Published: February 1, 2026
Eleven was dressed in festival attire, a mask he didn’t usually wear covering his face as he lounged in what looked like an extremely comfortable, expensive chair.
Truth be told, the chair was valuable enough to be called a work of art.
If one asked why chairs comparable to those in the royal palace were lined up here, the answer would be simple: the people using them were of the sort whose everyday life included such furniture.
This was the black market auction, held in the shadowy underside of the Capital City. The money that moved here was on a wholly different scale from the auctions held openly. A nighttime social venue for gentlemen and ladies, where even getting in required vast sums of money. Eleven sat there, bored, letting out a yawn.
“Our next item is a tragedy that occurred within a labyrinth… A dungeon item painting that vividly captures the moment a human kills another human, not a monsters attack. We shall start at fifteen gold coins.”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty-three!”
Perhaps because the founding festival, a major national event, was underway, the items paraded onto the stage were more rare than usual.
Participants from other countries also filled the hall; despite the subdued murmur of the venue, the fervor of the bidders made the air strangely restless.
Propping his cheek on the armrest, Eleven watched the scene and let out another large yawn.
“Big Brother sure is stubborn, huh.”
He recalled yesterday.
When Eleven heard that they’d been invited by the viscount to a party where adventurers would attend, he of course wanted to go.
But there was one person who refused that party—a party most adventurers desperately longed for, whether to “get in good with nobles” or “build connections with powerful adventurers.” No matter how much Eleven whined that he wanted to go, Gill absolutely refused.
Even though Eleven’s reason for wanting to attend differed from others, it was still enough that he genuinely wanted to go. So why did Gill hate the idea that much?
The reason itself didn’t really matter to Eleven. Even if it were something he could accept, that wouldn’t change the fact that he wanted to go.
“People who won’t move, not for bribes, not for threats, not for information control… seriously a pain in the ass.”
“Well, you came here to get him to move, didn’t you?”
One of the elite, dragged along by force and sitting beside Eleven, spoke in a tone that carried not a shred of interest in the auction.
His bangs, which usually hid his eyes, had been pushed back, but the eyes that should have been revealed were hidden by a mask just like Eleven’s. If he ignored those grumbled complaints too much, it was easy to imagine an elbow jabbing into his solar plexus, so for self-preservation—and because he was a bit curious about Lizel’s party—Eleven didn’t forget to answer.
He responded with a lazy “mm-hmm” and tossed back the wine that had been prepared. It was so refined it barely felt like he’d drunk anything.
“Next is a dungeon item famed as a true one-of-a-kind: a book. A collection of conversations spoken in the very moments adventurers lost their lives… Fear, screams, despair, and sometimes, clung-to hope in the face of inevitable ruin. Please enjoy these final words. Bidding starts at fifteen gold coins.”
“That’s weak.”
Even as the book—the main goal of tonight—appeared, Eleven muttered in clear dissatisfaction.
Yes, what he needed to move Gill was a single book. And a top-class one at that.
Trying to take Gill head-on had been the mistake from the start. Eleven didn’t have many effective moves he could use on Gill, and Gill wasn’t the type to bend once he’d decided on something, no matter what Eleven said.
So instead, he only needed to get the cooperation of someone who could bend Gill. There was exactly one person in the entire world who could do that.
“Can’t you do something if the Boss asks him?”
“He’s clearly declared he’s neutral. He’s not the kind of guy who’d strongarm someone who doesn’t want to go. And I’m glad Big Brother didn’t try to exploit that.”