The palisade gate came into view—thick, towering logs bound together with iron bands. Guards wearing light leather armor lounged under the shade of the exit archway, chatting quietly as Alex and his team—because apparently he was the leader now—approached. The thought still felt strange. He honestly thought that Jay or Sarah would make great leaders and was surprised that everyone wanted him.

  Mel walked a half-step ahead, absently strumming her new lute. She’d been playing the same three chords over and over while they walked, but apparently inspiration struck as they neared the wall and she spun around mid-step. “So, I was talking to Aila and Elira last night, and they told me about the Iron Fangs’ chapter house. Do you guys know about this yet?”

  Alex shook his head. None of the trainers were big on talking about the structure of the show or things like pay, or perks. It had all been drills and classes and learning so far. He knew there had to be something waiting for them after the training phase, but no one had spelled out details.

  Mel, fortunately, was happy to adopt the role of local expert. “Okay, so get this. After our first official training dungeon on the fourth weekend—big spooky thing, super exciting—our team becomes official. Training is over. No more living in the training hut. Instead, they move us over to our own chapter house.” She squealed the last part so loudly one of the guards glanced over.

  Danny groaned as they walked. “Okay, but what does that actually mean? Bigger bunk beds hopefully. I’m sick of sleeping in a little single again, it makes me feel like I’m ten years old. ”

  Rae answered before Mel could. “Bedrooms. For all of us. Upstairs. No more sharing. Not more bunk house.”

  Danny stopped walking for half a second. “Individual?”

  “Individual,” Rae confirmed with a sage nod.

  “Thank the gods,” Danny muttered, resuming his trudging. “If I have to listen to Jay snore for one more weekend, I might use sleep deprivation as justification to commit a minor felony.”

  Jay shot him a glare. “I do not snore.”

  “Yes, you do,” Mel, Rae, Sarah, and Alex all said at the same exact moment.

  Jay’s mouth opened, then closed again. “…Okay, but like, not much.”

  Mel steamrolled through the moment with pure enthusiasm. “Anyway! Chapter house! Real beds! And it’s not just living space. The main floor has a ton of team features. A meeting room, a campaign-planning room, a training yard in the back, even our own armoury, and—get this—a vault. Our own vault.”

  She held her hands up dramatically, as if framing a treasure chest only she could see. “A vault for our gold. Our crafting materials. Rare monster drops. Our loot.”

  Jay scratched the short beard he’d been growing out. “That’s honestly pretty cool. I knew the Iron Fangs all lived together, but I didn’t realize every team got their own place. Makes sense though. Builds cohesion.”

  “And gives us a space to work together as a team.” It did make sense, Alex thought. Dungeon Inc. had built this whole place like some strange hybrid of a medieval village, a production facility, and a university campus. Every part had a purpose. Every building was a piece of the machine.

  He found himself picturing what their chapter house might look like. Wood beams. A wide common room. Big fireplace, because every building seemed to have a big fireplace here. A round table where the six of them would plan dungeon routes and gear upgrades and missions. A place that actually belonged to them.

  Mel’s excited voice echoed again in the back of his mind.

  Side Quest Heroes.

  He swallowed. The name still clung to his ribs like something warm and heavy and complicated. It was perfect. It was them. And yet… it wasn’t quite right. Not without his friends.

  The real Side Quest Heroes weren’t here. Ryan was coming, but the rest of the crew? His gaming group, the ones who worked and played with him for 7 years to build the show from scratch with him? They deserved to be part of any version of that name. It wasn’t his alone to repurpose.

  Worse, he wanted them here so badly it made his chest ache. He knew he couldn’t go back to Earth every week. But he didn’t know how he could just abandon them all. This place was everything they had ever dreamed of. They got together every week and built worlds that looked and felt just like this Earth-3 and it just didn’t feel right that he was the only one getting to enjoy that.

  His friends would go absolutely insane for this world—in the best possible way.

  But what could he do about that? Even if he could convince Valentina to bring them all over in the next cohort, they couldn’t just join this team, there would be too many people. Could he walk away from Jay, Danny, Sarah, Mel and Rae to team up with his old friends? That didn’t really feel right either.

  And if he couldn’t answer these questions, then could Side Quest Heroes even be resurrected here?

  He pushed the thought aside for now, before it tied him into a knot.

  They passed through the village gate, leaving the busy streets behind. Ahead of them stretched a wide field that ran from the palisade wall all the way down to the lake. Long grasses rippled in the breeze that skimmed across the dark water. The air carried the scent of pine, moss, and the faint tang of wet sand.

  Running through the centre of the field, like some enormous scar, sat the obstacle course. Even from a distance it looked imposing: towering wooden walls, rope climbs that swayed cruelly, cargo nets gleaming with dew, balance beams perched above mud pits that yawned like waiting traps. And beyond the course itself lay the long track circling around the near side of the lake in a wide, looping arc.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Alex groaned the moment he saw it. His body didn’t tense with dread like last week—training with Jay had helped more than he expected—but the memory of that first run still lived vividly in his bones. He had felt like vomiting for the entire second half of the last time he ran the course and even the next day, back on Earth his arms wobbled like jelly.

  Off to the right, near the start of the course, stood Captain Mira Vance. She stood so motionless she might have been part of the obstacle course itself—tall, composed, radiating authority even while standing there waiting for her students to arrive. She tracked their approach with the sharp intensity of a hawk waiting to pounce on its prey.

