〈—Hello. Um… good job on the stream. This is Kawai Sakiho.〉

Hearing the voice through the mobile device, Tooru frowned in confusion.

The Kawai Sakiho that Tooru knew would never say “good job” so politely, and the tone of her voice was unusually formal, almost deferential.

It was hard to believe that the woman who looked completely unmotivated at the Sugai Dungeon branch reception was the same person speaking now.

“Uh… Kawai Sakiho-san? Are you really the Kawai Sakiho-san I know?”

He couldn’t help asking, and from the other end came a small, sharp intake of breath: “Ugh.”

After several deep breaths, the person on the call seemed to steel herself and said, “Yes.”

〈I am Kawai Sakiho, the one you saw at the Sugai Dungeon branch every day. I watched your stream. You’re on your way back from the dungeon now, right?〉

“Right…”

〈I’m really sorry for being so abrupt, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. I can come to you, so would it be possible to spare a bit of time? Um… I’ll adjust to whatever is convenient for you.〉

“Uh… is this the real deal? Not some fake Kawai-san?”

〈Guh… I understand why you’d think that. Yes. It’s really me. I’m sorry.〉

“No way.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. But it wasn’t entirely his fault—there was no overlap between the Kawai Sakiho he knew and the voice on the other end of the phone.

〈Y-yes… it’s really me. I’m sorry. There’s something I absolutely need to discuss, so if you could spare the time… Um, I know it’s extremely rude to say something like this, but… I really must ask you.〉

Her tone was far too earnest.

Tooru still couldn’t fully shake the suspicion that the person on the call was partly an impostor, but he remembered seeing her at the Sugai Dungeon entrance, sprawled out with Section Chief Sadoyama. Perhaps she just wanted to thank Tia for helping her out.

“Uh… if it’s just a thank-you or an apology, you don’t need to bother. I already got the idea that you feel really bad about the past stuff.”

〈No… um, there is thanks and apology, but it’s actually a different matter I want to discuss…〉

“Oh? Then, my place… err, I guess you don’t know it. This is a call from your personal terminal, right? I’ll send you my address. Come by sometime around when I’d be leaving the dungeon, and I’ll hear you out. Sorry, I can’t say exactly what time though.”

〈Thank you…! I’ll wait then! Um… I truly apologize for my many discourtesies. And please keep up your streams!〉

She must have bowed deeply; Tooru could clearly picture it.

The call ended there, but whether the person on the other end was really Kawai Sakiho, Tooru still couldn’t decide—he was about fifty-fifty on the matter.

“What’s wrong, Tooru? You look like you ate something weird.”

“Uh… it’s complicated, but someone I dislike turned into a weird person.”

“You sure have a lot of weird people around you,” Tia said with a wry smile.

Unfortunately for Tooru, he didn’t have a mirror on hand. And to make matters worse, the comment was hard to refute, which was a little irritating.

For now, he sent his address to the number that had called. He thought it would be hilarious if a fake showed up, and honestly, it probably would be.

“Well… whatever. Sorry, Kujou-san, for keeping you waiting on my account. Let’s get moving.”

“We shall. By the way, Toorubro-sama, how was the dungeon exploration with us?”

“Not ba-… uh… no, yeah. It was fun.”

It wasn’t a lie. Nor flattery.

Guided by Reiko, he had explored the dungeon—not as work, not because of a request, and even if he had refused, it wouldn’t have mattered—and it had been fun.

Every time he defeated a monster and felt that little spark of joy, every moment he focused so much on the fight that he nearly ignored the viewers only for them to point it out, every comment from various viewers despite it being his own stream, and even fighting bosses together with Reiko…

All of it was the first kind of fun he had ever truly felt.

His obsessive feelings toward the “dungeons” that had once stolen everything from Tooru hadn’t disappeared, but… even so, he didn’t feel the need to deny the act of enjoying the dungeons itself.

