DPGR 76

—The Master has invited the guests to a banquet. Now, please follow me.

Once again, the voice was clearly speaking Korean. But if you looked closely at his lips, the sync was off.

“They’re attacking!”

“But it’s not working?”

Sensing something was off, the espers on-site drew their weapons and swung at the man.
As expected, it had no effect. Every attack passed straight through his body.

What the hell, their attacks don’t even land.

So he’s not a monster… a real ghost?

Wait. Look closely—his body’s kind of flickering.

Watch in high-res. Zoom in, and he looks pixelated or something.

A hologram???

The man stood motionless, not reacting at all as they attacked.
Only when the tired espers finally stopped did he resume moving.

—I am the butler of ■■■■ Castle. A pleasure to meet you.

He repeated his earlier line, with not a single variation—gesture and tone identical.

—The Master has invited the guests to a banquet. Now, please follow me.

“Oh boy. They’re splitting up now.”

“Hmm… Looks like the camera’s not going with them.”

The espers, after several futile attacks, eventually split into two groups:

One followed the man, the other stayed behind to explore the castle.

The decision was natural—he kept repeating the exact same words and movements like a programmed machine.
As though his sole purpose was to escort guests to the banquet hall, the man didn’t even glance at the espers who remained behind. He only gave his full attention to the ones following him.

The camera followed those espers as they walked away with him.
Dojin’s eyes narrowed.

That direction…

His instincts were warning him of the danger awaiting in the banquet hall.
It had to be the same place from his dream—where the Japanese espers had come running out, screaming.

If only the camera showed the inside of the banquet hall…

While Dojin silently clicked his tongue, the group left at the entrance began their sweep.

Soon, minor monsters began appearing—vampire bats, large spiders, and the like.

They were numerous, but not particularly strong, so the espers handled them without much difficulty.

[Boring.]

[You lunatic. You think this is a game?]

[Chill, man~ lol. They’re all gonna die anyway~]

[I know I shouldn’t say this, but this scene’s getting repetitive.]

[LOL I’m going to bed. Ping me if someone dies~]

As the tension waned, the comments slowed and trolls began to show up in the chat.
But that lull didn’t last long.

—

Suddenly, a monstrous screech rang out—somewhere between human and beast.
All the espers on screen turned their heads at once.
It had come from the direction of the banquet hall.

The camera quickly pivoted in the same direction—
Just as it was about to catch the end of the hallway:

[???????????]

[What the hell? It just went black.
Did the camera die?]

The screen went completely dark.
The chat flooded with question marks.

“Did the camera break?”

“Wait. No—the sound’s still coming through.”

Soon enough, it became clear the camera wasn’t the problem.

Just then, a Korean-speaking netizen fluent in Japanese posted a translated comment:

(Translation): Yuki! Run! Get out of here!
(Translation): This place is insane! Please, someone help us! Please!

Bloodcurdling screams filled the audio.
The pitch-black screen only made it more terrifying.

Then static began to ripple across the darkness.

The chat scrolled too fast to keep up. Translation comments vanished under the flood.
But there was no need for subtitles now—Everything being heard was screaming.

Beneath the shrieks, there were horrible noises—cracking bones, wet slurps, and worse.
And then, the video cut out entirely.

That was when YouTube’s content moderation stepped in and pulled the stream offline.

[Wait… that’s it???]

[That’s really how it ends??? Did they all die for real???]

[Holy sht… wasn’t that Japan’s elite esper strike force?*]

[Yeah. There were four S-ranks in there.
If they’re all dead, then Japan just lost most of their top S-ranks.]

[Exactly why they had to call Korea for help.]

[No wayㅠㅠㅠ what if we send in our espers and they end up like that too?ㅠㅠㅠ]

[They better not deploy anyone there. It’s too dangerous.]

[But if they don’t go and the dungeon breaks, we’re screwed. It’s an S-rank dungeon, and we don’t even know what the boss is. If a boss-level S-rank monster emerges, Japan’s finished—and we might be next.]

