The exhaustion from the night still lingered in the corners of his body. Koichi opened his eyes and immediately noticed the air around him had changed. There were sounds he hadn't heard yesterday. Footsteps on sand. Low voices exchanging words. A baby crying in the distance. (People... are coming.) He slowly pushed himself up. His bones creaked. Last night, he'd been calculating the materials for the lodging facility's walls when he dozed off sitting on the edge of some scrap wood. His neck and shoulders protested with pain. The morning in the Ashen Wasteland was bright. Sunlight streamed diagonally from the eastern sky, painting the reddish-brown barren land in shades of orange. The wind was still cold, but gentler than yesterday. And there were people. Scattered here and there, like grass growing in a desert. An elderly man stood alone, shouldering his belongings. A woman holding a small child kept glancing toward the direction of the well Koichi had built. Two young men were slowly approaching, pulling a cart. The rumors from last night must have spread—a well appeared in the wasteland, someone started building in the ruins—and reached the ears of the drifters wandering around this desolate land. Koichi simply observed the scene for a moment. (They came.) That was all that quietly expanded in his mind. Before any feelings like joy or fear, there was just the fact. People had come to this barren land. The well and market roof he'd built yesterday had drawn someone. Koichi opened his notebook. On a fresh page, he began writing what needed to be done today. —— Lodging Facility (Priority: Highest) —— Food Storage —— Drainage Planning The order of priorities needed no deliberation. A roof was necessary. A place for the people coming here today to sleep tonight. "Good morning!" Serika's voice flew from across the sand. Her long water-blue hair swayed gently in the morning light. She had a leather bag slung diagonally across her shoulder and was jogging closer while holding something in one hand. A faint shimmer of magical essence danced at her fingertips—she must have been practicing magic since early morning. Her pale purple eyes sparkled as she took in the increased number of people in the wasteland. "Amazing! They really came! The rumors spread last night!" "...It seems so," Koichi replied. "What are you doing sitting here? You were calculating the wall materials for the lodging facility last night, right?" "I was. Since last night." Serika fell silent for a moment. Then she held out what she'd been carrying in front of Koichi. Something wrapped in cloth. When he opened it, dried nuts and salted, thin strips of dried meat appeared. Shirag—the kind of preserved food familiar from Serika's hometown port settlement. "Did you eat breakfast?" "...Not yet." "I thought so." Koichi accepted it without hesitation. The dried meat was saltier than expected, but it was enough for his hunger. Serika sat down beside him and began counting the people while chewing the same food. "Where did those people come from? That family with the cart has three children. How did they even get here..." "More importantly, we need to build the walls today. We have to get the roof up before nightfall," Koichi said. "Yeah. So eat up and let's go." As she spoke, Serika popped one of her nuts into her mouth. Koichi swallowed his dried meat a bit faster and opened his notebook again. --- The construction of the lodging facility proceeded more smoothly than expected, and more contentiously than expected. Koichi's Building Master—this power granted during the transfer allowed him to rapidly construct buildings by channeling magical essence into scrap materials and natural resources. However, it consumed mental stamina. The larger the scale, the more intense the consumption. Since Koichi hadn't yet precisely grasped his limits, he proceeded carefully and in stages. The problem was the roof's pitch. Koichi held a makeshift protractor he'd fashioned from scrap wood and sand, finishing his third measurement. The angle was crucial for simultaneously optimizing rainwater drainage efficiency and structural strength. The first and second measurements had already yielded the same values, but the subtle discrepancy bothered him. If the measuring instrument itself had an error— "...How many times is that?" Koichi stopped. Serika was peering over from the side. Her pale purple eyes alternated between the protractor and Koichi. "Third time," he replied. "You've been getting the same angle this whole time, haven't you?" "There's a possibility of measurement instrument error—" "I don't think rain falls that precisely," Serika said. Koichi opened his mouth to object. He actually had objections ready—about drainage speed during concentrated rainfall, about the possibility of snow accumulation—but his mouth closed instead. Serika wasn't wrong. That was the problem. "...I'll continue," Koichi said. "Huh? You're doing a third measurement?" "I'll confirm on the fourth," Koichi replied. Serika let out an "ugh" sound but didn't stop him. She crouched beside Koichi and began preparing a water-vein detection spell, glancing at him with eyes that seemed to say "well, that's just how you are." It might have been his imagination. --- They started on the food storage facility in the afternoon. After confirming the lodging facility's walls were rising, Koichi moved on to the storage's foundation. This could have a simpler structure than the lodging facility—it just needed to be sturdy, well-ventilated, and maintain stable internal temperature. He planned to combine scrap stone for the walls and finish the interior with soil as a plaster substitute. When the walls were mostly complete and entering the finishing stage, Serika began chanting. "Wait," Koichi said. He turned to see Serika directing her fingertips at the wall surface, gathering magical essence. A thin purple light wavered at her fingertips. "What are you