The Heroic Helpline Network rarely had quiet mornings, and this one was no exception.

Kurohane Megumi strode into the office with the resigned determination of someone preparing to clean up a disaster. She adjusted the clasp of her billowing cape—purely practical, of course, not for effect—and surveyed the chaos with a practiced glare.

To her left, Gobuto Haruo, the goblin intern, was flailing at a cloud of rogue filing scrolls that buzzed around him like angry bees. “Please stop! I didn’t enchant you to do this!”

“Why does that keep happening?” Megumi muttered, rubbing her temples.

To her right, Mana Shizuka, the mana systems analyst, was hunched over a glowing monitor, muttering numbers under his breath. Sparks flew from a nearby mana crystal, but he ignored it with the precision of someone who knew the difference between a minor glitch and an actual explosion.

At the far end of the room, Hikari Tsubasa flitted from desk to desk with a tray of mismatched teacups. Her wings sparkled as she tried to offer everyone a cup. “Good morning, everyone! Tea for the start of another wonderful day?”

Megumi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sparkles, put the tray down before you spill something into the mana lines. Gobuto, stop feeding the scrolls your panic—they’re enchanted to mimic emotional states. And Shizuka—”

“I know,” Mana interrupted flatly. “It’ll stabilize in thirty seconds.”

Megumi exhaled sharply, placing her hands on her hips. “This place is going to make me age prematurely.”

“You’re already prematurely grumpy,” Niwatori Tama, the hotline interface crystal, chimed in from its perch. “Should I log that in the complaint system?”

“Do that, and I’ll personally throw you into a dungeon,” Megumi growled.

Tama squawked indignantly. “How very professional.”

The orb on Megumi’s desk glowed ominously. “Priority call incoming!” Tama announced with dramatic flair. “Level: extremely complicated!”

Megumi didn’t wait for Hikari to answer. She tapped her orb, the glow brightening as a frantic voice came through.

“HELLO?! Is this the Heroic Helpline?” the caller shrieked. “I’m stuck in a dungeon, and it’s—oh gods—it’s collapsing! The traps keep resetting, and I don’t know what’s cursed and what’s not!”

“Stay calm,” Megumi said, her voice steady and no-nonsense. “Where are you, exactly? And describe the situation clearly.”

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“I’m in… uh, I think it’s called the Depths of Despair? The floor is covered in spikes, the walls keep moving, and there’s this weird glowing mural that just keeps laughing at me!”

Megumi’s lips twitched into a frown. “Did you say Depths of Despair?”

“Yes! It’s awful! There’s a door that’s locked, but every time I solve a riddle, it resets and asks a different one!”

Hikari leaned in, wide-eyed. “That sounds terrible!”

Megumi ignored her, tapping a nearby monitor to pull up the dungeon registry. The Depths of Despair loaded with an unsettling hum, the details lighting up on the screen. A faint glint of recognition flickered in her eyes as she scanned the entry, but her expression quickly hardened.

“Right,” she said briskly. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Find the mural. What color is the glow?”

“Blue!” the caller said.

“Good. Ignore the laughter—it’s harmless. Underneath the mural, there should be a hidden lever. Pull it.”

“I’ve been avoiding that! What if it’s a trap?”

“It’s a reset mechanism,” Megumi snapped. “Pull it, and the riddles will stop changing. Then focus on solving the last one—it’s the key to unlocking the exit.”

There was a long pause, followed by the sound of stone grinding and a triumphant yell. “It worked! Oh, thank you, thank you! You saved my life!”

Megumi cut the call without ceremony. “Another successful rescue,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Hikari tilted her head curiously. “You knew an awful lot about that dungeon, Supervisor Megumi. Have you been there before?”

Megumi didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers hovered over the monitor before she dismissed the registry file. “Does it matter? It’s my job to know these things.”

As the day dragged on, the hotline’s steady stream of chaos continued.

A bard accidentally summoned an audience of bats while tuning their lute. A rogue called to debate the morality of stealing from bandits who technically stole first. And an orc warrior was convinced they’d been cursed because their enchanted sword wouldn’t stop singing opera.

Megumi handled each crisis with the efficiency of someone who’d long since stopped being surprised by anything.

At one point, Hikari nervously approached her desk. “Supervisor Megumi?”

“What now, Sparkles?” Megumi sighed, not looking up from her stack of mana reports.

“I just wanted to say… you’re really amazing at this,” Hikari said softly. “I don’t know how you stay so calm.”

Megumi finally glanced up, her expression unreadable. “It’s not about staying calm. It’s about getting the job done.”

Hikari nodded earnestly. “Still, I think you’re an inspiration!”

Megumi blinked, caught off guard for the briefest moment. She waved Hikari away. “Go be inspired somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”

As the office began to quiet down, Megumi leaned back in her chair, watching as Gobuto stacked the last of the scrolls (most of which had stopped glowing ominously) and Hikari tidied her desk with an almost cheerful hum.

Mana passed by, handing her a final mana report. “No major issues today,” he said.

“That’s what counts,” Megumi replied, taking the report.

Behind her, Niwatori Tama squawked. “End-of-day metrics are ready! Shall I file the team performance review under ‘Could Be Worse’?”

Megumi smirked faintly. “Sounds accurate.”

For a brief moment, her gaze flicked to the now-dormant monitor, where the Depths of Despair had been displayed earlier. She didn’t linger. There was no point.

“Tomorrow’s going to be worse, isn’t it?” Gobuto asked nervously, breaking her train of thought.

“Always,” Megumi replied, standing and brushing off her cape. “But we’ll handle it. We always do.”

And with that, she turned toward the portal, her cape billowing dramatically in the mana-charged air.