I found Blacky waiting for me outside the door.

“Where is Vacatrola, Master?”

I summoned the balance screen and pointed at the fifty.

Blacky hummed.

“So she is… farmsent?”

“Farmsent?” I asked as we walked across the bridge in the middle of the featureless black sky.

“Dead, you’d say in Earth. Here we speak in dog-friendly terms. So she was sent to live the rest of her life on a farm. Okay?”

My walk came to a sudden halt. I was dumbfounded by the sheer innocence of a place where minors could use revolvers. “I dusted her for new cards.”

“The goddess will get angry at you.”

“Is this goddess a dog too?”

Blacky didn’t answer. I didn’t insist. We were happier don’ting. We resumed the walk.

As soon as we reached the halls that would lead to my room, I spoke again.

“Why did you never tell me about the manual?”

“I assumed you had read it and were just hard on text comprehension, Master.”

I slapped the floating card, action which had almost no effect on Blacky.

“You Argentinians have problems with text comprehension. It’s a pride to be able to read in your homeland. That’s what they told me, at least.”

“Listen here you little shit, we…” then I remembered many universities had text comprehension tests for entering, and the results were overall… not great. “…I have played Yu-Gi-Oh, I can read really long texts.” Save face, Mauro, save face. You are doing it great. Maybe one day you will, even, find a girl that’s blind enough to like you.

“Will you read it now?” Blacky asked, expectant.

“Of course not. I am too proud for that.” I said, and waited from my guide’s reaction. There was none. “Ah, I will read it, I am not stupid enough to risk starving due to not knowing the rules. But first, I want to craft a card or two for the pug deck.”

“And what if the deck doesn’t work?”

I shrugged.

“I will have to farm the first levels of the Warden for a bit longer, I guess.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

We finally arrived at the room, I sat at the bed and, contrary to my word, I decided to manifest the Manual. A book with paw-shaped pages appeared on my hands. It had no front edge to open. The sides were all sealed with transparent material.

“How do I open the Manual?”

“Use the Manual’s manual,” said blacky in his serviceable tone.

I manifested the Manual’s manual. It was a tablet that had run out of juice.

“How do I turn this on?”

“You know the answer to that question, deep within.”

I manifested the Manual’s manual’s manual. It was a glass sphere with a rolled piece of paper inside.

I threw the crystal ball to the floor. It bounced on the tiles, then on a wall, then on the roof, and then crashed against my forehead, tucking me in faster than my parents had ever managed.

Long story short, after two hours of manifesting manuals, I reached the last turtle, so to speak: The manual for the penultimate manual was literally a tortoise with the instructions written in its belly. I proceeded up the pile of manuals, falling a little more into madness with each one. When I reached the one where I had to bite off the head of a live snake, I decided to try a radical idea to open the game manual.

“Hey, game manual: open index.”

The index page appeared on top of the paw shape.

I sat there, looking at the disorder around me, rubbing the bump in my forehead, sobbing. “Why?”

The manual showed the “Why?” page:

Welcome to Deck of dogs! I, the goddess of every pocket dimension of this universe, enjoy seeing new players suffer. I brought you in because of your skills at playing card games. When people play Deck of Dogs, they feed me with the energy I need to sustain and expand this universe. You are helping make others prisoner just by struggling to survive, OwO. Enjoy the game, let your personal guide dog help you prosper in this new environment, and remember: the other players are enclosed in their own mansions, so they cannot harm you with their mean company. Don’t piss off the Clerk. Don’t piss off the Warden. And, first and foremost: Don’t piss me off unless it’s funny to do so. Do you wish to turn off the Furry emojis UwU?

“Yes, for the love of God.”

The manual showed the “Yes, for the Love of God” page:

Too bad ÒwÓ

Maybe T.E.G wasn’t so bad after all.

“Well, screw you too.”

The manual forwarded the “Well, Screw You Too” page:

That’s what I like on a player: flaming and unsporting behavior.

Defeated, I looked at the white roof, and then back at the manual: “How to play the game.”

The manual did its thing again:

You just lost it.

I threw the manual across the room, swatting Blacky off the air, and then I lay grumpily on the bed.

After a few minutes, I grabbed the damn thing and began reading relevant entries. I discovered a few interesting things: for just the price of two packs, I could buy the ability to, and read well, because this is important: fucking mulligan. As you read, a basic game mechanic was hidden behind a paywall. I also learned the costs for crafting different card rarities: Common, Not-Common, Really-Not-Common and Goodestest-Boy/Girl (henceforth abbreviated as GBG). Common cards netted one omnitreat when Labbied (that was the official term, Labbied) and costed five omnitreats to make. Not-Common cards netted ten omnitreats and costed fifty to make. Really-Not-Commons netted fifty and needed two hundred, and GBGs netted two hundred and required five hundred. Other collectibles could, or not, follow the card rarity scheme.

“Blacky, are there any good common rarity pug cards for aggro?”

“A few, sir. You can use the breed filter in your collection to see them all.”

I jumped from the bed and opened the collection screen: it was almost-pauper pugs time.