I Found the Key
Mu-saeng did not let his gaze stray from Geum Byeong-cheol’s eyes, bare now that the chairman had removed his sunglasses.
“[Hey, beast! Hey!]”
Wahsh was still drifting lazily around Geum Byeong-cheol’s head, bobbing through the air. In fact, he had taken to actively teasing the man, provoking him to a degree that made Mu-saeng silently plead for the duck to cut it out.
‘He isn’t moving. His eyes aren’t following him at all.’
Even so, Geum Byeong-cheol’s pure-white eyes remained completely stationary. There were no pupils to track, yet the lack of twitching in any of the muscles around his ocular orbits was proof enough.
And yet...
Clatter.
“Heh heh. It’s been so long since I hand-dripped coffee myself... good grief, it turned out far too bitter.”
The hand setting down the teacup wavered ever so slightly. The chairman’s expression remained an easy mask of sheepish amusement, but the slip was undeniable.
‘There was definitely a reaction.’
A figure of Geum Byeong-cheol’s caliber would never clumsily rattle porcelain against a saucer. Besides, this was hardly the time to be making small talk about the bitterness of coffee. The slip had come the instant Mu-saeng explicitly uttered the words Tower Administrator.
‘And now he’s deliberately pretending he didn’t hear it...’
Was he playing dumb? Mu-saeng chose to keep his mouth shut, and Geum Byeong-cheol did the same.
To anyone else, the ensuing silence would have been suffocating. An impatient climber, or someone unaccustomed to navigating high-stakes meetings with guild executives, would have scrambled to blurt out anything just to break the quiet. But with thirteen years of experience as a dungeon sherpa under his belt, Mu-saeng bore the tension without flinching. As for Geum Byeong-cheol, that went without saying. The founder of Geumseong, the undisputed number one guild in South Korea, was never going to crack under subtle pressure.
Instead, the older man casually steered the conversation in another direction.
“Looking at you brings back old memories.”
“Pardon? What kind of memories...?”
“Once upon a time, wasn’t it all the rage? Expedition births.”
“Ah.”
It came entirely out of left field, but it was also a topic that made Mu-saeng feel somewhat sheepish.
“Heh heh, quite ridiculous when you think about it,” Geum Byeong-cheol mused, leaning back. “The rumor that giving birth inside a dungeon would grant a child an awakened ability straight out of the womb... and yet countless households bought into it, didn’t they?”
“Yes, well... I don’t remember much of it myself, to be honest.”
Mu-saeng was the world’s very first child born inside a dungeon. He had come into the world on the exact day, at the very moment the Tower and the dungeons first manifested across the globe. He had survived solely thanks to the quick thinking of emergency responders. Back when he was just a snot-nosed kid growing up in an orphanage, he had been hounded by reporters from every major outlet. Then, as Awakeners began to establish themselves and the Association gained authority, his ability had been officially examined. That had been when Mu-saeng was just five years old.
“Because dungeons were unstable, there were even people trying to deliver babies inside the Tower itself. Claiming that being born in the Tower guaranteed at least an A-Rank ability, or whatever nonsense... It was quite the spectacle back then. Quite the spectacle indeed.”
Four years after Mu-saeng’s birth, a full-blown craze of “expedition births” in towers and dungeons had swept the globe. The desire to secure a marginally superior ability for one’s child; the ambition to awaken them as early as possible so they could master their powers before their peers. To ordinary parents, that was the ultimate gift—a shortcut not only to wealth, fame, and authority, but to breaking the biological limits of the human body for extended longevity and disease-free health.
“Human greed truly knows no end, does it? Wouldn’t you agree?”
It was only five years later, right around the time Mu-saeng turned ten, that international studies conclusively proved expedition births had zero correlation with awakening rates or high-tier abilities. Facing Geum Byeong-cheol, who had unearthed an anecdote from over twenty years ago, Mu-saeng opened his mouth to reply.
“Yes, well. A parent’s heart always wants what’s best for their child—”
“Is that how you made contact? With the Administrator, I mean.”
Or rather, he had intended to reply—until Geum Byeong-cheol dropped the topic of the Administrator right into his lap without warning. Before Mu-saeng could even register the shift, the chairman spoke again.
“The world’s first dungeon birth... I can’t help but conclude there’s a direct link between that and the Tower Administrator.”
Mu-saeng swallowed hard. He had to give credit where credit was due: Geum Byeong-cheol was far more than just a muscle-bound titan. When it came to commanding a room and prying out information, the man was an absolute master.
Whether it was a stroke of luck or misfortune, Wahsh chose that exact moment to chime in.
“[This beast is a cunning one, isn’t he? Yeah, you punk. There’s a connection. What’re you gonna do about it?]”
