The wide stone circle at the center of Inizio began to glow, a soft shimmer at first, then a rising pulse of light that practically screamed something dramatic is about to happen.
The air buzzed. The stone trembled just enough to make the nearby crates vibrate like they were trying to escape. A column of blinding light shot up from the middle—so bright it could probably tan someone's soul if they stared too long.
For the people of Inizio, it was business as usual. No gasps. No panicked running. Just a few tired blinks from NPCs who had already seen this happen more times than they could count.
Another batch. Another day.
This was the way of the world. The Dungeon's creator, in all their mysterious omnipotence, would occasionally pluck people from another world and drop them straight into this one like party guests who hadn't read the dress code.
Willing or not, they came—summoned with all the grace of a system update and about as much warning.
The light slowly faded, pulling itself back into the circle like it had used up its special effects budget. In its place, left blinking and very confused, were the new arrivals.
Hundreds of them.
Some stood with wide eyes, trying to understand where the sky had gone. Others had already pulled out their phones—which, of course, weren't working. And a few just sat down like the situation could be solved by quietly panicking in place.
They came in all shapes, styles, and levels of personal denial. Teenagers in oversized hoodies, office workers still in slacks, gym bros in tank tops who clearly thought this was still leg day.
Even a handful of early-forties types who looked like they'd tried to log into an online banking app and landed here instead.
None of them had weapons. Not yet. But the system didn't summon anyone who couldn't, in theory, handle the basics. Statistically, anyway.
The circle hummed softly, a final ping to say, That's it, they're all here.
And so they stood, wide-eyed and freshly summoned, on the first day of the rest of their new lives.
And somewhere off to the side, NPCs like Gideon and Marie were already smiling like customer service professionals about to walk these poor souls through the tutorial of their afterlives.
Gideon stood just a little off to the side, arms crossed loosely, his pink psyblade still flickering with dramatic energy that didn't match the calm on his face—until it blinked out with a quiet fizz, turning off like even it decided to take a break.
His eyes scanned the crowd of fresh arrivals with the same look someone might give a stew pot—mild interest, maybe a little concern if something started bubbling weird, but nothing too serious.
The players were reacting, as usual, with all the grace of people tossed headfirst into another world without warning.
A good chunk had collapsed right where they landed—knees hitting stone like their legs decided to take an early retirement.
Wide-eyed and shaky, some whispered to themselves, others cried openly, and one guy in a business suit just sat there blinking like he was trying to Ctrl+Z the entire event.
A few stood tall, or at least tried to. Chins up, backs stiff, hands clenched. Brave faces that still trembled at the edges. Like their bodies hadn't gotten the memo that they were trying to look tough.
And then… there were the unnervingly calm ones.
The ones who didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Just stood there with eyes scanning their surroundings like they were already calculating stats, exit routes, or whether they'd been reincarnated with passive buffs.
One woman adjusted her watch, even though it had clearly stopped working. One guy had his hands in his pockets like he was waiting for a train, not a dungeon tutorial.
Gideon had seen it all before.
Panic. Shock. Screaming. That one guy who always asked if this was a prank show. And sure, it used to rattle him a little—back when he still thought silence meant something serious and crying meant he should step in.
But now? It barely moved the needle.
This was just how things worked. The cycle repeated. The Dungeon summoned. The players arrived. The NPCs welcomed.
And Gideon, like clockwork, did what he was made to do.
He wasn't here to judge or worry. He was here for one reason, one role—the purpose etched into his very being by the creator who had built this world, given him thoughts, emotions, and just enough freedom to walk around feeling slightly underpaid.
His purpose wasn't glamorous. It wasn't grand.
But it was his.
And as he watched the chaos unfold, the usual symphony of existential confusion and awkward tears, he couldn't help but smile just a little.
Business as usual.
Gideon tilted his head to the side until a soft pop echoed from his neck—one of those satisfying little cracks that said yes, your bones are still functioning, barely.
He rolled his shoulders once, the way a man does when he knows the day's about to ask too much from him emotionally.
"It's that time again. Gotta find my lucky player of the day. Hopefully this one doesn't try to punch a merchant or scream at their inventory screen. Or spontaneously combust. That too."
He sighed, then added with the kind of half-joking hope that only came from experience,
"Would be nice if they survived longer than the last one."
Out in the plaza, the energy suddenly shifted.
The Escort NPCs, previously scattered like polite decorations, began to move. Not casually. Not slowly. But with the enthusiastic charge of people running toward free samples.
Smiling, waving, some even calling out to the new players like they were overly excited tour guides.
It was a system feature: first come, first serve. Escorts got to pick their adventurer. And with fresh players blinking like lost lambs under the morning sun, it was basically speed dating, if speed dating involved explaining how to equip shoes.
Marie was already stepping into the crowd with that confident bounce in her ponytail, one gauntlet swinging playfully at her side.
"Catch you later, Gideon!"
She waved over her shoulder, not slowing down even a little. Gideon waved back with two fingers, casual and unbothered, like they'd done this a hundred times.
