“Alright,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s make it a school.”

  Bookbite hovered nearby, watching with a raised brow. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

  I grinned a little, already picturing it. “Hallways. Lockers. The kind of place that feels... off.”

  Closing my eyes, I focused hard. My mana pulsed to life again, and the empty space below my hands on the desk shifted, bending to my will. I could also feel it in my core, down the hall, the earth and caves shifting with the map in my office. Slowly, the vision in my head began to carve itself out: the start of a maze, shaped like a honeycomb. Narrow hallways, sharp angles, all lined with tall metal lockers.

  But not normal lockers.

  I added deep scratches to the doors. Faint, rusty smears of something like dried blood streaking down their faces. Every so often, one would rattle, or creak open by an inch, revealing nothing but a black void inside. The overhead lights were fluorescent and flickering, buzzing like insects trapped behind plastic. Every so often, a whisper. Soft, low, unintelligible, hissed along the walls, like the dungeon itself was breathing.

  System Notification: New Room Created: Elementary Hallway Maze.

  Trap Points Available: 10/15

  Monster Points Available: 10/15

  I stared at my map, tracing the honeycomb layout with my finger, already picturing the lines of lockers crammed along every hallway. Then it hit me like a slap to the forehead.

  “Ugh. Stupid,” I muttered. “Elementary kids don’t even have lockers. That is middle and up! They’ve got cubbies.”

  Bookbite glanced up from where he was gnawing on a pencil stub. “You just realize that now, boss?”

  I rolled my eyes and waved my hand, focusing hard on the map. “Yeah, well, no time like the present. Lockers out, cubbies in.” I started shifting the design, compressing the big, blocky locker spaces into lower, open-faced cubbies. It actually made the place feel more like a little kid’s nest now, with all these personal slots lining the walls.

  I smirked to myself. “Better. Way better.”

  Once the cubbies were in place, I stepped back mentally, eyeing the halls again. They still felt too… normal. Too clean. I grinned. “Alright, let’s make this weird.”

  First up: kid art. I started summoning up crayon-drawn stick figures, all smiling way too wide, their eyes just a little too big and dark. Wobbly houses. Scribbled suns. Except some of the suns had jagged black rays, and a few of the figures had no faces at all. I pinned the drawings along the walls, in crooked rows, letting the paper look torn and grimy in places.

  Then the bulletin boards. I jammed them full of old-school notices, yellowed and curling. Some were normal at first glance… but if you looked closer, the words twisted into nonsense. Or threats. One board had a "Lost and Found" sign with photos of kids whose eyes had been scratched out. I tried to mentally model the kids off my classmate who bullied me. It was satisfying to claw out their eyes.

  “Better,” I muttered, already thinking ahead. I added little details: bloody hand prints, the smell of urine and bleach, shadows of odd shapes. Scuff marks on the floor that looked like someone, or something, had been dragged. The occasional child’s laugh echoed faintly, followed by total silence.

  Bookbite peeked up from his spot and gave a low whistle. “Heh. You’re messed up, Core girl. I like it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, eyes still on the map. “Let’s make sure no one feels safe in here.”

  Bookbite stood one nostril flaring and flicked a small pebble at me with his toe.“Heh, you know, boss... little kids are weirder than goblins. And that’s sayin’ something. I once watched my cousin eat a live toad just to win a bet.”

  “I am sure some human kid out there did the same.” I continued to survey my work so far. “Okay, so... layout.”

  I sketched it out in my head as I moved through the space: the first honeycomb, then two more connected sets, spreading like a web. After that, a set of three, with one special room tucked in the middle comb. An empty classroom. I smirked a little, thinking about the twist: the entrance to that classroom would shift every time a group entered the dungeon, like a living labyrinth.

  Behind the classroom zone, I planned out another set of two combs, and finally, a single one at the very end. I made a note to myself: the exit to the next section would be hidden in that last single honeycomb. I placed the door between two cubby sections.

  And if I wanted to make things extra frustrating? I could block off random paths by pushing over bookcases and collapsed cubbies, so adventurers would never quite know which way was open.

  Bookbite said, “Huh. Creepy as hell.”

  “Good,” I said, grinning. “That’s the point.”

  As I stepped back to admire the maze’s entrance, I realized something was still missing. The space felt eerie, sure, but... empty in a different way. Like it needed a centrepiece.

  “Right here,” I muttered, pointing to the middle of the first honeycomb: the school’s lobby. “We need something... welcoming. Sort of.”

  Bookbite perked up. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, you need a donation altar.”

  “A what now?”

  The little goblin zipped over and jumped on my shoulder. “Every proper dungeon has one near the entrance. It’s tradition. Adventurers can leave materials for you: ore, timber, scraps of rare stuff. And in return, your core, you, learn how to make it. Might not seem like much at first, but once you get enough, your dungeon can unlock all sorts of extra patterns.”

  I frowned, picturing it. “So... I can’t just magically make, say, fancy wood if I’ve never seen it before?”

