I Run the Protagonist’s Favorite Café in a Hopelessly Depressing Game World

The Parts Assemble

At the academy, a huge number of witches had been mobilized to deal with this unprecedented crisis. Whether they were students or teachers didn’t matter. As long as they were witches, they were sent out with one order: kill the monsters closing in on the royal capital.

Inside one room at the academy, on the top floor of the central tower.

Headmaster Morgana wore a pained expression as she glared toward the northern lands where the dungeon should have been.

Toward the hole that had opened in the barrier.

“B-But Headmaster, why has the dungeon…?”

“The devotion of the witches has finally come to an end.”

“Devotion…?”

The timid clerk with glasses tilts her head.

She had been taught that the dungeon was a sacred thing that prevented monster invasions.

Something as grand as “devotion” didn’t seem to fit—

“Buried deep underground in the dungeon are witches. Or rather, things that were once witches. Witches who became human pillars to protect humanity and stop the monsters from invading. Victims forced into that role. Living sacrifices. They can no longer be called human or witch… but they were tormented by eternal suffering.”

Thousands of years ago, when the barrier was first put up.

The hole was opened almost immediately afterward.

Humanity had been facing a crisis of extinction.

“So you’re saying the dungeon was created by the witches who were sacrificed!?”

“Yes.”

Morgana answers bluntly.

“It’s not something we teach openly. No one wants to know that their daily lives are built on countless sacrifices from the past.”

“But… if that’s the case, then the dungeon can’t be…”

“Made again, no. Back then slavery was at its peak, so creating a dungeon was relatively easy. But in this day and age, trying to force someone into a sacrificial role would cause problems. Who would do it? Who would make them do it?”

In short, it was over.

To protect humanity, the hole in the barrier needed to be sealed again.

But to create the lid—the dungeon—sacrifices would still be necessary.

Who in the world would willingly volunteer to become the sacrifice?

In stories, heroes often appear who act with a spirit of self-sacrifice.

In reality, such people are extremely rare.

“…I guess it’s time for me to steel myself.”

That’s why Morgana was struggling so much.

To leave a future behind, she would have to crush the future of the witches.

It was true that a witch’s job was “to risk her life killing monsters.”

However—there was a big difference between the possibility of dying and the certainty of dying.

If they tried to make the dungeon reappear, the witches would definitely die.

And they would be promised eternal suffering on top of that.

“To seal a hole the size of the barrier’s… we’d need about fifty witches. I would have to tell fifty witches to die.”

For Morgana, who loved her students, it was an impossible choice.

If sacrificing her own life would solve everything, that would be one thing.

But if that alone wasn’t enough…

“What about using the witches who are lying in hospital beds?”

“You mean the witches who had their consciousness taken and became vegetables?”

Morgana looks up at the ceiling at the clerk’s suggestion.

“That would be difficult. Without consciousness, they can’t become the agents of the magic. We might be able to make them bear some of the price, but… they would need to maintain consciousness for thousands of years while continuing to pay the price. That’s not a role a vegetable can fulfill.”

Morgana lets out a sigh.

She stands up, making the chair creak, and says,

“—For now, I will take the lead and become the human pillar.”

“Wha!? You, Headmaster Morgana!?”

“If the king doesn’t move, the subordinates won’t follow. That’s a wise saying.”

The clerk tries desperately to stop Morgana.

She has no intention of spouting pretty words like “all lives are equal.”

Even compared to hundreds of witches’ lives—Morgana’s single life is more important.

The value of lives is different. If she disappears, the academy’s operations would be driven into a catastrophic state. Of course a replacement could be found quickly, but there would be no one who could perform the role of “leader of the witches” as well as Morgana. She is an irreplaceable existence.

The clerk explains desperately.

What will happen to the witches of the future if you are gone?

“If I don’t move here, it won’t just be the future of the witches—humanity’s future itself will disappear. We have to seal the hole in the barrier. …I am offering this body for the sake of the future.”

It was a noble resolve.

She truly deserved to be called an example for all witches.

“I can’t just let that slide.”

—Right then.

Without even knocking, an intruder appears.

The person leans against the door with a meaningful smile.

“…Elysia.”

“If the headmaster is going to become the sacrifice, that’s no good.”

The woman has her green hair cut short and rough around the shoulders and wears a leather eyepatch over her left eye. However, her mannerisms don’t give off any feminine vibe at all. This must be what they mean by tomboyish.

“The headmaster is the perfect example of a witch. She could be in textbooks. …Wait, is she already in them?”

“I have no intention of wasting time on meaningless chatter.”

“It’s not meaningless.”

Elysia removes her eyepatch.

Then she points at the empty eye socket.

“The ones who should become the sacrifice are witches like us who can’t fight anymore.”

“But—”

“Headmaster, you hired the witches who lost their combat ability due to the aftereffects of magic as teachers. You took in us who used to be cursed as worthless tax thieves. …There are plenty of witches who are grateful to you.”

There is real weight in Elysia’s words.

She had lost her combat ability because of the price of magic and lived off government benefits. The people in her neighborhood looked down on her.

Of course, no one openly insults retired witches, but with the rise of the demon-worshipping cult and increasing criticism toward witches, it’s clear that for citizens who don’t know the threat of monsters, witches living off taxes are the embodiment of useless parasites.

“Headmaster. You are someone the future needs.”

“But… even though I would be ordering thousands of years of torment, for me, the one giving the orders, to survive—”

“Then let that suffering be your price. Think of us who became the human pillars and suffer until you die.”

Elysia scratches her cheek.

Her single remaining eye is wet with kindness.

“That way, you can keep worrying about us hopeless witches. …It’s precisely because we have a headmaster like you that we, who owe you so much, can sacrifice ourselves without hesitation.”

Before anyone realizes it, dozens of witches stand behind her.

Each of them is missing something.

An arm, a leg, an ear, an eye, a nose.

Not a single one of them is whole.

Yet every one of them possesses the same thing.

“Please live in our place. Please guide humanity.”

It is their loyalty to Headmaster Morgana.

It could also be called respect, or even worship.

They say “a night’s lodging and a meal” create gratitude, but for these witches who had received far more kindness, this was a heaven-sent opportunity.

The perfect chance to repay Morgana.

“You all…”

Morgana looks down, her voice trembling.

She clenches her fists so tightly her nails almost pierce her palms and bites her lip.

She had risked her life to protect others many times before, but she had never been protected by anyone.

For Morgana—who had once been called the world’s strongest witch until Aoi Komeiji rose to prominence—this was her first time experiencing it.

“…Thank you…!”

The tears were almost unbearable.

—Do I really have to tell these people who adore me so much to die?

Her expression crumbles under the conflicting emotions.

Her makeup runs, revealing the deep dark circles under her eyes.

“Headmaster. Please lift your head. A confident face suits you best.”