with the bear carcass.
As always, my Magic Carpet (Paper) was absurdly convenient.
The more I refine my control, the more weight and volume I can move at once.
When we returned to the base, everyone stared.
We'd barely been gone, and yet we'd come back with a huge kill and a ridiculous amount of firewood.
Food and fur in this place wasn't just good news—it was life itself. The men jumped straight into butchering, and the okama didn't waste a second preparing the meat.
Naturally, cooking the entire bear at once would be too much, so they set a portion aside to preserve.
"It's colder here than a refrigerator," I said, matter-of-fact. "Even raw meat will keep. I can wrap it in paper and store it in any spare room—easy."
"Alright, everyone!" one of the okama announced, practically glowing. "The Newkama Kenpo Ultimate Secret: '99 Vital Recipes'—Revival Style!"
"Spicy bear-meat chanko nabe! This'll warm you right up! Dig in!"
"W-woah…?! It looks insanely good!"
"What is this…? The smell, the presentation—no way… I-I'm digging in!"
The moment the pot was set down, the men were already staring like they'd been hypnotized.
Seasoned with spices they seemed to carry as naturally as breathing, the hot pot was perfect for the cold of Winter Island. Even the clear broth looked rich—steam rising in soft waves, the ingredients shining beneath the surface.
The bear meat had been cut into bite-sized pieces and tenderized so it wouldn't toughen, simmered until it was so soft it looked like it might melt. Wild vegetables and mushroom-like things we'd gathered on the way were tossed in too.
A layer of rich oil floated on top—probably rendered from the meat—promising a deep, savory bite.
To my exhausted body, it looked like salvation.
The gentle bubbling and the warmth of the steam eased the cold in my bones just from sitting near it.
The okama ladled the soup into bowls and handed them out.
We didn't have enough dishes for everyone, so I quickly carved a few simple wooden bowls.
"Delicious!" someone groaned.
"So good!"
The room filled with the sound of people eating like their lives depended on it.
Mine did too.
Seriously… this is incredible.
With every mouthful, warmth spread through my body from the inside out, and strength returned in a slow rush.
Even Shere, sitting beside me, looked surprised—though her hands never stopped moving.
Come to think of it, they'd said "Newkama Kenpo" earlier…
Could these okama be from Kamabakka Kingdom?
If so, then this has to be that "Attack Cuisine" Sanji learned during his two years of training.
I never expected to taste something like that here.
As everyone ate, I noticed one person wasn't joining in.
A slave boy sat pressed against the wall, staring at the pot—or rather, staring at the people eating—with an aching, almost desperate hunger in his eyes.
Why doesn't he just come over?
And then it hit me.
Ah… right.
Slaves often aren't allowed to eat with their masters. It's a way to grind the idea of "your place" into their bones.
Maybe he'd been treated the same way. Maybe he'd given up the moment we sat down, convinced he wouldn't be allowed to have any—
Even as his body screamed for food.
Then one of the okama walked over, carrying a bowl piled high with soup and ingredients.
"Here," she said gently. "Your share. It's hot, so be careful. Take your time."
"Eh…?" The boy blinked. "But I'm just a slave…"
"Nonsense," she said, as if the word itself offended her. "When you're hungry, it hurts. Everyone knows that. And if you stay like that, your body freezes… and your heart freezes too."
His small hands were cold—trembling as he reached out.
The okama cupped his fingers around the bowl, warming them, making sure he could hold it steady.
"Eat first," she said softly. "Nourish your heart and body. Thinking can wait."
The boy looked down at the bowl, then up at her smile—warm, encouraging, unwavering.
Then… as if his body decided before his mind could—
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
Under her gentle gaze, he gripped the bowl and spoon and began to eat.
With each sip, more tears fell. With each bite of meat, his shoulders shook. When he tasted the mushrooms and mountain vegetables, a choked sob escaped him, followed by the wet sound of sniffling.
And yet he didn't stop.
He savored it. Slowly at first. Carefully.
Then, without realizing it, he started eating faster—still crying, still trembling, but eating like he'd been starving for far longer than just one day.
"Hey!"
"Hey!"
