In the heart of New York City, the metropolis buzzed with excitement. People from every corner eagerly made their way to a brand-new festival that had taken over an entire city block. Billboards and digital signs lit up the avenues, boldly announcing the event, while bright green banners and friendly signage transformed the normally busy streets into a playground of celebration.

  Stalls lined the sidewalks, bursting with vibrant shades of green. Soft, squishy plushies filled display shelves, while dessert stands offered wobbly, jelly-like treats that delighted passersby. Quirky food trucks—each styled after fantastical creatures—served snacks that drew smiles from even the most hurried commuters. Families strolled leisurely, chatting and laughing, while children in costumes resembling adorable slimes darted between the booths, giggling and playing.

  In a quiet corner of the park, a group of kids had gathered near a bench, their playful energy infectious. One especially enthusiastic child, dressed in a bright green outfit with a soft, blob-like hat, laughed as he shouted, “Come on, let’s bounce over there!”

  His friend responded with equal excitement, “Let’s roll! Slime Propel!” They both began hopping in exaggerated, jiggly motions, mimicking slimes as if they were living blobs—pure, unfiltered fun.

  At the center of it all stood an outdoor stage, set up between the rows of colorful stalls. A local theater troupe was performing a dramatic reenactment of a pivotal moment from a now-iconic event. Onstage, the lead actor—dressed in rugged, worn gear and radiating defiance—held a glowing red crystal high in the air. Around him stood four elders—three seated at a table, casually sipping tea, and one standing at the head, watching in silence.

  One of the elders stood suddenly, shouting, “I don’t know how you figured out the password, but this—I cannot allow you to leave this room with that item!”

  The protagonist’s eyes lit up with fire. He smirked and shot back, “You can’t let me leave, huh? Good thing you don’t get a say.”

  The crowd erupted in applause, recognizing the scene instantly. It was a moment etched into modern pop culture—celebrated for its boldness and the hero’s audacious nerve. In the crowd, whispers and excited chatter spread like wildfire.

  “Man, I never get tired of that scene. He was such a badass,” one voice said with admiration.

  “I know, right? How did he even guess the password—what was it again?”

  “Dungeon End,” another replied. “He literally gambled a limb on that guess. Wild.”

  As the play reached its climax, the actors took their final bows to loud cheers and clapping, leaving the crowd abuzz with renewed excitement and endless theories about the adventurer’s legendary exploits.

  Then, as night fully settled in, the sky exploded in a riot of color. Fireworks burst overhead, shaped like slimes, goblins, glittering swords, and other fantastical icons. The dazzling display lit up the skyline, and the festival-goers roared in awe.

  Near the front of the crowd, a young woman shouted over the noise, “I’m so glad I came! These slime plushies look just like Leon’s—so real!”

  A man beside her laughed, nodding. “Right? It’s like they brought his world into ours.”

  Not far off, a group of friends leaned in together on a bench, watching the fireworks light up the sky. One of them, eyes gleaming with excitement, asked, “What do you think his next upgrade will be? I’m betting the slimes can explode at will—that would be awesome!”

  Another shook his head, grinning. “Explode? That’d leave him wide open! Nah, I wanna see them scale up—like, building-sized slimes. Imagine those things launching crossbolts the size of cars. That would be epic.”

  At a nearby food stall, a group of friends sat down to enjoy their dinner, their conversation full of animated chatter about the recent events.

  “I really wish Fennel had stayed with Leon. He was absolutely hilarious!” one of them laughed, taking a big bite of his spicy kebab.

  Another friend leaned in, shaking his head. “Yeah, but did you see Grizmar around him? The way he acted—seriously, like he couldn’t stand him.”

  “Nah,” a third friend interjected with a wry smile, “I don’t think Grizmar disliked Leon personally. I’d say it’s more about his past experiences with humans. You know how it is—humans can be pretty rough to deal with.”

