Am I Pretty? – No Right Answer

Bark fell into panic. Right before his eyes, their leader Grunt had died. Instantly.

Is, is this even possible?!

He'd heard this was definitely a goblin dungeon. But there wasn't a single goblin in sight—just a strange woman. And she was insanely powerful.

What the hell?

Bark racked his brain desperately. As vice-leader, he had to figure out how to survive this.

It was definitely a new-type dungeon made by Belial Enterprise, competing head-to-head with Diendi Make. That's what Grunt, their leader, had told him.

Then there has to be some kind of solution...!

If brute force couldn't smash the dungeon, then find a way to neutralize it. But even as Bark thought, time slipped mercilessly by.

"Am... I pretty?"

"Gaaahhh!"

Unable to overcome his terror, one orc charged at her swinging his mace wildly. Bark didn't even have time to stop him.

"Stop, you idiot! Grunt!"

But the result was the same. The orc's mace didn't even graze her. Instead, the scissors in her hand sliced from the orc's mouth all the way to his ear.

"Grahhh! My mouth...!"

With a scream, the second victim rolled on the floor. Only then did the remaining orcs realize: this wasn't an enemy they could fight and win.

"R-run away!"

The orcs dropped their weapons and bolted desperately for the dungeon entrance. But that was the worst possible choice.

The woman—the Red Mask—ran faster than any orc. She caught them one by one and butchered them with her scissors.

"Gaaahhh!"

Thanks to the time his subordinates bought him, Bark managed to analyze her patterns.

Attacks don't work. Silence isn't the answer either.

That left only one option: answering her.

She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kept asking if she was pretty. So the correct answer was obvious, right?

Yeah, women love hearing they're pretty. Humans, orcs—same deal.

But Bark didn't step forward recklessly. This was a dungeon. Traps could be layered two or three deep. He needed solid proof.

With eyes full of certainty, Bark shoved the back of his subordinate Gor.

"Hey, Gor. You answer her."

"M-me? Really?"

Gor asked in fear, but Bark snarled.

"Yeah! Give her the answer she wants. Say she's pretty! She might let us go."

"B-but..."

"Do it! Grunt! Wanna die by my hand for disobeying orders?!"

Under Bark's threat, Gor had no choice but to step forward. The woman who had massacred his comrades was approaching anyway, and not stepping up meant death regardless.

A moment later, the woman turned her head toward Gor.

"Am... I pretty?"

Gor swallowed hard and shouted just as Bark had signaled.

"Y-yes, you're pretty! Super pretty! Grunt!"

Her eyes curved into crescents at his cry.

"Really?"

Bark, watching from behind, cheered inwardly. Yes! Positive reaction. It was a simple setup: compliment her, and you pass.

Great! Once that guy's safe, I'll say the same.

Gor, relieved by her smile, nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, totally! Prettiest in the world!"

But.

"Thanks."

Slowly, she removed her mask. A horrific mouth, torn from ear to ear, revealing raw red flesh and teeth.

"Then I'll make you... pretty like me."

"...Huh?"

Gor's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes widened in horror. Bark's face, watching from behind, froze too.

Why? He said she was pretty.

Slash—

With a chilling sound, Gor's vision turned red. His mouth burned hot, his jaw dangling loosely.

"Guhhh!"

Before he could realize his mouth had been torn to his ear, Gor collapsed.

"C-crazy bitch!"

Bark staggered back. His hypothesis—no, his only hope—shattered pathetically before his eyes.

Saying she was pretty wasn't the answer.

Then another orc, seeing it all, panicked and yelled.

"You're not pretty! Ugly! Get away!"

Having seen Gor fail by following the vice-leader's order, he went the opposite way. If pretty was wrong, ugly had to be right.

But that was wrong too.

"I'm... not pretty?"

The Red Mask's eyes turned icy in an instant. She teleported right in front of the orc.

"Liar."

Stab—!

Her scissors pierced the orc's throat. He choked on blood and fell.

It was hell.

A dungeon where force didn't work. Affirmation, negation, silence—all led to death. No place to run.

"Th-this can't be...!"

