A Sudden Crisis of Identity
The next day—early morning.
Too early.
The streets were still half-asleep when I reached the Dungeon entrance, breath fogging in the cool air. No crowds. No shouting. No armored idiots flexing for attention.
"…Bell didn't pass me," I muttered, checking behind me out of habit. "So, I'm probably first."
A stupid little spark of pride lit up in my chest.
I beat the protagonist to the Dungeon. Small victories.
Then—
Golden hair.
Like someone had spun sunrise into strands and decided it belonged on one person.
I froze.
She walked toward the entrance with that quiet, unreal calm, steps light, eyes focused ahead like the world had already agreed to move out of her way.
Ais Wallenstein.
Solo.
My brain slammed the brakes.
"AIZ?!" I whispered, voice strangled.
Now I see why Bell acts around her like that.
The thought hit me sideways, uninvited but undeniable.
I glanced wildly around, panic flaring for no logical reason.
"Solo?! With—" I squinted at her back, desperately searching for backup. "With Jagamarukun?!"
(Okay, fine—I meant her party. The Loki Familia elites. But my sleep-deprived brain wasn't cooperating.)
"Nonononono—"
Nothing.
No party.
No escort.
No armor.
Just her.
She carried a rapier—simple, clean, no ornamentation. No heavy gear. No shield. No dramatic cape billowing heroically.
"…She's going in like that?"
The realization hit me all at once.
This wasn't a serious dive.
This was warm-up.
Training.
Morning exercise.
Like someone jogging around the block, except the block was a literal death trap and she was Ais freaking Wallenstein.
"God," I breathed. "Jesus. Allah. Buddha. Whoever made her—"
I paused, wincing.
"…Actually, the one who drew her." I looked skyward apologetically. "Sorry, bro. Forgot for a second. But yeah—you're a god."
She passed me.
Didn't look.
Didn't slow.
Didn't notice.
Not because she was rude—but because I wasn't relevant.
I was background noise. A random NPC in her field of vision.
I pulled my hoodie tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of everything wrong with me.
No armor. No crest. No valis. A broken blade hidden under cloth.
"I can't let her see me like this," I hissed internally. "Not as a begg—"
I stopped.
Looked down at myself.
Then sighed.
"…Wait."
I stared at my worn boots, my ragged cloak, my empty pockets.
"…Am I actually accepting that I'm a beggar?"
The word landed harder than any insult I'd heard in this world so far.
I wasn't asking for money.
I wasn't pleading for help.
But by Orario's standards?
No Familia.
No registration.
No gear.
No prospects.
Rock bottom.
Ais disappeared into the Dungeon's shadow without a sound, golden hair catching the first rays of dawn before vanishing completely.
I stood there for a moment longer, frozen between shame and determination.
Then I straightened.
"…Fine," I said quietly. "If this is the bottom, then at least I know where the ground is."
I tightened my grip on the wrapped short sword, feeling the cloth rough against my palm.
"Someday," I added, glancing at the entrance where she'd vanished. "I won't have to look away."
Then I stepped forward.
Beggar or not—I needed valis.
And the Dungeon was waiting.
---
Ais's fingers tightened slightly around the Jagamarukun wrapper.
Something felt... off. She didn't know what.
She kept walking. She wasn't sharing her breakfast with anyone.
Not even the ragged figure she'd passed without looking back.
***
[End of Chapter]
Author's Notes:
Our protagonist just experienced the full weight of meeting Ais Wallenstein while cosplaying as a broke, unaffiliated nobody with a stolen broken sword. The gap between "fan who knows the story" and "actual person living in this world" has never been wider.
That moment of self-realization—"Am I actually a beggar?"—hits different when you're standing next to a Level 6 adventurer who treats the deadly dungeon like a morning jog.
Also: "Jagamarukun" is my new favorite sleep-deprived brain malfunction.
Next time: First floor. First monsters. First reality check. The dungeon doesn't care about your feelings, your meta-knowledge, or your protagonist complex.
(Spoiler: The dungeon doesn't care about your preparation. It only cares that you're edible.)