The morning light through the thin curtains was pale and cold.
Dom had been in the bathtub for over an hour, ice cubes floating around his chest, the chill numbing the worst of the aches but doing nothing for the exhaustion settled deep in his bones.
The ears drooped.
They’d been doing that since he got home, wilting like neglected plants whenever he stopped moving.
Lucy was at the kitchen table, laptop open, a spreadsheet glowing on the screen.
She’d been running numbers since dawn.
“Vince is on his way,” she said without looking up.
“He wasn’t happy about the hour, but when I told him what we were sitting on, he got dressed pretty fast.”
“Good.” Dom shifted in the tub, ice clinking.
“The sooner he sells it, the sooner we have actual money.”
“We have actual money already. The stream revenue hit your account overnight. Donations cleared. Ad revenue is pending but the estimate is solid.” She turned the laptop around.
“You made four thousand dollars while you were asleep.”
Dom stared at the number.
Four thousand dollars.
From strangers watching him almost die.
From a dance he’d never live down.
“Huh,” he said.
“That’s all you have to say? ‘Huh’?”
“I’m in a bathtub full of ice. My emotional range is limited.”
The intercom buzzed.
Vince had arrived.
Vince stood in the doorway, taking in the piles of dimensional gold on the kitchen table, the staff leaning against the fridge, the Black Crown glowing faintly in the morning light, and Dom submerged in ice in the bathroom like a frozen dinner.
“I’ve been in this business twenty years,” he said slowly.
“This is a first.”
“Just appraise the loot,” Dom called from the tub.
Vince set down his reinforced briefcase and got to work.
He picked up one of the gold coins, turned it over in his thick fingers, and his eyes unfocused for a moment, the telltale sign of his production-class abilities activating.
“Dimensional gold. Pure. Heavy. It’s valuable because it’s gold. Collectors will pay a premium for the purity.” He set it down and picked up a ring from the jewelry pile.
His eyes unfocused again.
“But the jewelry’s a different story. They’re all enchanted. Every piece in this pile.”
Lucy looked up from her laptop.
“All of them?”
“Protection charms. Minor stat boosts. A few are more complex. This ring has a fire-resistance enchantment that would sell for five figures on its own.” He set it down carefully.
“I’ll need time to catalogue everything, but you’re sitting on a lot of money.”
He separated two items from the pile.
“The staff and the Flame Core go to auction. Mages will fight over it. The Flame Core is a high-grade alchemical reagent. I’ll put them in a specialist auction. Could take five days, maybe a week, but you’ll get the best price.”
“And the rest?” Dom asked.
“I’ll move those today through my usual channels. You’ll have the money before evening.”
Lucy leaned forward.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“If this is what you can get from a dungeon like that, why isn’t everyone doing it? Why aren’t hunters lining up to raid unstable gates if the payout is this insane?”
Vince set down the ring he’d been examining.
“That’s a good question. Your brother didn’t tell you?”
“I don’t know myself,” Dom said from the tub.
“I just took the gate because it was there.”
Vince nodded slowly.
“Alright.
Here’s the reality.
Most hunters won’t touch unstable gates.
They’re not like standard rifts.
You’re just gone.
Cut off from this world forever.
Or it can spawn something way above its grade level.
You went in expecting a normal Kobold camp and got a mutant Pyromancer.
That could’ve been much worse.”
“But people do try, right?”
“People try all the time. And a lot of them die. I’ve been in this business twenty years. I’ve seen hunters walk into unstable gates and never walk out. I’ve seen whole parties disappear because the rift collapsed mid-raid. You’re either lucky or die.” He gestured at the piles of treasure.
“And this haul?
This is not normal.
Kobolds hoard.
That’s what they do.
They drag treasure out of their home dimension and pile it up for years.
Most dungeons don’t have this kind of loot.
You go into a standard D-rank, you get a Clear Crystal and maybe some scrap and monster parts or core.
You go into a Kobold camp, you might get this.
Or you might get buried alive in an unstable dungeon when the rift collapses.
That’s the trade.”
Lucy absorbed this quietly, a cold running down her spine.
“So Dom got lucky.”
