It was like stepping into the busiest market I’d ever seen—if the market had been designed by beings who couldn’t agree on geotry.
The streets curved in impossible spirals, bridges floated in midair, and glowing pathways crisscrossed above my head like veins in the dark sky.
Stalls lined the walkways, and vendors hawked wares in voices that sounded more like shrieks, growls, or telepathic whispers than words.
I even caught a whiff of sothing like roasted at—but the at had too many legs to be chicken.
Despite the chaos, it was . . . organized.
Everyone seed to know their place. No fights, no riots. Just a thousand strange species brushing shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I took it all in and let out a low whistle. "So this is the Void, huh? Looks more like a galactic convention center."
"Convention center?" The bunny gave a side-eye. "You make it sound la. This is the central hub of survival. Everyone here has cleared worlds and lived to tell the tale. The Void only invites those who matter."
"So basically . . ." I smirked. "This is the VIP lounge for overachievers."
The bunny twitched. "Don’t call it that."
But I couldn’t help grinning. Because for all the alien madness, I felt sothing loosen in my chest. Relief, maybe. I wasn’t completely alone anymore.
The thought of walking through endless darkness with only a smug rabbit had been unnerving. But here—here were others like .
Other hosts.
Other who love winning!
And maybe, just maybe, rivals I could crush in the future.
The thrill of it curled in my stomach like fire.
Perfect—this part feels like the isekai-ets-gar hub mont, and we can really make it shine by giving the
My gaming blood was burning.
"So these different species walking around?" I asked as the elevator humd, climbing toward the main villain HQ—or, as the bunny insisted on calling it, "The Void Host Central."
"Most of them are hosts, of course. So are agents like who help the hosts. The rest . . ." the bunny twitched its whiskers, "are normal citizens of the Void. They maintain the place, keep it running. Even a cosmic hub needs janitors, cooks, and accountants."
I blinked. "Wait—you’re saying this place has alien janitors?"
The bunny gave a flat look. "What did you expect? A self-cleaning interdinsional trash can?"
". . . That would be cool, though."
The bunny ignored .
I glanced out the transparent side of the elevator. The view was insane. Dozens of skywalks crossed one another like neon spiderwebs, carrying beings of all shapes and sizes.
A dragon with chro scales soared overhead, holding a briefcase in its claws. A flock of luminous bird-people glided down a corridor shaped like a ribcage. And on the ground floor far below, I spotted a café where an ogre was sipping tea with a rmaid.
"Egh, really? They all look . . . so cool and alien."
"To them," the bunny retorted, "you look like an alien. You’re basically the weird monkey who stumbled out of the jungle."
"Rude."
"Truth."
I snorted, shaking my head. "So how many worlds and parallel stories exist out there?"
The bunny’s ears twitched. "Too many to count. Infinite, probably. Humans aren’t the only race out there, nor are their stories the only ones. The multiverse is vast."
My grin widened. "Ohhh, cool! So I get to be transported into an alien world next ti, right? Imagine it— versus a galaxy of bug overlords! Or piloting chs in a robot apocalypse!"
The bunny sighed. "No. You’ll remain in human-based worlds. Other races handle their own. The balance requires it."
"Egh? That’s no fun at all. That’s like buying the DLC but being locked to the base campaign!"
"Stop whining. We’re here."
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, and I stepped out into what looked like . . . an office. A very big office with multiple doors around a vast lobby.
A massive, sleek, sci-fi corporate office.
"What the—this is just an office building?"
Not just any office, though. The ceiling stretched higher than a cathedral do, glowing with star patterns that shifted as if alive.
Glass walls revealed entire levels stacked above and below us like a ga-skyscraper. Floating signs lit the air, pointing to Mission Departnt, Shops, Lounges, Restaurants, and even Spas. I half-expected soone in a suit to hand a clipboard.
"Who are all these creatures here?" I whispered, watching as a crystalline humanoid argued with a dwarf at the counter. "Hosts like ?"
"That’s right," the bunny said smugly. "This office is complete. Think of it as a guild hub for hosts. From now on, you can collect stars from the mission departnt. And over there—" it pointed at a neon arch glowing with strange language, "—are shops. Over there, restaurants. Past that? Lounges, training halls, even ditation spaces if you want to cry about your failures in peace. Oh, and yes, spas."
". . . You actually provide spas?" I blinked. "Wow, you guys really take care of your hosts, huh?"
"Of course. Each one of you is important. Especially the talented ones."
I grinned, chest swelling with pride. "Oh-ho, so I’m a VIP?"
"More like a rookie among the VIPs," the bunny muttered. "You only cleared what . . . 5 worlds?"
"Seven," I corrected.
"A small number. The veterans here already cleared hundred worlds."
"Ohhh!" That raise my competitive side!
"Wait—if I can pick my own missions from now on . . ." My grin faltered slightly. "That ans I won’t see you anymore?"
The bunny smirked, ears flicking. "What’s this? Already missing ?"
I crossed my arms, pretending to sulk. "I’ll miss the sarcasm. Not you."
"Touching." The bunny’s voice dripped with mockery. "But don’t worry, I’ll still be around. Not forever, though. Babysitting you isn’t my full-ti job. I’ve got other newbies to tend to."
"Whoa. You’re really busy, huh?"
"Obviously."
"Alright, alright." I raised my hands in mock surrender. "If I need you, I’ll just call you at the information counter, right?"
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