There’s a secret the [Constellations], the top martial elites of this world, don’t want you to know.
If they sit still—they weaken.
There are 33 stars in total.
And only 33 individuals may be chosen one-to-one by those stars to become [Constellations].
To squeeze through that needle’s eye, martial artists throughout history have resorted to every possible method.
Ever-advancing drugs. Rotating curses with surgical precision. Forbidden techniques. Ancient technology. With time, the competition only grew more brutal—dragging them into realms not permitted to humans.
But unauthorized, illegal augmentations always collapse eventually.
God only ever granted humans sandcastles—but humans kept trying to pile up mountains. So the landslides began.
And the [Constellations], desperate to maintain those mountains, had to keep shoveling in more sand.
The mortal world worships them. [Constellations] hide their appearances to seem mysterious. But in truth, they’re crouched in corners... frantically digging.
They avoid fights whenever they can.
Because fighting... drains their strength.
This is a life slightly different from what mortals imagine when they envision absolute beings. A little less glamorous. But what can you do? This is the reality of the [Constellations].
Among them—
“Aigo, seriously.”
The world’s Rank 10, 「Competitiveness Constellation↑」, sat atop the tallest tree on the highest peak. Legs crossed in lotus position. Trying to restrain his power from slipping out.
“...He’s still doing that, huh.”
A man in a bread-bag hood chuckled from below.
“Every damn time I see him, it’s bizarre. Could’ve done that on the ground—why do it up there? Not like it helps or anything.”
‘Bet he wants his ashes shot into space when he dies...’ he muttered.
“ Why are you here. ”
The voice echoed across the whole area. It came from atop the tree—Competitiveness Constellation↑ had spoken.
Moments later, his falcon-like eyes opened slowly.
“Oh—sorry. You heard that?”
The bread-bag guy waved awkwardly.
“ What’s your business. ”
“Ahh, nothing serious. It’s just... you know... some funny stuff happened down in the mortal world. Thought I’d ask about it.”
“What stuff.”
“Huh? Wait—you mean your guardian star didn’t tell you?”
The Constellation furrowed his brow.
Apparently not.
The bread-bag guy clicked his tongue internally. That’s what you get for sitting around looking ominous. Even your star partner doesn’t wanna talk to you.
“ I asked. What. Happened. ”
“Hm...”
No choice. Guess he’d have to explain himself.
“Your dungeon. That teens-server record.”
The hawk-like face wrinkled.
“You came to rub in that I’m second place now.”
“What? No! That’s not it!”
“Then what.”
“That record—it got broken yesterday.”
The Constellation’s eye twitched.
He sighed.
“I see. So time has passed... All records are destined to be broken eventually. Mine is no exception...”
“...The hell are you saying? Yours wasn’t the one that got broken.”
“...What?”
The bread-bag man grinned. He’d been waiting to see this guy’s expression after 30 years of haughty posturing.
“First place got broken.”
Just as expected, Competitiveness Constellation↑ was stunned. Even more than when he thought his own record had been beaten.
***
It had been three days of pure chaos.
(Breaking) Record broken after 100 years! 「Competitiveness↑ Dungeon」 – First place time drastically reduced Empire of Hattengraj Academy: “A stunning feat! The cursed 30-minute wall is finally shattered!”Within Hiaka and beyond, every martial news outlet covered the event non-stop. Even general news networks couldn’t stop talking about it.
A record not just broken—but shattered. Into the 20-minute range—surpassing the symbolic 30-minute wall for the first time in a century.
This sent shockwaves worldwide because...Roughly 30% of martial artists run the 「Competitiveness↑ Dungeon」.
Most stall in Sector 2 or 3. Clearing all five sectors counts as top 10%.
And even then, clear times usually hit 4 or 5 hours.
But now?
They did this:
1. [Private] Anonymous: 29m 19s 19 (▲999, new!!)
That alone was shocking—but the foreign media focused on something else. Competitiveness↑: Shock over record set in “teens server” Admin Bureau: “A new generation of prodigies? All other servers’ records may fall soon.”Servers were divided by age because martial artists grew stronger as they aged.
So everyone could imagine it—this group that topped the teens server... What would they be like in their 30s? Their 50s?
But—
There was one problem. Unknown: Identity of party remains a mystery... “Into the 20-minute range. A 100-year record broken. But we don’t know who did it. Our paper is now searching for ‘The Four of That Day.’”(– Hattengraj Empire Telegraph)
Using [Anonymous] in a stigma dungeon meant you borrowed the power of the star 「Anonymity (?)」.
So even though everyone knew the record had been broken...No one knew by who.
The only ones with any clue—the Stigma Dungeon Admin Bureau—simply bowed to the stars and dodged all questions. Anonymous, yet undeniably real. “Who are they?”Everyone searched for them.
Even the Imperial Royal Family issued a formal request: Hattengraj Royal Decree: “We ask the whereabouts of those who achieved this feat.”The Crown itself had started hunting.
***
So what was I doing while all this was happening?
Sucking my fingers.
Because it was anonymous.
‘Damn. What a waste.’
That was my first reaction.
