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  The gravel gave one last crunch as the car rolled to a stop beside a wooden cottage nestled near the forest edge. Its roof was moss-touched, the timber darkened from years of weather. Nearby, rows of mushrooms grew under shaded canopies, an orderly spread of white and brown caps, misting lightly under makeshift nets.

  Adrian stepped out first. Mira followed, boots sinking slightly into the damp, leaf-carpeted ground. Her outfit mirrored utility, long forest-green jumpsuit cinched at the waist, sturdy boots laced tight, a tan bucket hat keeping her ponytail tucked. She looked like someone ready for either work or wonder, and in this place, maybe both.

  A figure emerged from the side of the cottage, a man in his late fifties, firm-built and sunworn, with a greying beard and weather-lined eyes. His rust-red jumpsuit clung to his frame like second skin, stained in earth and effort. He looked half-farmer, half-video game icon.

  “Afternoon, Adrian,” he said in a gravel-rich voice, pausing when he caught sight of Mira stepping beside him.

  His bushy brows arched in clear surprise, his gaze shifting to Adrian as if waiting for some sort of clarification.

  Before the silence could stretch, Mira stepped forward with a cheerful smile and extended her hand. “Good afternoon! I’m Mira, friend of Mister Adrian here. I came along for my mushroom photoshoot. Looks like destiny brought the two Marios to meet here today.”

  The man blinked once, then burst into a laugh, deep and full of mirth. “Well now, aren’t you a bright spark!” he said, shaking her hand warmly. “We’ve got ourselves a cute little camera woman today, huh? Welcome to my little farm, missy. Name’s Hector. This place isn’t much, but the mushrooms don’t seem to mind.”

  Mira practically vibrated where she stood, already cataloging every detail around them. Adrian merely gave a soft shake of his head, clearly used to Mira’s spontaneous way of stitching herself into moments.

  Hector turned back toward the cottage. “Come on then. Adrian knows his way around, but I’ve got the usual batch set up near the east rows. Don’t think what you’re lookin’ for is in there though, eh, Adrian?”

  Adrian gave a small nod. “We’ll talk after I check them.”

  “Right you are.” Hector shooed them along with an animated flourish of his hand, his whole face lighting up.

  Mira looked around once more, soaking in the scent of soil, the surreal sense that she’d wandered into a different world, and maybe, just maybe, it was the kind she’d like to return to.

  Outside the wooden cottage, the forest loomed deeper, denser, and cloaked in an ancient hush. Adrian unlatched the rear of the car and pulled out a small field kit. From it, he handed Mira a pair of snug-fitting gloves, mask and clear protective glasses.

  “Put these on,” he said simply.

  Mira blinked. “Mask and glasses too? I thought we were just walking into a forest, not a lab.”

  Adrian’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Some fungi release spores. Others... burn on contact. You don’t need to touch them to get hurt.”

  She paused mid-motion, halfway through pulling on a glove. “Wait, burn?”

  Before Adrian could respond, Hector, who had been locking up his tool shed, chimed in with a chuckle. “He’s right. Take Podostroma cornu-damae for example. Looks like a coral, but it’s lethal. You breathe in too much or brush against it with an open wound, and your body might start shutting down. Some even cause skin necrosis just from proximity when active.”

  Adrian only adjusted his own gloves, eyes scanning the path ahead. “Fungi aren’t vegetables. They're entire ecosystems. Some invite you in, some defend their territory.”

  Now Mira’s expression had shifted, less flustered, more focused. She slid on her glasses, cinched her gloves tighter. “Okay. Noted. No touching strange mushrooms. Respect their space. Got it.”

  Hector waved a hand casually toward the tree line. “Still, the area here’s pretty safe. It’s under my watch, after all. That guy’s just being over-cautious, as always.”

  They started along the damp trail behind the cottage, where the terrain sloped downward before curving toward the forest’s natural edge.

  “So,” Mira asked after a few minutes of walking, carefully watching her steps over the mossy trail. “Which one are you looking for today?”

  “Tremella,” Adrian said without turning.

  “Tremella?” she echoed. “That jelly-like one?”

  Hector, striding behind them with a light axe slung across his back, cut in with an enthusiastic wave. "I grow Tremella inside, under net houses. But this guy?" He jerked a thumb toward Adrian. “He’s never the easy type. Wants the wild ones. Says the air and struggle matter.”

  Adrian said nothing.