“Dom got very lucky. He also fought through a hundred Kobolds and killed a mutant Pyromancer. He’s also really skilled. But yes, the gate could have closed on him. It didn’t. That’s why the payout is what it is. High risk, high reward.” Vince picked up his briefcase.
“Most hunters prefer low risk, steady income.”
He started packing the loot.
“I’ll take everything now. The staff and the Flame Core go to auction. The rest I’ll move today. You’ll have your money before evening.”
After Vince left, Dom reached for his phone on the edge of the sink.
His knee throbbed dully under the chill.
He scrolled to Joe’s contact and hit dial.
Joe picked up on the third ring.
“Dom? It’s six in the morning.”
“I know. Need a house call.”
A pause.
“How bad?”
“Same knee and a few broken bones. Worse than usual. I cleared a hundred-Kobold camp last night and it’s been grinding ever since. The ice is helping but I can barely stand.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“A hundred Kobolds. Solo.”
“In an unstable gate and with a mutant Pyromancer.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?.”
“I’m aware. Can you come?”
Joe sighed, the sound crackling through the speaker.
“Give me forty minutes. I’ll bring everything I’ve got, but you know I can only do surface work. That cartilage isn’t coming back without a higher level healer.”
“About that. You said once you knew someone who could help.”
“I know a lot of them. None of them cheap.”
“Money’s not a problem anymore.”
Silence.
Then: “What kind of gate did you clear again?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. Just bring your kit.”
“I’ll be there in forty.” Joe hung up.
Lucy looked up from her laptop.
“Joe?”
“On his way. He’ll patch me up, but the knee needs more than he can do. He mentioned someone who could actually fix it. I’m going to ask him to make the call.”
“Money’s not a problem anymore.”
The words left Dom’s lips with an unusual ease.
A slow grin spread across Lucy’s face.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”
“Feels weird low key.”
Lucy closed her laptop and looked at Dom.
“Alright then we have a few minutes before he comes. Want to do that Q&A while you’re still in the bath?”
“I’m not doing a Q&A.”
“You’re in an ice bath. The internet will love it.”
“The internet can—”
“It’ll keep people engaged while we wait. Build the brand. Prove you’re real to all the people calling you CGI.”
Dom stared at her.
The ears twitched.
“Fine. But you’re filtering the questions.”
“Obviously.”
[BROADCAST INITIATED!!]
[streaming live to: TikTok, YouTube, Twitch]
[current viewers: 4,200… 6,800… 9,100…]
The chat overlay materialized at the edge of Dom’s vision.
Lucy’s voice came from off-screen, crisp and clear despite the fact that there was no microphone, no camera, no equipment of any kind in the bathroom.
“We’re live. NyaaBlade Q&A from the world’s saddest ice bath. I’m his sister-slash-manager. Ask questions. I’ll read the good ones. He’ll answer.”
Dom shifted in the ice.
“Can I get a ‘purr’ in the chat?”
The chat exploded.
Half the responses were purrs.
The other half were variations of disbelief.
BussyBlaster9000: PURRRRRRR xXDungeonDaddyXx: PURRRRRRR
PixelSlvt: 🐱🐱🐱
Skeptic_Tank: this is so staged
KravenMoHead34: why is he in a bathtub.
why is he asking for purrs.
what is happening.
GoblinSlayer69: @Skeptic_Tank staged with what cameras?
there’s no crew.
no setup.
just a guy in ice.
Skeptic_Tank: @GoblinSlayer69 phones exist.
pre-recorded footage exists.
CGI exists.
“Alright,” Dom said.
“I can see the skeptics in chat. Good. You should be skeptical. I’d be skeptical too. That’s why I’m doing this. Lucy’s reading questions. I’ll be answering as best as I can.”
current viewers: 15,800
Lucy spent the first five minutes filtering.
Her laptop screen was a wall of scrolling text, thousands of questions pouring in faster than anyone could read them.
She discarded duplicates, obvious bait, and anything that would get them sued.
By the time she was done, she had a list organized by category, each one written in her neat, color-coded handwriting.
“Alright,” she said.
“We’re grouping these by topic so I don’t have to read the same question fifty times. First category: the ears.”
Dom shifted in the ice.
“Of course.”