Chapter 3

**

Ah.

Ah, no.

“...Uuugh.”

It seemed I had truly screwed myself.

The conversation drifting across the screen did not sound good.

At a glance, it was obvious none of it was good news.

Because, seriously—there it was, plain as day. Negative opinions were being thrown at everything I had. Even a fool like me could understand what that meant.

I forced my trembling hands still and clung to my composure.

I was at the edge of utter despair, but I couldn’t keep shaking forever.

There were times when you simply had to do what had to be done.

That was one of my life mottos. It had been teetering on the brink of collapse lately, though.

“S-six. Seven. T-this one.”

I hurried through the long text and tapped the agree button. As before, the mailbox window popped up in front of me. Inside it was...

...That’s it?

That’s really all?

“...Seriously?”

Even the purple-haired mod who told me to calm down let out a curse. Seeing that, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had no choice but to sink even deeper into despair. Time was slipping away mercilessly while this was happening, too.

I even tried running, just in case I could somehow get out of here. But that, too, came to nothing.

Along with a shrill alarm, my body simply refused to move forward, as if something were blocking me.

“Ugh, my legs hurt...”

In the first place, this frail girl’s body could barely manage even running.

Even running away had been denied to me. For now, at least.

Meanwhile, time kept passing without mercy, as though to tell me my remaining life was running out.

...Was that really right? Or was it nothing more than a funeral chant meant to soothe me?

Still, I had no room to argue.

Fighting with this child-sized body would be impossible in the first place. If I flailed around in a desperate tantrum, who knew what would happen to me.

There was no time to think about penalties or the future or any of that. In the end, I was nothing but a pitiful weakling in this world.

Even after possession, that part didn’t seem to change.

After placing a few traps that looked like decoys, I set out to find something I could hide in and tucked it into a corner.

A pitfall trap. Since I’d installed it at the edge of this long corridor, there was no chance of anyone stepping on it by accident. At least, that was the only conclusion I could reach.

What reassured me was...

“...Tight.”

My tiny body could barely squeeze inside, which meant nobody else was likely to fall into it.

The other problem was that I hated cramped spaces a little.

“......Tight.”

No, a lot.

I somehow wedged myself into place and opened the gallery again. People were talking about me all over the place.

**

There was nothing but negative talk. More precisely, there were opinions about how to overcome the negatives, but in the end, all of them seemed to hit a limit.

If I had to sum up why that limit had to exist, it was this.

Every Gatekeeper must defeat intruders, then use the points gained from those victories to pay for their own food, clothing, shelter, and the dungeon’s upkeep.

But I, effectively, had no means of winning those fights. The class of puppeteer was nearly useless, and so was the body.

So the solution was ultimately to spend points to summon items or monsters and make up for the missing combat strength. But even that couldn’t cover all the points required. In fact, it would only increase the upkeep.

“...So there’s no answer.”

Right.

The conclusion was that no matter what method I used, my death was already decided. Like this cramped hiding place, my future might as well have been fixed in advance.

“...I hate this.”

And I.

I hated it very much. I hated it.

Those moments when no amount of effort made a difference. The days when, no matter how hard I tried to make things better, I only ever ended up back where I started.

That despair that no matter what I did for a better job, a better life, nothing would ever truly change.

In the end, I had stopped. My field of view and my time had frozen inside that tiny one-room apartment.

Unable to go forward, unable to retreat, I had spent my days cramming in amusement and consumption, one day at a time.

“...There’s no way I could have liked that.”

I had despised all of that—despised the me who had been forced to stop.

Even now, with my body changed, that had not changed.

The fact that a miserable, stalled future was waiting for me...

“I have to... do something.”

That thought rose from inside me.

I had to try something. Would I just give up and accept the future handed to me like this?

Even if failure seemed obvious, if it was something I ought to do, then I had to do it.

Otherwise I’d never even feel like I was alive.

“Anything, anything... I have to. Do something.”

I opened the status window. Spellbound, almost unconsciously.

For now, there was only one skill I could use.

Puppet Making.

**

It was still too early to know. Whether I had that “specific capability” or not. I had to keep hold of hope somehow.

I took out the tools one by one and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠held them in my hands. I’d never made a puppet before, but I had sewn things before.

Anyway, I was fairly good with my hands. I had to trust that and try. I had to try something.

I really didn’t want to live the same kind of life here too.

“Huuup—”

I took a deep breath and slowly opened my lips.

“Pup-pet... making?”

I carefully said the skill name out loud. Then my hands began moving on their own, as though they were familiar with it.

A touch so delicate, so gentle, it almost felt like a caress. Stitch by stitch, I joined the puppet’s inner spaces together.

“Uh...”

In the middle of it...

“...That’s not right. This isn’t, no.”

I felt a nameless sense of wrongness.

Something was visible to me. Whether it was knowledge I had accumulated or instinct, I couldn’t tell, but something made the discomfort glaringly clear.

This is wrong.

You can’t insert that thread, that nerve, there.

Why is this twisted like that?

This organ isn’t supposed to be built like this. You’d need to pay more attention to the composition.

“Here, if I mix Je■rosine ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and ■talin...”

More.

More beautifully. More like ■■.

“■■■ into ■■, and then weave the finished ■■■ together with ■■...”

“When ■■■■ becomes entangled with ■■■, so that it can safely be so■...”

Countless system windows blossomed before my eyes.

But I had no time to care about them.

Before I knew it, my eyes were fixed, and I was mumbling words even I couldn’t understand.

Something I would forget even myself.

Together with my concentration.

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