“Well if it isn’t Dandelion, the Dungeon Maker.” The last words were dripping with scorn. I sighed looking up. It was, of course, Brock Baro, a Senior like me, but from the Warrior course. Like most Warriors, he towered above those around him. He had a couple of cronies with him, no doubt hoping to get in the good graces of the future heir of the Baro family.

Most people, even if they look down on Dungeon Makers, still at least maintain a polite surface with us in case they ever need to hire one of us in the future. But the Baro family was so wealthy that they could hire practically any Dungeon Maker they wanted. That’s what happens when your father patents the design for holophones. Consequently, Brock had enough money that he didn’t feel the need to maintain the veneer of politeness that others afforded me.

I ignored him. I knew it wouldn’t make him go away, but I just couldn’t be bothered to waste energy responding. It wouldn’t change anything. Brock stood in front of me sneering while his cronies threw invectives at me through their teeth.

"What's wrong Dandelion? Too scared to fight back?" They mocked. I hated that name, Dandelion. It wasn't even a clever play on my name. My name, Basil, was based on an herb, whereas dandelion was a flower. I guessed he had picked it because of the alliteration: Dandelion the Dungeon Maker.

I didn't bother responding to them. Even if I did, what would I say? I was scared. I had no combat potential at all. And because of that I’d always avoided dungeons. But as a result, I hadn’t leveled my class at all. Every time I checked my status screen, the Level 1 that showed up mocked me more thoroughly than Brock and his bully boys ever could.

A nearby clock chimed the hour, and they quickly gave their parting remarks before leaving to whatever class they had. No doubt some combat class, learning how to use yet another weapon with their skills. I sighed.

“It would really be great to have a combat class.” I thought to myself. But wishing was pointless. I forced myself, yet again, to direct my attention to the old, worn book in front of me. And that’s when a passage in it caught my eye.

“Theory of renewable dungeons: Dungeons are essentially an ecosystem. The dungeon creates life, and feeds off mana. The reason dungeons die is a lack of mana due to adventurers killing an excess of monsters and rarely dying. Thus, if you could find a way to generate mana to make up for the lack of adventurer death, you could compensate for the expenditures needed to create more monsters.” The author postulated.

I nodded thoughtfully as I read. It wasn’t really so unusual. Plants, at least those that hadn’t been altered by Janus to become killing machines, consumed carbon dioxide and released oxygen. Humans consumed oxygen and released carbon dioxide. The cycle was stable. It was logical for dungeons to have a cycle as well.

The issue was that humans essentially broke the cycle by taking the resources without releasing any mana for the dungeon to absorb. I continued reading but the author didn't offer any ideas that seemed workable. Mana couldn't be created. It could only be transformed into other forms of energy. Still, there was something there. An idea was forming at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite bring it to the forefront.

“Mr. Thorn.” A voice called, breaking my concentration and sending my thoughts scattering. I looked up, restraining the frustration I felt at the interruption, and found the Department Head of the Dungeon Maker department looking at me impatiently and tapping his watch. I was supposed to be meeting with him but had gotten distracted. I sighed and shut the book.

I followed him as he led me into his office.

“Now, you know why I called this meeting I assume.”

I nodded my head, but he continued as if I hadn’t.

“You are the only one in the department that hasn’t begun interning. What’s the issue? You know that in order to develop as a Dungeon Maker you’ll need someone with resources to invest in your future. The cost of creating a dungeon is immense. In order to level and gain the ability to create the more valuable monsters that well paying clients will want, you need to start grinding levels. If you don’t you’ll have to venture into the Public Dungeons to level. Is that what you want?”

I just nodded and shook my head at the appropriate places as he continued to lecture me. He wasn’t wrong. I really should have done an internship. I wasn’t trying to fight in the Public Dungeons. With my ability I’d probably get myself killed. It’s just the restrictions on internships bothered me.

In order to convince a company, government, or private individual to invest money in your development as a Dungeon Maker, they had to be assured they’d get a return on their investment. After all, what if you just used all their materials and then went to work for their rival? It would be a total waste. That’s why they all required that interns sign contracts locking them into a 10 year employment deal. The deal was profitable enough, but it was also extremely restrictive.

The other side knew they had all the power, so they included unfair terms demanding obscene hours, allowing for abusive treatment, and even terms that made it so if your dungeon didn’t make money for them they’d be able to take back some of the money they paid you. All of the risk was put on the Dungeon Maker. Plus, any dungeon you made in those ten years automatically belonged to them, even if you used your own materials to create it. They could choose to buy it from you at a fixed price. It wasn’t until those ten years were up that Dungeon Makers typically saw a major increase in pay when they either renegotiated for a better contract, or left for a better offer.

It was a truly unfair system, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. Dungeon Makers were a minority of society. It was hard to convince a politician to push through a bill giving them better employment rights when the voters and major campaign donors were the same people taking advantage of the Dungeon Makers' work.

He had continued to lecture me while I thought and it didn't seem like there was an end in sight, so I cut him off to spare myself another hour of his sanctimony.

“Mr. Jones, I appreciate your advice. I’ve already made a decision though.”

Mr. Jones looked startled at the interruption but then grew excited. Honestly, I’d started to suspect that part of his deal with the government when he assumed this position was that he’d get a bonus for every student that entered an internship. He was just a bit too enthusiastic about that aspect of the job.

“Well, who have you decided to intern with? I can make a recommendation if you’re not sure.” He flicked his finger causing holograms of a bunch of different company logos to appear over his desk. I suspected the first one he’d recommend would be the government. The university was run by the government after all.

I shook my head and held out a hand stopping him. “No, I’ve decided not to do an internship. I’m going to freelance. I’ll offer to build dungeons for adventurers. I can advertise on the mission boards outside of the Public Dungeons.”

Mr. Jones got a startled look on his face, which quickly transformed into alarm.

“No! That's ridiculous. No Dungeon Maker operates alone. I'm not even sure if the Association allows it."

By that I knew he meant the Dungeon Maker Association. It functioned similarly to a union, using collective bargaining to leverage the importance of Dungeon Makers in the supply chain in order to carve out protections for us and ensure adequate compensation.

I couldn't see why the Association would prohibit it though, and suspected this had more to do with him wanting me to go work for the government.

"You won’t get hardly any clients because the respectable ones will have their own internal hires. Anyone you do get will be so low level you won’t get paid practically anything. Plus, you’ll level so slowly that you’ll quickly fall behind your peers. Look, how about you consider this government positi--”

He began, but I quickly cut him off.

“Thank you for the concern, but I’m set on pursuing this.”

Without waiting for him to respond I bowed slightly, bid him farewell, and walked out the door. His expression looked regretful as I left.

I supposed he was disappointed he wouldn't get a bonus from the university for recruiting me to a government position. Perhaps that assumption was uncharitable of me; he could have been genuinely concerned for my future.

I walked briskly down the hallway, not running but not dawdling either, in case he decided he had given up on convincing me too easily and tried to follow after me.