doing?" "Decoration. A vine pattern. I was thinking of carving it in with magic," Serika replied. "...On the storage facility?" "It's where we keep food, right? It should be pretty. We see it every day," she said. "Decorative elements can become structural weak points. Carving grooves into the wall surface creates pathways for water infiltration—" Serika stopped chanting. She didn't look angry. Rather, she looked thoughtful, studying Koichi himself rather than his words. There was a pause where her pale purple eyes seemed to see something beyond his objection. "...What if I drew it somewhere that wouldn't structurally compromise the wall?" she asked. "That would be..." Koichi began. He considered. Where on the storage facility's walls could he minimize the impact of decoration? The flow of rainwater, stress points, joint positions—calculations ran automatically. "...The upper edge band would work," he said, indicating the top of the wall. The area directly under where the roof would attach, where rain would least likely reach. "If it's there, the impact would be minimal." Serika's face brightened immediately. "Yes! Then I'll draw it!" The chanting began again. This time Koichi didn't stop her. Serika's fingertips moved along the wall's upper edge, and magical essence carved fine lines. A vine pattern. Leaves connected in sequence, small flowers scattered throughout. A delicate yet unobtrusive pattern quietly came into being along the upper edge of the gray stone wall. Koichi silently observed the completed wall. (Not bad.) The moment he thought it, he deliberately kept it from showing on his face. But the corner of his mouth rose slightly without his noticing. "...Koichi, you just smiled a little," Serika said. "I'm not smiling," he replied. "Your mouth corner went up." "It's your imagination. Let's move to the next wall." Serika laughed softly while pulling out her notebook and beginning to write something. He didn't ask what. It felt like asking would be losing. --- By evening, the lodging facility was complete. Thirty rooms of wooden lodging—it hadn't gone exactly according to plan, but the walls stood, the roof was pitched at an angle that would shed rain, and each room had a bed. The building emanated a faintly warm presence as proof of its blessed effect. Those who slept here would recover from fatigue faster than normal—Koichi sensed this intuitively. As the sun began to set, a family approached the building's entrance. A young mother and a girl about six years old. The mother was thin. She carried her belongings on her back and held her daughter's hand—the exhaustion of days of walking showed on her face. The girl half-hid behind her mother while cautiously peering into the building's entrance. "Is it alright if we go in?" the mother asked. The question seemed directed not at Koichi but at the building itself. She was seeking confirmation from someone, but wasn't sure who to ask. Koichi was some distance away, doing final checks on the storage facility. He turned and nodded. "Please. It's ready to use starting today." The mother bowed deeply. The girl, seeing this, bowed in the same way—clumsily, with a small sound. Koichi watched the two enter the building from the doorway. The sound of footsteps on wooden floors echoed from inside. The girl's voice came next. Small, but bright and cheerful. Koichi couldn't make out the words, but the mother must have answered, because the girl's laughter followed. Then it grew quiet. Koichi slowly stepped inside. The door to the room at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar. He hadn't intended to look inside. But as he passed, his eyes naturally caught sight of it. The girl lay on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. "It's a solid roof," she said softly. Not with dissatisfaction, but as if confirming something. As if her body was verifying the fact that there was a solid roof. The mother sat down beside her daughter and slowly stroked her hair. She said nothing. Just quietly closed her eyes, relaxing in the way an exhausted person does when they finally feel safe. Koichi stood in the hallway, watching the scene. (The question of whether something is perfect has stopped being a meaningful question.) He realized this. The roof's pitch had been measured four times. But when the girl lay on the ceiling and said "it's a solid roof," the angle of the pitch had nothing to do with it. The wall's strength, drainage efficiency, joint precision—none of it mattered. There was simply a roof, and it blocked the wind. That was all that existed in this room. "...Good," Koichi said. He hadn't meant to speak aloud. But the words came out. Serika was beside him at some point. He hadn't noticed. There were no footsteps. He simply realized she was there, her water-blue hair at the edge of his vision, and she was also looking into the room. Neither spoke. They said nothing. From beyond the door came the sound of the mother stroking her daughter's hair, and nothing else. Koichi leaned lightly against the hallway wall, listening to that sound. He was aware that Serika stood right beside him, but measuring distance or worrying about it—all of that was irrelevant in this moment. They simply watched the same thing together in silence. That was all. Yet somewhere deep in his chest, warmth was slowly spreading. --- They gathered around the bonfire after the sun had completely set. Koichi, Serika, and several of the drifters who had arrived that day sat around a fire in the plaza in front of the building. Tobias Rune, a traveling merchant—a thin man with a scar on his nose, the first merchant to come to this wasteland—had brought dry firewood that proved useful. "Soon, this place will need a name," Tobias said. He was roasting dried boar meat over the fire, squinting against the smoke. "A name?" Koichi asked. "A place without a name can't be communicated to others. 'Somewhere in the wasteland' doesn'