Bark gripped his axe with trembling hands. But he knew better than anyone it was useless.

In the blood-soaked corridor, clack, clack footsteps approached.

The Red Mask walked toward her last prey: Bark.

"......"

Bark squeezed his eyes shut. But he couldn't escape the whisper in his ear.

"Am... I pretty?"

That was the last sound he heard.

"...Total wipe?"

Baal's voice rumbled low.

"Yes, Master. No survivors."

The butler bowed deeply as he replied, bewilderment in his tone.

"That demolition crew wasn't just any orcs. I hand-picked them myself, tempered them through countless battlefields. And they fail to conquer a mere D-rank dungeon?"

Baal clenched his fist. This wasn't just a tactical failure. It defied common sense.

A goblin dungeon. D-rank. How could an elite orc unit vanish without a trace?

"What the hell... is inside there?"

Baal muttered, furrowing his brow. Traps? Magic? A hidden wyvern maybe? Even if Belial was a top company, stuffing over-spec into a D-rank didn't make financial sense.

Then the butler spoke cautiously.

"The informant who checked the scene said... the corpses' condition was bizarre."

"Bizarre?"

"Yes. Every single corpse had their mouths... torn from ear to ear. Like they were smiling."

"......!"

Baal's eyes shook. All mouths torn ear to ear?

Suddenly, this didn't feel like a simple fight. Not brute monster suppression, but something more primal, sinister—pure horror.

Belial... what kind of dungeon are you making?

Baal's instincts screamed. This wasn't just any new product. A dungeon that could upend the industry—dangerous, yet alluring.

And at its heart: the designer.

"Butler."

Baal looked up.

"Find out everything about the dungeon maker Zartus mentioned."

"A Belial employee, sir?"

"Yes. Name, rank, background, even minor habits—everything. Use internal spies, pour money in, whatever it takes."

Baal's orders continued.

"He beat my son and wiped my unit. I need to see this guy with my own eyes."

"Understood."

As the butler withdrew, Baal gazed out the window, alone again.

"I'm looking forward to it. Wonder what kind of bastard he is."

"......!"

My eyes lit up. A company messenger alert popped up—with my name on it.

Even though the dungeon sold, its stellar performance meant rewards trickled back to the creator.

Not bad.

Extra points would definitely pull me further from dismissal.

Actually, a blessing in disguise.

Planting that urban legend in the dungeon was a godsend, it seemed.

Wonder where Zartus went?

I glanced at his desk—empty. He'd come in pale that morning, checked his terminal, staggered out, and hadn't returned. Normally he'd be here picking a fight, but today? Quiet.

Not my problem.

I turned back and picked up my pen over a blank notepad.

So far, just two urban legends shown. But mountains more waited.

School, hospital, mirror, elevator...

All those Earth horrors, unimaginable here. My lips curved into a chilling smile at the thought of unleashing them one by one.

At this rate, maybe I could quit and go independent for real?

But the system wasn't fully understood yet. Did "permanent dismissal" in the status window mean real-world death too? If quitting led to death, resigning now was risky.

And I'd only made two dungeons so far.

Plenty of time to think.

As I smiled contentedly, considering coffee—

"Attention, everyone."

Crisp heels clicked as Team Leader Liliane strode to the office center. In her hand: a thick planning binder.

Unlike usual, her face held a mix of tension and anticipation.

"An urgent project from HQ."

She dropped the binder on a desk with a thud.

"Sales Team 3 will handle it."

The cover read Special Purpose Dungeon Development Project in bold red.

"The request is very specific. No interest in standard combat or trap dungeons. They want an entirely new concept."

Liliane's gaze swept the team, lingering on me.

"Theme: education and indoctrination."

"...Education?"

Someone echoed in disbelief. Fair enough. Education in a dungeon? Blocking invaders with classes?

But.

They totally want a school.

An idea flashed in my mind.

"This project runs on internal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠competitive bidding. The most innovative plan wins project lead and a special bonus."

Liliane added with a meaningful smile.

"Of course, disappointing submissions... will face severe HR repercussions. Don't forget."