  Laughter followed the remark, blending with the festive sounds of the street. Though it was all in good fun, no one could deny that in a world like Leon’s, where darker tendencies run deep, a little bias was hardly surprising.

  While the festival roared with joy and excitement—celebrating community and raising funds for the city—across the digital landscape, a very different kind of crowd was tuning in.

  In online forums, streaming platforms, and heated podcast debates, gamers and political commentators alike were locked in, scrutinizing every word, move, and action captured by the holographic system that followed Leon.

  The internet buzzed with theories, conspiracies, and passionate arguments. Video breakdowns, expert analyses, and spirited discussions flooded the feeds. At the center of it all stood a rising voice in both gaming and political circles: a new show called System Conspirators.

  Dedicated entirely to unraveling the mystery behind the holographic system and dissecting Leon’s every move, the program quickly built a reputation. It brought together a team of experts—sharp minds from the worlds of gaming, investigative journalism, and digital forensics—each tasked with uncovering the deeper truths behind this system.

  High-profile entertainers, including top streamers and media personalities, joined the panel, their witty banter adding fuel to public debates. Were these conspiracy theories laughable, or were they the edge of something far more sinister?

  As the latest episode went live, the camera swept across a sleek, modern studio. The panelists sat on plush red couches arranged around a circular table, while multiple cameras captured every angle. The room buzzed with anticipation.

  At the center sat the host—a seasoned broadcaster with a calm, commanding presence. He leaned slightly forward and addressed the camera.

  "Welcome, everyone, to System Conspirators!"

  Cheers erupted from the spectators inside the studio. Since this was a live broadcast airing both on TV and online, chat messages and viewer reactions flooded the screen in real time, showcasing a wide range of opinions.

  The host continued, "Our mission is simple: to analyze, decode, and uncover the truth behind the holographic system that follows our champion’s every move. We’ve brought together experts in gaming, digital investigations, and political analysis to take a closer look at the inner workings of this unknown world—the so-called randomness it hides, and the hidden mechanics that drive it.

  Our goal isn’t just to entertain you with theories. We’re here to peel back the layers of mystery surrounding this phenomenon. We want to reveal how every little action, every calculated move Leon makes, might be part of a larger design—one that could change everything we thought we knew about our world."

  He paused, allowing his words to sink in as the camera slowly zoomed in on his determined face. “And now, without further ado,” he continued, a slight smile playing on his lips as he glanced at his co-panelists, “welcome to today’s episode: ‘What is Dungeon End?’”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed, his voice rich and commanding over the studio’s audio system. The camera zoomed in on his energetic expression as the red lights of the studio pulsed in the background. “Tonight, we have a lot to talk about. Over the past few weeks, our champion hasn’t been waiting for fate to deliver its challenges—no, he’s been advancing with calculated, decisive steps that have left the world buzzing. And what’s been fueling those conversations? A theory that’s been echoing through forums, videos, and podcasts as the most probable explanation for his uncanny progress.”

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  The announcer paused as the camera focused on one guest in particular—a well-known streamer with a reputation for deep analysis and creative theories. “Allow me to introduce one of our most influential voices in recent days, TheoryCrafter, known simply as T.C. Today, T.C. is here with us to break down his theory behind our champion’s recent exploits.”

  T.C. leaned forward, the studio lights catching the clean lines of his well-fitted suit. He had a sharp, camera-friendly face—with smooth skin, a strong jaw, and dark eyes that held a calm focus. His neatly styled hair gave him a polished look, the kind of presence that naturally commands attention without unnecessary flair.

  “T.C., you’ve been suggesting that our champion has been moving forward with such confidence and precision, it’s almost as if he’s been here before,” the announcer prompted. “You claim that Leon has experienced this world more than once—can you elaborate on that?”

