As the MC woke up the next day, he stayed hidden in the tree.
He was used to sleeping without making noise or movement.
One of the things he had learned to survive…
was to sleep anywhere—
and never get found.
He slowly opened his eyes and sat up on the branch.
For a moment, he didn't think about anything.
Then—
a low rumbling sound.
He let out a breath.
"…I've rested enough."
His stomach growled.
He looked around, found a fruit, grabbed it, and started eating.
But this time… he wasn't eating slowly to enjoy it.
His face was calm—almost empty.
Yet inside, his thoughts were heavy.
Worrying too much didn't make sense.
If he acted without thinking… he would die anyway.
So instead—he thought.
What should he do?
He couldn't just run.
He didn't know what kind of dangers existed in this world.
After finishing the fruit, his expression changed slightly.
He had decided.
He grabbed his stick and climbed down.
The first thing he did—
was train.
He placed the stick aside and dropped to the ground.
Push-ups.
Not many. Barely ten.
Pull-ups on the tree—
two at a time, three sets.
He punched the ground.
Right. Left.
Then kicks.
Balancing himself carefully.
He walked around the tree—faster than normal walking, but not running.
Then again, on his toes.
He stretched his body forward… then backward.
Testing his limits.
His body felt weak.
But not broken.
When he was done, he picked up the stick again and cleared a small area of grass.
He flattened the soil using his hands and feet.
Then he picked up a thinner stick—
and started writing.
Simple words.
Only what mattered.
Flexibility — bad
Strength — not enough
Stamina — most important
"I can't take a hit," he muttered quietly.
"If that thing touches me… I die."
His grip tightened.
"Running matters more."
If he could avoid getting hit—
he could survive.
Then his eyes moved to his body.
His clothes.
His skin.
Sweat.
His expression darkened.
"…smell."
If those creatures had a strong sense of smell—
he was already dead.
He looked around.
No water.
No river.
Nothing.
He sat there… thinking.
Time passed.
Slowly.
He knew this was a gamble.
If a monster came now—
he would die.
But doing nothing wasn't an option.
Training here… even with risk…
was still better.
At least then—
he had a chance.
He started thinking of solutions.
Mud?
He could cover his clothes.
Maybe even his body.
But it would stick.
Slow him down.
Affect his movement.
Bad idea.
Grass?
He could rub it over himself.
Better… but—
itching. Discomfort. Distraction.
Still not good enough.
"…there has to be something else."
Nothing came.
A leaf fell on his head.
He didn't notice.
His hand moved on its own—
and grabbed it.
Still thinking, he scratched the leaf with his nail.
A faint green liquid came out.
He didn't react.
Too focused.
He crushed it completely.
Then reached for another leaf.
Did it again.
And again.
And again.
Until—
his thoughts stopped.
His hand moved toward his head.
But before touching—
it paused near his nose.
He froze.
"…what…?"
There was a smell.
Faint.
But different.
Not his sweat.
Not his body.
Something else.
He took a deeper breath.
Nothing.
He smelled his arm.
Still sweat.
Strong.
But his hand—
was different.
His eyes slowly moved down.
To the crushed leaves beside him.
Silence.
Then—
something clicked.
He turned his head.
Looked at the tree.
At the leaves.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"…looks like I found it."
As he realized the leaves could hide his scent, he quickly gathered as many as he could from the ground.
He had no tools. No weapon. Not even something simple to use properly.
Two choices came to his mind.
First—
take off his clothes, fill them with leaves, tie them up, and crush them with a stick so the juice spreads.
But that had problems.
Too much waste.
If the juice had even a faint smell, crushing too many leaves might make it stronger.
And using a stick could damage his clothes.
He only had one set.
Even a thin layer of cloth was better than nothing—
especially if the wind turned cold.
So he chose the second option.
He took off his clothes.
Using his nails, he tore small openings in the leaves, just enough for the juice to come out.
He didn't rush.
First, he tested it.
Under his arms—where the smell was strongest.
One leaf.
That was enough.
He paused for a moment, surprised.
Then adjusted his plan.
One leaf for the front of his body.
One for the back.
One for the remaining areas.
For his legs—one each.
For the worst part—
He stopped.
Then pulled out some grass and wrapped it around his hand like a glove.
"…I'd rather die than touch it directly."
There was no water here. No way to clean himself.
This was the only way.
When he finished—
"Disgusting."
The word slipped out quietly.
He used the same method on his clothes.
Carefully.
Making sure nothing was wasted.
Now he was ready.
But not completely.
He picked up his stick.
Brought it close to his nose.
Nothing.
No scent.
Good.
He started moving.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He wasn't heading in one direction anymore.
He wandered—checking every place that looked usable.
Looking for a spot where he could watch the monsters from a safe distance.
At the same time—
his eyes kept moving.
Ground. Surroundings. Sky.
What if something was flying above?
His body started to react.
More sweat.
Dry throat.
Hunger creeping in faster than before.
He had moved more than usual.
Not just walking—
thinking, testing, searching.
It drained him.
He hadn't brought any fruit.
Carrying it might've caused problems.
And he forgot something important.
He never checked if those fruits had a smell.
If they did—
bringing them would've been a mistake.
"…too late now."
Still, it wasn't useless.
He learned something.
About his limits.
About how long he could go without food.
Maybe one day—
he wouldn't have the choice to eat at all.
Not for one day.
But many.
It was always a gamble.
His life had always been a gamble.
While thinking—
he stopped.
In front of him—
a cave.
It was huge.
At least six times his height.
Wide enough to fit two adult elephants side by side.
From the front, it looked like a broken opening.
But from the side—
its shape changed.
Like a mud igloo.
Wide at the entrance, narrowing as it went deeper inside.
A sound came from within.
Low. Strange.
Not clear—but not natural either.
Something was inside.
He didn't move.
Just stood there—
with a confused look on his face.
Instead of going in—
he sat near the side of the cave, under its shadow.
There was nothing else around it.
No trees. No cover.
Just that structure, standing alone.
As he rested—
the wind blew.
The sound came again.
From inside the cave.
The wind stopped.
The sound stopped too.
He noticed.
So it wasn't a creature.
Or maybe—
not only a creature.
He looked at the cave again.
Longer this time.
He wanted to go in.
To confirm it.
But his body—
felt heavy.
Too much movement.
Too much thinking.
Not now.
He stood up slowly.
Took one last look at the cave.
"…I'm tired."
And turned back.