In the end, he never ended up getting the donut vouchers he was promised.

“Figures…” he mumbled, settling down in his seat at a nearby McJohnson’s. Fast food franchises had made a massive comeback recently—not only were toy monsters an easy marketing gimmick for the kids, but with the constant threat of dungeon outbreaks, nobody really had the time nor motivation to cook.

Besides, who really cared about calories when there was the possibility you could die at any moment from a monster attack?

Definitely not Jonathan, who was currently busy scarfing down a literal mountain of burgers and fries. He washed it all down with a sizable gulp of soda, leaned back, and gave a heavy sigh of contentment.

He still could not believe that he had obtained a S-tier class. For someone like him who wanted nothing to do with dungeons, it was just the worst type of luck possible. If he had gotten something normal like a lower-tier combat [Class], or even one of those production-oriented ones, no one would even spare him a second glance, and he could probably continue with his carefree life as it was.

But an S-tier class? That was trouble. Anything above B-tier got the attention of the executives at the Dungeon Association, and in turn, the government. Rare [Classes] were seen as a matter of national security these days. They were an indicator of a country’s ability to stop the influx of Dungeon Outbreaks, due to the fact that for some reason, conventional weaponry and even nuclear bombs had no effect on the monsters.

And although [Class] rarity was not strictly correlated with an individual’s strength, it was a very good indicator most of the time. For example, out of all the current Grandmaster-rank holders in the world, only Ethan Chung bucked the trend with his D-tier [Monk] class. Everyone else possessed [Classes] that were at least B-tier or higher.

Major guilds were even ranked on the number of rare [Classes] that they possessed. It was widely believed that one A-tier [Class] was roughly equivalent to about 10 B-tier [Classes] in terms of combat ability; one B-tier was worth 10 C-tier [Classes], and so on and so forth.

It went without saying that once word got out, everyone would come looking for his ass, the government especially. He would probably be put under a strict monitoring program, and be forced to participate in every test and training regimen known to man, in order to mold him into the perfect monster killing machine. Afterwards, he would probably be forced to join a large Guild, where everyday would be non-stop Dungeon after Dungeon. The rest of his life would end up resembling a Rocky montage of sorts, except with a lot more exploding monster guts.

His worst nightmare. Jonathan shuddered just thinking about it.

The only sliver of hope he had was what the voice on the intercom had said at the end of his assessment. “…an S-tier class with no combat ability…”

He certainly hoped that was true. And to be completely honest, he really didn’t feel any different. His body was just as weak and skinny as it had always been. Slightly disappointing, because it was said that once you underwent Dungeon Duty and obtained a [Class], your entire physique would change. Obese people would become elite athletes overnight. You would be capable of lifting an entire car with one hand. Your skin would be impervious to bullets or knives. You would never get sick.

Jonathan had been slightly winded just walking across the street to the McJohnson’s. That was definitely something that shouldn’t happen after you obtained your [Class]. Maybe the Dungeon Crystal had screwed up somehow. Maybe it had given him a novelty S-tier [Class] as a joke, just to screw with humanity’s hopes and dreams.

He sighed.

“Mommy, mommy, I want the #2 Jolly Feast!”

A boy’s excited squealing broke Jonathan out of his reverie. He looked up. It was McJohnson’s new promotional event. Upon the purchase of a #2 Jolly Feast, there would be a chance to receive a special gold version of the included toy.

Jonathan remembered he had been crazy for stuff like that when he had been the kid’s age. Ah, the good ‘ol days. Staying up all night to watch funny videos. Not a care in the world. No monsters. No dungeons. No need to—

He felt a bit woozy all of a sudden. Like everything was shaking. Maybe he had had too many burgers. Twenty of those suckers really was pushing it, not to mention all the sugar from the gallon-sized soda cup he had been drinking. Then he realized it wasn’t just him. The table was shaking was well. And the floor.

People started screaming. There was a loud crack as the tiles underneath his feet broke in two. An enormous chasm of some sort appeared, growing larger by the second.. Ah shit. He reached out, trying desperately to grab onto something but to no avail. Darkness swallowed him. He was falling, falling, surely falling to his death. Before he reached the end, however, a strange light consumed him, and he had the odd sensation of his body being whisked away, as if by a strong wind.

| You have entered the Dungeon.

He opened his eyes in a panic, scrambling around to grab something, only to find himself on solid ground in an unfamiliar place. It seemed to be a cave of some sort, complete with stalagmites and stalactites—he could never tell which one was which—and mushrooms, the sound of dripping water, and a wet, dank smell. Around him were a few of the other customers from the McJohnson’s, who had been unlucky enough to have fallen down along with him. There was the boy who had been squealing about the Jolly Feast from before, along with his mother. Beside them was a young, blond man with wavy hair, and an old, terrified-looking couple.

“Is everyone alright?” the young, blond man said. He wore an armband of some sort, which glowed with a silvery light. “Don’t worry. My name is James. I’m a Dungeoneer.”

“Oh thank god!” the old couple said. “I’m William, and this is my wife Martha.”

“I’m Kevin!” the little boy squealed. He looked up at the blond man with admiration in his eyes. “You’re a Dungeoneer? What [Class] are you? What rank? What was the strongest monster you’ve ever killed? Are you friends with Markus the Flame? He’s my favorite Dungeoneer. What Guild are you in—”

“Kevin! Now’s not the time to bother this nice young man with all your questions,” the boy’s mother said in a huff. “I’m sorry. He’s just obsessed with that stuff these days. I’m Claire, by the way.”

“That’s okay, ma’am,” the blond man named James said. He turned to the boy. “Little man, I’m a [Knight]. Silver-rank. The strongest monster I’ve ever killed was an [Ogre]. I’ve never met Markus, but I’m a big fan. I’m part of the Mithril Warriors Guild.”

“Wow!” the boy said. “Cool!”

“What about you?” the young blond man said. “Do you mind introducing yourself?”

It took a minute before Jonathan realized that the question was directed at him. “Oh! Hello…” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “My name is Jonathan…” he hesitated, thinking about whether or not to reveal that technically-speaking, he was a Dungeoneer too, and a shiny, new S-tier one to boot. In the end, he decided against it. He didn’t want to give them false hope, like an alternative medicine practitioner on a flight with a real medical emergency. Besides, if what the Dungeon Association said was true, and he truly had no combat ability, he didn’t want them to have an expectation of him that he couldn’t possibly live up to.

“I’m… just a nobody.”