  T.C. smiled slightly and began, “Certainly. My theory is that Leon isn’t just stumbling through on a lucky break. His every move, every step he takes, is deliberate—as if he already knows every corner of this place. Think about it: he walked into the slums as if it were no stranger to him, navigating Arn’s City without asking questions. He recognized Scarleaf herbs immediately, and when it came to that locked challenge with the Valerian Steelheart figure, he knew the password straight away. It’s almost as if he’s played this game before. His actions suggest a deep, prior familiarity with this world, and that, my friends, is why his progress has been so remarkable.”

  Before T.C. could expand further on his theory, a new voice cut through. A man in a tailored midnight-blue blazer stepped confidently in the conversation. His brown hair was swept back neatly, and his thin, silver-rimmed glasses caught the studio lights. In a clear, measured tone, he interjected,

  "Apologies for the interruption—name’s Codex, digital archivist specializing in gaming history and mechanics. I’ve cataloged everything from obscure indie prototypes to the deepest lore of AAA titles, and my analysis work's been cited in several major retrospectives. So when I say I’m reputable, I mean I’ve earned that status through years of meticulous documentation and pattern analysis.

  Now, T.C., you're making quite the claim here: that Leon’s already had experience in this realm—enough to instantly recognize how to navigate it and even crack the password on that pouch. It’s a fascinating theory, no doubt. But can you back it up with something more concrete? Specific moments or behaviors that point to prior familiarity?"

  T.C.’s eyes glinted with intensity as he leaned forward, his voice resonating with conviction. “Certainly, Codex. There are several instances that support my theory. Take, for example, the way Leon has repeatedly misrepresented his true class. The first time was when he met Lila—the gnome girl—introducing himself as a summoner. Then, during the investigation by that government official looking into the dispute between him and Ragnok, he claimed to be an alchemist. And yet again, when he was with the beastkin, he presented himself as a summoner, even though everyone knows he is actually a necromancer.”

  He paused, letting his words settle over the studio. “Ask yourself—why would he lie about something so mundane without a clear motive? It’s common knowledge that in most games, necromancer classes carry a stigma behind their lore; they’re often feared and misunderstood. By concealing his true class, Leon is simply shielding himself from the backlash associated with his real identity.As if he knew from the start they he would be in danger if he were to reveal his true class.”

  Codex leaned slightly forward, his tone cool but inquisitive. “A fair point, but hardly definitive. Deception for the sake of protection is a common tactic among players, especially in early stages where trust is scarce. Couldn’t Leon have simply been roleplaying for advantage? Or reacting instinctively to the hostility of his environment? That doesn't necessarily imply he’s experienced this world before—it could just be adaptive thinking.”

  T.C. turned slightly in his seat, clearly prepared for the rebuttal. “That would hold water—if his choices weren’t so consistently precise,” he countered. “This isn’t just survival instinct. There’s a pattern. Each lie wasn’t just convenient, it was contextually perfect.”

  He gestured subtly, as if drawing connections in the air. “These weren’t random choices. They were calculated identities tailored to specific situations—each one designed to deflect scrutiny, build rapport, and avoid unnecessary conflict. It suggests more than caution. It suggests foresight. And foresight on that level implies one thing: prior knowledge. Leon’s not just reacting—he’s anticipating. Like someone who’s already seen the consequences of choosing wrong.”

  Codex sat back slightly, adjusting his glasses as he absorbed T.C.’s latest point. The tension in the studio rose, the silence almost electric as viewers and panelists alike waited for his response. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  “Okay,” Codex said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. “Let’s say you’re right—that Leon has prior knowledge of this world. That still doesn’t prove this game ever existed here on Earth. You claim it’s known as Dungeon End, because of the password he gave during his meeting with the Steelheart heads. But I’ve searched—we’ve searched. Forums, databases, physical archives, even obscure collector communities. With the help of professionals and countless passionate volunteers, not a single mention of a game called Dungeon End ever surfaced. Not an ad. Not a leak. Not a rumor. Nothing. It’s as if the game never existed at all.”

