Chương 6: Flaw

Lloyd could barely hold back the urge to hit the exit button.

"Clear a dungeon without being a Player? What nonsense is she talking about." Outside, another tram rolled past — the familiar iron rumble, low and drawn out, rolling along the street before slowly dissolving into the evening air. The room answered with a barely perceptible tremor — a glass rattled on the desk, a mug shifted on the windowsill.

Outside, the last of the sunset was dying — not vivid, not grand, just tired and washed out, the kind that comes at the end of a long day when the sky is no longer red, simply dark grey with what little light remains somewhere near the horizon. That light barely reached the room — only a thin strip of it lay across the floor by the window, and with every passing minute it grew narrower. Then silence again. Lloyd paid it almost no attention. His finger hovered over the screen, nearly ready to swipe the video away.

The woman in glasses suddenly thrust both hands forward, as though she had heard his irritation straight through the screen. — I know what you're thinking: "Clear a dungeon without being a Player? This pretty woman has clearly lost her mind." She adjusted her glasses. — But the method really does exist. She pointed a finger at her horns — calmly, without any dramatic gesture, the way someone might point to a detail of their outfit. — After all, that's exactly how I reached my goal and became a Player.

Lloyd hesitated for a moment. His finger never swiped the video away. He shifted the phone to a more comfortable position and kept listening. The blanket beneath him had creased slightly — he hadn't even noticed himself drawing his knees closer, quietly settling into a more attentive posture. — If you find a green-category dungeon, it may turn out to be simple enough that even an ordinary person can clear it. She spread her hands apart — a calm, open gesture. — I won't pretend it'll be easy.

But even so — it's the only reliable option. Lloyd stared at the ceiling for a moment, then back at the screen. The ceiling was grey and blank in the darkness — nothing worth looking at, and yet his gaze lingered there for a second, as though searching for something.

"I think an eel tank suits me better." The woman took a small sip of water from a glass sitting just beyond the edge of the frame and set it back down with a quiet clink. — Of course, no one will let you into a dungeon — even a green-category one — until you become a Player. Officially, at least. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. — But rifts to them open and close all over the world.

The government can't track every dungeon, especially green-category ones. You may not have known — but green-category dungeons open and close literally by the thousands every single day. And more than ninety percent of them have never been cleared. Lloyd went still without meaning to. The hand holding the phone drifted down onto his chest. The room around him seemed to go quieter — even the familiar background noise of the city outside seemed to pull back, growing distant and unreal.

The strip of fading light on the floor had vanished entirely by then. The room had sunk into that particular evening darkness — too dark to see without a lamp, but not late enough to bother turning one on — and a person simply lies in that in-between, between day and night, between decision and inaction. Thousands every day. He tried to picture the scale of it and couldn't. The number was too large to fit inside his head all at once.

"Assuming she's telling the truth." Somewhere outside, a front door slammed. Muffled voices drifted up — two people, maybe three — then faded. Lloyd didn't turn his head. The woman on screen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted slightly in her chair, leaning back against the rest. — Where exactly to look for detailed information, which sites, which resources — that I won't say. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes — lightly, almost theatrically. — It's illegal.

And I've already told you far too much as it is. A pause. There was something almost cosy about that pause — as though she were giving the viewer a moment to absorb what had been said. Then a smile — genuine, without pretence. — Well, I hope my video was useful to you, and that you take something from it. She rose from the desk — a light, practiced movement — and spread her arms wide, giving the camera a bright, almost radiant smile.

The studio light fell on her evenly and softly, picking out the white shirt, the red blazer, the neat horns above her hair. Everything was precise. Everything was exactly where it belonged. — This was Mimi-chan! I hope some of my viewers will join the ranks of the Players — just like I did! Until next time! The video was almost over. Lloyd had already reached to scroll away — and stopped. In the final second, the corner of her mouth lifted again — differently from before.

Not the wide smile for the camera, not polished professional warmth. Something quieter. Something directed not at the audience as a whole, but as though at each viewer separately. — And be careful with the Flaw. The screen went dark. A recommendations page appeared — bright thumbnails, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar stories, a gaudy tangle of other people's lives. Lloyd wasn't looking at them.

He lay without moving, the phone cooling slowly in his hand, his gaze aimed somewhere at the grey ceiling — at the place where there was nothing but darkness and silence. The city outside kept its usual rhythm — indifferent and steady, trams following one another at even intervals, voices in the courtyard rising and falling, and in all of it there was no unease, no premonition — just an ordinary evening, like so many before and so many still to come.

But something in the room had shifted imperceptibly — not outside, but within, in that place where a person rarely finds words for what is happening.

"Flaw. What did she mean?" The word was strange. Not threatening — just strange. Like a term whose meaning you don't know, but can feel exists. That something stands behind it. Lloyd reached into his memory for something to attach to it — and found nothing. Outside, another tram went by. Then another, a minute later. The mug on the windowsill still sat untouched, completely cold. The room was dark. The phone lay face-down on his chest. Lloyd stared at the ceiling a little longer. Then he closed his eyes.