  Mel groaned under her breath. “I’m not ready.”

  Rae whispered, “None of us are.”

  Danny marched a few steps ahead, turned around, and began walking backward with an overly bright grin. “Well! At least we’ll suffer together.”

  Alex inhaled deeply. The late morning sun reflected off the surface of the lake, creating shimmering ripples of light that danced across the sand. The course sprawled out in front of them. It was daunting but not terrifying. Not any longer. He’d improved. All of them had. And maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

  He looked across the water to the forest beyond. Tall evergreens rose in a dense wall on the far shore. Far enough away that he could make out little detail other than the shadows stretching like long fingers into the lake. Somewhere in there, their first challenge was waiting, or maybe being set up right now. Capture the flag. He was looking forward to it.

  He imagined running through those trees. Fighting. Planning. Watching the shadows shift around him, keeping an eye out for Team B. He imagined the flag tucked somewhere impossible, and Connor raging through underbrush trying to get there first.

  The forest challenge was their official start. It was going to change everything.

  Jay nudged his shoulder. “Hey. What’re you smiling about?”

  Alex shook himself out of the reverie. “Oh,” he murmured. “Just thinking about the future, I suppose.”

  Jay made a dramatic, suspicious squint. “Like, leadership acceptance speech?”

  Alex barked a laugh. “Not even remotely.”

  The wind picked up again, carrying the faint but unmistakable sound of Captain Vance barking orders at Class B trainees who had arrived just ahead of them. Jay winced.

  “Gods save us,” he muttered.

  “I thought you loved this stuff,” Alex said as he started to stretch out his shoulders.

  “The course?” Jay said. “Yes. Getting personally roasted by Captain Doom-and-Gloom? Not so much.”

  As they approached, Vance finally spoke. “Class A. You are late.”

  They were not late. Alex checked his HUD. They were on time with minutes to spare.

  But no one corrected her.

  Mel whispered, “She scares me.”

  Danny whispered louder, “She terrifies me.”

  “Good,” Vance said, even though she should not have been close enough to hear either of them. “Fear encourages effort.”

  The team simultaneously straightened.

  Vance pointed at the track. “Two laps around the lake. Warm-up pace. Go.”

  Jay quietly groaned, “I knew it.”

  They started jogging, falling into an easy rhythm together. The packed dirt path wound through tall grass and drifted close enough to the lake for the breeze to cool them. Mel set her lute down on one of the picnic style tables in the area and ran to catch up.

  Jay and Sarah, unsurprisingly, set the rhythm.

  Alex followed right behind with the others. He thought he could keep up the steady jogging pace for the entire two laps this weekend.

  About halfway around the first lap, the path curved toward the treeline of the forest. The shadows felt cooler here, deeper. The trees stood tall and silent, their trunks thick and ancient-looking. He could hear faint bird calls, the rustle of something moving, and the steady breath of wind through branches.

  Mel jogged up beside him, slightly out of breath but still somehow smiling. “Whatcha looking at?”

  “Nothing,” Alex said. “Just the forest.”

  “About the challenge?”

  “Definitely.”

  Mel bumped her shoulder lightly into his. “We’re gonna crush it. Team B is full of hot-heads that don’t want to work together.”

  He smiled at that.

  As they neared the end of the second lap, the sun beat down a little harder, their breaths grew heavier, and the distant obstacle course loomed once again. Vance waited with her arms crossed.

  When they returned to the starting point, she gave a curt nod. “Stretch. Hydrate. You have two minutes.”

  Mel saluted dramatically. “Yes, ma’am, Captain Brutality, ma’am!”

  Vance’s eyebrow twitched. Mel immediately pretended to cough.

  After resting for a minute and walking off the run, they worked through a series of stretches—hamstrings, shoulders, back. But before long Vance’s voice cracked over them. “Obstacle course. Full run. No breaks. Let’s see if you’ve improved. I want to see how fast you can get through, so push it.”

  Alex exhaled slowly. Here we go.

  He moved to the starting line with the others, heart pounding.

  Jay glanced at him. “Ready?”

  Alex nodded.

  Then Vance shouted, “GO!”

  And they ran.

  ***

  They think I enjoy this.

  They see the neverending obstacle course, the extra laps, the way I reset the drill whenever I see someone coasting. They feel the burn and the way their lungs rattle by the end of every session and decide I must either be ruthless or trying to prove something.

  They are partially right.

  But the real truth is simply understanding how the ANIP amplifies effort. Tenfold, by the current estimates. That means every lazy movement is magnified just as much as every honest one. If they give me seventy percent, the system gives them seventy percent—scaled up and locked in. If they give me everything, it does the same. The math is unforgiving.

  And because of that, so am I.

  Every repetition I demand here is one less mistake later. Every minute they curse me on the track is a minute they’re not bleeding out in a forest or frozen when something with too many teeth decides they look edible. I cannot choose their battles. I cannot stand between them and what waits beyond the gates.

  But I can make sure their bodies don’t fail them first.

  They don’t need to like me. They don’t need to understand why I push until form breaks and then rebuild it again. They only need to still be breathing when it matters.

  If that means I’m the villain of their training arc, so be it.

  I’d rather be hated on the field than remembered at a memorial.

  Personal Training Journal

  Captain Mira Vance

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