  Intrigued, Mira leaned closer. “Why wild, though? Isn’t cultivated cleaner? Easier to analyze?”

  He finally looked at her. “Cleaner, yes. But sometimes too clean.”

  Mira waited, sensing more behind that answer.

  “Farmed Tremella,” Adrian continued, “grows in stable, controlled environments, usually on Annulohypoxylon archeri, a single host species. No real stress, no interaction. But wild Tremella... lives off a range of hosts. Faces natural stress, sunlight, decay, predators. That shapes its chemistry.”

  “So you think wild ones have more... potent compounds?”

  “Potentially. Higher polysaccharides, different antioxidants. Maybe even unique ones. We’re missing parts of the story if we only look at what’s easy.”

  Hector nodded from behind. “He’s got a point. Farmed’s predictable. Forest Tremella’s stubborn and secretive. But Adrian swears by it.”

  They moved deeper now, where the trees thickened and the air cooled. Dappled light filtered through the canopy, glinting off damp bark and velvet moss.

  “What about the microbes?” Mira asked suddenly. “Like… maybe wild Tremella’s friends matter?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Adrian gave her the smallest glance of approval. “Yes. That too. The microbiome around wild strains might help generate effects we don’t even know how to replicate. Farmed ones, genetically identical, isolated, predictable. But maybe fragile.”

  They stepped over a fallen branch, and Mira snapped a photo almost without thinking, drawn by a glimmer of amber fungi growing on the side of a log.

  She paused, watching him in the dappled shade. “You sound like you’re protecting something.”

  Adrian looked forward again, brushing a fern aside. “Maybe I am.”

  They had been walking for nearly half an hour now, the air thick with forest damp, the silence broken only by distant birdcalls and the soft crunch of leaves beneath their boots. Then, as the path curved beside a moss-covered stone ridge, Adrian suddenly slowed and crouched near a decaying oak log.

  “Here,” he paused.

  Nestled in the shaded crevice of the rotting wood was a pale, translucent growth. It shimmered slightly in the low light, delicate folds like jelly, almost ethereal.

  It looked... otherworldly.

  “Tremella fuciformis,” Adrian said, brushing gently near it but never touching. “The wild kind.”

  The fungus looked like snow that had somehow melted and held its shape, its lobes soft, gelatinous, cascading like a frozen waterfall from the bark.

  Tiny droplets of moisture rested on its edges. Around it, the log pulsed with slow decay, lichen, other fungi, and scattered insect tunnels formed a miniature, breathing world.

  Mira raised her camera and took a slow breath before clicking. “It’s beautiful. I thought wild ones would be… darker, less clean.”

  Adrian shook his head. “Nature’s unpredictable. Sometimes it makes perfection where no one’s looking.”

  As he pulled out a sterile container from his pack, Mira glanced at him, curiosity peeking again.

  “Uhm... Can I ask something? I mean, you said you're in neuroscience, right? Cognitive studies? So how does that… connect to a jelly fungus?”

  He paused mid-motion, not looking at her.

  “In the early phase of my work,” he began, “I was mapping neuroprotective agents in natural compounds. I ran comparative trials, cultivated versus wild. One wild strain of Tremella showed neuro-regenerative behavior in post-injury neuron cultures.”

  Mira blinked. “Regenerative? Like… healing nerve damage?”

  He nodded. “It stimulated synaptic repair. Reduced oxidative stress markers. Nothing definitive yet, but promising.”

  She lowered her camera. “That sounds huge. Why haven’t I heard of it?”

  “Because it’s not peer-reviewed yet. And because the strain that produced those results…” He gestured at the log. “...came from here. This forest. And it’s vanishing.”

  “Vanishing?”

  “Deforestation. Climate shifts. Invasive species. These wild colonies are delicate. You lose the environment, you lose the chemistry. Forever.”

  He sealed the container carefully, locking it in with a coded label. Then added, almost as an afterthought, “The antioxidant and anti-inflammatory effects are more known. They’re not my field, but even those show cross-system benefits. Immune modulation. Skin repair. Maybe even endocrine regulation. ”

  Mira smirked faintly. “One fungus. Several missions.”

  “One task,” Adrian replied softly, standing up. “Several outcomes.”

  As they started walking again, Mira turned back once more at the pale fungus glistening in the log’s embrace, fragile, unassuming, but holding secrets that even science hadn't fully translated.