Wahsh quacked loudly as he continued circling Geum Byeong-cheol’s head. And at that exact moment, Mu-saeng caught it: a microscopic twitch in Geum Byeong-cheol’s facial muscles.
Mu-saeng kept his tone measured.
“I couldn’t say for sure about that.”
It lasted only an instant. Not even a wrinkle formed on Geum Byeong-cheol’s brow, but there was no mistaking the faint shudder of his eyebrow.
After lifting and setting down his coffee cup a few more times, Geum Byeong-cheol broke the silence.
“Heh... Right, so you aren’t sure. Then again, even if that were the case, it’s not like I could recreate the method at this point, could I?”
“I imagine not. Even you can’t be born a second time, Chairman.”
Mu-saeng shrugged, tossing the banter back with an easy grin. Geum Byeong-cheol let out a hearty belly laugh.
“Bwahahat! Quite right. An Administrator, is it...? What do you think? If an Administrator truly exists, what can they do? Just how far does their authority reach?”
It was a probe tossed out with deliberate casualness. And with it, Mu-saeng gained another layer of certainty. Who was Geum Byeong-cheol? What kind of man stood at the pinnacle of Geumseong? The chairman had not demanded to know where Mu-saeng obtained such classified information, nor had he scoffed at how a lowly dungeon sherpa dared spout such preposterous nonsense.
‘He isn’t dismissing it as crazy talk...’
What thoughts had the man been harboring in private? Or rather, what caliber of intelligence had he already compiled? That single reaction told Mu-saeng more than enough.
“I don’t mean to sound presumptuous in front of you, Chairman, but back when I was making a living as a dungeon sherpa... I ran a small enterprise with a close hyung of mine.”
“I know. Su-ah talked about it quite a bit.”
“Right, then you must understand far better than I do what a person holding the title of ‘Administrator’ is capable of doing, and what kind of influence they have over the entire organization.”
Thirty years ago, the Tower had thrust its spires into the sky. No manual had been provided. Was it a natural disaster? A divine blessing, or a curse from heaven? Aliens? Transcendent beings from a higher dimension? No one on Earth held a definitive answer.
“...That extensive, is it?”
No one, that is, except Kim Mu-saeng. Little wonder Geum Byeong-cheol’s demeanor turned dead serious. It was an exclamation laced with an involuntary sigh, an attitude that immediately accepted Mu-saeng’s premise as established fact.
Mu-saeng smirked slightly.
“Well, that’s why they’re called an ‘Administrator,’ isn’t it? They aren’t the CEO or the Chairman, after all.”
At that cheeky quip, Geum Byeong-cheol rewarded him with an immediate grin.
“Heh heh, though in the real world, the board of directors is far more terrifying... Ah, but naturally, they would reside at the very top of the Tower, wouldn't they?”
He threw out that final question. Mu-saeng hesitated for a heartbeat before answering.
“Yes.”
He had not hedged with a noncommittal ‘I suppose so.’ And Geum Byeong-cheol understood that distinction with absolute clarity.
“I see. An Administrator... Then that Tower truly operates under deliberate intent. Yes, so that’s how it is.”
Geum Byeong-cheol stood up. With steady, unhurried strides, he walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and looked down over the sprawling skyline of Seoul. He remained silent until Mu-saeng finished his glass of cold water and set it back on the table.
“When Su-ah told me about you, I thought you were just an intriguing dungeon sherpa. But good grief, turns out you were Santa Claus all along?”
The chairman spoke abruptly, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
“Still, when a man reaches my age, he can’t just take gifts and grin like an innocent child. Propriety dictates a fair exchange. So, what would Santa Claus like in return? Artifacts? Elixirs? If you need logistics and backing for your climb, I’d much rather invite you to join the company, bwahaha!”
The middle-aged titan offered the proposition with jovial warmth. A compensation for intelligence—and one backed by the staggering scale and resources only Geumseong could provide.
Mu-saeng considered it for a moment before replying.
“Mmm, all of those sound fantastic, but... well, I’m not sure what would suit me best. Would it be alright if we just put it on my tab for now?”
It was a half-joking request to save the favor for later, but beneath the humor lay a polite refusal—he had no need for artifacts, elixirs, or guild backing. There was no way Geum Byeong-cheol would miss the underlying message. The corners of the chairman’s lips stiffened ever so slightly, though a man of his standing would never let petty displeasure leak into the open.
“No, no, that simply won’t do. Let a tab run once or twice, and settling the books becomes a proper headache. Settling accounts right then and there on the very same day happens to be my cardinal principle.”
Refusing the first offer was standard etiquette. Besides, Mu-saeng had never planned on walking out empty-handed.
“In that case, may I ask you just one question?”
“Anything, provided it’s within my power to answer.”