No matter how serious or pained someone’s expression, or even if they smiled cheerfully—defeating monsters suppressed the Dungeon Stampede. Whatever the feelings, the effect remained the same. He had never planned to comment on others’ reactions, but he hadn’t expected to enjoy it himself, which surprised him.

In the end, the work didn’t change.

So why not just think, Let’s Rock, Baby (Let’s enjoy to the fullest).

“Yes, indeed! Dungeons are meant to be fun!”

The “M’lady” placed her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

Back when he worked as a cleaner, slaying over a hundred monsters every day, it had never been fun. When accompanying Anthem, it had been nothing but a hassle.

This time it had been enjoyable—probably because she had been enjoying herself. Whether it would remain fun in the future, Tooru still didn’t know.

“By the way, Bro-san, regarding money, the reward from Anthem and the resale price of dragon scale were probably ridiculously low, so don’t use those as a baseline. That said, you probably shouldn’t have unrealistic dreams either.”

Jouichirou, the butler who no longer carried the camera, spoke up.

“Ah… so the dragon scale can’t really be sold?”

“Exactly. As M’lady said, there’s no proper system to evaluate and price materials of that level. You’d get about a million just to hand them over. Most likely, the Dungeon Agency will process them and provide high-tier explorers with crafted equipment. If you don’t receive any equipment, there’s probably some special reward prepared separately—but it won’t be much, so don’t expect too much.”

“Complicated, huh.”

“Dealing with ultra-rare materials is a hassle. Honestly, they probably just want people who can craft them individually to take them and make their own equipment. That pattern happens fairly often with high-tier explorers too.”

“I see…”

A dwarf sheet metal worker came to mind, though he couldn’t imagine there being a facility capable of processing rare drops from S-class monsters there—not considering whether he even had the skill.

“This time, if the rare drop had been a Kumanoi Potion, even selling it to the Dungeon Agency would’ve gotten you a hundred million, and at auction—as M’lady mentioned—you could have seen five or six hundred million. So, well, in terms of money, the dragon scale was just unlucky.”

“Hmm…”

“Drops like that tend to sell higher on the private market than through the Dungeon Agency, but private sales come with certain restrictions. So submitting them isn’t actually all bad—you can get special tax reductions just for handing in rare materials to the Agency. Though in your case, Bro-san, since it went through Anthem, I’m not sure how that’s handled.”

Since Tooru wasn’t yet a licensed explorer—still holding a provisional permit—the topic was interesting enough that he didn’t interrupt, just nodded and let Jouichirou continue.

“Also, even if it’s not ultra-rare, submitting materials to the Agency helps in your explorer rank evaluation and adds points to your overall assessment. Makes it easier to get things your way. On the flip side, explorers who cause trouble or never submit anything to the Agency get treated coldly.”

For example, when a dungeon with unexplored areas opens for exploration, those with low evaluation among the volunteers may be passed over.

According to Jouichirou, this was an open secret: beyond the official explorer rank, there’s a hidden evaluation system. Some popular streamers, especially ones that attract controversy, can even be restricted from exploring high-profile dungeons. And not every dungeon is popular; some still need cleaners, and Sugai Dungeon isn’t the only one.

“The average annual income from submitting magic cores as an A-rank explorer is around a hundred million. From B-rank and above, rare drops can push that number way higher. Then there are the riddle dungeons we were talking about during exploration—some have value that’s basically unlimited. Though some are practically trash.”

“Hmm…”

Compared to professional soccer or baseball players, it wasn’t that insanely high. But considering the possible upside, it made sense.

“Well, the thing is, leaving dungeon loot entirely to a free market is a nightmare—Scandinavia proved that. Intense inflation, wealth and power concentrated in explorers, quasi-anarchy. Citizens who couldn’t survive the inflation fled the country, infrastructure collapsed in no time. That’s why the state regulates explorers, dungeons, and the value of dungeon loot to some degree. Can’t really blame them.”

According to the butler, a Kumanoi Potion—which could cure almost any disease—could reasonably fetch sixty billion on the market. And if materials like that were left in a “pay whatever you want” state, the economy would collapse entirely.

