“Damn it… damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it… why the hell am I being put through this…”

Muttering filthy curses under his breath, Sasamori Takeshi stomped down on the accelerator.

The hybrid magi-vehicle owned by Sasamori—by virtue of his position as a prefectural assemblyman of XX Prefecture—responded far more sharply than his bloated sense of self ever did.

He tore down the prefectural road at eighty kilometers per hour through the night, eventually arriving at his office, located slightly away from the city center. It was a fairly typical mixed-use building: a barbershop on the first floor, a judicial scrivener’s office and a legal consultation office on the second, and the entire third floor occupied by Sasamori’s office.

Not that Sasamori had ever done any actual desk work in this building.

His secretary handled his schedule, clerks handled the paperwork, and Sasamori’s job amounted to attending the roughly eighty assembly sessions per year to read aloud papers prepared for him, and showing up at supporters’ meetings or local gatherings to nod confidently and say, “Leave it to me,” with a smile.

People had roles they were expected to play, and in that sense, Sasamori Takeshi had always been faithful to his.

He had an outstanding older brother, and from early on his parents’ expectations had been directed entirely toward that brother. It had been decided that his brother would inherit their father’s hospital, so Sasamori Takeshi’s role had been simply to act in ways that pleased those around him. His brother was competent; therefore, as the younger brother, all he needed to do was maneuver cleverly.

To avoid losing out, one had to create people beneath oneself.

That was something he had learned even before entering elementary school, at a gathering of relatives. His parents had acted that way, and so Sasamori himself had tried putting on airs and treating children his own age as inferiors. Once a hierarchy was established, it was not easily overturned—and once the numbers increased, Sasamori Takeshi’s little fortress only grew more secure.

Why was he in a higher position?

The answer was obvious. He was higher because he was higher. Ability, competence, excellence—none of that mattered. That was how it felt to him. And though he himself was scarcely aware of it, that was precisely Sasamori Takeshi’s talent.

The ability to act arrogantly without shame.

A thick skin utterly devoid of self-reflection.

Those traits alone constituted Sasamori Takeshi’s talent as a politician. He did not believe in his own abilities in the slightest, held no political convictions, never opposed the opinions of his supporters, had a keen nose for identifying those more capable and higher-ranking than himself, felt no hesitation about ingratiating himself with such people, and possessed the knack for being carried on a palanquin by those he deemed beneath him.

He had no desires and no aversions. In truth, Sasamori himself did nothing at all—he merely had others do things for him. In terms of reflecting a certain kind of public sentiment, Sasamori Takeshi was, strictly speaking, not the worst kind of politician.

He was neither clean nor capable, of course.

“Damn it… damn it, damn it to hell… what do you mean a stream, you damn brats…”

Still spewing curses, he took a bottle of bourbon whiskey from the shelf in his office, poured it into a rocks glass, added no ice, and gulped it straight down. The sharp heat surged through his body and dropped into his stomach.

“My brother… my old man too… what the hell is their problem… that was just the truth. What everyone thinks… damn it! What the hell is a dungeon anyway, this is ridiculous… public welfare, my ass—over some kids’ game… don’t make me laugh…!”

His conduct at that meeting with Anthem had been broadcast to the entire world, just as their manager had declared.

He had not thought it was being streamed live, but he had agreed to the meeting being broadcast at all, which meant he could not blame Anthem. Strictly speaking, it had been closer to an ambush, so it was not as if he had no grounds to complain—but considering the current state of public opinion, there was no point in doing so.

The backlash had been severe.

To Sasamori, it made no sense whatsoever, but the “true feelings” he had voiced at the meeting had apparently struck a nerve with the public. From his perspective, those had simply been thoughts that everyone shared—but apparently, that was not the case.

People running around in incomprehensible dungeons with swords and blades—if they were generating money, then fine. Let them play as much as they wanted and drop cash while they were at it.

That was what he had thought.

And he had believed that almost everyone thought the same way.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! My old man, my brother… every last one of them!”

Immediately after that fateful meeting, Sasamori Takeshi had been summoned back to his family home. When he arrived, his father and older brother had berated him with faces like raging demons. That had continued through the night, and he had only just been released.

Being “scolded” at this age cut deeply into Sasamori’s pride. To be called out for careless remarks and an arrogant attitude, to be disappointed in and reprimanded—he found it utterly unreasonable.

After all, he had always conducted himself this way. If there had been faults, why had no one corrected him sooner?

