My Refrigerator Turned Into A Dungeon
Adventurer AppWhen I called the Admiral to apologize for the delayed payment for the delivered goods, he informed me that all future dealings had been declined.It seems t

Adventurer App

When I called the Admiral to apologize for the delayed payment for the delivered goods, he informed me that all future dealings had been declined.

It seems the landlord, shaken by witnessing the terror of monsters during this latest Stampede, decided to report the plant dungeon in the airsoft field to the government.

[Jung, sorry about this, you know.]

“Ah, no, Admiral, you don’t need to apologize.”

If that’s the situation, it can’t be helped.

The plant dungeon originally appeared in a place frequented by airsoft players—people with a strong interest in combat and such—so it had never been reported to the government until now. The landlord was also a friend of the Admiral since his student days and had been half-lending the field out of goodwill.

“Well, I’ll transfer the payment as soon as it comes through. Alright, sure. If anything comes up, let me know. Bye.”

I hung up the phone and gazed at the ceiling of my room. Sigh… there goes a valuable source of income.

“Such a waste. But after that Stampede, it’s understandable, I guess~.”

Both Nina-san and Serai-san, who were visiting my place, had overheard the phone call thanks to their heightened sensory abilities as espers.

“Hmm, but even Tadokoro-san from Sanada Pharmaceuticals appreciated the drops we got from that dungeon. It’s a pity to lose it.”

No use lamenting over it, but a loss is a loss. Just as I was putting away my communication device, I noticed a message on the Adventurer App.

“What’s this? The Adventurer App received something?”

“Huh? What, what? Let me see~!”

As usual, Serai-san, curious as ever, leaned over to peek at the device.

Let me explain. The Adventurer App, officially known as the “Global DX Community for Singular Labyrinth Entry License Holders,” has a ridiculously pretentious name that sounds like something an overzealous bureaucrat would come up with.

It’s an app mandated by the Japanese government for those holding singular labyrinth entry licenses. Once installed on your device, it emits a GPS signal, allowing the government to constantly track your location—a very unpleasant tool, indeed.

However, given the rise in crimes committed by dungeon-ability users, it’s probably a necessary evil to keep tabs on them.

The app is apparently based on a platform once used by a courier company. When the Ministry of Singular Labyrinth Countermeasures posts requests like “There are goblins in XX Park, can someone take care of them?” license holders in the vicinity can respond with, “Oh, I’m nearby, I’ll handle it.”

In that sense, it’s quite efficient—like a modern-day virtual adventurer’s guild. But while the structure is in place, the legal framework hasn’t been fully fleshed out yet...

“What does it say? ‘A battle tournament for skill holders will be held to showcase the excellence of singular labyrinth license holders to the public and...’ What the heck is this?”

“Hmm, looks like a publicity stunt to encourage more people to get dungeon licenses.”

Nina-san, peering over, quickly grasped the content.

“But why was this application info sent to me? Ah...”

Oh yeah, when I got my license, there was a survey question: Would you be interested in participating in events? I had checked Yes.

“Wow, that sounds fun! You’re going to join, right, Egetsu-san?”

“No, no, I’m not joining, Serai-san. I’m not good with crowds.”

“Aw, but look at this! Just participating gets you ¥500,000, and you earn ¥300,000 for every win!”

“What!? That’s very tempting, but hmm…”

“If you don’t want to stand out, just lose in the first round and take the participation prize. Think about it: ¥500,000 in one day—awesome, right?”

Hmm, that’s a perspective. Even if it’s embarrassing for a moment, earning 500,000 yen makes it worthwhile. Typical of Nina-san to think that way.

“But if the terms are this good, there’ll be loads of applicants, right? Oh well, just go for it! Here, done!”

“Huh?”

While I was reading through the final confirmation screen, Serai-san pressed the OK button.

“What are you doing, Machi!?”

“Oops, my hand slipped~.”

“Wait, no, you literally said ‘Here, done!’ while pressing it!”

No use crying over spilled milk—or in this case, a non-returnable application. Thanks to Serai-san, with her mischievous grin, my entry into the skill battle tournament was now official.