“I’m Hamamatsu Nanami, manager of the clan Anthem. Thank you all for gathering. First, regarding this meeting, I consider it a matter of very high public interest, so there is a possibility it will be made public. Is there anyone who does not agree?”

A woman in a pantsuit stood, bowed slightly—not to anyone in particular—and spoke.

The person who reacted to this was an imposing elderly man.

“What do you mean by ‘made public’? After making us come here despite our busy schedules, you intend to disclose the contents of this meeting? Public interest, you say? This is nothing but a measure to shift the blame for your failures onto others.”

“Councilor Yonejima… is that correct? Are you saying you do not consent?”

“I fail to understand what right you have to announce that the contents of a meeting will be made public. What must be made known to the people are the results, not the process. What meaning is there in disclosing information about what kind of meeting we held?”

“Since the World Fusion of 1999, national defense has become one of the top priorities of the state, which has increased the significance of such matters. Measures against dungeons. The “Chain Stampedes” in the early 2000s revealed this as a tangible threat to the public. Whether the current Dungeon Mutation is a phenomenon unique to the Kamioka Dungeon, or a threat that could chain like before, we are discussing that. We judged that sharing the process of our discussions with the public would be above all beneficial to them. Is there something wrong with that?”

“I cannot comprehend how that could be beneficial.”

“Then let me put it plainly. The matter of the Kamioka Dungeon is already widely known to the public. Anthem’s dungeon explorations were streamed. Naturally, the possibility of a Dungeon Mutation is also known to the people. They have the right to know how we are responding. By holding this kind of meeting, we can show that we are working to protect the lives and property of the citizens. Moreover, by witnessing our actions firsthand, the public can be reassured that we are not mere tax thieves.”

“I still do not understand at all.”

Councilor Yonejima spoke as if Hamamatsu’s words were nothing more than background noise. To Tooru, the sheer audacity of the man’s face was a small shock, though he also thought, well, I suppose that’s what people like this are like.

People with airs of superiority were probably always like this.

Finding that out firsthand was not particularly pleasant, but it was to be expected.

“Understood. Then Councilor Yonejima, please leave the room. As we informed everyone beforehand, the condition for this ‘discussion’ is that the contents of this meeting will be widely shared with the public.”

“Is there a reason I, of all people, have to listen to some young girl like you?”

“There is. Anything else?”

Hamamatsu faced the threatening elder without a hint of fear.

In fact, Tooru realized he hadn’t even been told beforehand that the meeting would be made public—but how that had come about, he had no idea.

He did not raise his hand to interrupt; he just stayed quiet for the time being.

In the end, Councilor Yonejima grunted in frustration, banged the table as if to express his displeasure, but he did not show any sign of actually leaving.

“Glad to hear you agree. Then—”

The conversation flowed on as if the elder’s tantrum didn’t exist.

For the time being, most of the meeting consisted of confirmations.

Who decided to call in Anthem? Who actually contacted them? Why did they think to call Anthem? And why the Kamioka Dungeon? On and on, one question after another.

Tooru started feeling sleepy partway through, but Tia, sitting next to him, was listening to the meeting with a completely serious expression, so he reluctantly kept his ears open.

He yawned a few times, but well, that was inevitable.

The councilors and mayors were on official duty, and Anthem’s members were likely backed by the government—but Hayasaka Tooru had come only because he had been summoned.

The discussion moved to the matter of the Kamioka Dungeon’s Mutation including whether there had been any signs of it and whether the prefecture’s Dungeon Division had been negligent in investigating surrounding dungeons. Tooru thought it was utterly ridiculous.

Of course there had been shortcomings.

Humanity didn’t really understand dungeons to begin with. A thorough investigation was impossible, and what even counted as “thorough” was anyone’s guess.

“Certainly, we invited ‘Anthem,’ but it was your side that decided to conduct the exploration. We prepared all the materials we could and provided them, and there was no way for us to know that the dungeon would mutate.” 

“I see. But is that really so?”

Hamamatsu Nanami spoke and then pulled out a mobile terminal, operating it with deft fingers.

Immediately, the meeting room’s projector cast an image onto the plain white wall. It wasn’t a video, exactly, but some kind of document. It was titled ‘Temporary Report from the S City Dungeon Division, ×× Prefecture’, signed by Sadoyama Kouji.

“This document was submitted by the S City Dungeon Division Chief to the mayor and the prefectural governor. The governor is not present here, but we obtained a copy from prefectural employees via the deputy governor. According to this report, multiple strange incidents have been reported by explorers.”

Specifically—ear ringing had been heard in the upper layers of the dungeon.

All three dungeons within the city had produced similar reports, and when the investigation expanded to other dungeons in the prefecture, the reports were limited to dungeons around S City.

“Why is a report like this being sent up to the prefectural office?!”

The one who stood up, visibly angry, was probably the mayor. Tooru didn’t know the current mayor’s face, and he didn’t recognize any of the city council members. He didn’t even know how many councilors there were—he only saw election posters occasionally.

To put it bluntly, he wasn’t a particularly conscientious citizen.

Even though he had the right to vote, he hardly exercised it.

“Well, the city hall wouldn’t accept it when we submitted it. Considering the urgency, we brought it to the prefectural office,” Sadoyama, the author of the report, answered with a grin. He hadn’t been given a seat, so he stood near the entrance the entire time.

“What urgency? We can’t possibly take every nonsense report from explorers seriously!”

Another elderly man shouted this time. Tooru was starting to lose interest in who was who. If being a competent adult meant being able to endure a meeting like this, he thought, he was definitely not cut out for it.

