Right before Ketsu reached the last door, the TV's glow painted small living rooms all over the world.
Footage of Ketsu's latest fight uploaded on youtube for the hundredth time that hour — his figure tearing through demi-humans, floor after floor.
"The Crimson's pace is unbelievable," someone said reacting to the video.
"He's climbed more floors in a single day than anyone else in the dungeon," another replied.
"If anyone clears this… it might be him."
On a separate screen in the corner of the feed, viewers' comments scrolled by at high speed —fear, even mockery. A few streamers laughed and placed bets. Others sold merch.
Human lives, condensed into numbers and profit.
Kouji and Yuusuke went to a coastal district.
The wind carried salt as Kouji and Yuusuke moved through the docks. Kouji's eyes stayed fixed on his phone, the muted broadcast of Ketsu still playing.
"You're gonna walk into a pole if you keep staring like that," Yuusuke said.
Kouji didn't look up. "I'm fine, I keep my surroundings in check for a living."
They stopped outside an abandoned warehouse. The air was still.
Inside, dust floated in disposed beams of light, and the scent of burnt stone clung to the walls.
At the center of the floor, a sigil spread like a blackened wound. Kouji knelt, running a hand over the ash.
"It's the same symbol from the dungeon's opening sequence," he muttered.
Yuusuke scanned the walls. "Is this like Kagami's runes?."
Kouji's grip on his phone tightened. "Maybe the Sigils have a certain radius in which they suck random people into the dungeon."
They kept searching for hints.
Elsewhere the TV was muted, but the footage still in front of Sora. Her reflection stared back at the darkened screen whenever the image cut between floors.
Ketsu's voice echoed in her memory, talking about his clan, the pain, and the pride. She hated the thought of him fighting alone.
She tapped her phone to call a contact in the Association. The answer was short: No updates. No way in. The line went dead.
Her eyes narrowed, and she whispered to herself, "I'll find you myself if I have to."
At the same time, in another place fog runs through the streets, pooling low around a row of flickering lamps. From its depths stepped a tall figure in a plague doctor mask, the glass eyes catching faint light.
Idoku, the Pest Doctor.
Idoku stopped at the entry of an alley, tilting his head as passing pedestrians talked about "The Crimson Devil."
A laugh, soft and almost musical, escaped the mask. "Shinji's should be at the Gate soon."
"I should get started."
A faint green gas came from his gloved hand, curling around his boots. The birds nearby on the floor without a sound.
Back to Kouji and Yuusuke, the trail from the warehouse led them to a rusted hatch in the docks. Inside, the air was cold, the dripping of water the only sound. Their flashlights caught streaks of moss — and a fresh sigil painted in sharp crimson on the tunnel wall.
Yuusuke crouched, touching the paint. "Your theory might be right."
Kouji's gaze hardened. "Maybe they are centered around something, if we find more we might—"
They froze as faint footsteps echoed deeper inside the tunnels — slow, deliberate.
Someone with suffocating pressure came at them.
Every sound stopped at his presence.