Having brushed off the initial material rewards, Mu-saeng pressed forward—casually, brazenly, as if it were of no consequence at all.
“The real reason you’re stronger than Director Yoon... I’d love to get just a tiny tip regarding your method of growth. Would you be willing to share that with me?”
He was asking for the man’s most closely guarded secret. The lingering trace of amusement vanished from Geum Byeong-cheol’s face. Only when the chairman smoothly slid his dark sunglasses back over his eyes did the smirk creep back onto his lips.
“What tip could there possibly be? You climb higher, you ingest high-grade elixirs. That’s all there is to it... Heh heh, though I doubt that’s the kind of answer you’re hoping for.”
It was feigned nonchalance. Mu-saeng was certain now: there was a specific method. And whatever it was, billions of won worth of elixirs or high-tier artifacts couldn't hold a candle to it.
“You know better than that, Chairman. Since you said this was a return gift for the present I brought you, I trust you wouldn't feed me a lie.”
The secret behind Geum Byeong-cheol’s terrifying growth. To fulfill his contract with Wahsh and to find Joo Yerin, Mu-saeng needed to grow vastly stronger and scale the Tower faster than anyone alive. Such insight was of incalculable value.
Geum Byeong-cheol paused, letting the silence stretch.
“...Bwahahat! Right. You got me. When you put it like that, I suppose I can’t very well spin a lie, can I?”
He broke into a booming laugh. What manner of calculations flashed through his mind during that brief interlude? Regardless, one fact was undeniable: Mu-saeng had secured what he came for.
“The Tower is clear-cut,” Geum Byeong-cheol stated. “It’s either solo play or party play.”
It sounded so dreadfully obvious on the surface. Yet it was an answer laden with deliberate, pointed intent. The instant those words reached his ears, a flash of insight struck Mu-saeng’s mind.
‘Right... That’s it! That kind of method actually exists! If you exploit that starting from the lower floors, then without a doubt—’
Seeing Mu-saeng’s knowing grin, Geum Byeong-cheol laughed heartily.
“Bwahahat! What incredible wits. Truly worthy of a veteran dungeon sherpa. Now I see why Su-ah took such an obsession to you. Ah, let me ask one last time just in case: are you truly not interested in joining Geumseong?”
Now even Mu-saeng could clearly sense the profound regret lingering in Geum Byeong-cheol’s voice. Mu-saeng adopted the most apologetic expression he could muster, but gave a firm reply.
“I’m deeply grateful for the offer, but I already have prior commitments... Still, we don’t have to be employer and employee to meet, do we? At least between the two of us.”
Not a vertical hierarchy, but a horizontal relationship between equals. It was a statement that could easily be construed as insolent, yet...
“Heh heh, true enough. Very well, if something interesting comes up before long, let’s catch up again.”
Geum Byeong-cheol accepted Mu-saeng’s stance with nothing but warmth and goodwill. Mu-saeng sprang up from his seat and clasped Geum Byeong-cheol’s hand with both of his own.
“Haha, absolutely.”
“Off with you, then.”
Geum Byeong-cheol gave a dismissive wave. Mu-saeng offered a polite bow and stepped out of the chairman’s office. Until the crisp chime of the elevator signaled its descent, Geum Byeong-cheol remained seated in silence. Then, slowly, he rose once more and strolled over to the panoramic window.
Just as his dark lenses caught sight of Mu-saeng and Geum Soo-ah walking together on the street far below, he brought his smartphone to his ear.
“Pyo.”
“No, not that,” Geum Byeong-cheol interrupted. “When you come back, pick up a toy duck for me.”
It was an instruction bizarre enough to fluster even Yoon Pyo, an aide who almost never asked for clarification. Yet Geum Byeong-cheol’s demand was crystal clear.
“You know, one of those yellow duck toys. Made of rubber or something. Go buy one.”
Because he had seen it. The preposterous, impossible entity that had been bobbing right around his face.
“[Hey, beast! Hey!]”
“[This beast is a cunning one, isn’t he? Yeah, you punk. There’s a connection. What’re you gonna do about it?]”
The duck that had been babbling absurd nonsense right into his ear.
Recalling the encounter, Geum Byeong-cheol swallowed hard.
“Kim Mu-saeng, is it?”
Ending the call with Yoon Pyo, he immediately dialed another overseas frequency. The line connected after a single ring.
“Hello. Yeah, it’s me.”
Looking down at Seoul sprawling beyond the glass, Geum Byeong-cheol spoke, his gaze chasing the vanishing silhouette of Mu-saeng.
“I found the Key.”
He paused, listening to the voice on the other end, before offering a low, chilling reply.
“No. Not the next floor. The top.”
A broad grin spread across his face.