Now, at this point, apologize humbly for his words or attitude? Impossible. Doing so would make him “below.” And if he sank below, he would have to push countless people down again just to rise. At over sixty years old, he lacked the energy for that.

The bourbon whiskey burning down his throat was a twelve-year-old gift from a supporter. Not extravagant, but certainly a step above what ordinary people might drink regularly. Gifts like this were abundant enough to sell if he wished.

Retire…?

He briefly entertained the thought, but it felt unreal. He had always lived as someone else’s palanquin, playing the role of the haughty, self-important man. Even if he stopped now at his age… what would be left for him?

“Ugggh…”

The glass emptied in an instant. He considered sleeping in the office for the night, and then—he was at a loss as to what to do once today ended.

There was still some time before he would reach the age for a pension. His savings would last until then, but Sasamori had almost no experience managing his own money. He had lived having others handle it for him, and it had never been a problem.

Would his secretaries and clerks continue working for a fallen Sasamori?

He considered it, and the conclusion was obvious. Of course not. They had worked for him because he had been “above”—because it benefited them. There was no reason they would obey a Sasamori Takeshi in decline.

If only—if only there were some miraculous way to recover, to erase it all…

Spinning his mind through impossible “last-ditch” solutions, he poured bourbon into his glass again, emptied it, and poured once more.

Then—a knock.

Knock, knock, knock. A soft, steady knocking at the office door. Sasamori stiffened reflexively, expecting a journalist driven by some foolish sense of justice, but the knock was too measured, too quiet.

Those who fancied themselves righteous always barged in with bluster, shamelessly crossing into others’ domains. Even when a medical error occurred at his general hospital, a handful of overzealous media types had stormed in, nostrils flaring.

But this knock—this was different.

Sasamori stayed silent, staring at the door. Almost immediately after the knock stopped, he heard the doorknob turn. He had forgotten to lock it.

The man who appeared wore a suit and a bowler hat, and he was… odd.

Tall and lanky, his legs made up nearly half his height. He leaned slightly on a cane, with a subtly hunched posture. The dark-gray suit was clearly haute couture—the sleeves and hem perfectly tailored—but he gave off none of the aura of wealth.

“I’ve been looking for you, Sasamori Takeshi.”

A clear baritone voice.

Though he seemed to smile faintly, the man’s face betrayed no expression. His features were neat, but somehow unmemorable.

A rather pallid-looking fellow, Sasamori thought.

“W‑who the hell are you? What do you want with me?”

“I’m not important enough to warrant introducing myself. That said, it would be hard to proceed without doing so, so I’ll reveal my affiliation. I’m with the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office.”

“Cabinet…?”

“Oh? You’ve never heard of it? Put simply, it’s Japan’s CIA. I handle matters related to dungeons. Given the nature of the organization, I can’t exactly hand you a business card.”

“The Cabinet… you mean the Cabinet Secretariat…?”

To Sasamori, who was neither a member of the Diet nor anything more than a recipient of support from a national political party, it sounded like a world far above his own. Even with someone straight out of a work of fiction standing right in front of him, it all felt unreal.

Almost automatically, he poured more bourbon, took it into his mouth, and swallowed.

The heat of the alcohol gave Sasamori a sense of reality. This was not a dream or a hallucination—the sickly pale man really had come to his office and was standing before him.

“Regarding the actions taken by Anthem this time—and your own involvement, along with certain prefectural assembly members of XX Prefecture and the mayor and city council of S City—it was judged to be extremely problematic. Do you understand why?”

“Th‑the fact that it’s… blowing up… is what’s problematic, right…?”

“Well, that’s part of it, but that level of understanding is insufficient. Or perhaps it’s precisely because your understanding only goes that far that you could spew out remarks like those.”

“What do you mean by that?!”

Bang—he slammed his hand on the desk before he could stop himself, then immediately regretted it when he remembered the position of the man standing by the office entrance. The man was clearly younger and spoke politely, which had made Sasamori careless, but considering his standing, he could probably dispose of Sasamori Takeo however he pleased.

“Well, you see. I can understand why Anthem—or rather, the Dungeon Agency behind them—would be angry. But allowing a clash of egos to endanger national security is something we cannot permit. The public hasn’t noticed yet, after all. It would be troublesome if they did. This time, we’re cleaning up after you.”

