The Tavern on the Fifth Floor
Around the time the imagined scenes painted across the black world behind his eyelids began to take on life and breathe, Minel forced his eyes open.
After the midsummer-night’s-dream of everything they had just endured, the tension drained from every body at once, and the others had fallen into deep, total sleep.
Everyone except one.
“Steno.”
Steno tried to keep pretending she was asleep, but when Minel called her name a second time with absolute certainty, she finally opened her eyes.
“How did you know?”
“Because I’m a combatant.”
A simple word. Yet it explained everything.
Steno pushed herself up into a sitting position. She checked the others still lost in sleep, then spoke in a low voice.
“I wasn’t trying to trick you or ambush you. I was pretending to sleep so I could stay on guard—in case you tried something.”
“I know.”
Minel sat up as well. When he opened his inventory, tension flickered across Steno’s face—only to ease the moment she saw it was a water canteen.
“Here.”
He handed over not only water but food as well. It wasn’t one of Chori’s special dishes, just the bare rations that would keep a person going.
“Why go this far for us?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?”
Minel jerked his chin once toward the emergency exit marked 5F.
“Go out first.”
“……”
“Let’s call it even with that.”
Steno understood perfectly well. She had incurred a massive debt to Minel this time. His demand was that she repay it by confirming the safety of what lay ahead.
“I thought we might form a party. Shame.”
“We’ve only known each other for a day.”
Minel spoke flatly. Steno felt she already had a clear picture of the kind of person he was.
“After something as dramatic as what we just went through, people usually feel like they’ve gotten a lot closer, right? I felt that way myself. You didn’t?”
“That’s just a feeling.”
Steno gave a short snort of laughter. Even in a few clipped words, he somehow struck right at the heart of things. One look at Minel’s expression told her there was no room for negotiation.
She shrugged once and said, “We have to go out there anyway. If that clears the whole debt, I’ll take it.”
“Good.”
Steno stood and went to Riale, who was still sleeping soundly. Riale slowly opened her eyes and looked up at her sister. Steno whispered a few soft words; Riale understood the situation and nodded.
Until the two of them rose and walked to the entrance of the fifth floor, Minel never once took his eyes off them.
Just before they stepped through, Steno turned her head and asked him, “What if I’d been out cold like everyone else? Would we have partied up then?”
“Yeah.”
“Because I trusted you first and went to sleep?”
“That, and something else.”
“What else?”
“You’re a natural leader.”
Minel and Steno understood each other completely. Even after sharing something this extraordinary, even if the high of it still lingered, neither of them was the type who could simply trust the other and fall asleep without a care. It went beyond personality. It was a matter of constitution—the constitution of born leaders.
“Two tigers on one mountain is always hard. It’s a shame in more ways than one.”
“You’ll make a good party leader, Steno.”
“Let’s be clear about this. If we run into each other again on the fifth floor, no matter the situation, we treat each other as basic allies first.”
Minel looked at her steadily. Was it really all right to make a promise like that so lightly? Still, people who communicated this well were rare. Considering the value of a connection like hers, the risk of the promise was worth carrying.
“All right.”
Steno knew Minel never spoke carelessly. Even just now, he had weighed every possibility behind that simple answer and only replied after a long pause. If he had meant to lie, he would have forced a smile and agreed on the spot.
She nodded, then stepped out through the emergency exit with Riale.
Once he confirmed they had vanished from sight, Minel rose at once. He watched Steno and Riale as they moved deeper inside. Beyond the exit lay a corridor of wood—floor, walls, and ceiling alike. At the far end was another door; the two of them walked to it, opened it, and went through.
About ten minutes later, Riale reappeared through that same door and came all the way back to the emergency stairwell where Minel waited.
“She says to tell you it’s safe.”
“Got it.”
“Well then. I hope we meet again.”
Riale glanced once, almost wistfully, at the sleeping Chori and Hina, then returned inside.
Minel settled himself near the doorway in a concealed position, drew Silence, cradled the blade against his chest, and slept.
