There's No Dust
After that, the two of them used desks, chairs, and other pieces of the terrain to fashion ambush positions around the Merchant.
They ran through every variable they could imagine, preparing themselves to handle anything that came.
Hina proved a far sturdier ally than Minel had expected. She calmly supplied answers for countless points he had overlooked.
"Cooking skill?"
"Yes. It's a non-combat skill. You can't find food anywhere in the Backrooms. One of our party members had it. Without that person we all would have starved to death."
"There are thirst- and hunger-immunity drinks, aren't there?"
"How could we waste something that precious every single time? That's far too extravagant."
"……"
"Besides, eating something delicious melts the stress right away. There are moments when you really feel like you're going to lose your mind."
The Backrooms, where the sky never showed. Simply staring up at a ceiling barely three meters high every day was enough to drive a person mad—and within those walls prowled monsters and humans no better than monsters.
Just as Hina said, a single good meal would probably wipe the stress clean. Minel was beginning to understand why she insisted other skills were essential. Non-combat did not mean irrelevant to survival. For lasting any real length of time, those skills might matter even more than combat ones.
"What about water, then?"
"Usually you get it from the bathrooms. A lot of fighting happens there. The strong ones claim the spots and trade water. Every trip is almost life-or-death. Even a container that can hold water becomes an extremely rare item."
"……"
"Clothes clean themselves if you put them in your inventory and take them out again. Contaminants don't seem to go in with them. But your body stays the same, so when you get the chance you wash up in a bathroom. Of course that carries risk too. Oh, and sizes auto-adjust—if something doesn't fit, just put it in the inventory once and pull it back out."
The mention of bathrooms sparked a sudden curiosity.
"What about excretion?"
It was a light question, yet the answer that came back was unexpected.
"We don't."
"……"
"Think about it carefully. Have you ever needed to?"
Now that she mentioned it, he realized he had never once considered the matter. Everything else was inconvenient, yet in this one strange respect the place was convenient.
The Backrooms. A world utterly unlike reality.
"Is sleep different too?"
"Sleep is the same. You need at least eight hours. Even if tension keeps you from managing it properly, you have to force yourself. Otherwise your mind collapses first."
After that the two of them kept shifting desks and chairs around the Merchant, arranging the space. They wanted positions that would let them attack one-sidedly while still looking natural overall. Minel also gave Hina a thirst- and hunger-immunity drink. They would have to conserve them if they wanted to avoid turning into monsters, but for now their stock was ample.
"We should sleep soon, Minel."
"I'm still fine."
"It's better to keep sleep times strictly. Once your body clock breaks, recovery isn't easy."
The moment she said it, fatigue washed through his entire body. In the Backrooms, where the flow of time was impossible to gauge, even drowsiness was hard to notice unless you focused.
They slipped into a dark side room nearby. The floor was far too damp, so they gathered desks and lay side by side on top of them—at an angle where even a flashlight would not reveal them from outside.
The instant they settled, Hina added quietly,
"In the end, the Backrooms is a battle of mental strength. Even someone truly strong can die to someone like me once their mind frays."
"Is that so?"
She spoke in a low voice.
"There was someone in a party who got used as a meat shield. He's dead now."
"……"
"One time the need for water got so desperate that he charged the strong guy holding the bathroom, pretending to be crazy. Yet he won with a single chair. The opponent even used an automatic shotgun."
"……"
"The shotgun was wrecked, but he got quite a few Blood Crystals that day."
An automatic shotgun would send everyone on the same line straight to the afterlife even with rough aiming. Its power should have punched through Backrooms desks and chairs like paper.
"How was that possible?"
"He looked like he hadn't slept—eyes hollow. And it was as if he were seeing ghosts. While charging straight at him, the guy kept shooting at weird empty spots."
"……"
Hina let out a sigh.
"That's why a party matters. Alone, you go mad like that within a few days. And……"
"And?"
She gave a small shudder.
"You turn into a monster all too easily."
In that instant the words of that stagnant veteran surfaced unbidden.
If you can't hold on to your reason, you all end up like that in the end.
Even if you die, you become a monster.
So just climb up diligently.
With those cryptic phrases drifting through his mind, Minel closed his eyes and spent his first night in the Backrooms.
He had barely shut his eyes and opened them again when he found Hina already awake, checking her wristwatch. It was the same one she had worn in the real world—an item more precious than almost anything else in a place where tracking time was nearly impossible.
"Eight hours have already passed. I know you want more sleep, but waking times have to be kept just as strictly. For your mental health."
Had he been so exhausted he never even dreamed? Minel forced his body upright.
From then on the two of them worked steadily, shifting desks and chairs, reshaping the terrain. They were no experts, yet after throwing themselves into it day after day a fairly convincing setup took form.
Then, roughly five days later, they heard another human voice for the first time.
"……"
"……"
Minel's eyes met Hina's. Holding their breath, they carefully slipped to their separate positions.
The footsteps drew closer. At last two figures emerged from the dark. One was the gunman who had killed the leopard-print woman; the other was the lanky man they had first encountered.
According to Hina, the remaining four had no combat skills and no experience in real fights. Only two of them, and only one used a gun—subdue them and it would be over.
