Takakai stopped in his tracks.
Through the other door of the bathroom, he could vaguely make out what looked like a naptime room, filled with indistinct, shadowy figures.
After a brief moment of consideration, he closed the door, stepped back into the hallway, and left a crude doodle of a dog-headed scarf person on the bathroom door as a marker. Then, he turned to the last unopened door in the hallway.
Behind it lay a hallway with a staircase, leading to what appeared to be a little girl's bedroom—decorated with stuffed animals and toys, giving off a strong fairy-tale vibe.
Huh. Her parents must've put a lot of effort into this.
Still, in Takakai's opinion, [Alice's Safe Room] had a better aesthetic.
At least that one gave me five hours of rest.
He didn't enter the bedroom. Something in his gut told him it wasn't worth investigating. Other areas took priority.
Ever since he'd been in the hallway, Takakai had noticed his intuition growing sharper—as if he'd already been here before, already knew what lurked in these rooms, but had simply forgotten.
The sensation was deeply unsettling.
He glanced down at the words on his hand, then summoned his pistol to check the bullets again.
Right… I've already been in this dungeon for a full day. It's not like I just got here.
This door by the stairs… Feels familiar. Have I been here before?
But the door at the top of the stairs—no memory of that. I must not have checked it yet.
Alright. That's my next target.
With that decision made, Takakai cautiously ascended the stairs, slowly approaching the second-floor landing.
As he did, he glanced back at the blurry, grayish humanoid figures still trailing behind him. His frown deepened.
By now, he'd begun to suspect that these things weren't his friends.
Recalling their behavior outside the bathroom, he realized their idiotic chatter had a purpose—they were using language to manipulate perception, to affirm or deny certain concepts.
They're trying to establish some kind of narrative.
But what?
Though their exact motives were unclear, one thing was certain:
Whatever they wanted, it was bad for him.
So the solution is simple—don't let them win.
From their earlier interactions, they'd first altered his cognition, making him believe they were his friends. Then, they'd cast doubt on that identity.
Were they trying to shift their own state?
Like in horror stories, where the protagonist thinks they're talking to a friend—only to realize too late that it's something else wearing their face.
Usually, those stories end with the monster revealing itself… or the protagonist dying horribly.
But earlier, I interrupted their script. How?
…I punched one of them.
So, violence disrupts their rules?
Well, not exactly. They don't take physical damage. It's not about hurting them—it's about defining the interaction on my terms.
They were trying to frame our relationship as "You don't see us as friends."
But when I hit them, I redefined it—"I'm hitting you because you're my friends."
Since I controlled the narrative, they couldn't override it.
…Which means I was one misstep away from disaster.
The realization made him pause mid-step.
Then, he turned fully toward the shadowy figures.
"Stay here. Going further might be dangerous, and you idiots will just get in my way. I'll handle the scouting alone."
He deliberately scowled, putting on his best "don't mess with me" face.
"This is me being a good friend. If you don't listen, I'll beat the crap out of you—because that's how I treat my pals. Got it?"
To drive the point home, he grabbed two of the figures by their necks, lifting them off the ground.
The remaining figures trembled—but none protested.
Rule-bound entities.
No matter how terrifying, how unpredictable, they were still bound by their mechanics.
Find the weak point, and you could control the game.
(Of course, exceptions like Alice the Aberration existed—but she played by her own rules.)
Once the "friends" were properly cowed, Takakai returned to the second-floor door.
He opened it—
And was immediately hit by a wave of putrid stench.
"A… kennel?"
The sight gave him pause.
He'd expected a schoolroom, a house—not a filthy, overcrowded dog pen.
And calling it a "kennel" was generous. Even the worst animal shelters were cleaner than this reeking hellhole.
But why is this here?
His guard shot up instantly.
Stepping inside, he wedged his foot against the door to prevent it from closing automatically. Then, he swept his flashlight across the room.
"BARK! BARK! BARK—!!"
Immediately, every dog in the cages erupted into frenzied barking, slamming against the bars in a deafening cacophony.
Jesus, these dogs are traumatized.
Most were small mutts—but then he spotted a golden retriever and a husky, both standing out starkly from the rest.
The husky was especially loud, biting at its cage like it was trying to say:
"Take me home! I'll redecorate your house for free!"
The golden retriever, however, was silent.
Just… watching him.
Its eyes held an unnervingly human intelligence.
Is this one different?
Deciding to investigate, Takakai approached the golden retriever's cage, barking a sharp "Quiet!" at the other dogs.
Most settled down—except the husky, which kept howling and shoving its cage-mates around.
Ignoring the chaos, Takakai unlatched the golden retriever's cage and gently stroked its head.
"Good boy. Good boy."
He wasn't exactly a dog person, but he mimicked what he'd seen others do.
The retriever responded immediately, nuzzling his hand and licking his palm.
…Maybe having a dog wouldn't be so bad.
The thought flickered through his mind—
—Then his entire body tensed.
His Blessing activated.
DANGER.
Hide now, or suffer the consequences.
The safe zone?
The cage in front of him.
No other options.
Creeeak—
At the far end of the kennel, a door slowly swung open.