I stared at my character sheet, tapping the word Elementary School over and over like it might change if I glared hard enough. “Bookbite, why can’t I just… skip this and build the high school I actually want?”

  Bookbite crossed his arms, leaning back with a little huff. “Good question. Sorry to school you, and hey, pun intended, is that the system locks that stuff behind higher tiers. High school? Probably a lot fancier. More dangerous, too. The system’s probably thinking A or B rank for something like that.”

  I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “Tiers. Right. What exactly are the tiers?”

  Bookbite’s ears perked up like I’d asked his favourite question. “Ah, now that’s basic dungeon science. Everything runs on tiers. E is the bottom of the barrel; slimes, weak traps, and basic resources. Then you climb up: D, C, B, A. And if you’re really something, you hit S rank or even SS. That’s when stuff gets wild.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “And I’m…?”

  “Level one,” he said brightly, patting my arm like I was a small child. “Which means you’re hanging out in E tier right now. Don’t worry, Core girl. Everyone starts somewhere.”

  I groaned. “So basically… I’m a baby dungeon.”

  Bookbite grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “Yup. But you’ve got potential. And me. So, you know, that’s a start.”

  “Okay, so I am E rank, if I want to get higher, I am going to need to start from the beginning.”

  The start of everything, Elementary, I thought. The word echoing strangely in my mind. A place of bright colours and tiny chairs, of spelling tests and scraped knees on the blacktop. A place that should feel simple, safe, and nostalgic. But a sudden, sharp anxiety clenched my chest, tightening without warning like a cold fist squeezing my lungs. My perfect new body, so recently a source of wonder, felt fragile again, humming with a low, uncomfortable tension.

  I’d spent years in a place like that, colouring inside the lines, learning to read. But what really came back wasn’t the classrooms or the playground, the smell of glue sticks or the shouts of tag. It was all the bullying. My parents fighting. The rage and anger.

  The first event came to me in a flash. It was the parking lot. The brutal, endless, grinding conflict of the drop-off and pick-up zone. A daily arena of low-grade tension and simmering road rage. Parents circling like vultures, all tense and sharp-edged, trapped in metal boxes, everyone just waiting for someone else to screw up, to park wrong, to cut in line, to cause a delay. The air was always thick with exhaust fumes and unspoken hostility.

  And then that day. It wasn’t a specific memory I’d consciously pulled up in years, but seeing the word "Elementary" ripped it from wherever I’d buried it, whole and raw.

  I could still see it so clearly, laid out before me like a photograph burned into my brain. The black asphalt of the parking lot, the bright yellow lines marking the spots. The long line of idling cars, windows rolled down, faces impatient. And my mom. Her face twisted in an expression I knew well: fury, sudden and absolute. She slammed the car into park with a jolt that threw me forward against the seatbelt, as she’d just snapped, the tension finally breaking.

  The other mom had been right there, leaning out of the window of her massive SUV, her face red and contorted, shouting something, her voice shrill and cutting through the drone of the engines. I didn’t even know what it was about anymore. A parking spot? Cutting in line? It was something stupid, something trivial. All I knew was the sudden chaos that erupted. Doors slammed open violently, people yelling, horns blaring in shock and frustration. Teachers started running over from the sidewalk, their faces wide with alarm, but they were too late to stop it.

  The two of them; full-grown women, mothers, people who were supposed to be in control, who were supposed to keep us safe, were fighting. Right there in the middle of the parking lot, surrounded by kids in backpacks. They began ripping into each other like wild animals. Screaming and grabbing and clawing at each other. Their handbags were forgotten, and their carefully constructed adult composure shattered, revealing something primal and terrifying beneath.

  I was frozen in the back seat, small and helpless, clutching my backpack like it was a shield against the storm outside the windows. I couldn’t stop staring at their hands, at their nails. They were long, painted bright red, sharp points glinting in the harsh afternoon sun. They looked like claws. Like monsters shedding their human skin. And when they finally started swinging, arms flailing, faces contorted in rage, those claws came down fast, raking and scratching at faces and arms. I remember thinking, with a child’s horrifying certainty, they’re going to kill each other right here, over a parking spot. The sheer, illogical violence of it was terrifying. They were supposed to be the adults. They were supposed to be safe.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Even now, sitting in this impossible place, my hands shook a little at the memory, the phantom tension lingering in my muscles.

  I let out a long, ragged breath I hadn't realized I was holding and rubbed my eyes hard with the heels of my palms. “God,” I muttered, the sound raspy in the quiet. “That was… a lot.” The memory receded slowly, leaving behind a residue of unease.

