I Was Reincarnated as a Dungeon, So What? I Just Want to Take a Nap. Chapter 100: Hearth and Lair

Dungeon-Dive Dave’s booming announcent—"’Hearth & Lair: A Tour of Cores’!"—landed in the lobby like a magical bomb, and the room exploded in a wave of chaotic, contradictory reactions.

FaeLina’s aura, which had been a calm, professional lavender, exploded into a brilliant, incandescent pink of pure, unadulterated profit. Her psychic voice was a high-pitched squeal of pure, entrepreneurial glee in my mind.

’A multi-part special?! Mochi, say yes! Say yes right now! Think of the rchandise! We could sell tiny, hand-carved Sir Wobble-a-lot dolls! Officially licensed ’Chamomile Champion’ tea sets! And a full set of collectible, hand-painted figurines of the entire team! We’ll start with Sir Crumplebuns and work our way up to Sloosh!’

At the exact sa mont, Gilda crossed her arms, her expression a thunderous "absolutely not." She looked from the influencer’s floating Scry-cara to the stairs leading up to the Hibernation Hollows—the team’s shared living space—with the protective fury of a dragon guarding its hoard.

Pip, anwhile, had simply vanished, having dived under the nearest table to beco one with the shadows. Sir Crumplebuns, on the other hand, puffed out his chest and struck a magnificent, heroic pose, clearly ready for his close-up.

Dave, as a true professional, just smiled, completely unfazed by the chaotic reception. "So," he asked again, his voice full of cheerful energy. "What do you say, Great Sleeper? The entire kingdom is dying to see how the famous ’Chamomile Champion’ lives!"

I felt FaeLina’s psychic presence practically vibrating with so much excitent it was starting to give a headache. But the thought of a Scry-cara crew, with all their bright lights and loud talking, invading my quiet, peaceful ho was enough to make my core wilt.

I quickly ran a ntal cost-benefit analysis.

Cost: A loud, invasive Scry-cara crew, a complete loss of privacy, and a significant disruption to my nap schedule.

Benefit: FaeLina would not stage a tiny, glittery, and very noisy coup.

The benefit, unfortunately, outweighed the cost. But if I had to do this, I was going to do it on my own terms. It was ti to find a lazy, efficient, and mutually beneficial compromise that would make everyone involved completely miserable.

’FaeLina,’ I projected, my voice now a calm, steady baritone of pure, unshakeable authority that cut through her frantic excitent. ’We will agree to the special show, But only... under certain conditions.’

’Conditions?’ she asked, her excitent instantly turning in to suspicion.

’Dave,’ I projected to the influencer, my voice echoing in the now-silent lobby. ’I will grant you your special show, but you must agree to my terms.’

Dave’s eyes lit up, his professional smile widening. "Of course! Anything! We can get a Royal Proclamation granting you exclusive rights to the broadcast! A full say in the final edit! Just na your terms!"

’My terms are simple,’ I explained, my ntal voice perfectly calm and steady. ’First: The entire production will be conducted in absolute silence. All interviews, all comntary, all crew direction must be done in a whisper. This is a sanctuary, not a tavern.’

Dave’s cheerful smile faltered. He blinked. "In... in silence?" he asked, his voice a confused squeak. "But my booming, authoritative narration is my trademark! It’s my brand!"

’Then you will have to invent a new brand,’ I replied calmly. ’A very, very quiet one.’

’Second,’ I continued, feeling FaeLina’s psychic presence begin to buzz with a new and very specific kind of horror. ’Your Scry-caras are only permitted to film things that are currently... at rest. If a resident is awake and moving, they are not to be fild. An awake person is a private individual. A sleeping person,’ I explained, my logic simple and unassailable, ’is just very comfortable scenery. You may film the scenery.’

’Mochi, what are you doing?!’ FaeLina shrieked in my mind, her thought a jumble of pure, managerial panic. ’That’s the whole show! No one wants to watch a show about sleeping!’

’Third,’ I said, calmly ignoring her frantic psychic projections. ’The tour is restricted to the first floor only. The Hibernation Hollows and the Heart of the Dream are private residences and are strictly off-limits.’

And fourth, and most importantly,’ I delivered the final, beautiful, soul-crushing condition, the one that would turn his intriguing special into a work of pure, avant-garde torture. ’The final, ten-minute segnt of your grand special show must consist of a single, unedited, and completely stationary shot of my finest, most comfortable pillow.’

To prove I was serious, I manifested the star of the show. With a soft shimr of purple light, a single, perfect pillow appeared on a small pedestal in the center of the room. It was woven from pure dream essence, and it seed to radiate a gentle, calming aura of its own. It was, without a doubt, the most comfortable-looking object in the entire world.

A new kind of silence fell over the lobby. A deep, profound silence of pure, unadulterated bafflent.

FaeLina was having a complete, high-speed, and completely silent ltdown.

’A pillow?!’ she shrieked, her psychic voice a jumble of pure, horrified disbelief. ’You’re ending our big pri-ti debut with ten minutes of a pillow?! That’s not a show; that’s a sleep aid! The advertisers will pull out! The ratings will be a disaster! Thistlewick will use this to have us reclassified as a ’Public Nuisance’! Our brand will be ruined forever!’

’Precisely,’ I replied.

Dave just stood there, staring at the pillow. His professional smile was gone, replaced by a look of pure, analytical thought. A slow, dawning light of pure, creative genius spread across his face.

"Great Sleeper," he said, his voice a reverent whisper. "It’s perfect. It’s not just a tour; it’s performance art. It’s a statent. The quietest, most boring, and most aggressively pleasant television special in the history of the world."

He bowed. "We’ll start filming tomorrow."

As Dave and his crew departed, a wave of different reactions washed over my team.

Gilda, who had been glaring daggers at the Scry-cara, finally relaxed, a small, satisfied grunt escaping her lips. Her ho was safe.

Pip slowly peeked out from under the table, a look of profound relief on his face. He wouldn’t have to be on cara.

Sir Crumplebuns, however, was crestfallen. He looked from his Spoonblade to the pedestal where the pillow now sat. "BUT... BUT WHAT ABOUT MY HEROIC MONOLOGUE?" he whispered, his voice full of a deep, theatrical sadness.

___________

Author’s Note:

And Mochi’s solution to an invasive TV special is... to make it as boring as humanly (and geologically) possible. This is the most Mochi plan ever, and I am so proud of him.

I love that Dungeon-Dive Dave, a true professional, imdiately sees the chaotic, codic genius in Mochi’s terrible, wonderful idea. They are a match made in heaven. But Sir Crumplebuns being heartbroken that the star of the show is a pillow and not him is a close second for my favorite mont.

But can they really pull it off? A silent, sleepy tour of a single room, ending with a ten-minute shot of a pillow? The King is going to love this. Thistlewick is going to have another aneurysm. What do you guys think?

Thanks for reading!