The brief skirmish with the Crimson Fanged Beast had cost Altaïr and Isis little stamina. Nymera had not even joined the fight, so she remained fresh.
After a short rest, they resumed exploring the mangrove forest under Meowster's guidance. They did not turn back until the sun began slanting westward, and they reached the large ship anchored offshore before sunset.
With a scholar accompanying them throughout, the Hunters were spared the most troublesome parts of an Expedition quest: mapping the area and writing the report.
Even if they had wanted to draw the map themselves, Meowster feared they would turn in nothing but a collection of messy doodles.
Glad to be spared those chores, Altaïr and his companions returned to their respective cabins, stowed their weapons and armor, and agreed to meet in the galley later.
The second Hunter team had returned slightly earlier.
When Altaïr opened the door to his cabin, he found Morgan standing bare-chested, his armor liner already off as he prepared to change into casual clothes.
His first instinct was to blurt out, "Sorry!" and retreat. Fortunately, his mind caught up before his body did. He turned the almost-uttered apology into, "Back already?" and caught himself before completing the turn.
Morgan noticed Altaïr's momentary hesitation. He paused in the middle of changing, folded his arms across his chest, and calmly met Altaïr's gaze.
"..."
Altaïr understood. Morgan was silently emphasizing that he was a man.
But as a Heavy Bowgun user, Morgan had only a modest amount of muscle; a Gunner could not afford limbs bulky enough to hamper his movements. Even Isis carried more muscle than he did. Combined with his pale skin, which seemed incapable of tanning, it made him difficult to describe as "manly."
Morgan appeared to realize that too. Abandoning the futile effort with a soft sigh, he pulled on a form-fitting black tank top.
It was the most "masculine" garment he could find, but on him it created an entirely different impression. Altaïr decided to change the subject. "How did your expedition go? If I remember correctly, you were supposed to explore west from the landing point, right?"
"Everything went smoothly." Morgan folded his arms again and leaned against the wall, adopting the most dashing pose he could manage as he replied, "Once we got deeper into the mangrove forest, we scouted roughly ten kilometers to the west.
We didn't find any Large Monsters, but we did come across a few Kelbi and Mosswine. I wasn't expecting to find either species here.
If we can confirm a larger population, the advance team's meat supply should be secure.
What about you?"
"We encountered an unusual species of Large Fanged Beast and drove it off. The way it moved was very strange..." Altaïr replied as he removed his armor and liner.
When Altaïr revealed his muscular, sharply defined bronze torso and the irregular pitch-black scars across it, envy flickered through Morgan's eyes once again.
"Maybe I should get some tattoos too," he muttered under his breath.
"What did you say?" Altaïr had not caught the remark while pulling on his clothes, so he turned and asked curiously.
"Nothing."
Morgan's face returned to its usual impassive expression. Once Altaïr had finished changing, the two left the cabin and headed for the galley.
—--
Hunters were generally quick to change, women included. Soon after Altaïr arrived at the galley, Isis and Nymera appeared in light clothing.
Altaïr had already found them seats. He stood and waved, but the moment he got a clear look at Isis's clothes, he froze.
Morgan, who had been sitting quietly, stiffened. Isis, hurrying toward them, stopped dead. She was wearing a form-fitting black tank top too.
Tank tops like theirs were comfortable and lightweight, and the dark fabric did not show dirt easily. Isis often wore one while exercising, and with Tidal Island's humid, sweltering South Sea climate, it was comfortable for everyday wear as well.
But that was precisely the problem!
How could he make the same tank top look so different? Across from her, Morgan's expression darkened too.
Why can't I make it look the way she does? At that moment, both of them wanted nothing more than to turn around, return to their cabins, and change into something else.
Fortunately, a "rescuer" appeared just then.
Theo strode over with his usual noisy energy, wearing a loose patterned shirt with several buttons undone at the chest. "Hey, why are you all wearing black tank tops? I'll wear one tomorrow too!"