“Calling it nonsense is utterly unacceptable. Thanks to the ‘magic cores’ the explorers bring back, the world’s energy problems have been partially solved. Rare items they return have advanced magical studies, leading to the invention of various magical devices. Ishikawa-san… no, at this point, I’ll ask everyone here: what have you brought to this world?”

Sadoyama’s grin remained, but the temperature in his voice had turned cold.

Tooru could clearly see that the shouting elders were intimidated. The man who had been acting the most superior was sweating so much his face glistened.

If Sadoyama had maintained that pressure for twenty more seconds, it wouldn’t have been surprising if one of the elders had a heart attack—Tooru thought—but then, pooh, the tension suddenly eased. The pressure he had been radiating receded.

Strangely, Tooru, stifling a yawn out of place, tilted his head.

He had felt Sadoyama’s pressure, yet he wasn’t scared at all. He remembered being afraid of Sadoyama before, even when Sadoyama wasn’t actively exerting it.

“Well, pursuing that sort of thing isn’t my job—it’s up to the citizens and the public. That said, let’s continue. That report… the one about hearing ringing in the dungeon? He also submitted it to the branch office. The clerks just buried it, of course,” Sadoyama’s words drew the attention of everyone in the room to Tooru.

But being the center of attention didn’t mean Tooru could suddenly start speaking fluently. He was ready to answer if asked something, but honestly, he had no idea why he’d been summoned to a place like this.

“Um… Hayasaka-san, was it? May I ask you to explain the situation?”

Hamamatsu Nanami said it with an air of resignation.

“Ah… the situation, you mean… from where to where?”

“You, together with the woman beside you, were confirmed to have appeared from beneath the boss room on the fourteenth floor of the Kamioka Dungeon’s middle layers, where the mutation occurred. However, there’s no record of you entering the Kamioka Dungeon itself, and the day before the incident, records show you entered the Sugai Dungeon—but there’s no record of you leaving it. Please explain the sequence of events.”

“Th—th—then what is that katana you were carrying? And the woman beside you, too. What were you doing in the lower layers of a mutated dungeon with someone capable of taking down that dragon so easily? Surely you weren’t… up to something untoward, were you?!”

One of the elderly men raised his voice after Hamamatsu Nanami, following her lead, but Tooru still felt no fear.

He thought that if it had been the past, being yelled at by a clearly authoritative old man would have made him feel guilty or apologetic—but now—

“Untoward, you say? What exactly do you mean? You’ve got some vague suspicion about me, huh? What do you think I was doing, and where?”

He could speak this bluntly, without hesitation.

Well, perhaps he’d always had a rough way of speaking.

“W-what are you?! Isn’t this disrespectful?! Why won’t you answer?! I’m asking if you and the woman beside you were plotting something nefarious!”

“Uh… so, what is this nefarious thing you’re talking about? Plotting something… what exactly do you think I was plotting? That’s way too vague for me to answer.”

“A nefarious act is a nefarious act! A plot is a plot!”

“I didn’t do anything bad. I wasn’t plotting anything.”

“Do you have proof?! Proof that you didn’t commit a nefarious act! Proof that you weren’t plotting!”

It was complete chaos.

Tooru instinctively pressed his thumb to his temple, doubting his own sanity. He hadn’t expected to be accused like this by a man clearly over sixty.

“Show me the proof! You can’t show it because you’re committing a nefarious act, right?!”

“Agh, shut it already. Your voice is way too loud. I’m not a hundred meters away—can you just speak at a normal volume?”

Almost reflexively, a line like that—a thug-like remark—slipped out of Tooru’s mouth.

Well—come to think of it, maybe the world would actually call a man like him—a high school dropout scraping by as a ‘Cleaner’ in dungeons—a thug.

“W-w-wha…!”

“Besides, isn’t it the accuser’s job to provide proof? What’s this about ‘proof I didn’t commit a crime’? Is this some kind of false molestation case? I came ready to answer questions, but if I have to listen to this all day, can I just leave?”

He asked Sadoyama, who was standing near the door, showing no effort to hide his irritation.

He expected to get scolded. If that happened, he planned to snap and walk out, just like a real thug—but Sadoyama neither scolded him nor lost his composure. Instead, he lowered his eyebrows in mock distress and, as if calming a spooked horse, gestured with his palm toward Tooru.

“Uh, uh… that’s a bit… troublesome. That old man seems a little… senile… ha ha ha…”

Sadoyama laughed insincerely and reached up to scratch his head.

In the middle of that motion, Tooru saw something fly from Sadoyama’s hand.

The next instant, the head of the shouting elder jerked violently, and with a thunk, it hit the desk as he collapsed. He looked like he was in serious pain, but there was no sign of him waking up.

“Oops. Maybe his blood pressure spiked from excitement? Better have a doctor check him, just in case. I’ll take him to the infirmary for now, Nanami-chan—you continue the meeting. That’s settled.”

Speaking deliberately as he lifted the unconscious elder like luggage, Sadoyama swiftly exited.

All the remaining elders were completely stunned. Hamamatsu Nanami, who had been running the meeting, wore a face of sheer exasperation. Saitou Megumi and Kagurazaka Chizuru of Anthem stared at the elders with deadpan expressions.

Tia, however… had a blank expression, her gaze directed further behind Hamamatsu Nanami.

There was the projector, with the white wall showing the display—but Tia didn’t seem to be looking at the projected image.

What could she possibly be watching?

Tooru found it strange, but Hamamatsu Nanami’s exaggerated ahem brought him back to attention.

“There was a slight… accident, but let’s continue. Hayasaka-san… Hayasaka Tooru-san. Could you describe what happened from your perspective?”