The man with the cane let out a weary sigh, yet neither his tone nor his demeanor conveyed any emotion. Though his words sounded exasperated, there was no sense of actual irritation.

It felt like someone who took an interest in how a lab rat changed, but had no interest or affection for the rat itself.

“In many countries overseas—especially those once called developing nations—it’s now natural for explorers who gained power in dungeons to take part in running the state. And of course it is. When people exist whom guns and rocket launchers don’t work on, what do you think happens if they start running wild? Ordinary people have no choice but to cling to monsters of the same kind. The only reason that didn’t happen in Japan is because we were truly at peace. Peace is something born of reason and complacency. Change is a hassle, isn’t it?”

Tap—the man struck the floor with his cane and began walking.

The office wasn’t very large, so it didn’t take long for him to reach the sofa opposite Sasamori and sit down.

“The so‑called monsters called explorers… we need them to do their jobs pleasantly, or else it becomes a problem. This time, you’ve managed to offend them and their supporters beyond what we can overlook. Now, tell me, what do you think should be done? How should this be handled?”

“…S‑so… I’m supposed to… apologize…?”

“Hahaha. Oh my, how witty of you, Assemblyman. Even if you bow your head a hundred times, any child could tell it’s not sincere. You’re not in a situation where that would help. You’ve probably turned off your devices out of fear, haven’t you? No messages from your family, no calls from your secretary, no contact from your staff—you want to hear nothing, correct?”

“…Then what exactly do you expect me to do…?”

“It’s troublesome if you and the other assembly members or mayors become irrelevant. What need is there for them? They just take money, line their pockets, do nothing worthwhile, and earn more than the average office worker…explorers could do better anyway—we don’t want Japan to start thinking like this.”

With that, the man slipped his hand inside his suit and placed something on the table next to the empty glass of bourbon.

A small, black stone. Smaller than his thumb. It could be fully hidden in his palm.

“Let’s make a mess first. After it’s completely scrambled, you’ll see just how necessary all this is: municipal power, mayoral decisions, support from assembly members, cooperation from backing groups… even the Self‑Defense Forces, if needed. All of it is necessary. Explorers are necessary too. Both are required—and so, we’ll demonstrate their necessity. Assemblyman Sasamori.”

“W‑what…?”

“The dungeons in S City are connected. I don’t know if you realize it, but currently, Anthem is exploring the mutated Kamioka Dungeon. They refused the city’s cooperation and secured authorization and support directly from the Dungeon Agency.”

The man smiled lightly, but it was a smile that never reached his eyes. There was no expression on his face at all.

“This stone is one that can erase a dungeon. Few would willingly destroy a dungeon with resource value, but as far as the Japanese government knows, there are at least thirty‑one such stones in the world. Using it is simple: toss it at the dungeon’s entrance from the outside. Several dungeons have already been confirmed as destroyed this way.”

“Destroy… a dungeon? If it disappears… what happens… to those girls…?”

“They’re just ejected from the dungeon when it vanishes. There’s a short delay from the stone being thrown to the dungeon’s collapse, so I’d suggest they make a swift exit.”

“B‑but… if the Kamioka Dungeon is destroyed… what mess will it make? What does the municipality have to do with it?”

“I told you—the dungeons in S City are connected. Sugai Dungeon, Kamioka Dungeon, and Noumi Dungeon in the city center. If the Kamioka Dungeon at the center disappears, everything that was in it will naturally flow into the other two. This has happened before, so it’s almost guaranteed.”

“Flow… into them?”

Sasamori repeated the word foolishly. The man nodded calmly, as if to say, “Exactly.”

“The mutated Kamioka Dungeon should be roughly equivalent to an A‑ or S‑rank dungeon. If what’s contained within that dungeon flows into the D‑rank Sugai Dungeon and the C‑rank Noumi Dungeon… the internal pressure will be extreme. It probably won’t hold. And if it doesn’t… what do you think will happen?”

“…To the outside…?”

The inevitable end that a neglected dungeon would face. And the same would happen… inside S City?

“Make a mess. If a ‘dungeon stampede’ occurs, the municipality and politicians inevitably have to intervene. Then you can give instructions, just as before. You don’t actually need to make any real decisions yourself, right? That’s always how it’s been: act as if you’re making the call, tell others what to do, and everything looks proper. The public will understand thinking—Ah, so people like this are needed.”

The man tilted the corner of his mouth, speaking in a tone that suggested a smile. Yet, somehow, he did not look like he was smiling at all.