Kaito's eyes snapped open.
The first thing he registered was the warmth. The soft, breathing warmth of another person beside him. Then another. And another.
He was in his own bed, in his small, cluttered apartment in Neo-Tokyo. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the twenty sleeping forms of his girlfriends. The air was a familiar mix of perfume, shampoo, and sleep. Last night had been a celebration of his latest web novel chapter. It felt like a lifetime ago.
I'm back.
The thought was a tremor in his soul. He looked at his hands, half-expecting to see them stained with dungeon filth or his own blood. They were clean.
Memories of the dungeon—the giant statues, Haruto's desperate shouts, the sorceresses' doomed prophecy, the crushing finality—flooded his mind in a nauseating wave. He saw Haruto's face, not the confident, grinning adventurer, but the pale, terrified boy in the moment before the end.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He had to move.
He slipped out of bed, the movement practiced and silent. He didn't look back as he padded to the bathroom. The shower was a ritual of purification, the hot water scouring away the phantom feeling of stone dust and death. He dressed mechanically, his mind a thousand miles away, in a dungeon that, for now, only he remembered.
He stepped out onto his fifth-floor balcony. The sprawling, neon-drenched city of Neo-Tokyo was just beginning to stir. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and the distant sea. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the reality of his second chance solidifying with the simple act of filling his lungs.
I'm alive. He's still alive.
Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn't bother to wipe them away. They were tears of grief, of guilt, and of a ferocious, burning resolve.
A soft voice came from behind him. "Kaito? You're up early."
He turned. Hana stood there, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her hair a beautiful mess. The others were beginning to stir.
"I, uh, couldn't sleep," he said, his voice rough. He forced a smile. "Big day. Got that construction site quest with Haruto."
Aimi emerged, yawning. "Don't forget to eat a proper breakfast! Not just coffee!" she chided gently.
They gathered around him, a symphony of soft good mornings and sleepy kisses. It was a scene that had once felt like the pinnacle of his life. Now, it felt like a beautiful, fragile dream. These were the people he wrote for, the peaceful life he fought to protect. And he had failed. Spectacularly.
"See you tonight, honey!" they chorused as they filed out, heading to their jobs, their lives blissfully unaware of the apocalypse that had been, and might still be.
The apartment fell silent, the emptiness echoing. Kaito's smile vanished. He walked to his laptop and opened it, navigating to his web novel. The collection count was still at a pathetic 18. He had once seen this as a measure of his failure as a writer. Now, it was a monument to his failure as a man of action.
He closed the laptop with a sharp click.
"Alright," he whispered to the empty room. "No more waiting."
---
He parked his legendary Yamaha RX-Z 135 near the under-construction building, the familiar growl of its engine doing little to calm the storm inside him. The site was quiet, too quiet. He saw the two workers, Nobi and Honekawa, huddled together, their faces etched with a worry he now understood.
"Hey! Over here!" Nobi called, waving him over.
Kaito approached, his senses on high alert. "Kaito Liu, from the Leatherback Sea Turtle Guild."
"Thank the gods," Honekawa breathed. "We found... a portal. A big, blue one. Inside the foundation pit."
Nobi pointed a trembling finger. "We're worried it might be dangerous. Can you... you know... handle it?"
Kaito's eyes found the shimmering, unnatural blue vortex in the center of the construction site. His stomach twisted. The tomb of his friends. The start of it all.
"Of course," Kaito said, his voice unnaturally calm. "Leave it to me."
"Just be careful," Nobi warned. "We don't know what's on the other side."
I do, Kaito thought, a grim smile touching his lips. I know exactly what's on the other side.
He didn't wait for Haruto. He couldn't. This time, he would face the goblins alone. This time, he would be ready.
He took a deep breath, feeling the new, strange energy coursing through him—the infinite potential of a thousand stories waiting to be told. He stepped through the blue portal, the air crackling around him, and into the dim, damp darkness of the dungeon.
The game had changed. And he was no longer just a player. He was the author.