  “Yes, no, bingo.” Bookbite grinned. “Your core needs exposure to the material. You can make something, like Silverpine, but it can cost you. The system might let you scan and replicate it if you get enough of it in offerings. Or, if you absorb it, or later on research points. Adventurers know that. For most of ’em, the dungeon isn’t just a place to loot. It’s like a... living creature. They give back, help you grow, because the stronger you get, the better they do.”

  “So, it will help me, save me research down the road, and a show of respect.” I nodded slowly, my mind buzzing. “Like feeding a pet.”

  “Exactly. A healthy dungeon means better resources, stronger monsters, cooler traps.” He tilted his head. “Plus, y’know, if they leave you some nice metals or weird plants, it might unlock new research paths for ya.”

  “I am a fucking pet!” I could feel my rage building in me. I could feel my pain and suffering. People always look down on me. Then I felt Bookbites's hand.

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  “If you look at it like that, but think of it as the respect thing you said.”

  “Fine. For now…” I focused, letting my mana flow again. Right in the center of the lobby, a stone altar rose from the floor. Smooth and gray, with faint carvings around its edges. I added a plaque across the front: DONATIONS WELCOME. OFFERINGS SUPPORT THE DUNGEON’S GROWTH.

  I was adjusting the carving on the altar plaque, trying to make the letters a little less... serial killer-y—when it hit me.

  “Wait,” I said, pausing mid-chisel. “What if nobody understands me? I mean, I’m using English. What if they speak, like, Orcish or Ancient Techno-Canadian or whatever?”

  Bookbite snorted, now perched on top of a globe like it was a throne. “You think you’re the first core to worry about that? Nah, the system handles it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “The system translates?”

  “Yup. While they’re inside your dungeon, anything you say, or write, for that matter, gets filtered through the system’s auto-translator. They’ll hear it in their own language. And you’ll hear them in yours.”

  “So I could curse them out in Pig Latin and they’d still understand?”

  Bookbite scratched his nose with the tip of his ear. “Technically? Yeah. But they’d probably just hear you call their mother a swamp ogre or something poetic like that.”

  I laughed. “Good to know. I was starting to worry I’d need a ‘Learn Ten Thousand Dialects in Ten Days’ crash course.”

  “Nah, boss. You just be your weird, charming, terrifying self. The system’ll do the rest. It’s one of the few things it does right if you ask me.”

  I leaned back, arms crossed. “So... you’re saying I could write a poem about stabbing someone, and it’d still come across?”

  Bookbite grinned, all teeth. “With the right cadence? Might even make 'em cry.”

  I went back to work. To make it my own, I shaped the altar like a kid’s desk, complete with a stubby pencil sculpture and a fake rotting apple sitting on top, cracked in half to reveal a softly dark green glowing mana core inside.

  System Notification: [New Feature Added: Donation Altar]. This dungeon now accepts resource offerings from visitors. Materials may be converted into dungeon patterns and research advancements.

  Bookbite floated down and tapped the altar approvingly. “Nice touch with the apple. Real classy.”

  I stepped back, eyeing the entrance with new appreciation. “Alright,” I murmured. “Let’s see who comes to class.”

  Running my hand along the side of my desk before sitting back in my chair, I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully. “They think the dungeon’s... alive?” I scoffed. “Of course I’m alive.”

  Bookbite snorted, floating lazily beside me. “Well, yeah, you know that. But to most adventurers, it’s just superstition. They don’t usually meet dungeon cores face-to-face. And the ones that do? Well... let’s just say it doesn’t end well.”

  That made me pause. “What do you mean?”

  His usual smugness dropped a notch. His ears twitched, and for once, he looked serious. “Most adventurers will never step foot in your core room. The Company. The bigwigs who regulate dungeon diving. They strictly ban it. Only Expert-ranked folks or higher, S and above are even allowed near that kind of stuff. And even they...” He let the words hang, heavy and sharp. “If the Company finds out someone harmed a dungeon core or got too close? That’s Company expulsion: minimum. Worse, if they think you’re a threat to the system’s balance.”

  I crossed my arms. “So it’s... like a protected species rule?”

  “Something like that.” He gave me a sharp look. “You’ve got to understand, Chloe. You don’t come back from the dead. If an adventurer dies, sure, they respawn at the temple. But if someone destroys your core? That’s it. Game over.”

  A cold twist hit my stomach. “So... I’m breakable.”

  “Very,” he said, nodding gravely. “Smartest thing you can do is keep your distance. Don’t let ’em see you unless you absolutely have to. Your monsters, your traps. They’re the frontline. You stay hidden.”

  I looked at the glowing core in my chest again, the mana humming faintly in sync with something... “I thought I was the dungeon,” I murmured. “But... I’m more like the heart of it.”

  Bookbite gave a faint smile and tapped my arm. “Exactly. And we really don’t want the heart to stop beating.”