Dawn accompanied him in an oversized black tank top. His exposed arms were nearly as thick as a woman's waist, while the elastic fabric strained across his pectorals as though it might burst at any moment.
Isis's expression relaxed.
Ah... much better. That was how a form-fitting tank top was supposed to look! Morgan shot to his feet, ready to go back and change.
Altaïr reached out and pushed him back into his seat. "All right, all right. It's just a piece of clothing. Don't take it so seriously.
Senior Dawn, should we continue splitting into two teams and exploring the mangrove forest as we did today?"
Dawn had just sat down and still could not understand why these young people's expressions kept changing. Before he could answer Altaïr's question, Theo jumped in first.
"Not necessarily. The Village Chief and Meowster are still discussing it. I overheard them just now, and it sounds as though they disagree.
Meowster wants us to continue exploring the mangrove forest so we can establish the basic ecology of southern Tidal Island and map the distribution of Large Monsters.
The Village Chief thinks we can put that on hold. We've confirmed that the soil around the mangrove forest is too loose and too vulnerable to the tides for us to establish an outpost there. He wants us to bypass the mangroves and prioritize finding a suitable location. Once the outpost is up and running, we can return to surveying the local ecology."
"The Village Chief's position sounds more reasonable, doesn't it?" Isis moved closer and joined the discussion.
"Not necessarily." Altaïr frowned. "From what I saw today, Meowster isn't a bookish scholar like Erik who cares about nothing but his research.
You saw that he didn't spend much time examining the plants or small creatures in the mangrove forest, right?
I think he's concerned about Monster distribution. He doesn't want us to choose a campsite in haste, fail to build a sturdy fence in time, and end up under attack before we're ready."
"Neither side is wrong." Isis lowered her head and thought hard for a moment, then quickly gave up. "Whatever. I'll leave the decision to them. We'll just follow their orders and do our job!"
"Don't say that!"
Francesca, who had been passing the Hunters' table, squeezed past Altaïr and dropped into the seat beside Isis. "They both made good points. I wanted to say, 'You two decide,' but at this rate, the argument will never end. So I thought I'd ask what all of you think first."
Isis instinctively looked at Altaïr.
Altaïr frowned as he weighed the advantages and disadvantages of both plans. Before he could reach a conclusion, Dawn, who had been silent for a while, spoke up.
"Miss Stirling, who has final authority over the exploration team?"
Francesca paused at the question, then answered, "The Village Chief."
"Then follow the Village Chief's plan. A military unit can have only one commander. The exploration team may not operate under such strict discipline, but conflicting voices among its leadership are dangerous.
Many people can offer advice, but only one person can make the final decision. Unless that decision is clearly wrong, don't interfere with the judgment of the person in charge."
Altaïr, who had been trying to decide which plan was better, immediately let the matter drop.
As Dawn had said, the Village Chief and Meowster were both experienced leaders, more than capable of guiding the exploration team forward.
Even if personal bias or outside circumstances sent them slightly off course, there was no cause for alarm. Both had the experience to correct it.
The real danger was having more than one pair of hands on the wheel, each pulling against the other.
Francesca's expression turned serious too. After a few seconds of silence, she nodded. "I understand, Mr. Dawn. Thank you for the reminder."
With that, she rose from her seat and strode toward the edge of the galley.
At a lonely little round table set well apart from the others, the Village Chief and Meowster were locked in a heated argument, neither able to fully persuade the other.
When Francesca joined them, however, a single sentence borrowed from Dawn, "The Village Chief is in charge, so follow his lead," brought the debate to an immediate end.
Meowster also recognized that continuing like this would accomplish nothing, so he stopped insisting. The Wyverian and the Felyne finally reached an agreement.
Morgan quietly watched it all unfold. He glanced at Dawn, who had resolved the conflict with only a few words, and a spark flickered in his eyes.
Conduct, mannerisms, and clothing were all merely outward appearances.
This was true maturity! Morgan wanted to learn how to become a man everyone could trust and rely on.
(Translated by yourtl.app)