Because they had.
And today was just one more.
Gideon didn't rush. Rushing was for people who wanted to fight over confused teenagers and get elbowed by eager tutorial buddies.
He took his time, hands in his pockets, strolling through the edge of the chaos like a man browsing a very emotional farmer's market.
His eyes scanned the crowd, one fresh face at a time. The usual variety was all there—wide-eyed teens clinging to each other, adults trying to maintain dignity while failing to locate their dignity, and the occasional guy still convinced this was a dream and he just needed to wake up harder.
Then something tugged at the edge of his attention.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't flashy. Just… consistent.
He looked up and spotted him.
A young man. Standing in the middle of the crowd like he'd already decided he didn't need to panic with everyone else. Tall, skinny, and wearing a red tracksuit that looked way too comfortable for someone who had just been ripped out of their home dimension.
Black hair slightly tousled, like he'd walked through a breeze on purpose. And those blue eyes—locked on Gideon like he already knew who he was. No blinking. No awkward glances away. Just that steady, unshakable smile that said "Hey there. I know something you don't, and it's hilarious."
He wasn't shouting. He wasn't waving. He was just… staring. With that smile.
Gideon stared back for a second, then blinked slowly.
Yep.
That's a weird one.
He'd seen all kinds of player types—cryers, screamers, speech-givers—but the smiling-staring-incomplete-tracksuit model? That was new. Or at least rare. Definitely not in the top five normal reactions.
Gideon tried to look anywhere else—literally anywhere. The sky. The ground. That one guy hyperventilating into his hoodie.
But the young man in the red tracksuit was already moving. Smooth steps, zero hesitation, smile growing like someone had just turned up the confidence dial.
He was heading straight for Gideon like a guided missile fueled entirely by eye contact.
Gideon let out a sigh that had seen too much and knew better than to hope. By the time he looked again, the guy was already standing just a meter away—like personal space was merely a suggestion and he'd politely declined.
Above the guy's head, the system tag flickered into view:
[Player— Level 1.]
Gideon scratched the back of his head, mentally preparing for whatever flavor of chaos this one brought.
"Greetings, player. My name is Gideon, your guide. Welcome to the beginner town of Inizio, in the ever-expanding wonder that is The Dungeon. I can see you're just radiating enthusiasm for your journey in this very chill, totally not terrifying world."
The player's smile somehow managed to get even brighter, like he'd found the perfect lighting and decided to double down.
"Yo, name's Steven. This whole dungeon? I'm claiming it. I've clocked enough hours in RPGs to write the manual, and now I'm putting all that XP to work."
Gideon blinked once. No reaction. No visible surprise. Internally, he checked the invisible mental checklist that all tutorial NPCs secretly kept.
Cocky introduction? Check.
Reference to gaming experience? Check.
Overconfidence in the face of literal death traps? Triple check.
Honestly, Steven had hit every cliché like he'd been handed a script on the way in.
Gideon had heard it all before. Every single line. Delivered with the same bravado, the same smirk. It had reached the point where he could mouth along to it if he really wanted to. Sometimes he did. Quietly. For his own amusement.
But he didn't roll his eyes. Didn't sigh again. His job wasn't to correct the players. It was to encourage them. Gently guide them. Smile through the insanity. Maybe pat them on the back before they ran into their first slime and got knocked out cold.
And to be fair, cocky optimism was still easier than babysitting a full-grown adult curled up and sobbing because their phone had no signal.
Gideon smiled brightly—the kind of smile that had been finely tuned through countless respawns, awkward introductions, and at least seven crying accountants. It was polished, dramatic, and just theatrical enough to feel like a prophecy was being delivered.
"You must be a very special being. Unlike the others, you carry no fear in your eyes! There's bravery in you—yes, the heart of a true warrior beats loud and clear! I can already tell, your name will echo through these halls... assuming you don't get eaten by something with too many teeth."
Steven immediately puffed up like someone had just handed him a protagonist badge. Hands on hips. Chest out. Jaw tilted upward at a noble thirty-degree angle.
The red tracksuit even caught a little wind that didn't exist, giving him a slow-motion hero moment that was equal parts majestic and mildly ridiculous.
"Then let's begin our grand tale, my guide! Lead me—take me straight to the first dungeon! Glory awaits!"
Gideon blinked. Then smiled harder. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny part of him quietly braced for the inevitable screaming.
He clapped once—loud, purposeful, maybe a little too energetic—like he'd just accepted a quest he didn't remember accepting.
"Then follow me, brave player! Let us march toward destiny—or at least the beginner floor, which comes with slightly aggressive monsters and very strict tutorial rules."
Gideon led the way with the calm stride of someone who had done this walk more times than he could count—probably could do it blindfolded, backwards, and while juggling dramatic monologues.
Beside him, Steven walked with that unmistakable air of self-declared importance, red tracksuit swaying like it had a fan dedicated to his personal glory arc.