Some time later, Hina’s voice woke him.
“Minel? Are you all right?”
Her eyes were tense as they fixed on the sword he held.
Minel sheathed Silence and stood.
“Yeah. Everyone sleep well?”
“Yes… but Steno and Riale are gone.”
“They left first.”
“What?”
“The entrance to the fifth floor is safe, they said.”
Hina stared at him for a moment as if she didn’t quite follow, but Minel offered nothing more. With her usual quick intuition she soon pieced together roughly what had happened.
“Just tell me one thing. Did they choose to go on their own, or did you drive them off?”
“Neither.”
“Then what?”
“Or maybe both?”
“What does that even mean?”
“It just turned out that way.”
Hina didn’t press further.
Chori, who had been watching the exchange, spoke up.
“Don’t fight. I’ll make a special delicious breakfast!”
Using blood crystals, Chori prepared food. Hina’s portion was a katsudon so appetizing that saliva rose at the mere sight of it; Minel’s was ox-head soup rice that smelled heavenly even before the first spoonful.
Both of them went wide-eyed and began eating without a word. Chori stuck close and stole little bites from each plate.
“Hina unnie’s food is a little tastier.”
That was unacceptable. Minel spoke with complete seriousness.
“You’re still young. When you get older…”
“I still don’t think I’d like Oppa’s food very much.”
“……”
Well, Suye hadn’t cared much for it either. Minel said nothing more and quietly finished every last grain of the ox-head soup rice.
Full, he gazed at the empty bowl and felt a faint, strange question stir. What exactly were the skills of the Backrooms? As Balan had said, the answers probably lay higher up. Still, he wondered. How had the Backrooms been made? Why did the system that ran inside them work the way it did? Surely those answers, too, could be found if one climbed high enough.
But he had not the slightest intention of abandoning reality and settling in the Backrooms just to satisfy a little curiosity. What did it really mean that people like Balan and Urare eventually had no choice but to live out their lives here?
“That was so good, Chori! If I could eat like this every time, I’d be truly happy!”
“Hehehe. I put in some real effort! Good thing you brought me along, unnie?”
“Of course. If we’d been separated on the fourth floor, I would have regretted it forever. Minel, shall we head out?”
Minel nodded and stood. Chori took his empty bowl and stowed it in her inventory.
“Before we go in, let’s do some upgrades.”
“Ah—the blacksmith’s hammer!”
On the fourth floor there had been neither reason nor time for upgrades, so they had skipped them. Before entering the fifth floor, it seemed wise to raise the level of Hina’s gear.
Hina produced Digital Vein; Chori took out the blacksmith’s hammer. Chori closed her eyes, brought the hammer close to her ear, then murmured,
“A rare-grade item needs two hundred blood crystals.”
“That many?”
“It might take even more to get it to level five…”
Minel set two hundred blood crystals in a pile in front of Chori. Fewer than fifty now remained in his inventory.
“Just do Digital Vein.”
Chori nodded, raised the blacksmith’s hammer high, and brought it down boldly on Digital Vein. With a heavy thud the two hundred blood crystals vanished like dust, their energy sinking into the weapon.
He checked with the Backrooms Compendium: it had reached level four. Raising it to level five would have to wait until they gathered more blood crystals on the fifth floor.
“Whew… that went well, right?”
“Yeah. Now let’s really go in.”
The three of them stood before the emergency door marked 5F. Minel opened his inventory to retrieve Isil, yet somehow the android refused to come to hand—like reaching for a cat that kept slipping into corners and hiding.
“Still not charged?”
Isil answered the question.
Inventory Storage Mode active.
All command protocols remain deactivated until full charge is reached.
The words did not sound aloud; they resonated inside Minel’s mind. Judging by the thick note of annoyance in the tone, even that answer had been given as a considerable favor.
“I’ll go in first.”
“No. Stay put.”
Minel stopped Hina and stepped through himself.