  T.C. didn’t flinch. He leaned forward again, the gleam returning to his eyes. “Exactly,” he said, voice low but confident. “As if it never existed. That’s the key.”

  He let the words hang in the air for a second before continuing, the edge of mystery sharpening in his tone. “Sometimes, the most absurd explanation is the one closest to the truth. What if there was only ever one copy of that game? A vintage disc. A relic from old times. Not a modern, downloadable release—something older, maybe even unfinished. A prototype that slipped through the cracks and landed in the hands of a single person.”

  “You’re suggesting he was the sole owner of a game that no one else has ever seen or heard of?” Codex asked, tone skeptical.

  “That’s right,” T.C. replied without hesitation. “Think about it—how many stories have we seen in recent years where a player conquers a near-impossible game, only to be transported into its world? It’s a trope, yes—but tropes come from somewhere. And with the bizarre nature of Leon’s actions, his knowledge, his timing... who’s to say something like that didn’t happen?”

  He gestured to the screen behind them, where footage of Leon’s encounter with the Steelheart family played in silent loop. “My theory is simple: Leon played as Valerian. He reached the final level—the end of the dungeon. And when he cleared it, he wasn’t just rewarded with credits or a cutscene. He was brought into the game. The reason he knew the pouch’s password is because it was his pouch to begin with. The reason no one else could open it? Because no one else knew the game’s name. Only the player would.”

  Codex scoffed lightly, though not with malice—more out of disbelief. “This is absurd,” he said, gesturing subtly toward the audience as if inviting them to share in his doubt. “You’re building your theory on comic book logic. On fantasy stories. Do you really expect people to take that seriously? That a man was transported into a game—because he beat it?”

  T.C. didn’t flinch. He merely exhaled, shaking his head slowly with a quiet, almost tired smile.

  “Of course I don’t expect everyone to take it seriously,” he said, his voice steady and grounded. “In the end, this is just a theory. A hypothesis based on patterns, behavior, and unexplained variables. But you need to understand something, Codex. The line between fiction and reality? It’s not as solid as we used to think.”

  He turned slightly toward the camera, addressing not just Codex but everyone watching. “Once upon a time, the idea of flying from continent to continent in hours was fiction. So was talking to someone across the planet through a glass screen. So was building entire worlds out of code. Fiction is only fiction until someone proves it’s possible.”

  He looked back at Codex, expression firm. “Look at what’s happening around us. That holographic screen hanging above the world like a second sky—that isn’t fiction. it’s real. And none of it makes sense by conventional logic. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that a man, somewhere, somehow, got pulled into the very game he mastered?”

  T.C. didn’t wait for Codex to recover his footing. His voice picked up again, firmer now, as the rhythm of his argument began to build.

  “And that’s only one example,” he continued, his tone sharpened with momentum. “Let’s not pretend this theory rests on a single password. What about the pouch, Codex? How did Leon know it contained an awakened, crystallized heart.”

  He stood slightly, one hand resting on the edge of the table as he faced the room. “What about his encounter with the Broodmother? No reconnaissance, no hesitation, no wasted moves. He attacked with precision, exploiting her patterns like someone who had studied that fight hundreds of times.”

  Codex remained silent, his brow furrowed as the pieces began to connect.

  “And what about the new skill he unlocked?” T.C. pressed. “Shared Vision. It fit his entire build perfectly—it synergized with his slimes, complemented his movement style, and played directly into his strength at scouting. That kind of precision doesn’t just happen by chance. You don’t stumble into something that perfect without some kind of prior planning… or prior knowledge.”

  The room was still, the lights casting long shadows across the polished floor.

  “Every move he makes,” T.C. said quietly, “has the confidence of someone who’s done it a thousand times—not guessed, not hoped, just done. Again and again, until failure wasn’t even a possibility. That’s not improvisation. That’s muscle memory. That’s experience.”

  He sat back down, folding his hands calmly. “And if you still want to call it coincidence, then tell me—how many coincidences does it take before it becomes proof?”