“The economic pundits who keep spouting ‘the market decides the value of things’? They don’t take any responsibility. Even after dungeons started producing valuable items and the explorer profession was born, they still tried to force old economic theories on it—it’s all gone to hell.”

If morality can’t stop it, you have to stop it with regulations.

“The auctions for dungeon loot are run by the state, and there are pretty strict limits. You rarely see anyone complaining or trying to flee overseas anymore. Private trades are about the only thing allowed; try to open a market beyond that, and you’re arrested immediately.”

“So the world isn’t run by explorers alone.”

Even S-rank explorers used convenience stores and bought bottled tea.

Over the past twenty-five years, somehow, a precarious balance had been maintained—and probably still was, with desperate effort.

“There used to be idiots whining, saying things like, ‘We risk our lives, but it’s not worth it! Explorers are fleeing abroad! The government should increase its budget and give more back to explorers.’ That sort of talk has mostly died down now.”

“Hmm…”

Even if the pay wasn’t lavish, considering the income from magic cores and dungeon loot, it didn’t feel like such a terrible job. Though that might be because Tooru had personal feelings about the dungeon. Still, thinking he was the only one with such sentiments would be overly naive—there would always be some who’d do it even for meager pay.

Really, if you didn’t want to do it, you didn’t have to.

The reality was that being an explorer was a popular profession. You didn’t need to ask someone who absolutely didn’t want to do it—people were already working for pay that might seem ‘not worth it.’

At some point between the fusion of this world with another and the establishment of the explorer profession, a kind of tacit agreement was likely formed between society and explorers. It was vague, but it existed:

It’s fine to take some losses, as long as it keeps daily life running.

Those who didn’t like it either left the country long ago or were weeded out naturally.

Of course, the current system wasn’t perfect. Complaints and dissatisfaction existed to varying degrees. Some rules may seem outright ridiculous from the outside. These issues were still being adjusted, even now.

When you thought about it, humanity had never managed to create a perfect system. So it made sense. In the post-world-fusion era, systems like free-market economics were prone to collapse.

“Toorubro-sama, while things were different back during the Chain Stampede, these days being an explorer is not actually such a life-or-death job. I imagine, having worked as a cleaner, you can understand—explorers, like us withdrawing this time, always make sure to maintain a safety margin.”

“By the way, annual deaths among explorers are roughly on par with occupational fatalities nationwide. Considering population ratios, explorers are somewhat more at risk, but that’s about it.”

“Well, you do hear about people getting crushed by presses or whatever in the news every now and then.”

“Basically, unless something irregular or accidental happens, only a true idiot would dive into layers beyond their skill and die. Of course, injuries or deaths among explorers aren’t recognized as work accidents, so it’s best to have explorer insurance. Some policies are mandatory, like automobile liability when you get your license, but usually the cost is deducted directly from your magic core submission rewards.”

And those irregularities and accidents… of all things, they happened right around Tooru. What could one call it? Not ‘fortunate,’ not a tragedy to gloat over… just a terrible coincidence, perhaps.

“Well, as long as I’m around, I won’t let you die. I can even cast healing magic. Two or three arms? No problem at all.”

“I’ve only got two arms, you know.”

He couldn’t help but retort, but he sighed—this probably wasn’t meant as a joke. For Tia, an injury of that level was nothing.

He didn’t want to imagine what kind of battles, against what opponents, the hero who once wielded a holy sword had survived.

You just go ahead and eat your parfait, grinning all carefree, he thought.

He didn’t bother saying it aloud.

◇◇◇

“At any rate, Toorubro-sama, what are your plans going forward?”

By the time they had returned to the second floor of Sugai Dungeon, Reiko asked. At this point, only lower D-rank monsters appeared, and even if they launched a surprise attack, they wouldn’t do the slightest damage—truly trivial foes.

Just a few days ago, getting hit by a furball would have hurt to some degree, but now Tooru was certain it would be completely painless.

