The Unexpected Jackpot
A month had passed since the Bugnga human trafficking fiasco. The city, having chewed the scandal to bits, had spat it out like a flavorless wad of gum into the corner and set off in search of fresh gossip. In other words, the time had finally come for Amon to get back into action.
"Off to the dungeon to hunt some skulls~," Amon hummed cheerfully, heading to the Explorers' Guild after far too long. Beside him, Kashi swayed her black hair in rhythm, matching his tune. She'd originally planned to join after he'd gained enough dungeon experience, but a string of misfortunes had already delayed things by two months. At this rate, she'd never see the inside of a dungeon, so she'd just jumped in early.
The two pushed open the doors to the Explorers' Guild. The adventurers inside, now used to Amon, paid him no mind. Instead, their eyes locked onto Kashi trailing behind him. But the attention she drew was a far cry from what Amon had gotten. He always wore his helmet during runs, so his gear stole the spotlight over his looks. Kashi, though? Not a chance.
Men's gazes zeroed in first on her firm, perky breasts. As she walked, they jiggled enticingly, drawing eyes down to her slim waist, then to her healthy, wide hips. Only after savoring those thick thighs did they finally glance up at her face. Their stares hooked onto the stunning black-haired, red-eyed beauty.
"Oh."
Someone let out an impressed sigh. No explanation needed. Kashi knew exactly what they were staring at. But she didn't care. It was the same leers she got all the time at the mercenary brokerage. No reason to shrink from it. She strode confidently after Amon to the reception desk.
At the counter, Amon immediately started lining up a party—including one for Kashi.
"Party matching, please... Huh?"
He had to cut himself off. The receptionist's face looked familiar. Was he seeing things? Amon tilted his head to check her name tag. Reina. The elf mage who'd played queen bee in that trash party last time. What was she doing working reception?
Reading his expression like a book, the elf flashed a wry smile.
"You're still alive."
"You too."
"Wondering why I'm here?"
"Yeah."
"I quit merc work."
"...Why?"
"Because of Paul."
"Ah..."
That single word painted the whole picture for Amon. To the city, the Paul incident was just another red-light district sideshow. But for those in that party, it was personal hell. Realizing a human trafficker had been in your group? PTSD material for sure. And with rumors that party leader Humph and his little brother had been completely exposed, the shock doubled.
Someone with a clear dream like Amon might shrug it off. But for folks just scraping by on merc gigs? Unbearable.
"I thought it over, and merc life just doesn't suit me."
So she'd quit. Luckily, she had the knack for reception work. Pretty face, silver tongue that could charm any man in a party—perfect fit. She'd started manning the desk a fortnight before Amon's return.
Hearing her story, Amon naturally asked about the rest of the party.
"Ktal? Kter? What about him?"
"Ketal."
"Right, him."
The orc tank from the trash party. The kind who charged enemy lines without covering the rear. The elf mage pointed to the tavern corner instead of answering. There was the orc, diligently assisting the head chef.
"Didn't see that coming."
Amon had figured the guy would shrug it off with some macho talk post-incident. But he'd retired clean and quiet.
"Tough exterior, but a softie at heart."
The elf nodded in agreement, subtly flashing the ring on her left ring finger. The orc tank in the kitchen wore a matching one.
"Ah, got it. Congrats."
Amon shoved aside the doujinshi scene popping into his head and offered genuine well-wishes. At the same time, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief for the elf mage and orc tank.
At least they didn't end up dead.
They'd been trash-tier, sure, and frustrating enough to want to kill at times. But that didn't mean they deserved death. Humph and his brother were unfortunate losses, but these two surviving? A small mercy.
Amon sincerely congratulated the elf on her new life and got down to business.
"People are waiting behind us, so let's wrap this up."
"Right. Need a party match? With the lady back there?"
"Knew it."
"Got your number. You're frontline DPS, obviously... And you, miss? What's your position?"
The elf receptionist—Reina now—tilted her head toward Kashi.
Kashi pulled the spear from her back and declared,
"Frontline DPS. Spearman."
"Uh..."
Reina's face fell awkwardly.
"This might be tougher to match than I thought."
Amon blinked at her words.
"Why?"
"Two frontline DPS. Not many parties will bite."
"What's the issue? Is there some rule against double frontline?"
"Not strictly, no. Just efficiency."
The ideal formation for Amon's target dungeon was tank, warrior, rifleman, machine gunner, mage. Five slots. You could flex numbers a bit, but loot split was the killer. Six people splitting five shares meant thinner cuts. Hence, one per role was standard.
"Deep-run parties double up as needed, but you're just hitting the entrance, right?"
"Yeah."
"Entrance parties are picky about splits. Doubt you'll find takers."
Amon frowned at the unexpected snag.
"What now..."
A few ideas surfaced. Take one share between them? Not sustainable. Best realistic option: Pose as tank and DPS. But risky.
Too unstable.
Real life wasn't a game. Swapping warrior for tank made you glass cannon city—aggressive to a fault. Walking a tightrope with lives on the line. Amon hesitated.
Then Reina offered a fresh angle.
"How about grouping rejects like you? All passed-overs, so six-man should sail through."
Amon's face soured. Same pitch as the last receptionist. He'd shot it down back then—figured rejects were all problem cases. But then it smoothed out.
Come to think of it, that's how I ended up in the trash party anyway.
Normal matching hadn't guaranteed quality either.
And assuming all rejects are trash? That's just bias.
He himself was exhibit A—perfectly fine, yet rejected. Maybe the pool had gems.
Amon decided on the spot.
"Do that, then."
He'd already survived the worst. Unlikely to top it.
Reina nodded and assembled the party. Soon, a six-man crew: one each of tank, rifleman, machine gunner, mage. And two warriors—Amon and Kashi—for heavy aggression.
Introductions kicked off.
"I'm Torso. Water buffalo beastman, as you can see."
Guess I gotta mention race too? Just a plain human, Bens. Got these implants.
"Vox! Ogre! Forgive the rough speech! I shoot machine guns good!"
"Hen. Human like Bens. Mage—offense and support."
Intros wrapped smoothly. Amon and Kashi followed suit, then it was time for party leader.
"Alright, leader vote—"
Before Amon finished, all eyes locked on him. Unanimous, minus his own. No ballot needed—he was leader.
With names exchanged, dungeon time.
Too smooth.
Amon's experience screamed it. This world loved lulling you, then smacking the back of your head. Party flaws, mid-run disasters, external curveballs. Something was brewing.
And...
No way it's worse than the trash party.
Flags stacked high. Wariness maxed out. From dungeon entrance, tension coiled tight. He gamed every possibility: Paul-style betrayal? Scavengers? Trap teleport? Ultra-rare roaming mid-boss? Ninja wipe? Endless threats.
He braced for all, sweeping the dungeon. First mob pack? Flawless teamwork takedown. Later encounters? Clean sweeps. Suspicion gnawed nonstop, even post-clear.
Then Kashi piped up.
"Our synergy was killer today. Fixed party?"
All agreed. Amon nodded—still doubting.
Doubt lingered through loot split, the walk home, unlocking his door. Into the next day.
Nothing.
Even after dropping Sonia at school.
Finally, alone in the house, Amon muttered,
"Bugnga. Why'd we hit the jackpot!?"
Incredibly, this party was a winner.