Not a Monster—A Calamity
America.
The strongest nation on Earth.
It wore the twin nicknames of world police and world thug at the same time, and it possessed power that South Korea could never hope to match.
“Special forces, or CIA? Something along those lines, I’d bet.”
Yujin kept tossing out questions, reading the answers off their reflexive flinches and micro-expressions.
“Reason’s the Tower, right? You’re already dying to know what the hell it is, and then some freak shows up in Korea—so of course you get antsy and come sniffing around. Am I warm?”
No answer came.
But Yujin had already heard everything he needed.
“Not talking, huh. You fine with what happens to this guy’s hand? I can just rip it clean off.”
He wiggled his fingers. The bald man’s brow furrowed; he bit down hard on his lip.
“How much do you actually know?”
“A lot more than you’d like.”
It had been the same in the first timeline.
Every nation with even a little muscle had thrown every method they had at contacting players, desperate to pry open the Tower’s secrets. Once more people started reaching the fifth stratum the frenzy cooled off, but in the early days it had been pure chaos. Yujin had lived through it more than once.
“Hand over my comrade.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I can tell you’re no ordinary person. But drop the bluff right there. We have more than enough firepower to put you down.”
They were clearly banking on the pistols riding their hips.
“American traditional martial arts really are something else.”
No amount of skill beats a gun. At this point in time that saying was basically law. Even Yujin himself couldn’t perfectly stop a bullet—dodge, sure, but stop? No.
Still.
“Then go ahead and shoot.”
He snorted.
In the middle of Seoul, with a South Korean military base practically next door, they were going to open fire? Only a complete lunatic would try it. Even America wasn’t that crazy. The diplomatic fallout would be instant and brutal.
So guns or no guns—the ones putting on a show were them, not him.
As if to prove the point, the bald man said nothing. He could only glance helplessly between Yujin and his pinned partner, face twisted with frustration.
Yujin snorted again and asked,
“Answer my questions nicely and I’ll let you go. I won’t even kill you. Deal?”
Reading truth from body language had hard limits. He could filter out the big lies, but the fine details stayed locked behind closed mouths. In the end he needed them to talk.
The bald man hesitated. Mission protocol screamed refuse, then neutralize. Yet he didn’t move. The colleague in Yujin’s grip was one problem; the real stopper was the single move Yujin had already shown them.
Piercing a man’s hand with a bare finger?
That was movie stuff. No one expected to see it in real life. Caution was only natural. So the man kept chewing the decision over and over, unable to commit.
“…Forget it.”
Yujin’s voice turned ice-cold.
Precious rest time—wasted brawling with trash like this. Too expensive. He had a few questions left, but he didn’t actually need the answers. If they refused to talk, they could simply pay the price for laying hands on him first.
A low thrum rose. Colorless, formless mana answered his will and sharpened itself into something razor-thin.
Slice—!
That edge was more than enough to part human bone and flesh.
“Hhk—!”
The man skewered on Yujin’s finger went wide-eyed. Sudden searing pain, and then one of his body parts simply ceased to exist. Not a limb—his neck. He died without even understanding how, head rolling free of his shoulders.
“Aaaaaaah!”
“Holy shit!”
Bystanders who had been watching in hush erupted into screams. A man had just been killed on a broad daytime avenue—decapitated, no less. The scene was so far past unnatural it felt unreal; the reactions were inevitable.
People fled. People dialed 112. People collapsed where they stood, blank with panic. Every shade of terror on display.
Yujin gave them none of his attention. His mind held only one thing: retribution for those who had dared touch him and steal his time.
“You crazy bastard!”
Only then did the bald man snatch the pistol from his coat. The others followed suit.
“What? Thought I wouldn’t kill you?”
If they had been ordinary street thugs he never would have gone this far. Yujin was foul-tempered, not a slaughterer like the Ten Evils. The reason he had gone overboard was simple: leaving these men alive offered nothing but downside.
America. The Tower of Light. Players. Special operatives.
That combination had never been kind to players—Korean or otherwise. In the first timeline, American black ops had left a double-digit body count of dead or vanished players. That fact alone was reason enough never to let them walk. And they had started the fight first?
That was the same as begging to die.
“Open fire!”
The bald man barked the order at Yujin’s sneer.
Tat-tat-tat-tang—!
Pistols cracked. With a comrade already dead they no longer cared about the Korean government’s opinion.