It was all thanks to mana defense.

The demon-type boss had been the same: unless one could break through this mana defense, no meaningful damage could be inflicted.

“Uh… let’s see. For now, I’ll probably keep doing exploration streams. But like you said, I feel it’s better if I just do things my way.”

“Your way, you say?”

“Honestly, I’m not that motivated by money… well, not to the point of complete detachment, but if possible, I’d rather clean dungeons with unexplored areas or unpopular ones… something along those lines.”

He tried to extract these scattered fragments of thought from his mind, but they wouldn’t quite form into words. It sounded almost like he wanted to be a public servant, but that wasn’t it. Simply put—more simply—he wanted self-satisfaction.

By chance or design, tragedy or comedy, he had gained power.

And the one beside him had more than enough of it.

If that’s the case, he should at least use that power in a way that felt good.

Somehow… he had the feeling that wouldn’t be entirely possible.

“Tooru, you want to be useful to people, right?”

Tia smiled innocently as she asked something so simple, and he couldn’t entirely deny it.

“Most jobs exist because they benefit someone. And there aren’t many people who truly don’t want to help anyone.”

“Well… perhaps some investors do not help anyone at all,” Reiko said with a refined ohohoho.

The butler beside her seemed to find it amusing as well, chuckling quietly.

“…Yeah, well, I’m not knowledgeable enough to get that joke.”

“Oh, come now. The point is that primary industries matter, Bro-san.”

“I don’t get what rich people say.”

“O-ho-ho-ho! Toorubro-sama, even if we do not see eye to eye there, did we not share blows together? That alone is enough to deepen our bond!”

“Oh, that’s ‘fought alongside,’ right? If you say ‘shared blows,’ it sounds like you beat each other up. M’lady has a habit of choosing words a bit… foolishly.”

“…Ah… I see.”

He couldn’t exactly say, I already know. Reiko, directly called foolish by her butler, just laughed cheerfully and soon started chatting with Tia about mundane things, so he let it go.

Jouichirou had said he wasn’t foolish, but Tooru’s own self-assessment was simple: he was a fool. As some elf had once said, a worldly, petty, foolish person.

…Before he knew it, they were at the entrance of Sugai Dungeon. From the fourth floor down to the first, it was his familiar workplace—he could probably navigate it with his eyes closed.

Outside, he noticed it was raining. He hadn’t checked the weather; the morning had been full of events, and he had a feeling tomorrow wouldn’t be much different.

The days of cleaning Sugai Dungeon every single day were over. Not that it was particularly disappointing.

“Bro-san, Tia-san, here are some umbrellas.”

The butler handed them simple plastic umbrellas as if it were routine, and Tooru and Tia gratefully accepted. The butler himself held a plastic umbrella while exiting, and Reiko had a proper, expensive-looking one—but it didn’t feel unpleasant at all.

In fact, the strange, sloppy butler being completely devoted to Reiko was a weird but oddly heartwarming sight.

They stepped outside.

The scene was bizarre.

First—a cluster of spiky, stone-like protrusions rose from the ground, connected in chains, forming what looked like buds in midair. Each spike was as thick as a birch tree. Between them were narrow gaps, as if someone had been trapped inside. Not so much buds as a cage of stone.

A little further off, Kagurazaka Chizuru stood wearing a thin cloak. Even in the rain, she had a sword at her waist. Tooru casually thought how much of a hassle the maintenance afterward would be.

Beyond her—an unfamiliar pair.

A burly man in a leather jacket and a hunting cap, and a long-haired, ghostly-looking woman.

“—Oh look, a demonkin,” said Tia, the real ghost, looking up into the sky.

She grabbed the hilt of her holy sword—still being in armor and all—and with the same energy she had in the dungeon, said:

“They tend to run away fast, so I’ll just beat it up a little first.”

She handed Tooru the umbrella she’d been given without opening it and dashed off—literally toward the stone cage suspended in the air.

…Looks like today’s going to be another intense one, Tooru thought.