Time in the cave lost its meaning quickly.
There was no sun, no wind, no cycle of day and night—only the slow pulse of magic and the echo of Veldora's presence. Rimuru adapted with remarkable speed, curiosity driving him forward. He tested movement, absorption, and analysis with almost reckless enthusiasm.
Tamura did not.
He floated in place, observing.
Through Observer Beyond Fate, the cave unfolded in layers invisible to ordinary perception. He could see magicules flowing like veins through stone, the residue of ancient battles, the subtle reinforcement of Veldora's seal reacting to Rimuru's growing presence.
Most importantly, he watched Rimuru.
Skills formed around his senpai like newborn stars—Predator, Great Sage, their structures stabilizing with terrifying efficiency. The world was eager to help Rimuru grow.
Tamura felt no such encouragement.
Instead, his system remained quiet. Waiting.
"You're not testing anything?" Rimuru finally asked, confusion seeping through their mental link. "Don't you want to check your skills?"
"I already did," Tamura replied.
"And?"
"I'm strong enough."
Rimuru paused. "…That's not an answer."
"It is to me."
Rimuru did not argue further, but the unease remained. Tamura could feel it—this sense that his kohai was walking on a different axis entirely. Not ahead. Not behind. Just…
elsewhere.
Veldora observed them both with amusement.
"You know," the dragon mused, "most beings reborn here struggle desperately to grow stronger. You, however, seem uninterested."
Tamura shifted slightly. "I worked until I died in my previous life. Growth was never rewarded. Forgive me if I'm not eager to repeat that."
Veldora hummed. "And yet, you already possess something troublesome."
Troublesome was an understatement.
Tamura's gaze drifted toward the seal again. With his skill, he could see how Rimuru would eventually free Veldora—through trust, patience, and a contract born of mutual benefit. He could also see several faster, more violent methods.
He chose none of them.
Let him walk his path, Tamura thought. I'll intervene only if it breaks.
That decision alone caused the threads of fate around him to fray further.
A quiet chime rang through his existence.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
Day two.
Tamura hesitated, then accepted.
[Sign-In Complete.]
[Reward: Extra Skill – 「Perfect Energy Efficiency」]
[Description: All actions consume the minimum possible amount of energy. Waste is reduced to zero.]
It was not flashy. No overwhelming power. But Tamura understood immediately how absurd it was.
He now existed at peak efficiency at all times.
Every movement. Every thought. Every application of power—optimized beyond the limits of instinct or training. While Rimuru burned magicules to grow stronger, Tamura simply was.
Veldora noticed the change instantly.
"Oh? Your presence just stabilized," the dragon said. "How curious."
Rimuru felt it too. "Did you just… get stronger?"
"No," Tamura answered. "I got cheaper."
That earned him silence—and then laughter from Veldora.
"Well said. I approve."
The cave shook again as Rimuru began absorbing surrounding minerals, testing Predator more aggressively. Tamura watched without comment, only stepping aside when necessary.
Eventually, Rimuru turned toward him.
"Tamura-kun," he said carefully, "what are you planning to do once we leave this cave?"
Tamura thought of open skies. Of food he did not have to earn. Of days that ended because he wanted them to.
"Nothing in particular," he replied. "I'll follow you for a while. Help if needed. Then I'll rest."
Rimuru hesitated. "You know this world is dangerous, right?"
"I know," Tamura said. "That's why I'm not rushing."
Veldora's laughter softened, becoming something closer to interest.
"You are fascinating," the dragon said. "A being with the power to interfere, choosing restraint. That kind of existence often angers the world itself."
Tamura did not deny it.
If the world wanted him to act, it would have to pay the price.
And somewhere deep within the cave, as Rimuru prepared to take his first true step toward becoming a legend, Tamura remained still—an unmoving variable in a story that had never accounted for him.
For now.