They passed through the usual mess—new players in various states of existential collapse. Some curled up on the ground like they were waiting for a reboot. Others paced in frantic circles, mumbling theories like the system would reward them for figuring it all out early.
Steven didn't blink. Just marched on, chin up, like the sobbing behind him was ambient noise.
At the edge of the wide circular plaza stood the Gate.
Massive. Round. No wall to anchor it. No frame beyond its own impossible shape. Just a swirling pool of liquid blue light that pulsed gently, almost like it was breathing. It didn't roar or sparkle. It didn't need to. It existed with the quiet authority of something that had seen thousands pass through—and had definitely watched more than a few come running back out screaming.
Gideon stopped just in front of it, the light reflecting off his dark eyes in faint blue streaks. He turned slightly, lifting his hand with the same energy as a showman reaching the big finale.
"Your epic journey begins here."
Gideon stepped through the gate, the swirling blue parting around him like liquid glass. For half a heartbeat, everything felt like floating in a bubble—weightless, soundless, oddly tingly. Then came the shift.
The light vanished, replaced in an instant by wide-open sky and the stretch of an endless green horizon.
The town was gone. In its place: the First Floor.
A massive grassland rolled out before him, soft hills dipping and rising like someone had casually draped a green quilt over the world.
The sun hung above it all, casting golden light so warm, so natural, it almost felt personal—like it was genuinely glad to see them.
There were birds overhead, clouds drifting just lazy enough to look hand-painted, and the wind? The wind actually smelled like grass and fresh air, not like recycled code or artificial bloom settings.
If it was a simulation, someone had gone out of their way to make it unfairly convincing.
All around, players milled about in small, colorful clusters, each guided by their own personal NPC—some already handing out items, others doing dramatic pointing poses, and at least one explaining the map to a player who clearly had no intention of listening.
Gideon took a slow breath.
Even after all this time, the sight still landed softly in his chest. It was beautiful. Ridiculously so. The kind of place that made you want to roll down a hill just to see if it was as soft as it looked.
He'd seen this field more times than he could count. Every summon. Every day. Every single assigned tour. And it never dulled.
Too bad it was also the beginning and the end of his world.
Gideon had never seen another floor. Never stepped past the checkpoint. Never touched a sword that actually cut, or cast a spell that did more than sparkle for show. His role began here. And it stopped here.
And probably? It always would.
But he was fine with that.
Really.
There were worse places to spend a lifetime than a perfect, grassland under a sun that never got tired of shining.
•••••
Steven stepped through the gate with all the swagger of someone expecting fireworks—and got something better.
His feet touched solid ground again, and the moment his eyes adjusted, they went wide like saucers.
Stretching out before him was a scene too perfect to be real. Towering blue sky, sunlight that looked like it had been handcrafted for dramatic entrances, and fields of lush green rolling across the land like nature's welcome mat.
The grass even shimmered in the breeze, like it was politely applauding his arrival.
Gideon stepped aside and swept his arm toward the view like a tour guide unveiling a painting.
"Welcome to Floor 1 of The Dungeon… the Grassland of New Beginnings. Where every legend takes its first step."
Steven slowly turned, eyes scanning the hills, the players, the distant mobs doing their idle walk cycles. His mouth moved slightly, but no sound came out—his brain was probably still catching up.
Gideon gave him a moment, then continued with the kind of voice NPCs used when dropping tutorial wisdom disguised as casual advice.
"For now, you'll want to prepare for your very first battle. First impression matters, especially to the monsters. I recommend putting your attention on those shiny little numbers—your stat points."
He gave a small nudge with his elbow, like revealing a trade secret.
"You've got twelve points to spend. Prioritize dexterity. Trust me. You can have the power of a giant, but if your swings miss every time, all you're really doing is aggressively waving your sword at the wind."
From Steven's hands, with all the flair of a stage magician pulling off his final trick, a greatsword shimmered into existence. Not a small one either—this thing looked like it had been designed by someone with a personal grudge against subtlety.
Steven held it high like he was about to slay a dragon, a grin plastered across his face so wide it probably had its own charisma stat.
Steven's greatsword, like every other player's starter gear, hadn't been earned—it had been given. It came from that strange in-between place, the eerie no-man's-land wedged between two worlds.
That was where players first awakened, where they chose their classes, where the system handed them their very first weapon and skill like a tutorial reward dressed up as destiny.
"Dexterity? That's for noobs. I've been swinging weapons since I figured out how to hold things. I dumped all my points into Strength!"
And with absolutely zero hesitation, no tactical plan, and not even a peek at his surroundings, he took off—charging headfirst into the grassland like a one-man stampede. His red tracksuit flared behind him dramatically. His greatsword glinted under the sun like it knew things were about to go very, very wrong.
In the distance, a few low-level monsters lifted their heads. One slime blinked slowly. A rabbit paused mid-hop and turned.
Gideon didn't move. Just stood there, blinking slowly, eyes widening ever so slightly as he watched Steven disappear into the distance like a poorly coded missile.
"Yup… this one won't survive long."