Hiaka was already getting dismissed across the continent. The only thing that had slightly improved our image was Gray—and even that was barely a blip.
Imagine how favorable this would’ve been for us if we’d claimed it.
“Each server only gets one dungeon challenge per year... There’s no way to rerun it anytime soon.”
But as time passed, I began feeling something stronger than just regret.
This wasn’t the kind of accomplishment you’d hide out of modesty.
Self-proclaimed experts began suggesting it might be a bug in the stars’ system.
(The stars do occasionally glitch.)
By day three, other nations were shamelessly trying to jump on the bandwagon. Hitahita Academy: “Hitahita’s prodigies on the rise. Breaking the 100-year record is just the beginning.” Khan Federation National Academy: “REVEALED: Secret assassination squad trained by our government’s Constellation!”Of course.
The Empire was staying silent only because the Crown itself had asked, “Who did this?”
But if they called it an “assassination squad,” they had no obligation to reveal anything—so they just threw it out there.
Even Hiaka Academy released a statement. “Regarding the new record in the 「Competitiveness↑ Dungeon」, we cannot definitively rule out our involvement.”My god... what a pathetic way to grab attention.
At this rate, it looked like we were the least likely candidates—even though we were the ones who actually did it.
Even the internet reactions reflected that:
“Ugh. Now Hiaka’s trying to grab credit too.”
“They open up their department and now don’t know where they belong, tsk tsk.”
“Bit of a reach, lol...”
This was Hiaka’s reputation across the continent. I’m not particularly patriotic, but even I was getting pissed.
What pissed me off more—was Kreutz. They actually named real people and boldly claimed they’d done it. Kreutz Academy: “Want the truth? Come study at Kreutz. Professors in their teens await.”You lunatics.
Why are you so good at baiting attention?
“Look at that—they made Amulet a faculty member...”
That was the last straw.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. The Dante Assassination Squad was throwing a fit.
“This sucks! We’re the ones who did it, right, Professor?!”
“Y-yeah!!”
“It was the perfect chance to spread your name...!!”
Something about that sentence felt off, but I let it go.
Honestly? It was fine.
“It’s only a matter of time.”
The Dante Assassination Squad breaking the record in the shortest time ever—sure, luck played a part. But more than that, they’d hit a growth surge, unleashing all the progress that had been blocked by lack of field experience.
But the truth was—they had different trajectories of potential altogether.
Sooner or later, they’d shine through no matter how hard we tried to keep them hidden.
Like a needle poking out of a pouch.
“All right. Stop reading articles. Ran.”
“Yes. Cadets, please gather. We will now begin the patch awarding ceremony for your first live mission.”
And so, the four cadets gathered in front of me. All visibly nervous.
But there was a problem with this particular ceremony.
“......”
Ran stared blankly at the kids, then turned to me.
“We need to run the numbers. ...Ah.”
Oh, right.
We didn’t actually know what they’d done this time.
Normally, I’d be running everything from behind the scenes. But Princess Rebecca had forbidden that.
“I see. Attention, everyone.”
All four turned to face me.
“This time, I do not know the details of your performance. So I can’t distribute patch rewards. What do you think about that?”
“Excuse me!?”
“Eh?? That’s not fair!”
“Uwaaah!?”
Balmung and Elize protested °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° in order. Even Kendreik, who usually had some social sense, chimed in too.
“Eh? That doesn’t seem right.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Hmm. Well... if Professor says so, I guess that’s that. But still—it’s a great chance to bump up our merit pay. I mean, come on—these idiots and I got world rank #1... Honestly, you should give it to us...”
Surprisingly logical—Gray.
And I liked that. It sounded good.
I considered giving all of them a reward.
But then realized—that defeated the whole point.
It still needed to look like “something worth striving for.”
So I said,
“I’d love to give one to everyone. But unfortunately, I only have one patch prepared.”
“Ehh... can’t you just make more...?”
“Silence. I said there’s one. So—decide among yourselves. Hand over your hearts. Who contributed the most in this dungeon?”
They exchanged glances.
“Shall we count to three and point at someone?” Ran suggested.
Three of them tensed. One frowned and scratched their cheek.
Ran summoned a [Clock] above her head and said,
“Who performed best? One. Two. Three.”
Gray → Elize
Kendreik → Elize
Elize → Balmung
Balmung → Balmung
All eyes turned to Balmung.
“Wait. Balmung—you voted for yourself? You did do well, but voting for yourself?”
“...Wow. Tsk. That’s just sad.”
“Ugh... shameful...”
The most shameless self-nomination in existence!
And apparently he knew it too, because Balmung’s face flushed red as he shouted:
“What! I voted for me because I did the most! What’s wrong with that?!”
Everyone waited for my decision.
Technically, it was a tie—2:2.
But I shook my head.
The patch should go to the one acknowledged by others.
So the [B]-rank patch was awarded to Elize.
“Waaah! Skeletony bone bone! It’s so pretty!”
She spun around dramatically in front of everyone, showing off her patch. Meanwhile, Balmung clenched his teeth hard enough to crack them.
【Balmung: ‘I WANT ONE TOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!’】
Only his silent, desperate scream echoed in the air.