Live Dungeon!

Rain had begun to fall over Dungeon City not long after Daryl and his party engaged the Fenrir in battle. At first, it was little more than a drizzle, but within two hours it had become a steady downpour, clearing the streets of passersby. Even the crowd that had gathered to watch the battle at the Monitors began to scatter, each person seeking shelter wherever they could find it. Only those seated in the reserved section remained, protected by hired White Mages who deployed [ above their heads to ward off the rain.

Tsutomu, under his own triangular [, sat alone on a bench, his gaze fixed intently on the Monitor as he watched the unfolding battle. As there was no roof overhead, he was mostly exposed to the elements. His shoulders trembled… but not from the cold.

"Man, that was insane," he murmured as a slick grin crept across his face.

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words slipped free all the same. Every development in the battle, each twist and each stumble, had played out exactly as he had imagined. It was deeply, wickedly satisfying.

At first, of course, he had restrained himself. When Diniel had halted her attack at the sound of the cub’s cry, and Hannah had responded by striking the Fenrir in a fury, he had cheered inwardly but had kept a straight face, conscious of all the eyes around him. But the party’s progress had been a relentless march across metaphorical landmines, each step a spectacular detonation of drama and chaos, and it had become increasingly difficult to keep his glee in check.

Once the rain had driven the crowds away and he was left alone, he no longer had to hold back. He laughed like he owned the place, doubling over on the bench, clutching his sides. Had Garm or Amy seen him then, even they might have looked at him with disgust.

Back when he had played Live Dungeon, Tsutomu had spent time trying to find a way to save the Fenrir. He had become deeply immersed in that world, and he had felt a flicker of sorrow for the creature’s fate. But that faint emotion had been something he had buried; it was too embarrassing to admit. No one else in the player community spoke of it either. Anyone who did was laughed at for feeling sad over a game. If anything, it was more fashionable to complain about the developers. ‘Whoever wrote this scenario is trash,’ they would curse.

But this world, a real world, was different. The people here were sincere and unfiltered. When something happened in God’s Dungeon, they reacted honestly, viscerally, without irony or shame. If anything, Tsutomu loved this part of being here; he hadn’t developed Live Dungeon, but at times like this, he felt like a shadow developer watching his simulation come to life.

So when Hannah, normally cheerful, sometimes foolish, fell into visible emotional distress upon witnessing the awakening of the cub who had just lost her parent, Tsutomu had leaned forward in his seat with interest. And when she began to unravel in the face of the absurd cruelty of the ninety-second layer, he’d burst into laughter again. In that party, no one was quite as honest, and thus as entertaining, as Hannah.