  I glanced at the rough blueprint hovering in front of me and tapped my chin. “Okay,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it settle. “Next step... Don’t die… Well, again.” I take a deep breath,” I am not done yet. I need the finishing structure.”

  “After that, you will need to rest, and let your mana recover. Oh, don’t forget, you still need to make your boss room!’

  I give Bookbite a nodd. I pictured the honeycomb layout in my mind and start using the last of my mana. An intricate network of hexagonal rooms, stacked and layered like a beehive. It felt right. Being in a school, especially as a kid, it had always reminded me of being trapped inside a nest; close, crowded, and buzzing with noise and tension. The honeycomb was the perfect way to bring that memory to life.

  “The hallway’s gotta run straight down the middle,” I said aloud, sketching a long corridor that threaded through the heart of each comb. I imagined the walls, pressing in just enough to make everything feel tight: almost claustrophobic. With each twist and turn, adventurers would be funnelled deeper. Forced to navigate a maze that felt just a little too close for comfort. Besides kids in elementary schools didn’t need massively wide hallways.

  But it wasn’t just about atmosphere. I grinned to myself. By designing the walls to press in slightly with the shape of each comb, I could leave just enough space to sneak air ducts behind the cubbies, and drywall. A perfect hidden channel. “Good for whispers or... you know, something worse,” I muttered.

  Even better, I planned to embed small resource nodes, veins of ore, between some of the cubbies, bookcases, display cases or bulletin boards. Adventurers scouring the halls would catch glimpses of gleaming metal or rare minerals, tempting them to stop and harvest. The distraction would slow them down, and give my monsters more chances to strike.

  “This way, every inch of space is doing something,” I told Bookbite, who was hovering nearby, nodding along with that crooked little smile of his.

  “You’re learning fast, boss,” he said. “Air ducts for creep factor, ore nodes for bait, and those narrow halls? You’re thinking like a dungeon should.”

  I smiled to myself, taking a slow breath. The honeycomb maze was starting to take shape in my head and soon, it’d be real. As I refined the build, I paused and glanced at the spots I’d marked for resource nodes. “What exactly can I put in there right now?” I asked, turning to Bookbite. “I want something cool, but... what’s actually available?”

  He snorted and crossed his arms. “Cool your jets, rookie. You’re level one. You don’t get anything fancy yet.”

  I frowned. “Like... what, then?”

  “Copper,” he said flatly. “That’s it. Plain ol’ Tier E copper ore. Basic, but useful.”

  I groaned. “Copper? Seriously?”

  Bookbite shrugged. “Hey, don’t knock it. Copper’s the bread-and-butter of a lotta early crafts. Smiths need it, mages need it for wiring and rune work... and adventurers’ll still harvest it if they’re in a pinch. Plus, here’s the thing—” he jabbed a stubby finger in the air—“every time someone harvests from your node, they spend mana to do it. Your dungeon drinks that mana right back in. It refills your resources and helps you grow.”

  I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “So even if it’s low-level, it’s still a win-win?”

  “Exactly,” Bookbite nodded. “You’ll be able to replenish the node slowly over time, as long as you’ve got enough mana and someone’s actively feeding the dungeon. And—” his eyes gleamed—“the more the adventurers work inside here, the faster you get experience. It’s a long game.”

  I glanced at my diagram again. Sure, it wasn’t anything fancy now, but I could already imagine upgrading them later; iron, silver, maybe even something magical if I levelled up high enough.

  “Alright,” I muttered, nodding to myself. “Copper for now. But I’m going to make it look good.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Bookbite said with a grin. “Every dungeon starts small. What matters is how you build it up.”

  Rolling up my sleeves, I focused my mana again, willing those first copper nodes into place—my first real step in making this school dungeon not just creepy, but valuable, too.

  System Notification: [Achievement Unlocked: "First Claim"]. You've successfully placed all available resource nodes in your dungeon.+5 XP

  Bookbite hovered closer, arms crossed as he squinted at the glowing plans spread across my character screen. “Alright, listen up,” he said. “Halls don’t count toward your room limit. That’s good news. But—” he jabbed a finger toward my honeycomb layout—“you only get a limited surface area for them at your current level. You don’t wanna sprawl too much and waste your build. Keep it tight.”

  I frowned, tracing the outline of the maze with my finger. “So… next step is a proper room?”

  “Exactly.” He nodded sharply. “You’ve got two room slots open. I say we build your next one soon. Maybe a—”

  PING.

  A sharp tone echoed in my mind, cutting him off. The air seemed to hold still for a second, and then—

  System Notification:[Your dungeon has been breached].

  My eyes went wide. My heart kicked hard in my chest. “Wait—what?!”

  Bookbite’s ears twitched. He stared at me, then at the glowing screen. His expression darkened, mouth tightening. “Well… looks like you’re getting a crash course in defence.”

  My palms went clammy. “Someone’s already here?”

  He bared his small, sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Welcome to the real game, boss. Time to see if your dungeon can bite back.”