Menchi's eyes locked onto the vial in Kevin's hand with the predatory focus of a true Gourmet Hunter. The earlier annoyance vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp professional curiosity.
"Pharmacist?" she echoed, her gaze flicking from the potion to Kevin's face. "Not a Medic? A pharmacist who uses rare materials. So you're concocting… what? Poisons? Elixirs?"
"Mostly elixirs," Kevin clarified, tucking the vial—a low-grade stamina draught—back into its loop on his belt. "Potions with specific, temporary effects. Some enhance physical capabilities, others impart unique properties to one's Nen. The rarer and higher-quality the material, the more potent and stable the result."
Buhara's gentle rumble interjected. "A craft not unlike our own. We transform ingredients into experiences that enhance the moment. You transform them into tools that enhance the self. Both are acts of alchemy."
"Exactly," Kevin said, appreciating the big man's insight. "And like your cooking, the process is everything. The wrong temperature, the wrong sequence, even the wrong mindset can ruin a batch." He gestured to the dense, mist-laden foliage ahead. "That's why I'm here. The Lost Meller Wetland is supposed to have fungi that only fruit under the light of a specific bioluminescent moss. I need a fresh sample."
Menchi had stopped walking, her arms crossed as she gave Kevin a thorough, reassessing look. "Huh. So you're not just Begel's babysitter or Bisky's bookworm. You've got your own hunt." A slow, competitive grin spread across her face. "Fine. We'll share the path. But if we spot something I want, you help me bag it. And if you find your weird mushrooms, I get to analyze a sample. Deal?"
"Deal," Kevin agreed without hesitation. A Gourmet Hunter's analysis could tell him more about the material's intrinsic properties than any lab equipment back at the reserve.
The trio moved deeper into the wetland, the air growing thick with humidity and the chorus of unseen life. Menchi, despite her impractical attire, moved with a hunter's born grace, her eyes constantly scanning not for danger, but for potential. Buhara was a silent, mountainous presence behind them, his own senses undoubtedly cast wide.
"So," Menchi began, casually using a burst of Shu to coat her hand and slice through a curtain of sticky vines without touching them. "These potions of yours. When you drink them, do they… taste of anything? Or is it all clinical, like medicine?"
Kevin blinked, caught off guard by the question. No one had ever asked about the taste before. "They… have flavors. Sometimes unpleasant, metallic or bitter. Sometimes surprisingly floral or sweet. It depends on the base components and the intended effect. Why?"
Menchi's grin turned mischievous. "Because flavor is data, dummy! The taste profile can tell you about the ingredient interactions, the dominant elements, even the stability of the Nen infusion. A good Gourmet Hunter can reverse-engineer a dish from a single bite. Maybe I can help you refine your recipes so they don't taste like swamp water."
The offer was unexpected, but it resonated with the part of Kevin that saw his potion-making as a craft, not just a means to an end. "I'd like that," he admitted. "The Iron Wall Potion I mastered tasted like chewing on granite dust."
Buhara's chuckle vibrated through the damp air. "A fitting flavor for its effect. But Menchi is correct. The senses are interconnected. A harmonious flavor often indicates a harmonious blend of energies. It is a principle we use when pairing ingredients with complementary Nen auras."
Kevin filed the information away, another piece of the vast, interconnected puzzle that was the Hunter's world. His journey into the wetland was no longer just a material-gathering trip. It had become a collaborative expedition, a cross-pollination of disciplines. As he watched Menchi expertly pluck a vibrant, trumpet-shaped flower and give it a thoughtful sniff before tucking it away, he realized that passing the Hunter Exam would grant him more than a license. It would grant him access to a global network of extraordinary specialists, each with a unique lens through which to view the world's wonders. And he, with his peculiar pharmacist's path, was carving out his own unique place among them.
Kevin's professional curiosity was instantly piqued. "Strawberries? Parasitic fruiting bodies, or a true symbiosis?" The distinction was crucial. A parasite would weaken the host, making it an unreliable ingredient. A symbiosis suggested a far more complex and potentially valuable biological relationship.
"Symbiosis, of course!" Menchi declared, her eyes sparkling. "The Ichigo-Gamera filters specific minerals from the wetland mud through its shell. A unique fungus processes those minerals and fruits into a perfect, seedless strawberry on the turtle's back. The turtle gets a camouflaging treat that attracts small prey, and we get…" She made a chef's kiss gesture. "...the most mineral-rich, sweet-tart strawberry in existence, with notes of wetland honey and crushed stone. It's the ultimate garnish for a certain type of foie gras I've been conceptualizing."
Buhara nodded his large head in confirmation. "The literature suggests the fruiting cycle is tied to the lunar phases. We are here during the waxing gibbous, which should be peak ripeness. Their habitat is the central bog, where the water is clearest and the mineral deposits are most concentrated."
Kevin filed the information away, another fascinating data point in the world's boundless ecological oddities. "So, a culinary delicacy and a potential alchemical ingredient," he mused aloud. "The mineral-rich fruit from a creature that filters minerals… it could have interesting conductive or reinforcing properties when distilled."
Menchi looked at him, her head tilted. "You really do see everything through a potion-brewer's lens, huh?"
"Just as you see everything through a chef's," Kevin replied with a shrug. "It's the Hunter's way. We find value where others see only the mundane… or the danger."
The ground beneath them grew softer, the air cooler and thick with the scent of decaying vegetation and blooming water flowers. They had reached the true edge of the central bog. The canopy opened up to a sky crisscrossed with vines, and murky, placid water stretched out between islands of thick moss and gnarled, half-submerged roots.
"Now," Menchi whispered, her entire demeanor shifting from exuberant to lethally focused. She crouched at the water's edge, her fingers barely skimming the surface. A faint, almost invisible aura—In—coated her hand, then spread in a delicate ripple across the water. "They're sensitive to vibrations and foreign Nen. A heavy En would spook them for days. We need to be… invited."
Kevin watched, impressed. This was a far subtler application of Nen than he typically employed. It wasn't about force or form, but about communication, about blending one's presence into the environment so perfectly that it became non-threatening. He held his breath, letting his own Ten settle into a state of perfect stillness, mirroring the stagnant water.
Buhara had become a statue a few paces back, his immense presence somehow rendered inert, his Zetsu so complete he seemed to fade into the backdrop of trees.
Minutes passed in the buzzing, dripping silence. Then, a small, dark shape broke the surface about twenty meters out. A turtle, its shell a mosaic of dark green and brown, perfectly camouflaged. And on the center of its carapace, glowing like a tiny jewel in a beam of fractured sunlight, was a single, perfect, crimson strawberry.
Menchi's smile was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. The hunt had transitioned from search to harvest. Now came the delicate part: acquisition without disturbance. Kevin found himself leaning forward, not for the strawberry, but to observe the methodology. This was the essence of a Gourmet Hunter's craft, and it was a lesson in patience and precision he knew would be invaluable.