Asher woke up sore.
Not injured.
Just… informed.
Every muscle in his body felt like it had opinions about what he'd done yesterday, and none of them were positive.
"…Okay," he muttered, sitting up slowly. "So this is the difference between healing and consequences."
He stretched. Carefully.
Nothing tore. Nothing screamed.
That alone felt like progress.
A faint system notification hovered at the edge of his vision.
[Post-Combat Assessment]
Muscle Microtrauma: Resolved
Neural Load: Stabilized
Overall Condition: Acceptable
Asher squinted at it.
"Acceptable," he repeated. "I love how that's the best you'll ever say."
The system declined to comment.
Asher rolled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He drank it slowly, thinking.
Yesterday had gone… well.
Too well, honestly.
And that worried him.
The dungeon wasn't static. It adapted. Learned. Escalated.
Which meant the worst thing he could do right now was assume yesterday's strategy would work tomorrow.
"…I need a plan," he said aloud.
Saying it made it feel official.
Asher sat at the small table in his apartment and started listing things in his head.
What he had:
Endless Stamina (combat-only)
Adaptive Combat Sense (still learning)
Damage Conversion (dangerous if abused)
Skill Assimilation (incomplete, unreliable)
What he didn't have:
Defense
Range
Control over terrain
Any idea what the dungeon would throw at him next
"…So basically," he muttered, "I'm a very enthusiastic punching bag."
That tracked.
A new system window appeared, as if summoned by the insult.
[Notice]
User behavior indicates increased strategic intent.
Asher paused.
"…That sounds ominous."
[Clarification]
It is encouraging.
He blinked.
"…You can do that?"
[Affirmation.]
"Well," Asher said, leaning back in his chair. "That's unsettling."
He stood and paced the apartment, mentally replaying the Ruin Sentinel fight.
He hadn't won because he hit harder.
He'd won because he waited.
Because he watched.
Because he stopped panicking.
"That's the difference," he said quietly. "Not strength. Control."
He glanced toward the faint pull of the dungeon.
It was there.
Waiting.
But not calling.
"…Not yet," Asher said.
His phone buzzed.
He checked it.
MAYA:
You still alive today, or did you finally trip over your own feet?
Asher snorted and typed back.
ASHER:
Alive. Surprisingly intact.
A moment later—
MAYA:
Good. You're on morning shift tomorrow. Try not to explode before then.
He stared at the message.
Then sighed.
"…Right. Real life."
He tossed the phone onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair.
That was the other part of the problem.
Bills didn't care about dungeons.
Rent didn't scale with performance.
And his boss definitely wasn't going to accept "personal dungeon escalation" as an excuse for being late.
"I need to balance this," he said. "Or it's going to balance me."
Another system notification flickered.
[Notice]
Time management inefficiency detected.
Long-term survival probability affected.
Asher stared at it.
"…Are you judging my work schedule now?"
[No.]
I am calculating outcomes.
"Same thing."
He exhaled slowly.
Then nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Here's the plan."
He raised a finger.
"Dungeon runs only when I'm rested."
Another.
"No impulse dives."
A third.
"And if something feels off—"
He stopped.
"…I leave."
The dungeon pull didn't protest.
Which, somehow, made that decision feel even more important.
Asher straightened, feeling something settle in his chest.
Not confidence.
Resolve.
"…Tomorrow," he said. "We go again. But this time?"
He smiled faintly.
"I'm thinking first."
And somewhere deep within Heaven's Heart—
Something approved.