7 24 hours a year, no breaks

My stomach was full.

Whether it was due to significant depletion or the body's recovery process, all the frogs—about the same size as me—had been absorbed into my abdomen.

Physically impossible?

Hahaha.

What are you talking about in a world where skills are inexplicable phenomena?

Moreover, it's not entirely impossible.

After all, my body is inflated like a balloon.

Phew. If this were a human body, I'd have to consider dieting.

Well, in my previous life, my body somehow never gained weight despite poor eating habits, so I've never had to diet.

For now, I'll repair the mesh that was damaged due to the frog's attack.

Ugh, it's heavy and sticking out—awkward to work with...

I struggled, but managed to complete the repair.

Good thing no other monsters came during the repair process.

Considering it, the risk wasn't limited to the time spent repairing the net—eating frogs might have been dangerous too.

The possibility of other monsters being drawn by the scent was real enough.

Though I couldn’t see them in this narrow passage, there had been six-legged wolves in the larger tunnel.

They looked like they could smell well—possibly dangerous.

From now on, I’ll eat prey only after returning to my home.

Ah—of the three necessities, food and shelter are now satisfied.

Clothing?

You expect me, a spider, to wear garments?

Ha.

I don’t feel the need.

This cave maintains a comfortable temperature—neither cold nor hot—and my body is already covered in short fur.

There is no purpose in wearing clothes, and no clothes exist to wear.

Perhaps I could weave fabric from silk, but I see no reason to expend that much effort.

Even if I made something, I wouldn’t know if it would fit.

Perhaps one could say clothing needs are, at minimum, satisfied.

Ah—then I’d have obtained food, shelter, and clothing without labor.

No, I did at least construct a nest, and I endured considerable effort to eliminate the frogs. So saying I did nothing at all is an exaggeration.

Still, barring exceptional circumstances, the conditions for a dreamlike existence of eating and sleeping are established.

The only potential issues are the possibility of a powerful being breaking through the net, and the risk of insufficient prey, leading to starvation.

If a formidable opponent breaches the net, I will flee without hesitation.

Otherwise, as long as prey consistently becomes ensnared, there will be no complaints.

If that condition is met, I could remain secluded here for life.

Excellent.

I attended school, but otherwise lived much like a recluse.

I went to school, spent the entire time without speaking to anyone, and upon returning home, either surfed the net or played games.

Meals were either instant noodles boiled in water for three minutes, or microwave meals.

Occasionally, a convenience store bento would be mixed in.

Both of my parents worked, and neither returned home until late.

When they did return, we rarely saw each other, and hardly spoke.

Household duties were performed only at the bare minimum level.

In truth, we were strangers sharing the same house.

Perhaps because of this lifestyle, I found interacting with others burdensome.

Or perhaps it was simply my nature—born this way, not shaped by circumstance.

Thus, I had no friends. Even when chatting in online games, I rarely spoke.

As a result, my in-game character developed a reputation for silence.

The avatar was a dull, balding man.

A man who spoke little, let his back do the talking—exactly the kind of figure one would call a nice guy.

The stats were a romanticized oddity: physical attack and speed maxed out, everything else untouched—extreme specialization.

Avoidance was prioritized, as if saying, "If it doesn’t hit, it doesn’t matter." Strike and retreat. Eliminate enemies that way.

But if it hits, you die.

Hmm.

It didn’t matter much that I no longer saw my parents or schoolmates. But not seeing that bald man again… that was a little lonely.

Among the free-to-play faction, having risen to the rank of a formidable opponent even against the rare paid players made the abrupt abandonment mid-play feel like a lingering regret.

I suppose it’s pathetic that I care more for a game character than my own parents.

Still, it’s true enough.

Would they grieve at all when I die, even if they were that kind of parent?

Hmm.

Doesn’t matter.

Likely they’d feel no sorrow even in reverse circumstances.

Perhaps a minor concern over financial arrangements.

Some might take offense at hearing this spoken aloud—but so what?

I’m not causing anyone harm. What I think is my own business.

Harm to my parents?

Regrettably, I’ve been managing stocks under their name, and each month I’ve been depositing a considerable sum into their account.

Investing isn't difficult if you stick to steady strategies and avoid reckless risks. You can make a decent return.

So I'm not really living off my parents' resources.

I'm not causing harm to anyone. No one has the right to criticize me.

Well, that doesn't matter now anyway.

So I'll declare it openly.

Lazy idler—best in the world!

※Note: Do not imitate.

This is merely the absurd thought process of a fictional character.

Detailed disclaimers have been added to the activity report.