Hot Dog Lady - Chapter 6

One SS-class boss, apparently bored, tried to swipe my ingredients.

I tossed it a perfectly cooked bun.

The monster paused, chewing thoughtfully.

Another success.

By the third round, the tournament was in full chaos.

Vincent, frustrated beyond reason, attempted to sabotage me by flipping my counter with a baseball bat.

I ducked, sending a hot dog flying straight into his chest.

He stumbled backward, yelling as a sauce-covered sausage stuck to his jacket.

The audience, including monsters, bats, and random NPCs, erupted in laughter.

The final round approached.

The mega deluxe challenge.

I had to construct a hot dog tower 10 sausages high with molten cheese cascading down.

All while balancing on a platform suspended over a pit of simmering eyeball stew.

Frier and the team worked flawlessly.

The jelly monster balanced ingredients.

The skeletal cat stabilized the base.

Even the little girl in her tattered dress handed me perfectly sliced toppings.

One flip, one perfect bite, and the judges, bats, bosses, and the stitcher himself, summoned magically for the finale, erupted in applause.

I had done it.

I had survived the tournament.

My hot dog was declared legendary, my stall untouchable.

Vincent, humiliated, stormed off again, muttering about revenge as Frier handed me a golden spatula inscribed with runes for the hot dog lady, protector of all buns and beasts alike.

I smiled, holding it high.

The dungeon was chaotic, terrifying, and sometimes deadly, but it was mine.

And my hot dogs, well, they were now officially unstoppable.

The dungeon had finally settled into a rare, quiet lull.

My hot dog stand, now fortified with secret rooms and magical traps, hum softly with the aroma of sizzling sausages.

For the first time, I had a moment to breathe, and then the shadows moved.

A familiar figure stepped from the dim corridor, blinking in the torch light, wearing an old apron I recognized immediately.

Clare, I whispered, heart pounding.

She squinted.

Scarlet, is that really you? Clare, my old rival chef from the real world, once obsessed with out cooking me in tiny diner competitions, was trapped here too, looking just as bewildered and exhausted as I felt.

Behind her trailed, two other faces I hadn’t expected to see.

My old culinary assistant, Jonah, and a kid from the neighborhood who had once eaten my hot dogs during a summer fair, now sporting glowing tattoos and wielding a butcher’s knife like a seasoned dungeon survivor.

Memories came crashing back in a flood.

Vincent’s shadowed threats.

The late nights of hiding and cooking.

The fateful day I got pulled into this horror game.

Each flashback was tinged with panic, betrayal, and a strange sort of comedy.

the way life sometimes twisted normal things into nightmares.

Claire’s voice snapped me back.

You you have a stall? She stared at my magical setup, eyes wide.

And these monsters, they respect you.

I smiled faintly.

Long story, but yes, and you’re safe for now.

Jonah scratched his head.

Safe? You mean until Vincent or some dungeon boss eats us all? I sighed.

Exactly.

We shared quick stories of how we’d each ended up here.

And I realized something.

Everyone had ghosts from their past, people they left behind, grudges that hadn’t faded, and regrets that followed them even into a horror game.

Yet here we were, still surviving, still fighting, still cooking.

And then a chilling realization hit.

One of the NPCs, an old diner critic eyed, unintentionally angered years ago, was wandering the hall, muttering about improperly cooked sausages.

The dungeon’s memory of the real world was alive and watching.

Clare smirked, breaking the tension.

Looks like your hot dog skills didn’t just survive the game, they haunted.

We spent the evening fortifying the stall further, swapping recipes for survival snacks, and laughing at the absurdity of our situation.

Frier and the skeleton cat introduced them to the dungeon’s quirks, portals that led to random kitchens, secret ingredient caches, and a few monsters who were already loyal to me.

Vincent wasn’t far off.

I knew his shadowy presence lingered like smoke.

But now I wasn’t alone.

Allies, old friends, even a rival turned comrade, our combined skills could defend the hot dog stand, maybe even expand it.

As I handed a deluxe hot dog to Jonah, who devoured it in record time, I realized something terrifying and exhilarating.

The dungeon was vast, chaotic, and full of monsters.

But my past, my ghosts, and my enemies had also been drawn here, and I was going to turn all of it into my domain.

The dungeon air smelled faintly of burnt buns and vinegar.

But that wasn’t the only scent lingering.

Anger, malice.

Vincent’s obsessive need to ruin me, had reached a new level.

It started subtly.