  "Yeesh, kid. My mom dropped me in a pit with twenty other goblets and a sack of rocks, and said ‘Figure it out.’ But hey, at least I wasn’t this unlucky."

  “Haha, thanks.”

  No wonder the idea of "Elementary School" as an option, a place that was supposed to be fundamental and safe, made my skin crawl. It wasn't the classrooms that defined it for me. It was the raw, unpredictable, terrifying rage of the adults. The complete breakdown of order in a place where children were supposed to be protected. It was the first time I understood that the people in charge could be the most dangerous monsters of all. And that sometimes, they’d tear each other apart, and you’d just be stuck there, watching.

  “I look forward to sharing my childhood with this world,” I smirked.

  “And I thought chief fat ass was crazy. I feel like we are going places, Chloe.”

  That parking lot wasn't just a memory; it was a core trauma. A lesson in the chaos that lurked beneath the surface of supposed safety.

  I looked back at my character sheet. "Elementary." It wasn't about ABCs and 123s. It was about the foundational fear, the first crack in the illusion of safety, the moment I learned the world wasn't what it seemed. Maybe… maybe that wasn't the wrong foundation for a dungeon after all. Not a dungeon of classrooms, but a dungeon built on that specific, primal fear and suffering.

  I stared at the empty blueprint on the desk before me. I started chewing my lip. “Okay. First area. What’s more iconic than the drop-off zone?”

  “Okay, but we are going to need to do some prep work first.” Bookbite crossed his arms, glancing between me and the black areas of the map. “So. Are you ready to dig, Boss? Right now, we have your small core room, and the tunnel leading up to the surface.”

  I took a deep breath. “Yeah… but how do I even start?” In my mind, I could already see it: the grand entrance to the first big cave, yawning open like the start of something huge.

  He grinned, sharp little teeth flashing. “Simple. Focus on your mana, and use your map. Will the earth to move. You’ve got the juice. You just have to tell the system what you want. Then your skills should start to trigger. As long as you have the mana, removing earth and stone should be simple. Later on, we will need storage rooms and such, but for the first three rooms we got the space.”

  I hesitated, then closed my eyes and pictured it: a massive cavern, the first of three, dug deep beneath the earth. My dungeon. The walls are smooth and wide, sturdy enough to build and expand later. I imagined the soil parting, the stone carving away like butter under a hot knife.

  System Notification: [Skill Activated: Ground Rules] You have begun reshaping the earth and stone within your dungeon. Precision and control will improve with practice. Current Teir level: E.

  Warmth flushed through me like something deep in my chest had stirred to life. Mana. It tingled out from my core, and suddenly the ground shuddered. Dirt shifted. The ground rippled and sank, like an invisible hand was carving out my vision in real time.

  I gasped, stepping back as my first cave opened up, revealing raw, a growing room inside.

  System Notification: [Mana Expenditure: -20]. Cave Room One Creation Initiated. [Progress: 10%...][15%...]

  Bookbite whistled. “Nice start. Keep at it. You’ll need to push mana until it’s fully formed.”

  I nodded, bracing myself, and focusing again. The effort was tiring like lifting something too heavy over and over but also addictive. With each pulse of mana, the cave grew deeper, wider, and closer to matching the picture in my head. “Way better than math class.”

  When I paused to catch my breath, blinking sweat from my eyes, something new pinged across my vision.

  System Notification: New Tab Unlocked: Resources. Resource tap tracks available materials harvested or exposed in your dungeon grounds.

  I frowned and flicked to the tab. Sure enough, a fresh window had opened up next to my character sheet. It listed the basics: Dirt. Stone. Sandstone. Small iron deposits (unverified), and Biomatter.

  “Oh,” I muttered, surprised. “It’s tracking what I’m digging up?”

  Bookbite peered over my shoulder. “Yeah, duh. You’re making a dungeon. You’re gonna hit resources. The system keeps tabs, so crafters and gatherers know what they’re in for. Plus, you will use that to build your dungeon. You can’t create stuff out of nothing.”

  I stared at the expanding cave, the mana still humming faintly through my veins. “And if they come here to harvest…”

  “You win,” Bookbite finished, smirking. “More mana for you. More experience. It’s a cycle, boss.”

  I exhaled slowly, watching as the dark, open wound of the earth deepened bit by bit. My first cave. My first big step.

  I paused and frowned. “Where and what is bio-matter? I didn’t see anything alive down here.”

  Bookbite scratched his ear and shrugged. “Eh, probably some worms, bugs… whatever was squirming around in the dirt. The system classifies it all the same. You’d be surprised what counts once you start digging deep.”

  “Alright,” I whispered, rolling my shoulders back. “Let’s dig in.”