When the door opened, the faint, rough scent of pine resin drifted out. Below lay a wooden floor of clean, smoothly polished planks. Each step produced a pleasant, characteristic creak of timber.
Nothing looked particularly wrong all the way to the end of the corridor. Minel gestured for Hina and Chori to follow; once they joined him he said quietly,
“I’ll check ahead first.”
With that he eased open the wooden door at the far end of the corridor and stepped through.
Creeeak.
The sight that greeted him made Minel’s breath catch for a moment.
It was a spacious tavern. Antlers and an iron chandelier hung from the high ceiling; in place of candles, soft-glowing crystal orbs cast a gentle golden light. Every wall was of solid wood. Along one side stretched a long bookshelf, old maps, and an assortment of cold weapons. On the other, a great fireplace blazed, warming the entire tavern.
Worn rugs lay scattered across the floor; roughly yet affectionately carved tables stood at regular intervals. There were quite a few people—adventurers in armor, mages in robes, archers with quivers on their backs—gathered in little groups. Every one of them looked like the classic fantasy-game adventurer one had seen a hundred times before.
They laughed and talked in low voices, drank, swapped gossip, played cards, and rolled dice. No one paid Minel any attention.
No—one person did.
Behind the long, gleaming oak bar, a bartender stood watching him steadily. A face half-hidden by a beard, a thick apron, and something like a rune tattoo etched into one forearm. His hands never stopped carefully polishing clean glasses, yet his eyes were clear as glass marbles, the pupils sharp as drops of black ink. It was the deep, waiting gaze of someone who had been expecting a particular person for a very long time.
“Huh? What’s this?”
“People come out of that door too?”
A few voices rose in mild surprise at the sight of Minel, but they were busy and soon returned to their own business.
Minel closed the wooden door and walked over to the bartender who was still watching him. As he sat, the man spoke in a warm, comfortable voice.
“You’re only the second person to come through that door.”
“That door?”
“The fourth floor you came from. Last night was the first time anyone ever ascended from there. Did you use the path those people opened?”
“No. We came up together.”
“So you’re a pioneer. In that case, the first drink is on me.”
The bartender set down a glass, dropped in a fist-sized sphere of ice, and began pouring whiskey.
Minel looked around again. The faces filling the space were full of life. Best of all, the atmosphere was remarkably gentle. Even when people playfully swung fists or raised their voices, there was no real hostility in it.
“Are all of these people actually human?”
“I’m not.”
“Then what?”
“As you can see—I’m a bartender.”
“Not a person, but a bartender?”
“Yes.”
Clearly more than a bartender in the ordinary sense. In a place this crowded he could hardly pull out the Backrooms Compendium. Minel asked quietly,
“A merchant? A blacksmith? Or something like a mayor?”
“If you’re asking whether I’m a resident of the Backrooms, then yes. Similar to a merchant or blacksmith, a little different from a mayor.”
Confirmed NPC. That meant a role.
“What do you do?”
“I give quests.”
“Quests?”
“Would you like to accept a quest? Tell me the reward you want and I’ll present matching quests for you to choose from.”
Minel had long known the Backrooms were full of game-like elements. He had not expected anyone to offer quests this openly.
“Is this place safe, at least?”
“Violence inside the tavern is fundamentally forbidden.”
“Is that so? Got it.”
Minel said nothing more and walked back to the wooden door he had come through. Hina and Chori waited with anxious faces. With an impassive expression he drew out the Backrooms Compendium.
Bartenders are a unique race of the Backrooms. Their purpose for existing is to serve drinks and provide quests. In exchange for blood crystals, one may accept a quest that carries a desired reward; completion is judged at the bartender’s sole discretion. Committing violence inside a tavern they inhabit results in expulsion; repeated offenses permanently revoke the right to receive quests.
How far could a “desired reward” actually go? At least the NPC status was confirmed—and that meant the interior’s safety was guaranteed as well.
“It’s safe. Let’s go.”
This time all three of them stepped together into the fifth floor.