  The forest felt different now. Less like scenery. More like a vault of hidden knowledge.

  They hadn’t walked much farther when Mira suddenly darted ahead a few steps, eyes wide.

  “Wait, wait! Isn’t that… Maitake?!”

  She knelt quickly near the base of an old elm, pointing excitedly. “Oh! And this one, Oyster! Look at the gills! Isn’t it?”

  Hector turned from the trail, squinting, then chuckled, “Sharp eyes. Yep. All natural. Though I do help them grow a little, encourage ‘em inside, you know?”

  Mira's eyes sparkled. “Can I pick it? Just a small one? Maybe… for dinner? Mushroom soup?”

  Hector let out a full belly laugh, his voice echoing gently between the trees. “You’re a little forest mouse, huh? Sure, go ahead, but careful with the stem!”

  Adrian, who had been crouched nearby, meticulously sealing the wild Tremella into his collection box, paused when he heard her voice again.

  He looked up, caught the way her whole body tilted forward with curiosity, the sunlight bouncing off her camera strap, her gloved hands hovering carefully over the mushroom like a child protecting treasure.

  And his expression softened, as if she'd transformed his rigid field notes into something handwritten and kept in pockets.

  She cradled the maitake gently into her basket, then stood as Hector closed the distance between them, his expression alight with silent humor.

  “How’d you know that, huh? You a botany student or something?”

  Mira laughed, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. “Nope. Nothing to do with mushrooms. I’m… actually in International Relation. My mom’s the mycologist.”

  “Ah! So that’s where the eye comes from.”

  “Yeah,” she smiled. “I used to follow her into the woods almost every day as a kid. I carried the basket, but I learned to spot the good ones by heart.”

  Adrian watched from the side.

  She spun to face him, eyes alight. "See? You thought I was just here to take cute photos."

  He didn’t reply right away, but the smile stayed on his face as he finally spoke.

  “Well, I’m starting to think you’re more prepared than I am.”

  Mira winked. “That’s because I came for soup. You came for science.”

  And just like that, the dense forest didn’t feel so heavy. It was still damp, still wild, but now, it carried laughter, shared stories, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.

  As Mira's basket filled with the edible mushrooms, she turned toward the small collection of Tremella he's been carefully harvesting.

  "How much do you need to collect?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity as she wiped a bit of dirt from her hands.

  Adrian paused for a moment, standing back to observe the surrounding environment. His amber eyes scanned the forest, as if assessing the space for the best place to harvest. "Not much more," he replied, his tone measured. "But it wasn’t just about the quantity. It was about sustainability."

  "Sustainability?"

  He gave her a half-smile, placing another Tremella in his collection bag. "These mushrooms were more than just something to gather. They're the fruiting bodies, the reproductive structures of the fungus. They produce spores, which are necessary for the propagation of the species."

  He paused, as if ensuring she was following. "Leaving some of the mushrooms intact was essential. It allowed the spores to spread and germinate, helping the next generation grow. You don’t want to take everything."

  Mira nodded, taking in the information. "So, you only collected some of them?"

  "Exactly," Adrian confirmed, slowly moving to another part of the cluster. "I tried to collect about thirty to fifty percent of the fruiting bodies in any given area. That way, there was enough for the spores to be released and spread for the next season."

  He carefully placed the mushrooms into his bag. "The mycelium, the vegetative part of the fungus, lives inside the wood or substrate, and it can last for many years if it’s not disturbed."

  He glanced at her. "Harvesting only the mature mushrooms, and leaving the young ones to grow, ensured the mycelium remained intact. It was all about maintaining the balance of the ecosystem."

  As Mira watched Adrian, taking in the methodical way he handled each mushroom, she felt a new sense of admiration for him. It wasn’t just about how smart and cool he was, though those qualities were certainly part of the package.

  He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t push for quick results, and that was something Mira genuinely respected.

  It was rare to meet someone who moved at a different pace from the world around them, someone who allowed things to grow naturally. And Adrian did that, not just with his research, but with his entire way of being.

  "You don’t rush, do you?" Mira said, her voice soft as she spoke the thought aloud.

  Adrian gave her a thoughtful look before continuing to collect his mushrooms. “I think it was important to let things take their course. Nature didn’t rush, and neither should we.”

  “Ready to head back?” he asked, lifting his bag of Tremella mushrooms.

  Mira smiled, her eyes sweeping once more over the forest around them. “Yeah, let’s go.”

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