But the instant their killing intent flared, Yujin kicked off the pavement.
Thud-thud-thud!
Bullets chewed empty air and asphalt where he had been standing a heartbeat earlier. Their faces twisted with fresh shock—in their eyes he had simply teleported.
“Ballsy, shooting at me.”
By then Yujin was already behind them.
The bald man tried to spin. Tried.
A corpse with a hole through its heart no longer obeys the brain.
“When… the hell…?”
Only after the words left him did the stinging pain arrive. He crumpled, eyes finding his teammates. A hollow laugh escaped. They were collapsing the same way, blood pouring from identical chest wounds.
“…Monster.”
What other word was left for Yujin?
The nameless American closed his eyes on that final syllable.
“Monster, huh.”
Yujin looked down at the bodies with zero emotion and snorted.
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not anything that small.”
He turned, walked away at an unhurried pace, and murmured,
“I’m a calamity.”
A week for an unemployed shut-in and a week for a soldier on leave are not the same length. The latter races past like water. The same held true for Yujin.
Genuine rest for the first time in ten years—no further explanation required.
“Already over?”
The week had vanished in the space of a blink. All he had done was eat, sleep, and roll around. As if making up for every rest he had ever missed, he had done absolutely nothing.
“Hmm. Still no word.”
Even as the clock ran out, Lee Ki-seok had sent nothing. Apparently the higher-ups were proving stubborn.
“If I stepped in it would be settled instantly, but…”
No point forcing help they hadn’t asked for. By the next leave, one way or another, a decision would be on the table. He could check then.
“Wonder how those two have been holding up.”
Lee Sia and Park Ji-hoo’s faces floated up. He had no idea how their week had gone, but by now they were probably wearing identical sulky expressions. Maybe they were even wasting effort looking for a way to never return to the Tower. They would fail, of course.
“Let’s see…”
He checked his phone. Nearly five in the afternoon. Re-summon time was close.
“Come to think of it, the new year snuck up on us.”
First summon had been Christmas; a month later it was January. In the first timeline survival had left no room for sentiment. This time was different. Having breathing room made the calendar feel oddly heavy.
Yujin scratched his head and shoved the stray thoughts aside. He could wallow in feelings after he had killed the end of the world and cleared the Tower. Right now the only priority was getting stronger, faster.
“Time to get ready.”
If he didn’t want a repeat of this leave’s hassle, he needed to stash his belongings somewhere safe.
“…Somewhere safe?”
His gaze dropped to his arm of its own accord. A tiny bear doll hung there, motionless as a stuffed toy, sound asleep.
“Chunbae.”
He tapped the little snout. Sleepy eyes cracked open.
“Kku-a-a-ang—”
Chunbae peered up as if asking what the fuss was. Yujin held out the smartphone.
“Think you can eat this too?”
In the first timeline the subspace pouch he had obtained refused anything from outside the Tower—clothes excepted. Storing real-world objects had been flatly impossible. But Chunbae was no ordinary subspace. Maybe…
Not that he particularly needed a phone inside the Tower. Still—
If it works, the applications are endless.
He waited, anticipation plain on his face.
“Kkyaaang?”
Chunbae tilted its head, then reached out, accepted the phone—
and swallowed it whole.
“Well, damn. It works.”
He had only asked on a whim; to his surprise, Chunbae had successfully stored a smartphone. Which meant real-world items could be carried into the Tower.
Immediate use cases were thin, but—
“Now I’m looking forward to the next leave.”
If things went the way he hoped, something very entertaining might happen. Satisfied, Yujin stood and straightened his blue tracksuit.
“While I’m at it, I should grab some armor too.”
So far it hadn’t mattered much, but the higher the strata, the more gear counted.
“Wasn’t there something decent on the eighth floor?”
He dimly recalled an early-game piece that wasn’t half bad. Exact details were fuzzy, but—
“I’ll just pick that up for now.”
While he mentally listed everything he needed before the tenth stratum, the moment arrived.
Hwaaaaaaah—!
Leave period expired.
Recalling all absentees to the Tower of Light.
Zero temporal deviation.
“Ah, fuck. We’re really back.”
“…Yeah.”
Lee Sia and Park Ji-hoo stood beside him, each clutching a box of fried chicken in both hands.
“Looks like you two really made the most of vacation.”
Yujin grinned at them—a thoroughly wicked grin.
“Then I guess it’s time to work off all that rest, huh?”