Minel drew Noise from its holster. He moved with extreme slowness and care so as not to make a sound. Pulling it from inventory would have produced that distinctive clear chime and given them away. Now he understood why the Merchant had said there would be times when a scabbard or holster was necessary.
Minel took a steadying breath and waited calmly—until the gunman stepped precisely into his line of fire.
He had practiced several times over the five days, yet the report was so loud he had never been able to try freely. Only a perfect sight picture would guarantee a sure hit.
Then, at that exact moment, the gunman suddenly stopped.
Of all places, he halted one stride off Minel's firing line. Worse, the lanky man took a step forward first and completely blocked Minel's view.
The lanky man asked the gunman quietly,
"What's wrong?"
The gunman narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the floor, offering no answer. He slowly crouched, brushed his fingers lightly across the surface, then brought the tips up before his eyes.
"There's no dust."
"What?"
"I said there's no dust. The floor is unnaturally clean."
"……"
The gunman rose without a sound. He turned his head in a slow arc and began scanning the surroundings with sharp focus.
The lanky man spoke in a low voice.
"We're near the Merchant, aren't we? Someone must have come through earlier."
"You think I don't know that? Then footprints should be left. It can't be this clean."
"……"
"Strange. Something about the surroundings feels subtly different too."
His gaze swept the area like a predator's. Then, without warning, he squeezed the trigger toward one side.
Bang—!
The bullet slammed into a spot where chairs and desks were piled in deliberate chaos—one of the concealment positions they had built for Hina. Had the pair approached from the opposite direction, she would have been sitting there, and that single round might have ended her life.
"……"
The gunman surveyed the area with a rigid expression. He cupped a hand to his ear, straining not to miss even the faintest sound. The gunshot's echo rolled through the closed space and only gradually faded.
The lanky man patted his chest and shouted,
"Say something before you shoot! My heart almost—ugh."
The gunman slowly turned and leveled the muzzle at him. His voice came out low and rough, a growl.
"You stupid bastard. You want me to announce I'm about to fire? Huh?"
"N-no, that wasn't what I meant……"
"Then what? What the hell were you saying? Some dumbass telling me what to do."
"……"
In the Backrooms, strength was everything. The lanky man dared not talk back; he simply shut his mouth.
The gunman jerked his chin forward.
"You go first."
"What?"
"I said go first. Head over by the Merchant and check what's there."
Fear made the lanky man stammer.
"I-I don't have a gun."
"If there's an enemy, they already heard the shot. They'll assume you do."
"B-but using me as a meat shie—"
"If you don't go, I'll kill you myself. Think carefully."
The gunman flicked the muzzle back and forth, applying pressure, until the lanky man finally gave in and trudged forward.
Minel held his breath and waited for the man to pass. Even after the lanky man reached the Merchant's location, the gunman remained motionless where he stood.
"I-it's fine! There's nobody! Only the Merchant!"
The lanky man's voice bounced around the corner.
The gunman called out loudly,
"You actually went all the way to the Merchant, right?"
"Y-yes. There's nobody."
"Got it."
The gunman raised his weapon with one hand and carefully took a single step forward—perfect posture, ready to return fire the instant anyone burst out from anywhere.
But it was nowhere near enough to stop an ambush prepared over days of reshaping the terrain and hiding in the dark.
Boom—!
A thunderous roar that seemed to shake the floor itself erupted as a muzzle flash leapt from Noise. In that instant the gunman's body cartwheeled through the air as though flung by an invisible hand. He spun several times before slamming hard into the wall.
The man recovered his senses at once. With eyes wide from the shock he tried to raise his arm—only to discover that the hand which should have held the gun, and the entire arm itself, had already been blown clean off.
"Ah…… ah…… ah……"
He could not even scream. No matter that he had been shot, the complete severing of an arm defied comprehension.
In truth Minel felt the same. He had known Noise could punch through desks and chairs, but he had never imagined it would simply erase part of a human body. And still there was almost no recoil.
Minel moved without hesitation. He burst from the darkness and sprinted toward the Merchant.
The gunman was already neutralized. Finding the lanky man was the priority now.
"Hina. Watch this guy for a moment. If anything happens, just smash the jar over him."
"Ah—yes."
Her voice came from one side. Judging by the man's condition, simply watching him would be enough.
Minel rounded the corner straight toward the Merchant. Only the Merchant stood there; the lanky man was gone.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Far off, rapidly receding footsteps echoed. From the volume alone, chasing the lanky man was impossible. He would surely return with the entire party. They had to finish things here first.
Minel hurried back. Hina stood with the jar in hand, glaring at the man, who stared blankly at his severed wrist with a face that had already abandoned everything.
"So it was you back then. I'll give the Blood Crystals back—just let me live……"
With his remaining hand the man opened his inventory. Minel immediately trained the muzzle on his head, but luckily what appeared in the hand was only Blood Crystals. The man struggled to lift them in offering—yet his hand trembled violently and then dropped limply. Losing the entire arm had caused too much blood loss.
Minel felt little at the fact that he had killed the man. What disappointed him was simply that he had failed to extract any useful information.
"I underestimated the power……"
Then it happened.
The man's body suddenly began to swell like a balloon.
In an instant, he had become a monster.