Book 1
Chapter 8: Midterms and Mayhem: The Puzzle's Peril
The air in the dungeon chamber hung heavy with the scent of damp stone, anxiety, and a hint of stale magical dust. It felt like a long, awkward silence—like a stone aunt glaring over your shoulder until you opened the door.
Condensation dripped with steady precision from the ceiling, echoing the frantic beat of Narutama's heart.
He stood at the threshold of a massive, ancient door, his hand hovering over a complex tapestry of etched runic sequences. Geometric patterns folded over each other like a mind-bending maze. He knew these shapes. He'd sacrificed sleep and good ramen for their arcane logic.
Behind him, KenHanzori shifted impatiently, already bouncing on the balls of his feet. His boundless, unregistered tier energy was a stark contrast to Narutama's rigid focus.
"So... is this like, Sudoku but worse? 'Cause it looks like Sudoku but worse."
"Shut up, Ken."
Narutama's voice was a thin wire stretched tight. His concentration was absolute.
From the upper gallery, instructors watched, silent silhouettes behind thick, enchanted glass. This was a routine exam to test rune comprehension and spatial logic.
But nothing about today felt routine. Not with Ken standing beside him, radiating an aura of oblivious, accidental Mone. Even the runes wobbled, as if they'd just realized someone was about to treat an arcane puzzle like a carnival game.
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The Riddle's Resistance
Narutama traced a finger along the main glyph, recalling the sequence from his worn notes: Binding, then Pivot, then Unfold.
He rotated the center disc two notches left. The rune glimmered, a soft, ethereal light responding to his correction. Good. He was doing good. This was his area.
Ken immediately leaned over his shoulder.
"If you're stuck, I can try punching it. Or maybe my ATM could give it some pocket money? Bribery usually works."
Narutama's jaw tightened.
"Do that, and your ATM will be placed on an audit watchlist. The kind that deploys angry goo or transforms you into a singing toad. Probably both."
Somewhere beneath the floor, an old ward quietly added "Ken'shair" to its watchlist under "unforeseenanomalies."
"Oh." Ken brightened. "Singing toad, huh? Interesting. What if I sang with it?"
The runes, as if personally offended, shifted again. A sharp, stinging feedback pulse rippled back into Narutama's palm. He recoiled. He felt a faint, scorching scent of parchment—a warning note only the careful would heed.
Ken flinched. "Uh… was it supposed to bite? Like a very flat, very angry spider?"
"No." Narutama's confidence wavered, replaced by a cold dread. He reviewed the sequence in his mind, tracing the symbols on the air, but doubt crept in. He'd prepared for this. Ken wasn't even supposed to be here.
Up in the gallery, the instructors stirred. Whispers, sharp and agitated, filtered down behind the glass. Words like 'divine anomaly,' 'unforeseen,' and 'cosmicdebt' carried faintly down. One instructor sketched a tiny question mark in his notebook, right next to the "A+" column.
Narutama swallowed hard, his throat dry. He could feel their eyes dissecting his every hesitation. The puzzle now seemed to mock him.
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The Accidental Solution
"I've got it," Ken said suddenly, his voice a burst of sunshine in the dim chamber.
Narutama spun around. "What?"
"Maybe… it's backwards?" Ken stepped forward without hesitation, his hand already on the rune disc with the casual grace of someone swatting a fly.
"Don't touch it!" Narutama snapped, but it was too late. Ken's hand was already on the disc, twisting it—completely wrong.
The puzzle gave a low, resonant click. The kind of sound that said: protocol violated; G.O.D. intervention authorized. The rune pulsed, not with light, but with an ominous, hungry black.
For a heart-stopping moment, everything froze. The air crackled with raw, unstable Mone.
Then the main chamber's guardian—a colossal, multi-limbed stone beast—lurched forward, roaring its ancient intent to attack.
A junior instructor whispered: "Sir, those were enchanted!"
Himura yelled: "I DON'T CARE, JUNIOR. WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE." He dropped his spectacles, which shattered dramatically.
Another professor hit the emergency button. It played: "All personnel, please remain calm. The end is nigh. Again."
The speakers crackled in embarrassment, "Sorry, folks—third divine freak-out this week. Try to keep it together."
Narutama reacted instinctively. He slid between Ken and the beast, drawing his blade in one smooth, practiced motion. He braced for impact.
But before he could strike, the creature spasmed mid-air. Its ancient body began to glitch, flickering between solid rock and wisps of black smoke. It simply vaporized, with a sound like a wet cough from the universe. The concussive pulse slammed into both boys.
Somewhere in the gallery, a scribe underlined "Vaporized Guardian" in red ink and scrawled "Not on the syllabus of Lexidem!"
Silence. The entire dungeon shuddered, a deep, resonating hum vibrating through the bedrock.
Ken coughed, picking a piece of ancient lint from his hair. "Did… did I just win? That seemed… remarkably efficient." He grinned, delighted with his pure, unearned luck.
From the gallery, the instructors were in a clamor. Professor Himura fumbled with his spectacles, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and dawning, terrifying comprehension.
Narutama sat up slowly, ears ringing, his blade still clutched in a white-knuckled grip. He looked toward the spot where the guardian had been.
Gone. Utterly, completely gone.
He wasn't sure what chilled him more: the impossibility of it, the sheer, reality-bending power, or the fact that Ken—idiot, reckless, oblivious Ken—had been the one standing closest when it happened.
Under Ken's palm, the rune blinked like a sleepy puppy: half-confused, half-pleased to be petted.
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The Silence Left Behind
Narutama stood, his blade trembling. He forced the tremor down with willpower. His training had prepared him for monsters, but not for standing in the shadow of someone else's Divine Tier.
In the silence that followed, a knot of bitterness and frustration twisted in his chest.
He'd studied for years. He had been so close. This fool had stumbled past him, again, not with skill or knowledge, but with sheer, brute, accidental Mone.
He didn't meet Ken's bright, triumphant eyes as they were dismissed. The shame burned hotter than any Mone explosion.
From above, a single whisper finally carried, clear as a bell: "The chosen spark… finally awakened. And the cosmic debt grows."
And Narutama felt the words like a physical insult, like a brand on his very soul. He'd just seen firsthand the terrifying power of Ken's "unregistered tier," and it made everything he had worked for feel utterly meaningless.