[Don’t overreact lol.]

[You don’t even know anything. All the gate experts on TV are saying the same thing right now.]

Even though the stream had ended, the chat was still lively.

Meanwhile, inside Dojin’s office, the atmosphere had sunk into silence.

Unlike ordinary people who’d never entered a dungeon, Alpha Team members knew all too well that death inside a dungeon was no abstract concept.
They had only seen the Japanese espers in news clips or magazine features. But still—The impact of their deaths hit hard.

“…Are we going in too?”

Yulchan, the youngest of Alpha Team, spoke up hesitantly.
Dojin couldn’t give him a clear answer.
By the look of things, Alpha Team was the most likely to be mobilized. But Korea was also dealing with the Taean dungeon, so no one could say for sure how the orders would come down.

“Mm…”

Dojin’s expression darkened as he searched for a vague but comforting response.

Bzzzt—bzzzt—

His phone, sitting on the table, began to buzz. Jiho was the first to reach for it and handed it over.

“Ah. Thank you.”

Dojin ruffled Jiho’s hair in thanks and checked the caller ID.
It was the Esper Director.

“This is Baek Dojin.”

He answered as he stood and stepped out of the room.
Once the door closed behind him, the team members, who had been silent until now, began muttering one by one.

“Feels like we’re really gonna get sent in, huh?”

“Yeah… I’m gonna check my will before we go.”

“Pfft. Don’t jinx it.”

“Kijoonie hates this kind of stuff… scared of ghosts.”

“You’re scarier than any ghost.”

“Poor Jihye.”

“Shut it.”

“Kya!”

Kijoon’s usual antics managed to lift the mood a little.
But unease, tension, and fear still lingered beneath the laughter.

Even Kijoon, joking around with exaggerated cuteness, had fingertips that were subtly trembling.

Being an esper meant living closer to death than most. But still—Even espers fear dying.

Watching the faces of his teammates, Jiho’s eyes drooped, heavy with gloom.

He remembered what espers used to say before the final dungeon, in that previous timeline.

You think I became an esper because I wanted to? I wanted a normal life too! I didn’t sign up to be the first to die in some shitty dungeon!

I’m quitting. An SS-rank mega-dungeon? You think we have a chance? We’re all dead anyway… If I have to die, let me be the last one. At least the last.

Those faces, weighed down by despair.
Those voices—whether it was fear, anger, or sorrow—echoed again in his memory.

Espers were human too.
They felt pain. They feared death.

‘I hope no one dies. I hope no one gets hurt.’

Jiho mumbled silently and offered a small, private prayer to the sky.
He didn’t believe in any gods, but he felt like he had to do something.
Whether that prayer would reach anyone or not… there was no way to know.

***

“Director, Esper Baek Dojin is here.”

“Let him in.”

The door opened.
Dojin stepped into the Esper Directorate’s office—always a place of stillness.

“Come in, Team Leader Baek. Have a seat. Let’s talk.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dojin’s expression was calm, unchanged from usual.
Surely, by now he’d heard about both the crisis of the Japanese dungeon and the urgency of the Taean dungeon. And yet—Does he not know yet?

Director Changwook furrowed his brows slightly, trying to probe him gently.

“Have you seen the footage?”

“The footage, sir…?”

“The one from the Japanese dungeon.”

“Ah. Yes. I just watched it, actually.”

“You did? The whole thing?”

“Yes.”

And he’s still this composed?

Changwook scrutinized Dojin’s face, which remained oddly unshaken.

“Then you saw what happened after the ‘banquet hall’ too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Hmph. You’re calm. Too calm. Are you hiding something? Did your Guide recall something again?”

The moment Jiho was mentioned, a crack formed in Dojin’s mask of calm.

Dojin himself might not have realized it, but for a split second, a sharp glint flickered in his eyes as he looked at Changwook.
Luckily, the momentary hostility was quickly reined in.

“…Actually—”

Just as Changwook was deciding never to mess around with Jiho, even as a joke,
Dojin began to speak—about the dream he had.