"Whoa?!"
I nearly jumped out of my skin when a face suddenly loomed into my vision from the side.
I managed not to spill my bowl, but—what was that?!
"Stop looking around and focus on enjoying your meal!" the okama scolded, somehow both stern and playful. "Eat with concentration! I put my heart into making this, and it makes this sister sad when you're distracted, okay~?"
They leaned in close—so close I instinctively recoiled.
Their face was… intimidating up close. My body retreated on reflex.
But then—
"S-sorry…"
"Don't look at him right now," the okama whispered. "Don't say anything. Just let him be."
…!
The soft words startled me.
They hadn't come over because of my table manners.
"A good woman knows when to pretend she doesn't see a man's tears, darling~" they added, and winked.
When I glanced over, the okama who'd been with the slave boy had already left, calling back lightly, "There's plenty left. Please, have as much as you want."
In the original story, I remember the okama of Kamabakka Kingdom saying something like, Food builds strong bodies and kind hearts.
Of course, food alone isn't everything.
But I felt like I'd just glimpsed a piece of what they meant.
(They're incredible cooks, and they know exactly how to make someone feel cared for… Their "feminine wiles" are way beyond mine. No wonder people call Kamabakka Kingdom the second Amazon Lily. Maybe that isn't entirely a joke.)
The food was warm.
And somehow, so was my heart.
It really was a dinner that warmed both body and soul.
☆☆☆
After a meal that felt almost luxurious for "survival rations"…
With nothing left to do but sleep, reality came back with a vengeance.
It would still be freezing, even under a roof.
We kept the fire burning in the room, but that alone wouldn't make it comfortable enough to sleep.
So we bundled up in what counted as proper winter gear and prepared ourselves mentally for a cold night.
"After finally warming up body and soul with that hot pot…" someone muttered miserably.
"Don't complain," someone else snapped. "We should've expected this."
Shere and I exchanged an exasperated look as the pirates and adventurers started fighting over the bear pelt—each trying to claim a piece to keep warm while they slept.
Even for its size, one bear pelt wasn't enough for everyone. And its shape made it hard to divide cleanly; at best, you could get three decent pieces.
That was all it took.
The slave was shoved aside immediately, not even allowed to enter the struggle.
The okama bowed out with graceful smiles. "We're fine, you all can use it."
What kind souls…
Eventually, three of the adventurers backed down when the pirates—faces twisted with impatience—started brandishing weapons.
The pirates grinned smugly as the adventurers, glaring with resentment, stomped over toward us.
Don't look so defeated.
I already prepared something to replace that pelt.
"Huh?" Shere asked. "A replacement… what do you mean?"
Instead of answering, I showed her.
I drew paper from my body, stacked it, shaped it—
"Origami Papercraft: Cardboard Bed! And… Cardboard Blanket!"
Before anyone could blink, a full set of paper bedding had materialized.
Don't underestimate it just because it's paper. Cardboard beds are surprisingly sturdy, and a layer of cardboard on top does a decent job trapping warmth. It's lightweight, easy to assemble, and even gets used as emergency disaster gear in the real world.
I still hadn't expected I'd be able to produce something as specific as cardboard.
It's paper, yes—but it doesn't feel particularly papery…
Well, whatever. As long as it works.
I made enough beds for the three pirates, plus the rest of us.
And enough blankets for the nine people who weren't pirates.
With the campfire's heat, it should at least keep everyone from freezing to death in their sleep.
We also set watch shifts in advance to make sure the fire didn't go out.
…And to make sure it didn't catch anything.
Paper is, unfortunately, flammable.
After the watch was assigned, we called it a night.
Everyone set up their cardboard beds wherever they wanted and went to sleep.
The next morning, everyone woke up.
Safe.
Not a single person missing.
As for the three pirates who'd stolen the fur…
They were in a foul mood.
Well, you can't just rip fur off a bear and use it as bedding immediately. Without proper treatment and time, it still stinks of blood and animal—heavy enough to cling to your skin.
Sleeping wrapped in that all night…
Yeah. The smell definitely stuck to their clothes.
Serves them right.
To be continued...