The Hunter’s Association hunter dismissed them with a nod, and as they left, the doors of the briefing room swung shut.

  Shane and Henry made their way up to to the penthouse level silently in the elevator. Even when they got off, the plush carpet swallowed the sound of their boots, extending the quiet that was only awkward to Henry.

  When they reached Dr. Spencer’s penthouse suite, they took up their positions on either side of the door. Shane leaned back silently, keeping his posture relaxed but ready, while Henry stood at a parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back, and eyes staring straight ahead at the opposing wall.

  They waited.

  Ten minutes passed.

  Then twenty.

  And by the thirty-minute mark, the hallway still remained dead silent, with Dr. Spencer nowhere in sight.

  Shane watched Henry out of the corner of his eye. But Henry’s expression never changed. Shane had expected the kid to start fidgeting after the first ten minutes.

  Henry was stiff in the way only a rookie who took the job far too seriously would adopt. Like he was afraid the floor would open up if he relaxed his shoulders.

  “…He’s late,” Henry finally said.

  Shane just shrugged, keeping his eyes on the elevator bank down the hall.

  He’d expected this.

  Honestly, he preferred this outcome. It was better that they were alone in the quiet hall thanks to the doctor’s tardiness, rather than being down there in the ballroom where the reception party was held.

  Because this assignment was probably already ruffling feathers.

  The whole situation was probably making the other hunters jealous. Most of them—even veterans with far more experience—had been denied the high-profile gig, and yet, here were two rookies who just landed the job.

  Of course, they hadn’t made the decision themselves, so no one could really blame them.

  But logic rarely stopped envy. They could definitely expect some light hazing from the seniors at some point.

  Guess that means angry forum posts about Stone is a sure thing, too.

  The hunters that were present here would be having a field day with this roster later. Especially since Henry was an easy target due to a large amount of haters blaming him for not “awakening as an S-rank.”

  The silence stretched on. Shane was content to just wait it out, but he noticed Henry shifting his weight for the first time, his gaze fixed on the suite’s door.

  “Do we have confirmation the principal is still in the suite?” Henry asked, his voice low and professional, but laced with a thread of tension.

  His brow furrowed.

  “What if he’s… unwell in there? Or maybe he’s not there at all? Shouldn’t we check?”

  Oh.

  Shane blinked. So when Henry had mentioned Dr. Spencer being late, he hadn’t been complaining about the wait, was he?

  The kid was actually running worst-case scenarios—assassination, heart attack, kidnapping—in his head.

  But before Shane could answer, the door clicked open.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Ah, I overslept… I’m so sorry. Have you been waiting long?”

  The man, Dr. Ray Spencer, stepped into the hallway, fumbling with his cufflinks.

  He looked disheveled, his tie slightly crooked and his hair damp.

  As he moved closer, a faint, sweet smell drifted off him. It was alcohol that was poorly masked by mouthwash. And the doctor hadn’t even been to the party yet.

  “Not at all, sir. Shall we?” Henry replied.

  Shane studied the man.

  Ray Spencer was the unparalleled genius of the current era, the man everyone was here to see.

  But also, the doctor was one of the more, well, decent people in this world. Which was why he chose to guard the doctor today.

  And he knew why the man had been drinking all day.

  Today was the anniversary of his wife and daughter’s deaths.

  He was always late on this day. In the original timeline, the tragic story came up so often in dialogues that it was basically impossible to miss. That’s how Shane knew, even though he usually skipped every cutscene he could.

  Dr. Spencer had lost his family in a dungeon breach. It was understandable that he’d have a hard time attending a conference on a day like this.

  “Well, I hope there’s still some food left for us,” Dr. Spencer said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Dr. Spencer gave a friendly smile and led the way.

  He was a man in his mid-forties, but he didn’t look like a typical academic. He had broad shoulders and calloused hands of someone who wasn’t afraid to do the grunt work during his research. It seemed the rumors of him entering dungeons himself to collect samples were true.

  They took the elevator down to the Grand Hall.

  The hall was two stories high, illuminated by golden crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the crowd.

  A roar of a hundred conversations, punctuated by the clinking of champagne flutes filled their surroundings.

  As soon as they stepped onto the marble floor, Dr. Spencer’s fame was on full display.

  A few heads turned near the entrance, then a few more. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

  “Is that him?”

  “The doctor’s here, sir!”

  “Finally.”

  A path began to part for Dr. Spencer without anyone consciously trying to make one. Shane and Henry moved into formation, flanking the doctor to keep the gap from closing.

  “Ray, my friend! We were worried you wouldn’t make it,” an older man in a tweed jacket caleld out, reaching for a handshake.

  People immediately started to swarm the doctor, but Shane stepped in.

  He needed to steer this correctly. Only he and Dr. Spencer needed to get caught in the dungeon.

  Dr. Spencer, who didn’t seem to be in the mood for mingling anyway, didn’t object to Shane’s assertive pace.

  They moved through the sea of tuxedos and gowns, deeper into the room. And just as they reached the center of the hall, directly under the largest chandelier, the air pressure dropped.

  In a heartbeat, a visible shimmer appeared in the air, distorting the light like heat haze on a summer road. A wet, tearing noise, like canvas being ripped apart by a giant grated against Shane’s ears.

  A black wound split open, right below where Dr. Spencer was standing.

  He tried to scramble back as he cried out, but his dress shoes slipped on the black portal, slowly swallowing him up.

  Screams erupted.

  The ballroom dissolved into a mess of spilled champagne and overturned tables. The rift’s pull was like a powerful vacuum. Dr. Spencer’s arms flailed as the unnatural gravity clawed at his legs, dragging him down.

  “H-help!” Spencer yelled, his fingers scrabbling against the edges of the portal.

  While everyone else fought to get away, Shane moved forward.

  This was his chance.

  He lunged forward, his hand landing firmly on the back of Dr. Spencer’s shoulder. To an onlooker, it would’ve looked like a desperate rescue attempt.

  But he didn’t pull back. He was just anchoring himself to the doctor, simply letting the portal’s gravity do all the work.

  Just as they tipped to the point of no return, Shane let the [Hallucination Spore] skill drop.

  [Skill Deactivated: Hallucination Spore (C-)]

  He needed his real face on the record for this. The subtle illusion over his features vanished.

  The transition was a nauseating lurch.

  When he knew he’d be trapped in the dungeon with the doctor, Shane pushed past Dr. Spencer.

  Anticipating the exit, Shane angled his body during the fall and landed in a crouch on a patch of solid earth.

  Dr. Spencer was not lucky.

  He tumbled out of the rift a moment later with a loud splash, face-planting hard in the ankle-deep, murky water.

  “Ugh-!” Spencer sputtered, thrashing as he tried to get up.

  The ballroom’s golden light had been replaced by a green twilight that filtered through a canopy of black trees overhead. Fireflies the size of fists buzzed lazily through the humid air.

  The only other sound was the slow, steady drip of condensation from the branches into the swamp water.

  Shane stood up on his dried patch of ground, looking around the gloomy dungeon.

  Dr. Spencer was a few feet away, pushing himself onto his hands and knees, coughing up swamp water and looking around in absolute shock.

  Shane let out a breath. His plan worked.

  When he checked for immediate threats, his head snapped in a spot a few yards to the right. Groaning as he pulled himself out of the muck, was another figure.

  [Behavior Lock] kept his expression flat, barely letting his eyes widen, a sharp contrast to the confusion roiling inside him. This never happened in the game.

  ...So why the hell was Henry Stone here, too?