Opening Backbone — Routine
The next day came quietly.
No gods. No drama. No revelations.
Just routine.
Dungeon. Food. Home.
I learned how to count coins properly.
Turns out, valis aren't complicated—just unfamiliar. Different markings. Different weights. Anya noticed me fumbling once and, between wiping tables and stealing bites off plates, showed me how to sort them.
"This one is ten, nya. This one is fifty. Don't mix them or you'll cry later, nya."
She wasn't wrong.
"Far east, nya?"
The 100-yen coin made her believe.
I didn't deny it.
She didn't push.
Good cat. And cute.
The Dungeon followed a pattern after that.
Morning run, short rest, second run.
Nothing heroic.
Two dives, nine stones.
Perfect.
Another day of victory.
No serious injuries. No close calls. Just scraped knuckles and tired legs. Goblins went down clean if I didn't rush. Kobolds stayed manageable if I watched their feet.
Weapons held.
I checked the broken short sword every night—no new cracks, no wobble. Still ugly. Still mine.
Armor?
Not yet.
First three floors didn't demand it if I stayed cautious. Distance. Timing. No greed.
I started thinking in numbers.
Eight yesterday.
Nine today.
Progress.
I started believing that meant something.
That belief lasted exactly one week.
***
The Dungeon spat me out.
Not dramatically. Not heroically. Just… done with me for the day.
Cool air hit my face as I stumbled up the western steps, boots scraping stone. My head rang. My vision swam for half a second, then settled.
Blood dripped warm down my lip.
I wiped it with my sleeve.
Red.
"…Great."
A goblin had kicked me.
Not slashed.
Not scratched.
Kicked.
Right in the face.
I'd gotten cocky.
A week in. Same floors. Same routes. Same stupid confidence creeping in because nothing had killed me yet. I'd started counting magic stones before fights ended. Started thinking in targets.
And the result is embarrassment... Infront of that girl... After one week!
It's my fault for letting my guard down.
Ten today, I'd told myself this morning.
I looked down at my pouch.
Two.
Just two.
I laughed once, breathless, and immediately regretted it as pain flared across my nose. I pressed my fingers there gently. Tender. Swollen. Not broken—probably.
"Pathetic," I muttered.
The goblin hadn't even been special. Small. Slow. I'd misjudged the timing, stepped in too close, and it had lashed out like an angry animal.
Foot. Face. Floor.
Lesson delivered.
I leaned against the stone wall near the exit, letting the Dungeon's hum fade behind me. My body felt heavy in that specific way it did after fear—not exhaustion, not pain. Adrenaline debt.
I'd survived the week.
That should've meant something.
But standing there, tasting iron and dust, it felt hollow.
I opened the pouch again. Two stones glimmered faintly inside. Fingertip-sized. Barely worth the trouble. Barely worth the blood.
Yesterday, I'd walked out with eight. The day before, nine. I'd started thinking that meant something about me...
It didn't.
It meant the Dungeon had let me pass.
Today, it reminded me who decided that.
I straightened slowly, testing my balance. No dizziness. No limp. Just a bruised ego and a sore face.
Good.
Embarrassment healed faster than broken bones.
Adventurers passed by on their way in—laughing, stretching, checking gear. No one looked at me twice. To them, I was just another nobody with a dirty face and a light pouch.
That was fine.
That was safer.
I tucked the pouch away and pulled my hood up, shadowing my eyes. The stone steps felt colder now, less forgiving.
"Ten tomorrow," I said quietly.
Not a goal.
A reminder.
Then I started walking.
Not back to the Guild. Not to the tavern.
Home.
Wherever that counted this week.
The Dungeon hadn't beaten me.
But it had corrected me.
And I'd be stupid not to listen.
---
[End of Chapter]
Author's Notes:
One week of progress. Eight stones. Nine stones. Routine.
Then a goblin kicks you in the face and reminds you that confidence is just permission to get sloppy.
Two stones. That's the reality check.
"That girl" — yeah, I'm not explaining that yet. Let it sit. Next chapter exists for a reason.
Anya is best cat. The 100-yen coin hustle continues to work flawlessly.
Next time:
Someone who shouldn't matter.
A moment that lingers.
And the beginning of attention that wasn't invited.
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